The Stars Came Back

by Rolf Nelson

  Helton: (Into mic) Stenson, I don’t see any failure lights; how’s it look there?

  Stenson: (OC) I… I don’t think we broke anything major, but Hindu’s hamburgers we’ve got a lot of checking to do before I’ll swear to ANYTHING.

  Helton: Then before we find out we can’t, let’s get the hell out of here. I’m pretty sure they might be just a little bit annoyed that we trashed four of their shiny new interceptors. Nice and easy, just fast enough for us to leave before they can launch anything at us.

  Cooper: Aye-aye!

  Lag: And we deleted at least one prince from their roster. That may not go over well.

  Helton: So… how much do you think your buyer of interceptor information might pay for a mostly whole if slightly used ship?

  Lag: If we did just snag one, that’s going to be an interesting negotiation. Could be complicated; information can be hard to trace, entire late-model ships are bit harder to sterilize. But let’s get out of here before we count any profits, shall we?

  CUT TO

  INT - DAY - Bridge of HMS Hussein

  The main screen shows a cockpit camera view of the last interceptor’s pilot, Walid, along with various critical systems readouts. The readouts are fluctuating wildly. Prince Walid looks desperately this way and that at the controls of his ship, flicking switches, making changes, trying to find something that will get him out of his predicament. He is being crushed back into his seat, then shaken violently. He screams incoherently, a scream of pain and terror that echoes around the bridge. The camera view goes blank, and the critical systems displays all flat line, then read NO DATA, like three others beside it. The commander of the HMS Hussein is shocked, and the whole bridge looks at the screens in mute fear, wondering what happened, how imminent victory became destruction. Silence falls.

  On the nearly blank main screen transponder data flickers on in the lower right.

  Name: Irony

  Class: Nightmare

  Registered: Nowhere is home

  An image appears on the main screen, a woman standing alone on the small command platform of a large starship’s bridge. Mature, medium skin, sharp features, lean and beautiful and dangerous-looking, with a scarred face and a black patch with a red Possenti Cross over her left eye. Her other eye is a vivid green. She wears a simple dark blue uniform with a few red, white, and gold accents, faintly reminiscent of an 18th century Navy, and very serviceable-looking polished dark gray medievalesque armor with a few gilt highlights, mostly on her left side. A sword at her left side, pistol on the right. Dense dark and silver hair is pulled to one side of her head and down her neck into a thick, short braid. She could be Lag and Harbin’s half sister, the one with a sense of style. She has a very intense expression, looking every inch a tough, veteran warlord, a woman who made it big in a man’s field, one you would not want to mess with. She leans forward, as if to address them up close and personally. The view slowly zooms in on her.

  Ship AI Avatar: (Coldly, quietly, deliberately) I don’t like people who try to hurt my children. I despise incompetent commanders that get their men killed needlessly, because of a family name. Go tell their parents the princelings died, terrified and screaming without a shot fired, in the best ships you have. Under your orders. Remember my face; I will remember yours for a very long time. Next time, it won’t be just your interceptors I embrace.

  The screen goes blank. A final image of the dying pilot appears on every screen, fear and pain stark on his would-be handsome features. The memory of his scream is made sharp in everyone’s mind.

  The Captain of the Hussein looks both angry and afraid, then comes back suddenly to life, in a rage, and at his first words, everyone on the bridge scrambles to look very busy and not meet the captains eyes.

  Captain of HMS Hussein: GET THAT PICTURE OFF THE SCREEN! GET ME HER NAME! FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENED THIS INSTANT! I WANT THEM HUNTED DOWN!

  FADE TO BLACK

  Farm

  FADE IN

  INT - DAY - Officer’s mess

  Helton, Lag, Harbin, Allonia, Bipasha, Kaushik, Kaminski, Sar, Stenson, and Quinn sit at the table, having dinner. Sandwiches and finger food. They all look tired and drained.

  Helton: I think canceling R&R on Geminorum and having the parts shipped to us would be the more discreet choice.

  Lag: (Ironically) Now you’re worried about discreet?

  Helton: I don’t do subtle very well, but it seems wisest to not stay in the same system right now.

  Harbin: True. Virtually nothing but a small moon for a million kilometers, and you still manage to crash us into no less than three other craft.

