Outriders

by Ian Blackport

  “More than you can ever know. I had neighbors who simply didn’t come home one day and were never heard from again. Schoolmates who dropped out of school when their families were threatened or who were arrested on charges of attempted murder. Twelve year olds coerced into killing someone and then botching the job. And no one in a position of authority gave a shit about us. They didn’t want to risk angering the powerful cartels.”

  She chewed on her lip to suppress a flash of anger. “Things changed one summer day when I was sixteen. A promising municipal politician was touring our squalid slums, vowing to reduce unemployment and end the stranglehold those cartels held Ealadha in. For the first time in my life I felt a sense of optimism pervading the neighborhood. A sense that someone might want to help us after all.”

  “I can see where this is going,” said Evan.

  “The politician was murdered during one of his speeches, held on the same spot where a little girl had mistakenly died during a shooting only one week earlier. His death ruined all hope for a brighter future, and showed politicians our area was beyond saving. The cartels must’ve felt pretty smug at their handiwork. But the killing had an entirely unexpected outcome those thugs didn’t anticipate. Worldwide press covered the story, detailing the unpleasant truth happening on what was supposed to be a prosperous and safe planet. We were far from the only community where this happened, but we became the catalyst and public face of corruption and mismanagement. Elatha’s federal government finally took notice and dispatched a team of operatives from the Security and Intelligence Service. They were given one mandate: suppress crime in Ealadha.

  “These weren’t coddled police officers fueling their habits with dirty money. The SIS agents were carefully vetted, incorruptible veterans. They were also ruthless on a scale far beyond even the cartels and given carte blanche for achieving their objective. Criminals who showed the slightest inclination to resist were assassinated in their homes or brutally interrogated for information. Entire gangs were found dead on the street or in warehouses. People who practically governed our neighborhood found themselves being hunted, never knowing where an agent might strike next. The few who were willing to surrender disappeared forever, though only after revealing all they knew. The SIS team started at the bottom with enforcers and dealers, and wiped out each successive level until the wealthiest bosses were running scared. But they were found and punished, too. No one who preyed on innocent civilians was safe, and that included those in uniform. Corrupt police no longer had protection and added to the list of casualties in this war on crime.”

  Tessa permitted herself a thinly veiled smirk at the recollection. “The calculated, sheer cold-bloodedness of the entire operation petrified anyone who might have considered filling the power vacuum. SIS made a clear statement to us during that month: those who terrorized the population would be shown no mercy. And aside from petty offenses like theft or vandalism, Ealadha and most surrounding communities went without major crimes for years. No criminal dared attempt to gain a foothold, because no one knew if any operatives remained in place to watch.

  “I’d never been happier in my life. For the first time I was able to walk the streets alone without fear of attack. For the first time we didn’t need to bar our windows and doors at night before going to sleep. We could live in peace, and it was all thanks to a force of SIS agents. Anonymous heroes who would never be publicly honored, who’d never receive commendations or stand before an adoring crowd. And I desperately wanted to be one of them. To protect people who couldn’t defend themselves and make our world a brighter place. I wanted to serve with an agency that only concerned itself with results. No bureaucracy, no red tape or interference. Only the freedom to do our job. That was the life for me. One where I could make sure no child endured the trauma and loss I did. Where no one has to grow up in fear, always wondering if each day might be their last.”

  “That’s a…hell of a story,” admitted Reyes. “Has the choice been worthwhile?”

  “In my first year I was assigned to eliminate a man who’d taken hostages aboard a passenger liner. Negotiators tried reasoning with him for hours before my arrival, but only served to provoke him into executing two people. When I boarded the starship I slipped through a maintenance area and killed him with a single shot to the back of his skull. He was moments away from murdering another hostage. Seven people returned home to their families because SIS operatives don’t hesitate. In the years since, I’ve saved more lives than I could ever count. Some of the actions I’ve taken have left me sickened and anyone who believes in the concept of souls would consider mine blackened, but every choice has served the greater good. I’ll gladly face condemnation for the sake of safeguarding the innocent. Now I have the chance to help end a war engulfing an entire star system. So yes, my life has been worthwhile.”

