Astra: Synchronicity

by Lisa Eskra

  "Well, either it's a probe, or those are some really little aliens," Maxia joked to no one in particular.

  The bridge crew glared at him for his off-color joke.

  "What?" he asked as he looked around. "You were all thinking it too."

  Faeun turned toward Ardri. "What do you think we should do?"

  "I'd love to be able to take it to The Palmer Institute for study, but without knowing what it is and where it came from, that's a risk I'm not willing to take. Tell the science department to ready a probe with all first-contact protocols in order."

  She loathed the thought of contacting the Allied Confederacy about the potential alien encounter or following their decades-old "protocols" to the letter. Outdated garbage, that's what it was. Hieroglyphics to translate standard English into their native language and contact information of the first-contact ambassador on Chara, a position that hadn't existed for the past five years. Good in theory a hundred years ago but insufficient given their current level of technology. It merely put a bandaid on a gaping sore, one they could ignore no longer.

  Within the hour, they released their own probe. It looked similar to the strange object in orbit, though about half the size. Their probe settled into an orbit parallel to the object.

  The captain watched it on the viewscreen while Faeun worked at her station. "We're receiving a signal from the probe. All systems appear to be operating normally."

  Suddenly, Maxia's console began to buzz. "Captain, I'm detecting something entering the system. It's dropping out of hyperspace now."

  At first glance, the object's blackness made it impossible to distinguish from space. But as it passed the sun, the smooth outline of a ship appeared before them. Its sleek shape reminded her of a fish. It had no exterior lights and no windows, only set off by the warm purple glow of its engines.

  The crew sat there paralyzed, gaping at the sight with variations of awe and fear. Aliens had always been portrayed as aggressors. Ardri chose to be an optimist. If humans could be inherently good, other sentient races were capable of the same. For the moment that wasn't her decision to make. First-contact protocols dictated captains faced with an alien encounter return to home space at once.

  Maxia turned toward Ardri. "Captain…your orders?"

  She scratched her jaw despite the fact it did not itch. "Set a course for Chara and engage the hyperdrive."

  The Schenectady rotated on its vertical axis and escaped into hyperspace. It would take the ship five days to reach Chara. Until they returned to home space near Zion, they'd be under a communications blackout due to the lack of hyperspace nodes in the area.

  "Captain," Maxia informed the bridge crew as he pecked his fingers across the console, "the unknown ship appears to be following us."

  She stood and walked over to him, where she glanced down at the readings and wiped her sweaty palms against her pants. "Do you think it's hostile?"

  Maxia rolled his eyes. "Of course it's hostile."

  "Why exactly is that, Ensign?" the captain asked as she hovered over his seat. "Should the aliens assume we'd also be hostile?"

  "With all due respect, sir, the human response has always been to kill it before it kills us. I can't help being an ignorant product of society."

  "Ignorance is why the government has been at a standstill for decades."

  "Maybe they'll be carebears and we'll all get along," Maxia mused.

  Ardri shot him an insolent glance. "You are out of line, Mr. Maxia." He turned back around and sat with his attention on his display. "Is the ship gaining on us?"

  "It has matched our velocity. For now."

  Faeun shifted her attention back to the captain. "What if it follows us all the way to Chara?"

  "When we get back to AC space, I'll get in touch with Admiral McKirin," she said. "As much as I loathe the thought, this may end in a fight. I hope they're as curious about us as we'll be of them. Please keep me posted if anything changes, Ensign."

  The news had the potential to strain already tenuous relations between the American Federation and United Europe. Never in history had the alliance been so torn by capitalists and socialists—those who wanted to rape Astra and those inspired to give it away. Since the American Federation governed eighteen habitable worlds over most of the eastern rim, it had the most say. Their conservative majority lauded their industrialized society, but their lax justice system favored those who could buy their innocence. Had it not been tempered by the civility of the million citizens of United Europe, the Allied Confederacy would've been run like the Wild West.