  Helton: Just stickin’ to what I know, I guess.

  Bipasha: (Half joking) Best not to mention it to anyone. It might make getting insured more difficult.

  Kaushik: The next insurance policy you buy should include weapons; you are, after all, nominally a privateer. Should start acting like one for real, rather than expect to keep taking ships on accident. Risks would be more manageable. We were lucky those guys were so incompetent, thinking that their badge or name made them invincible.

  Helton: Many ports don’t allow armed ships.

  Harbin: An unarmed warship is about as useless as grav-tanks at a bar-b-que.

  Lag: This one’s done well so far, but you’re right; worth looking into. Not many custom ship weapons shops on New Texas, though. Might as well see what you can find if we’re going to be there anyway.

  Sar: As long as you get the galley fixed soon. Cooking on only two burners complicates things (waves her sandwich to emphasize her point).

  Allonia: Can we get them at New Texas, along with the rest of the supplies?

  Stenson: Doubt it. I had wondered why those things had such unusual specs when we repaired them originally. I have to cross check more systems that don’t usually work together. Might find something useful for fixing the damage that shaking caused. Lots of systems are even more marginal than they were before. As long as we are gentle with them they’ll be OK, but we really need some downtime.

  Lag: We can hide the interceptor in deep space somewhere-

  Helton: -and cache the cargo in zero-grav orbital transfer dock, land light-

  Bipasha snorts and shakes her head at the word.

  Helton: -lightER, and get supplies and repairs. Take a breather for a few days.

  Lag: Got a few contacts there that would be good to touch base with, too.

  Quinn: (excited) Do they have real cowboys there? I want to see some REAL cows!

  Kaminski: Real cows, real cowboys. Real bar-b-que. Nice folks, if they think you’re a good sort. Did my Komenagen there. The place is real terraforming success story. Should be fun.

  Helton: OK, stash the ship and cargo, hit the Alvarez farm for a visit and get the local lowdown, line up a stack of supplies, check for defensive systems, take a short break. Sounds like a plan. Any other priorities I’ve forgotten?

  Everyone nods agreement, or at least doesn’t make any objections. Helton nods, making the decision final.

  FADE TO BLACK

  FADE IN

  EXT - DAY - High orbit above New Texas

  Spread below is a beautiful planet, a mix of tans, small blue-green seas, lush green expanses, and a healthy scattering of white clouds. Above, an orbiting space dock with many ships attached at all angles. Nestled in among them, looking relatively small, dirty, and insignificant, is Tajemnica. She pulls away, slowly and carefully, just barely glowing, then angles down, toward the planet below, and gradually accelerates away from the station, heading for one of the many tan patches.

  DISSOLVE TO

  EXT - DAY - Airspace high above the Alvarez Farm

  Below are miles of scattered forest patches, freshly tilled fields of dirt, expanses of growing crops, fallow land, and wild savanna. A modest farm is in the near view with a dozen buildings, a house atop a low ridge, others scattered between it and a small valley and draw below. Barns, storage silos, a sheltered mostly grass landing
field with several concrete pads set in it. Camera view follows Tajemnica as she glides easily in, carefully coming to rest with her landing gear on the concrete, landing struts slowly compressing, then shifting slightly to one side as if gingerly testing the footing. Barefoot kids and dogs run around excitedly at the sight of visitors, and Mr. Alvarez (30s, slender, wiry, slightly graying black hair and mustache, Hispanic, Jorge’s brother) stands quietly next to the door of a barn. The cargo ramp slowly drops, the bottom flip-out ramp piece folds out and into place.

  Helton, Stenson, Jorge Alvarez, Bipasha, and Allonia walk down the ramp together. At the sight of Jorge, Mr. Alvarez breaks into a huge smile and opens his arms. Near the bottom, Jorge walks much faster toward him, and they embrace.

  Mr. Alvarez: Too long! It’s been too long! Home to stay?

  Jorge Alvarez: No, sorry, not this time. Victor, this is Chief Henery Stenson, the man that hired me-

  Mr. Alvarez: Glad to meet you. I trust he’s working hard?

  As he introduces each person, Mr. Alvarez extends his hand and shaken theirs firmly, bowing slightly to each of the ladies as he greets them, a proper gentleman.