  Alexis slurped a mouthful from her spoon and wiped her chin. “No wonder you hated us degenerate smugglers at first. Somewhere deep in your mind we must’ve reminded you of a childhood you escaped long ago.”

  “I wasn’t pleased with our strategy to use delinquents,” Tessa admitted, “and I saw no reason to hide my distaste of the assignment from you. Though I’ve come to see you’re nothing like the unconscionable brutes I lived in fear of when I was younger. Even felons can have a code of conduct and morality, despite their otherwise warped sense of justice.”

  “In a different life, one where we aren’t allies trying to stop an unjust war, how would you have looked at us? What would you have done?”

  She gave a predatory smile tinged with only a hint of humor. “Depends on my orders.”

  Taylor clenched rigid fingers around his spoon handle, casting a sidelong glower at their guests. “What are you hoping to accomplish here?”

  “Beg pardon, Captain?” asked Harun.

  “All the questions, the schmoozing, the cheerful comments and pretending we’re one big happy crew. You got a compelling reason for doing this?”

  Tessa tightened her jaw and let the spoon in her hand clatter into the bowl. “And the hypocrite makes another appearance.”

  “I thought this was what you wanted,” Harun said. “More pleasantries and genuine attempts at getting along with one another.”

  “Don’t recall ever asking you to join us for a sit down bonding session,” countered Taylor. “In fact, the only stipulation I’ve made since leaving Elatha was for the both of you to vacate my ship. I don’t want goddamn camaraderie or gossip sessions with those who hijacked our freighter. I want to be free of them and return to flying without an intrusive government watching over my shoulder.”

  Taylor planted one arm on the table and leaned forward. “Did you think asking a couple personal questions would make us all forget you forced us into your war? That you’ve commandeered our ship for your own purpose and placed all our lives at risk? Were you expecting heartfelt forgiveness, maybe a rendition of some old-timey campfire song?”

  “I hoped for understanding between two factions that don’t need to be adversaries.”

  “You are an unwanted intruder on my freighter, and no half-assed, transparent attempt at friendship is going to change that.” Taylor stood, clutched the half-finished bowl and mug in his hands, and turned to leave. “This trip was more tolerable when you took meals in the passenger quarters.”

  Tessa watched him depart and retrieved her own food. “Not difficult to see when we aren’t wanted.”

  “You don’t need to leave,” Alexis affirmed. “You’re welcome to stay here and eat with us.”

  “We decided to reach out and make a gesture of goodwill toward this crew. But obviously that was a mistake. I’ll go back to staying in my own room and avoiding contact whenever possible.”

  Harun waited for Tessa to exit the galley and offered a frail smile. “It was worth the effort, at least.”

  Connor slumped in his seat once Harun vacated the galley and idly poked at porridge. “That could’ve gone better.”

  “What did you
expect?” questioned Kyla. “Those shifty operatives are oppressors, and this freighter is their occupied territory.”

  “Still no cause to be so spiteful toward them. They’re following orders same as us, and doing everything for the sake of their home. We don’t have to hate them.”

  “Doesn’t mean we have no reason to. Truth be told, I thought the captain would’ve shot the both of them by now, rather than act honor-bound in obeying this arrangement. Taylor’s let them off easy if you ask me.”

  “And made himself out to be stubborn, uncompromising and unreasonable all at once,” muttered Rinko.

  Evan raised his drink in one hand. “Cheers to being consistent at least.”

