Opening Moves

by James Traynor

  * * * * * * *

  Having twelve square meters all to oneself was a blessing. Having twenty was the true definition of luxury aboard a warship, Commander Ranaissa thought as the intercom chimed to let her into Beaufort's quarters. Warships, long-endurance cruisers especially, conserved space wherever they could for stores, reaction mass and spares. Officers below the rank of commander shared their cabins with another crew member of equivalent rank. Noncoms were bunked as quartets. And enlisted really didn't have any personal space to speak of.

  As such Therese Ranaissa had become consciously aware of the little privileges she and the Captain enjoyed.

  A thick, soft carpet covered parts of the floor, and physical copies of books occupied a small shelf behind Beaufort's desk, right next to a changing vista that showed the confluence of the Saint Lawrence and Ottawa Rivers throughout a year from an elevated point in his home town of Montreal.

  Beaufort nodded curtly as she entered and produced two glasses and a vintage looking bottle of cognac, filling them both as wide as a finger.

  She took a seat opposite his desk and raised both eyebrows. “That bad, skipper? What is it? It can't be war,” despite herself she sounded anxious. “You wouldn't keep the crew waiting if that was the case. So, how bad is it?”

  Beaufort pushed a glass towards her and raised his in a silent cheer. He took a small sip from his and sighed, the honey-colored liquid burning down his throat and seemingly relaxing the captain.

  “Not really bad, in the true sense of the word,” he breathed. “More like complicated, Therese. And ironically that is because someone back home finally beat some sense into the politicians,” he chuckled wryly. “But that's about the only good news the message holds for us.” He stared into his glass for a moment.

  “Sir?”

  “In a surprise showing of common sense, both our elected government and the leadership of the Pacific Rim Alliance have decided to bury the hatchet for the time being and try and do something decent.” He punched a few keys on his personal console and a holographic map of known space blinked into existence. “We're behind the curve with regards to the war between the Dominion and, well, whoever they've chosen to attack now. So we don't know the actual frontlines as they exist now. Still, there's the world of Tanith, located here at a junction between some of the Pact powers.” A star magnified and pulsed red. “Independent star system, trade hub, El Dorado for those who haven't made it back home or who just want to start a new. The planet has a sizable expat community, and a quick scan of our databases suggests there's at least something approaching a consulate there. Anyway,” he shook himself. “The point is, as things stand now it's barely eighty light-years away from the fighting, and as a precaution every human who wants to leave and is a Union, PRA or EMC citizen will be given a lift.”

  “Oh, I see where that's going,” Ranaissa muttered darkly, then blushed and took a quick sip when she realized she had spoken aloud.

  “I suppose you do,” Beaufort gave her an almost cheerful smile before his face turned serious again. “We're to return to Orion Station and meet up with an Alliance destroyer and a passenger liner the Euros have chartered. From there we're to proceed directly to Tanith, evacuate the civvies and return to Van Halen's Star.”

  “A multinational effort?” Ranaissa frowned. “Can't remember the last time we had one of these.”

  “Neither can I. That's why this is so... complicated.” He took another sip and gathered his thoughts for a few seconds. “Who's effectively in command? Should it be necessary to fight, do we integrate either of the other ships into BattleCom? What about humans on Tanith who aren't citizens of any of our three nations? What about other aliens who want to flee? What are the rules of engagement? And what about Tanith itself? Has anybody bothered to tell them three warships are coming their way? They are a sovereign nation after all!” He sighed.

  “I guess that means we won't be home for Christmas after all,” she said quietly.

  Beaufort gave her a sympathetic look. “I'm sorry, Therese. I know you were looking forward to celebrating with your kids.”

  Ranaissa slowly shook her head and muttered. “Well, I suppose it can't be helped. Best be about it,” she gulped down the rest of the cognac. “I'll get us back to Orion Station asap.”

  “I know you will, Therese,” he nodded gratefully. “Dismissed.”

  Tanith, Independent Star System, Pact of Ten Suns.