  Jorge Alvarez: And Helton Strom, the ship owner and captain I told you about.

  Mr. Alvarez: So good of you come all this way to bring him to our doorstep!

  Jorge Alvarez: Bipasha, the business manager.

  Mr. Alvarez: Lovely to meet you. The products you inquired about are ready for examination at your convenience.

  Jorge: Allonia, magician with all things domestic aboard ship.

  Mr. Alvarez: Wonderful to meet you, he has said so many nice things about you in his messages!

  Jorge: The rest of the crew and people will be along shortly, I’m sure.

  Mr. Alvarez: No hurry, no hurry! Please, come with me and have a drink, and tell me ALL about your adventures…

  He waves them up toward the house. Quinn comes tearing down the ramp, heading for a couple of kids about his age standing near the corner of the barn. Mr. Alvarez looks at him run by with surprise on his face.

  Allonia: He’s with me. Well, us. Terribly shy, as you can tell.

  Quinn: (Excited, to the kids) Can you show me the cows?

  The kids look at him in confusion, the adults break out laughing.

  Mr. Alvarez: No cows on this farm, I’m afraid. Only small critters. Go on, show him around! We’ll be at the house.

  The kids run off together, and the rest head together up the hill toward the house.

  DISSOLVE TO

  Ramp, a little later in the day

  Kaminski comes down, dressed in shorts, tee shirt, five-finger running shoes, and a light carbine slung over his shoulder. He stretches, takes a deep breath of fresh air, flexes his ample muscles a bit, then takes off on a cross-country run.

  DISSOLVE TO

  EXT - DAY - Barn yard

  Quinn and three of the Alvarez kids are having a ball chasing chickens around the yard, just being kids. All are very dirty.

  CUT TO

  EXT - EVENING - House veranda

  The low sun casts its reddish beams across the men and Bipasha as they sit in chairs on the veranda, talking and from sipping tall glasses. Through the open door and windows, Allonia and a couple of other ladies are chatting and laughing. All are very relaxed. In the near distance, a flier with official markings on it angles in toward the barn. Mr. Alvarez frowns.

  Helton: Expecting anyone?

  Mr. Alvarez: (Shakes his head) No, nothing official. Likely Nerona.

  Bipasha: Nerona?

  Mr. Alvarez: Government inspector. General pain in the ass. Young man that fancies himself a suave big shot and God’s gift to women. Son of a major food processor buyer. He’s got a hard-on for my eldest, and isn’t taking “no” for an answer, but hasn’t quite done anything too far over the line. Having him disappear at my place could be awkward.

  They nod understanding.

  Kaminski: 3S?

  Lag: Not if we don’t have too. But… (shrugs) Victor, your lentil crop… which field do you plan on plowing next?

  DISSOLVE TO

  Same veranda, slightly lower sun.

  Kaushik: (OC, through Harbin’s wrist com) Who’s on duty as S3 right now? Got a government non-S2 ‘tude wanting to deal with an S9 about an issue that the S1 would normally cover for our S4, and asking about S8. A percentage big enough that maybe S3 should handle it.

  They look at one another.

  Harbin: (Into com unit) Wait one.

  Mr. Alvarez: What did he just say?

  Helton: I thought S3 was operations?

  Lag: It also stands for something else. He said he’s got an semi-official idiot with an attitude asking for a large percentage of whatever is going on, too big to just pay and shrug off, and he’s asking nosy questions, so he’s asking if we should just Shoot, Shovel, Shut up. How about we let him introduce himself, and see if he’s smart enough to see the light.

  Harbin: (Into com unit) Send him up. Monitor outgoing signals.

  DISSOLVE TO

  Same veranda, sun a bit lower in the sky. Drinks and positions have shuffled a bit. A young man in casual clothes is walking up the path toward them. As he approaches they watch silently, faces blank. He stops on the middle stair.

  Nerona: Can you tell Maria I’m here?

  Mr. Alvarez: (Tightly controlled politeness) She’s not home.

  Nerona: (Superior sneer) So, are you going to introduce me to your friends, then? More dirt farmers, like the rest of your… friends?