  But in all its ostentatious glory, the UE succumbed to the same political mayhem plaguing the AF: infighting, perpetual campaigning, posturing instead of compromising, and all-around incompetence that prevented the most basic functions of the allied government. The Allied Fleet represented their combined military force, and as such, the military was bound to any rule they handed down.

  Most of the Allied Council supported the isolationism of Astra, which was a large part of the reason the Allied Fleet didn't explore the galaxy beyond. In fact, going to Gamma Pavonis in the first place would catch her some grief; however, with the possible encroachment of aliens on Astra's doorstep, her decision would be commended.

  All they could do now was wonder and wait. This would be the longest day of her life.

  ***

  Commander Rashad Mundammi took a deep breath as he stared up into the clear sky and waited with his executive officer outside their ship. Sirius cut across the heavens with azure radiance, bestowing an ethereal sparkle on the snow-covered Imperial City on Kashtivone. Bare trees cast towering shadows over the landing zone. He removed a hashish cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He'd forgotten the last time he saw snow covering the ground even if this was a damn Asian world and pulled his thick coat around him to keep out the chill.

  The squalor of the capital's slums hung around them. Ill-conceived shanties made of tin, wood, and cardboard leaned at unsustainable angles in a dirty rainbow of colors. The grime-covered streets smelled of excrement, yet hoards of people toddled through the slush on their way to the market a few blocks away. Once the morning rush subsided, the area would be empty. Everyone old enough to reproduce worked here: in mines, in factories, and in the fields. Such was the life of peasants in the Pan-Asian Union.

  The gold-tipped domes of the Imperial Palace loomed over the reinforced bulwark surrounding the forbidden sanctuary. The fortified parapet was visible from every location in the slums. Triumphal spires flanked by dragons broke the monotony of its features at regular intervals along its length. Men in dun-colored uniforms watched the throngs scurrying below, each with a B90 combat shotgun at the ready in the event of a riot.

  No one paid much attention to the Allied vessel nearby. Few probably realized the ship belonged to their government's sworn enemy. Citizens, however, were the least of his worries. Wild dogs roamed in packs, diving into piles of trash in search of their next meal. He kept his right hand near his disruptor in case any strayed too close.

  Lieutenant-Commander Carmen Martinez stood next to him shivering, her hands searching the pockets of her coat. She pulled out a bottle of fruit juice and attempted to open it, but her cold hands couldn't get enough grip on the slick glass.

  Rashad held out his hand, but she ignored his offer of assistance. She'd always been too damn proud to ask for help, especially when she needed it most. So he snatched it away from her and with considerable effort cracked the vacuum seal before handing it back to her.

  "Thanks." She offered him a smile before taking a sip. "Do you want to go diving at Blue Hole on Monterray next month? I hear there's a toilet at the bottom."

  "That depends. Will you be diving in just your bikini again?"

  She smirked. "It's the only way I know how."

  He hated diving. During an advanced diving course, his regulator decided to stick 100 meters below the surface, and while the disaster didn't give him the bends, it did scare the shit out of him
. The incident still gave him nightmares. He endured the hobby because of her.

  The two had been friends since their Academy days. Every year, she bought him a knife for his birthday to add to his gargantuan collection. She flirted with everyone and never apologized for it. And for some reason they never drifted apart—odd for a man who preferred solitude.

  The wind caught a puff of his smoke and blew it in her face. She fanned the odor away and coughed. "I don't know how you can smoke those things. You know you're killing yourself, right?"

  Rashad smiled after taking a long drag. "I don't want to live forever. Anyone who does is either too young or too stupid to know better."

  "Yeah? So what about psions? You've seen the pictures of Aliane that show she hasn't aged a day since the Exodus, right?"

  "I couldn't live like that. I'd blow my damn head off. All of those mind-rapers are soulless monsters. Every single last one of them, and if I had the opportunity to kill them all, by Astra I would." His hate for the psions penetrated his soul to its core. At their best they were nothing but trouble, strumming chords of anxiety in every human settlement. And at their worst they were murderers.