  Late August 2797 C.E.

  Sunlight glittered off white wisps of clouds that raced across the lilac plains of Tanith as the planet's main continent was greeted from the light of day by its own rotation and one after another the tens of thousands of small light bulbs, each of them a city, went out. After the near constant danger and fear Tarek and his crew had lived under for the past two months, the colorful globe beneath them was a beacon of stability and much needed respite.

  An important trade hub located at the junction between three far larger nations, the planet of Tanith, and the star system of the same name, were bee hives of commercial activity, especially nowadays with the nearby war raging on. Local space around the dozen large dockyards and orbital transfer stations, as well as the dozens of smaller orbital warehouses, was extremely busy, with hundreds of large freighters and passenger liners and thousands of smaller craft joined in a constant coming and going. The war had rapidly changed the types of goods primarily being shipped to and from Tanith. Consumer goods and wealthy cruise line passengers had been replaced by medical supplies, military items and supplies. Warships of all classes, ages and backgrounds were being bought by the Érenni consulate, using vast sums of the greatly devalued Republican Credit as long as there still was a currency of that name. The orbitals and the cities around the prominent space ports were crawling with mercenaries, too, looking to make a quick buck from the Érenni misfortune.

  A lot of these ships brought refugees from Republican space. Most of those people only owned what they wore on their bodies. Too fast and crushing had been the Dominion's advance into Érenni space for most of them to organize their escape, and they had been willing to pay any price to flee the slaughter.

  And yet, compared to what the crew of the MAIDEN had been through, this was as close to normal as it got. The frontline was far away, money was to be made, and they had found a spot of their own to breathe and go about their business again.

  Still, there were people who apparently believed this to be nothing but the quiet before the storm. The local System Defense Force, mostly patrol ships and light warships purchased from their neighbors, was kept busy regulating the traffic, but lurking around the system were some far larger and more formidable warships.

  The MAIDEN's sensors had spotted warships squawking official IFF codes of at least four different races. By far the largest contingent hailed from the Komerco Timocracry, twenty cruisers in the typical angled modular design, all white with sharp black lines designating the different modules. They were led by a single battle cruiser that looked simply like a bigger version of the cruisers, but Tarek could be mistaken there. The MAIDEN's commercial sensors neither had the sophistication to look beneath the hull nor access to military databases. The more imposing sight, however, was the singular Imperial dreadnought that slowly circled the planet at an orbit of almost one hundred thousand kilometers. Superficially, the Rasenni warship shared some eerie similarities with that of human warships of its class. The form of the hull and the visible layout were almost identical, but the Imperial ship was slightly larger, its lines were more elegant and smooth, its sensor towers shorter – and it was painted in a bright red, with its name and serial number written across its hull in golden letters higher than a two storied house. It outmassed the Komerco battle cruiser by a factor of 2.5.

  Tarek didn't believe the dreadnought would win in a hypothetical fight with the Komerco squadron, but its punch and slightly superior technology would make sure that at the end of that fight nothing worthy of being called a squadron would be left
.

  But, the proximity of all these warships belonging to powers the Ashani weren't at war with and, if they were smart, didn't want to go to war with, gave the captain of the IRON MAIDEN a sense of security he hadn't felt for a long time. He leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on his console, feeling the fatigue of long weeks of narrowly escaping death creep up on him. He'd welcome the sleep once it came.

  “I've got someone from the spacers' guild on the comm, boss,” Llyr spoke up, his voice a gravelly rumble.

  Tarek yawned and blinked his eyes to keep them from falling shut. “Put 'im on speakers.”

  Their Tuathaan translator gave him the thumbs up.

  A second later the strangely vibrating voice of a native of Tanith echoed through the ship's crammed bridge.

  “This is the Tanith Space Guild ops center,” a voice almost as dark as Llyr's stated. “Glad to have you here with us. At this time we cannot approve your request for an extended stay in our orbital dockyards.”

  Alexej cursed silently. The sentiment was reflected on the others' faces.