  He catches sight of Bipasha, sitting somewhat behind Helton, wearing a richly embroidered tunic and bangles.

  Nerona: And an import? I definitely need to meet them.

  Lag: (Politely curious) That flier has government markings. Are you here on business?

  Nerona: (Frostily) No. I’m here to see Maria. Who’s asking?

  Lag: Ah. Just using the official craft out of personal convenience. (Nods in apparent understanding)

  Nerona’s face darkens a bit.

  Nerona: Is that your cargo ship down there?

  Helton shrugs.

  Helton: I’m sure it belongs to someone. We’re just friends of the Alvarez family, visiting.

  Just then Allonia, dressed simply but attractively, walks out the door with Mrs. Alvarez, holding a pitcher of iced lemonade, laughing.

  Nerona’s eyes bug out a bit, and he can’t help but say something.

  Nerona: Oh my! And who is this?

  Allonia sees him and stops, surprised and not quite sure of the situation. Mrs. Alvarez’s face darkens. The men don’t move a muscle, except Kaminski, who stands slightly, turns his chair around and leans forward into its back, a bright smile on his face.

  Kaminski: (Enthusiastic) Oh, now this I would pay to watch!

  Nerona takes his stare off Allonia and looks at him with a puzzled expression.

  Kaminski: (Brightly) The last guy who got out of line with her was dead three times before he hit the ground, and that broke his neck pretty badly. All I got to do was clean up the mess, file the paperwork, and dispose of the body. Watching a professional like her at work would be a rare treat.

  Nerona pales a bit and his mouth seems to be suddenly dry. Kaminski smiles at him, then back at an embarrassed Allonia and the Alvarez’s, who look surprised. Finally, Nerona recomposes his official bluster and gets some words out.

  Nerona: And you are?

  Kaminski: Kaminski. Corporal Kaminski.

  Kaminski sticks out his hand, and Nerona takes it automatically. Kaminski gives him a brief but very firm handshake, making Nerona wince. He loses his composure for a moment, then gets it back.

  Nerona: I know all the police around here, and I think you are rather out of your jurisdiction, Corporal. What jurisdiction are you from?

  Nerona flips out a badge from a pocket and clips it on his belt, standing taller as he talks, all but strutting as he stands there.

  Kaminski: 666th Retribution Battalion… Plataean Spa
ce Marines. Blood redistribution specialist.

  Kaminski gives another cheery smile.

  Kaminski: (Regarding Allonia) Yeah, last time was a mess. Even impressed the First Sergeant, here.

  Nerona: (Cautiously) First Sergeant?

  Harbin: (Flatly) I said “good group.”

  Kaminski: Oh, right. It was the Colonel who said “impressive.”

  Nerona: (Nervously) Colonel?

  Lag: (Matter of factly) Killing a man that efficiently with his own weapons was impressive. Good knife work, too. I’m sure she was sharing tips with the Alvarez ladies.

  Mrs. Alvarez gives Allonia a look of impressed surprise. Allonia shrugs acknowledgment.

  Nerona glances back and forth between them, not sure if he should be scared, impressed, is being put on, or should just be leaving.

  Helton: The Alvarez family are friends of ours. Thought we’d drop in, make sure everything was OK. Maybe spend a few days, take in some bar-b-que, see the sights, swap recipes for lentil cookies. The usual.

  Stenson: The captain there was most generous to stop by as he did.

  Nerona: (Skeptical) Captain?

  Helton: It was the least I could do for the Chief and his team.

  Nerona: (More nervous) Chief? And team?

  Alvarez: So, weren’t you just about to leave?

  Nerona: Uh, well, if, uh, Maria isn’t here, then, um, yeah, I guess I should be going.

  Mr. Alvarez: Next time, call first. It’s polite.

  Nerona, flustered and embarrassed, turns and beats a hasty retreat down the path toward the barn. They watch him leave. After a moment Lag speaks, then closes his eyes to wait.

  Lag: There are times for a peaceful tone, negotiation, and discretion, when dealing with people. Then again, there are times you need to get all shooty with ‘em. Now, can he take a hint, or is he incorrigible?

  In the distance down the hill they watch him talk into his com unit. All their personal com units sound off quietly relaying his voice, as if they are all using walkie-talkies on the same open frequency.