  "Who exactly are we waiting for? Do you know?"

  The commander threw what remained of his cigarette to the ground and used the toe of his boot to crush it into the snow. "The second lady of Chara. That's why we landed on this damn planet."

  She clenched her brow. "Isn't she a psion?"

  A transport rounded a corner and approached them from the direction of the capitol. Flags of the UE adorned the sides of it, like all their presidential vehicles. Dark windows obscured their view of the passengers. It hovered over the lot toward them and came to a halt twenty meters away.

  "Yes," Rashad said as the doors of the transport opened. "Yes, she is."

  Nadine Taylor stepped out of the vehicle, and several officers of the Royal Guard followed her with an arsenal of suitcases. She wore a white overcoat to shield her from the wind as she teetered toward them on yellow heels. Her expression conveyed a sense of perfect serenity. Or contempt.

  Nothing about the woman struck him as normal. Her intense make-up enhanced her ghostly pallor, making her look a shade more alive than the snowy earth. She might have been beautiful if she'd lived five hundred years ago during an era that valued appearances more than substance.

  She stopped near Rashad and Carmen while the guardsmen continued onto the ship; they set the bags down in the aft hold before returning to the transport. He clenched his jaw and stared at the ground, where he dug through the snow to the mud below. No one spoke until the three were alone.

  She flipped up her dark sunglasses and handed Rashad a comtab. Her scarlet nails reminded him of daggers dipped in fresh blood. "I'm expected back in Northampton as soon as possible."

  He scrolled through the information. "I'm not heading to Chara. I'm supposed to be on Pisa tomorrow for a pick-up before heading out to the Vega system. This delays it until next week."

  "I didn't make the schedule," Nadine said and combed back an errant hair to the black crown of sleek curls adorning her head.

  "As long as it doesn't conflict with AC time-tables, I'll do what I can." He handed the computer tablet off to Carmen.

  "It's been authorized by the President."

  Rashad watched the transport pull into the aft cargo hold. "My orders come from Admiral McKirin, not your President. The Kearsarge isn't a luxury liner for United Europe. This is the military, and we have more important jobs to do."

  The second lady's breath crystallized in the cold air. "I'm not asking you to like me or be my friend. I only ask that you return me to New England in a timely manner."

  "I want you to know that I have some additional rules regarding the passage of psions aboard my ship." He spit on the ground and rubbed his raw nose. "You're not allowed to have contact with my crew. You do not have free access to the lounge or the mess hall. A security officer will be assigned to you at all times. If there's something you need in a diplomatic capacity, contact my XO and she'll make the necessary arrangements."

  "You don't honestly think this is the first ship I've traveled on with a captain who hates psions. I know the procedure."

  "Good. Because if you give me any reason to suspect you of mental coercion, I'll toss you out an airlock."

  Only part of him meant it, but he hoped the message was clear. Had she been the Chairman's wife, or even the President's, he would've never gotten away with talking down to her—psion or not. But Vice President Bryan Taylor had yet to earn the respect of the majority. His unrelenting defense of psions made him a traitor in the eyes of many. In United Europe they might view psions with a don't-ask-don't-tell policy, but the American Federation granted them no rights. Some people hunted them for sport with the full blessing of their government to do so. Even though genocide was wrong, he sympathized with their cause.

  Despite the fact both coalitions had united and forged the Allied Confederacy, the chasm in political and ethical values between the two groups hadn't budged.

  She bowed her head to him. "I assure you I'll cause no problems aboard your ship. You have my word."

  "Then let's go," Rashad said as he gestured inside.

  "We're not done here. The other transport will be along shortly."

  "Who?" Carmen asked.

  "Two ambassadors and the defense minister," Nadine answered.

  He sighed. "I'll wait here for them. Please escort our guest to her quarters."

  Eager to get out of the cold, Carmen gestured Nadine inside the ship. The second lady picked up one of the suitcases and headed into the Kearsarge. His XO offered him a comforting smile and squeezed his shoulder. A wave of affection passed over him as he watched her strut away.