  Chapter 15

  Captain Genevieve Letourneau hunched over a status screen depicting Tuatha and neighboring systems alongside her executive officer, Lieutenant Noam Yacoby. Courtesy of the Confederacy’s intelligence operatives on Elatha and Delbaeth, along with the scant reconnaissance her task force was capable of performing, she scrolled through information detailing the Tuathan War. Much of the data was conjecture, based on logistic needs, presumed military strategy and known personnel and starship deployment, though other reports were verified by media broadcasts, first-hand witness accounts or classified government documents accessed by Confederacy agents. Whether corroborated or speculated, the information revealed a tangled, broadening conflict between the two planets.

  “From what we can tell,” Noam said, “a Delbaethi fleet struck at Elatha’s construction facilities in the Cethlenn system. The assault was repelled, but with a cost we haven’t been able to determine yet. Several cruisers and corvettes nearing completion were destroyed during the offensive. The setback will hamper the Elathan war effort in the coming months. Though the balance was redressed when Elathan warships bombarded a Delbaethi armaments factory in the Aes Sidhe system.”

  Genevieve pointed to Tuirill, one of two moons orbiting Delbaeth. “Do we know what happened to the Elathan division that landed and attempted to disable the communications facility here?”

  “The fighting hasn’t ended yet. Elathan forces control these buildings, while the rest remain in Delbaethi hands. We’ve detected hostilities in the Tuirill city of Fiacha, but we haven’t determined if the action is a separate attack or part of the same operation. Casualties are high among civilians though.”

  “For all our technological achievements and intellectual enlightenment, nothing ever changes.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “The Confederacy needs sharper teeth to deal with these internecine bushfires.”

  The lieutenant wore a befuddled expression. “Ma’am?”

  “We should have the authorization to intervene during conflict on non-aligned worlds. Elatha and Delbaeth are targeting population centers and deliberately striking at civilians. How can we congratulate ourselves for the peace and stability we’ve created if we abandon the innocent victims suffering and dying beyond our borders?”

  “Many independent systems already believe the Confederacy is a tyrannical and controlling regime. I hesitate to think how they might view us if we invaded their territory and enforced our will.”

  “I have no interest in dealing with the political fallout,” Genevieve asserted. “I only want enough warships to force a ceasefire. Let the parliamentarians bicker afterward. Once we’ve ended a war and saved untold lives.” She withdrew from the terminal and straightened her naval uniform with gloved hands. “Forgive me, Lieutenant. I’m merely thinking out loud.”

  “No forgiveness necessary, ma’am. I happen to agree with you.”

  “Keep monitoring the situation and inform me if either belligerent launches a new offensive.”

  Noam offered a salute and returned to their reports. “Yes, Captain.”

  Genevieve departed their tactical station and crossed the bridge, catching a glimpse of the gas giant Ollathair through one starboard viewport. Her route led to the communication officers, who straightened in their chairs when she approached.

  “At this point I imagine my voice has become repetitive,” Genevieve affirmed. “Have there been any communications for us on unencrypted channels?”

  “No, ma’am. The Tuathan governments have made no attempts to contact us.”

  “What about from beyond this star system?”

  “Nothing but standard InCore traffic.” He scratched his brow and looked up at her with an expression of vague guilt. “Permission to speak freely, ma’am?”

  Genevieve nodded, though refrained from relaxing her posture. “Granted.”

  “How long are we supposed to wait for a response that might never come?”

  “Our original mission parameters instructed us to remain here for three months. The decision to abort early or extend our objectives another month will be transmitted via encoded directives through our naval network.”

  “So if nothing happens after three months they’ll likely order us to stay put and try again.”

  “A plausible enough scenario.”

  “I felt more useful hunting pirates and smugglers.”

  Genevieve permitted herself a sigh. “You and me both. I’ll tell you what. If our mission is lengthened beyond three months, we’ll host a poker tournament onboard the Constellation for our entire task force. No rank decorum permitted either.”

  “I like the way you think, ma’am.”

  Their Sensor Chief turned away from her station and faced Genevieve with one hand raised. “Captain? I’m reading a heat signature thirty-six degrees to port at a distance of two hundred thousand kilometers.”