  “It's not a matter of the parts your engineer specified you would need. We can get those for you, if you want. However, as you can see we're handling a lot more traffic than usual and are booked for months in advance, which means we cannot service you directly.” The operator sounded pleased. His guild was probably raking in the dough of a lifetime. “There is, however, an alternative the Guild can offer you.”

  That got Tarek's attention. “Ops center, this is the captain of the IRON MAIDEN. Please elaborate.”

  “Gladly.” It sounded like the purr of a very pleased cat. “The Guild can lease you a pair of autonomous industrial maintenance and repair bots. They're programmed with a wide variety of service tools and can analyze and repair most common damage on their own. It won't replace a full stint in our docks, but it should fix your most grievous concerns.”

  Tarek looked around the bridge and met expectant faces. “Alexej?”

  The huge pilot shrugged. “Better than nothing. It's a small miracle she held out as long as she did. As beat up as she is, a small fix is better than no fix any day.”

  “How much, Ops?”

  “Twenty thousand per day...”

  Rául cursed and even Annie stiffened.

  “...per bot.”

  “You've got to be kidding me!” Tarek blurted out, the fatigue he felt having seriously shortened his fuse. “For forty thousand creds I can probably buy a used one!”

  The man on the other end of the line was unfazed by Tarek's outburst. “Given that it'd have to be registered with the Guild to be permitted to operate in this system I'd say that's rather unlikely. You may try to find one, but I wouldn't waste my time if I were you. The moment we analyzed the trend of shipping and the most likely needs arising from it the Guild bought all repair bots and drones in the system. So, it's your choice: take it or leave it.”

  Tarek was sure that the picture of the Guild's 'Most smug employee of the month' showed the other man's face. Worst of all, they didn't have much of a choice. The MAIDEN needed repairs, badly. She wouldn't make it back into the fold and back home if they didn't get her fixed again. “Deal,” he snapped. “But we want a free load of reaction mass with those bots.”

  There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. “Fine, you'll get it. I've scheduled an orbital tanker to rendezvous with you. Dispatching drones now. Have a nice day.”

  The connection shut down and Tarek sighed and rubbed his eyes. “All right, ladies and gents, I hereby order you all to get a good night of sleep before we do anything else. You all need it, and more importantly, you all deserve it.”

  “I don't know, “ Rául said hesitantly, “but shouldn't we start working as soon as these bots are here? They do cost an awful amount of money, you know.”

  “Wiring up the power grid is a complicated job,” Tarek said calmly. “I'd rather have Alexej and Annie well rested before they tackle it, bots or not. Anyway, after all we've been through I doubt another forty thousand creds are going to break our backs. We'll need to buy the parts for the repairs first, and something tells me we won't be getting the best deal if we do this through the Guild.”

  “Sure it'll be the best deal. For the Guild, that is,” Llyr remarked jovially. According to the Tuathaan, the closest thing to the Guild was the Mob, if the Mob had business cards and functioned as a mix between a cartel and a labor union.

  Tarek ran a hand through his curly hair and yawned. “If you say so. Any recommendations regarding where to buy parts?”

  “I've never actually been to Tanith before, but in light of the situation I'd say we'll be better off if we ignore the orbitals. With that much traffic coming through here, especially from the war zones, their stocks'll either be depleted or seriously overpriced,” Llyr mused.

  “Bloody vultures,” Rául muttered sourly.

  “A few months ago we'd easily have made the same deals,” Annie calmly pointed out. She had a knack for cutting right to the truth.

  Their navigator opened his mouth for an angry retort but Tarek talked right over him. He was tired, he was starting to feel the first tendrils of a headache and he was in absolutely no mood to witness one of the frequent arguments Rául was so talented in starting. “You think we'll be luckier down on the ground?”

  The Tuathaan shrugged. “Simple logic dictates that there'll be dealerships down there, as well as scrapyards we could easily find salvageable parts from. We might have to travel around a bit, but since we're not in a hurry the lower prices to be found planet side should offset the running costs of these bots,” he grinned. “And I'd be glad to stretch my legs.”