  Rashad lit another cigarette to clear his head. He didn't enjoy the brisk weather either, but he loathed the thought of dealing with a psion even more. She would always be there in the back of his mind like the constant chirping of an annoying cricket. He'd be unable to relax until she left. And since they'd be heading to Vega soon, she'd be aboard far too long for comfort.

  Chapter Three

  Aliane stood beside Zingeri on the balcony of their multi-story house and gazed at the celestial orbs in the distance. Culpa, their red parent star, lingered in the same place it had for the past century on the eastern horizon—the only fixture in the sky that never moved. Abyssa and Emptor twinkled like diamonds while a dim brown dwarf set over the northwest horizon. In her voyages throughout Astra, no view of the heavens had been stranger than the one provided here.

  She often wondered what the Americans had been thinking when they decided to set out for the unusual quaternary star system of Mu Herculis with its two pairs of binary stars. None of the planets were remotely Earth-like, and the ones that were habitable could not support a metropolis. Superbia itself was tidally locked. The side of the planet facing Culpa averaged 250 Celsius, while the side of Superbia that never saw the sun reached temperatures of –100 Celsius. A narrow habitable area bordered the two, and only one such location had access to liquid water; there, psions carved out a meaningful existence for themselves.

  "I don't know, Ali. Why did you pick a hellhole like this as the home of the psions?"

  She blinked at him several times in annoyance. "Me? I don't recall us having much of a choice at the time. Would you prefer if we'd taken over an inhabited planet and brought the wrath of the Allied Confederacy upon us? This isn't the end of our budding kingdom, Z; it's only the beginning."

  All her plans lied deep in the thorny thicket of her mind. Through snippets of passing thoughts, he tried to wrest the schemes brewing inside. As her confidante, they read each other's thoughts and memories like they were their own. Their brains had grown together and become interconnected. In doing so her power had grown considerably, yet it left her vulnerable. She could never block him out—only mislead him.

  "Besides, I liked the name. Superbia…sounds about right for all of us, doesn't it?
I mean, we have evolved beyond the rest of our pedantic race."

  Zingeri's hazel eyes returned to the horizon. "They don't see it that way."

  "Of course they don't! They think they've killed most of us. One day…all of that is going to change. We won't have to run and hide anymore. We'll be respected—"

  "Don't you mean feared?"

  She cursed under her breath. "We already are. We have been since the Great Holocaust." She somberly stared down at the floor and kicked the railing. She'd been there.

  How easy for the fool to forget an event that occurred over 200 years ago, she thought. January 22nd, 2080. Year of the Metal Rat. It happened a few days after her 32nd birthday. A jet carrying a powerful biochemical weapon had been shot down over Tehran. Pure horror ensued. The destruction of the plane scattered the noxious compound across most of Iran, killing all of the inhabitants on contact. Having not sufficiently tested the chemical weapon's properties, no one anticipated the fallout would combine with water and be carried around the globe on the wind, in the clouds, and as the rain. 75 percent of the world's population died in agony from this secondary effect. Panic and mass chaos gripped the world, leaving orphaned children and decimating entire families.

  As a result of the Great Holocaust, the Earth became virtually uninhabitable. Years prior, the nations of Earth had splintered into three major factions: the PAU, AF, and UE. In order to avoid extinction, they tenuously shared technology and searched for new planets to call home.

  For Aliane it had been the end of her old life and the beginning of a new one. She found herself amongst the lucky few to survive the Great Holocaust and chosen to leave Earth with her father. But the toxin changed something inside her. People's thoughts permeated her mind with ease, and swaying them to do her bidding took little conscious effort. It almost drove her mad until she learned to manage her newfound abilities.

  She wasn't the only one. A small fraction of survivors could use more of their brain than ever before. Most formed elaborate neuropathways that granted them telepathy. Many had a degree of conscious control over involuntary biological functions, able to slow aging and fight off cancers. Still others possessed telekinesis or could see the future. These people collectively became known as psions.