  Genevieve departed the communications terminal and strode to an opposite console. “Class?”

  “Sensors are achieving a profile. Emissions are consistent with a single-seat starship or personal yacht. No transponder is active, but the profile registers as a Basilisk-class starfighter, the primary frontline interceptor for the Delbaethi Navy.”

  “Is the pilot aware of our presence?”

  “Its bow is oriented toward our task force and the starfighter’s sensor suite is online. They know we’re here.”

  “Are we receiving any transmissions?”

  “We’re receiving across all spectrums and frequencies, Captain,” responded the Communications Technician. “But the Basilisk isn’t hailing us.”

  “Re-broadcast our recorded message offering mediation in the conflict,” ordered Genevieve. “Along with a communication identifying ourselves and requesting the starfighter’s intentions.”

  “At once, ma’am.”

  Captain Letourneau clasped hands behind her back and stared through windows flanking the bridge. Though the small starfighter was far beyond her own sight, a reconstructed digital image was displayed on one tempered glass viewport, identifying its capabilities and dimensions.

  She faced the Sensor Chief. “Still no other heat signatures?”

  “None within our range, ma’am.”

  “This makes no sense,” Genevieve whispered.

  Lieutenant Yacoby stood beside her, eyeing the blackness of space with a furrowed brow. “What are you thinking, Captain?”

  “Navies don’t send a frontline starfighter to conduct reconnaissance.”

  “Their scout ships are likely occupied on surveillance missions against Elatha. A curiosity orbiting Ollathair doesn’t warrant a trained recon pilot.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded. “But that isn’t what troubles me. The pilot is making no efforts to hide their presence. Basilisks have no stealth capabilities and don’t store their heat buildup or possess systems that produce undetectable emissions. A fighter like that might as well be a star against the backdrop of cold space.”

  “You believe they want us to know their spacecraft is here?”

  “We couldn’t possibly miss its arrival.”

  “Ma’am, no transmissions from the Basilisk,” announced their Communications Technician. “All channels remain silent.”

  “This feels wrong,” Genevieve as
serted.

  Noam looked at her from beneath his peaked cap. “Your course of action, Captain?”

  “Sound general quarters.”

  “Sound general quarters!” he announced. “All hands to your battle stations.”

  An alarm echoed through the bridge, accompanied by an automated recording directing all crewmembers to prepare for action.

  “Shall I bring weapons online?” inquired the Gunnery Officer.

  “No, keep all weapons and offensive systems disabled,” commanded Genevieve.

  “Protocol states that we—”

  “I don’t care what protocol instructs us to do. We’re here to help stop a war. Brandishing our weaponry won’t achieve that objective, and might even make the prospects more unlikely. All weapons are to remain deactivated until I say otherwise, though keep defensive systems in place and bring kinetic buffers online. Flight Control, have our starfighters remain on standby. Relay my instructions to Ardent and Nightwatch.”

  “Transmitting, ma’am.”

  “Sensors, inform me of any changes to the Basilisk. I want to know if the pilot coughs or alters the cockpit temperature.” Genevieve tilted her head sideward, keeping the viewport in her peripheral vision. “Gunnery, what’s the extreme firing range for a Basilisk’s ionic torpedo, allowing for accuracy within an acceptable margin?”

  “Fifty thousand kilometers, ma’am.”

  “Prime anti-missile countermeasures if the starship draws within that threshold.”

  “Are you anticipating conflict, Captain?” questioned Lieutenant Yacoby.

  “I’m anticipating everything,” she responded. “Including conflict. I only wish our terms of engagement weren’t so restrictive. On the off chance they’re coordinating an ambush against us.”

  “Target’s engines are coming online and the vessel is altering course on an outbound trajectory,” affirmed the Sensor Chief. “Vector and emissions composition suggest faster-than-light travel is imminent.”

  “Communications, end our broadcasts,” Genevieve ordered. “We aren’t getting a reply.”