  “Short as they are,” Alexej chuckled.”

  “All right, that's settled. Now off to yer bunks!”

  Feet shuffled as the MAIDEN's crew left the bridge and made their way to their quarters. Very slowly. Even Rául, despite his earlier comments, barely kept his eyes open. Tarek nearly stumbled into his small cabin littered with memorabilia and photos pinned to the walls before he collapsed on his bunk. With a grunt he pulled a sheet over him before a dreamless sleep finally overwhelmed him.

  * * * * * * *

  “Tanash Kutur Spaceport, this is shuttle IM-001 requesting permission to land,” Llyr spoke surprisingly softly into his headset as the delta-winged small craft descended through thin layers of clouds and raced high above the rolling lilac plains of Tanith's main continent. Deep below the waters of wide rivers and the shores of oceans glistened in the sunlight.

  “IM-001, this is TK port authority, you are cleared for landing in box alpha alpha two six fiver. Welcome to Tanith.”

  Tanash Kutur, meaning 'red jewel on hillside' in the originally dominant language on Tanith, soon came into view as the MAIDEN's parasite craft decelerated from hypersonic flight. A vast metropolis with spiraling round towers at its center and endless refineries and factory complexes on the outskirts it had barely any features that distinguished it from a hundred other towns on just as many planets. Brightly colored rectangular spots were strewn across the city, and there was a strange lack of green – or, in this case, lilac – inside the city's boundaries.

  “Rául, we're going to land in a few minutes. I want you to keep manning the MAIDEN's bridge. Keep an eye on the sensors and on the comm chatter. Call me paranoid, but after Senfina and Akvô I'm in no mood to be surprised again. Remember, that leaves you in charge of the ship! You think you can handle it?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Rául answered. “You can trust me, skipper.”

  “Good. Take it easy, champ. Alexej, Annie?”

  “We're listening,” Annie said.

  “You keep an eye on those bots. Call me when you've got any news regarding the spares we need.”

  The Guild's two repair bots had arrived a few hours after the crew had come out of their beds again, yawning for coffee and breakfast. Tarek quickly had had to revise his initial position on the costs of those things. Each was a cube as
large as a two story house, a central frame from which a multitude of sub-units could be detached to lift, weld, enter narrow spaces, rearrange and repair damage. Each also came with a full diagnostics suite. With their help the MAIDEN probably still wouldn't be as good as new, but capable as those systems were, they sure would be able to get her space-worthy again soon.

  “Roger that, boss. Enjoy your stay.”

  Tanash Kutur's spaceport spread out over several dozen square kilometers and was as crowded, if not even more so, as the orbitals, with untold numbers of small craft circling above in waiting patterns.

  “How did you get us a hangar in that crowd?” Tarek wondered.

  “Turns out the controller's a Tuathaan expat from my clan,” Llyr chuckled. “Luck. Sometimes it's just good, old fashioned luck.”

  The battered and well used shuttle descended farther down, decelerating with controlled bursts of its maneuvering thrusters until the ports' automated docking controls took over. It was a basic Alcarro-Northrop design capable of hauling passengers or a few tons of cargo if need be. Usually the IRON MAIDEN collected cargo directly from the orbitals, either by stowing them inside or by taking on additional modules suited for the job at hand. As such they normally had no need to go and pick up cargo from the surface.

  They landed in their assigned hangar bay and left the shuttle once the heat buildup from their engines had dissipated. A transparent roof slid shut over them and they made their way through customs. The locals of Tanith were smaller than the average human, and more slender, with thick eyebrows and low, protruding jaw bones giving them a squat appearance despite their slender frames. A single customs' officer stood in a booth next to a scanner and pointed wordlessly at a touch screen.

  Tarek leaned closer and tried for a moment to make sense of the wildly different scripts displayed on it. It was a language menu. Using the scroll bar on the right side – some user interfaces just were universal – he sifted through the list until he found the entry for Interlingo and activated it with a push.