by Mike Kupari
As a matter of fact, that hadn’t occurred to Zak. But why hadn’t she said anything about how she felt? Anna was a strong woman from a powerful family, and never had any trouble speaking her mind.
Cecil had laughed at that, too. “It wouldn’t be proper,” he explained, “for a woman of her position to go chasing after a man. That’s not how they do things on New Constantinople. Supposedly sophisticated societies sneer at how backward it all is, but in some places a man is still expected to court a lady, to earn her favor. Women don’t necessarily give their affections away. You have to work for it. She’s not going to risk humiliation by expressing her interest in you. That’s your job, as the suitor, to read the signs and make the connection.”
The cultural differences between Zak’s home of Columbia and the colony of New Constantinople seemed greater than just the fluid accent Anna spoke Commerce English with. He’d made it a point to read everything he could find about the history and society of Anna’s home. Cecil had told him that he wasn’t going to find a better woman than Anna, and as condescending as it may have sounded it was probably true. The clichéd advice usually given to people in his situation was to “just be yourself”; Zak had been himself for his entire life, and had never won the affections of a woman like Anna before. He had to do it right if he hoped to . . . to what? What is it you think is going to happen? Focus, man. Get her off this rock alive, then worry about romance.
Driving the sentiment home, a message box popped up on the screen of his handheld. What? Zak hadn’t received a message since he’d been on Zanzibar. Without access to a network, his handheld was as isolated as he was, and there wasn’t anyone to send him a personal message anyway.
He tapped the screen to bring up the text message. His handheld didn’t recognize the sending address. Mr. Mesa, it said simply, your message has been sent. That was it. A ship willing to carry his message must have left Zanzibar, bound for Concordiat space. A feeling of relief washed over Zak; no matter what happened to him now, he’d done all he could do. He didn’t know if the plight of the Zanzibaran people, or the theft and sale of alien relics being used to fund a warlord’s army, would be enough to move anyone to act, but at least he had tried.
Zak felt good, for the first time in a long time. He had to tell Anna the news! Jumping out of bed, Zak ran downstairs and entered the kitchen, where his partner was making herself a modest breakfast out of the food supplies provided by their captors. She looked up at him quizzically when he entered the kitchen, waving his handheld around like a madman. “Well, ah, good morning,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
Zak held his screen for Anna to read. “It’s done. We did it.”
Anna looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled. “Good. Very good. It doesn’t change our situation, but at least we did something. We may just get through this yet, Zachary. Our ride home is on its way, and Lang has been happy enough with our work of late.”
Zak’s expression darkened. “I hate that man,” he said quietly. “I hate what he’s doing. I hate being so powerless. Anna I . . .” he trailed off, taking a deep breath. “Anna, I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I’m sorry . . . for everything.”
Anna smiled. “Stop apologizing. You and I, and Mr. Blackwood as well, we are all of us victims of circumstance. I don’t blame you for what’s happened to us, and neither should you. I knew the risks when I signed the contract. Do you know what my life was like before we became partners?”
Zak simply shook his head. He’d met Anna at a historical symposium on Columbia, where he presented his paper on the history of Zanzibar.
“New Constantinople has been a center of trade, commerce, and culture for a thousand years. My world was burned in the fires of the First Interstellar War, but instead of backsliding into chaos and barbarism, my ancestors held fast and rebuilt our civilization. My family can trace its lineage back to the colony’s founding during the Diaspora. I . . . there’s something I have to tell you.”
Zak’s heart quickened. “Yeah, sure, go ahead. You know you can always talk to me.”
Anna looked down. “I’m afraid I’ve not been entirely forthcoming with you about things . . . about myself. My name isn’t Anna Kay.”
Wait, what? “Okay,” Zak said. “What is your name?”
“My name is Anna Komnene. When I said my family can trace its lineage back to the founding of the colony . . .” She trailed off.
Zak’s mind raced. “Holy hell. You weren’t joking. You’re a member of the royal family? Anna . . . why didn’t you tell me? Why are you even here? Why . . . ?”
Anna hushed her partner so she could speak. “I’m not an important member of the royal family. I’m not going to be empress or anything, if that’s what you’re wondering.” New Constantinople was a constitutional monarchy. The royal family rarely involved itself in day-to-day governance in the modern era, though their leadership had been key in pulling the colony through the Interregnum. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to treat me like a partner, not nobility. Before I met you, I lived a life of leisure and luxury. I was free to pursue whatever interest or activity I desired, or not. Anything I wanted, I could have. If I wanted to marry, there was no shortage of men, men I’d never met mind you, willing to propose. Growing up, I was always treated differently, deferred to even, out of respect for my family.”
“That . . . I mean, I’m not trying to be mean, but that doesn’t sound that bad to me.”
Anna laughed. “I know. Rich girl problems, right? But that’s just it: it wasn’t hard. I’ve never known struggle, or want, or danger, or adventure in my entire life. They were abstract concepts that I read about, not things that happened to me. I was free to do whatever I wanted, but nothing I did mattered. Most people who knew me didn’t actually know me, they knew Anna Komnene, of the Komnene Family, descendants of Alistair Komnene, one of the founding fathers of New Constantinople. People assumed I was vapid, spoiled, and out of touch with the world. You know what? I was. The superficial charity work I did, the ceremonies I attended, it was all a chore for me, just doing what was expected of me. None of it mattered.”
Zak shook his head. “What were you doing on Columbia then?”
“I ran away,” Anna said, smiling. “Not that it was any great sacrifice. I had quite a bit of money put away, after all. After I was awarded my doctorate in archaeology, I told my family I was moving off-world, gathered my things, and left. Columbia was the closest major colony. I wanted to see how the rest of the galaxy lived, and your world was as good a place to start as any.”
“Why tell me this now, Anna? Do you want me to try send a message home for you? Will your world send a rescue mission?”
“My world doesn’t have much of a military, Zak. No punitive expeditions are going to be sent on my behalf. My title, my position, they were mostly ceremonial, and I walked away from them of my own accord. I didn’t tell you before because I thought . . . well, I thought you’d be mad that I’ve been dishonest with you. I was worried that if Lang found out who I was, he’d hold me for ransom the way he’s been holding poor Cecil. But I want you to know the truth now, because I want you to stop blaming yourself for my situation. You and I are both in over our heads, but we’re in it together. I have you to thank for a great deal. You treated me like a regular person. You gave me the dignity of a meaningful task. You let me do things on my own, instead of treating me like a precious artifact. I want you to know that no matter how this ends, even if . . . even if we both die here, I’m grateful. I truly am.”
A tear trickled down Anna’s cheek. Zak had never once seen her cry before, and his first impulse was to try to comfort her. He wasn’t the hugging type, but she looked like she needed a hug.
Anna stepped back slightly. “Hold on now.”
“I’m sorry!” Zak sputtered. “I just thought . . .”
Wiping the tear away, Anna raised an eyebrow, flashed him a smile, and looked him up and down. “I know we’re laying it all on the table, as it we
re, but perhaps you should get dressed? I’m a lady, Zachary, and that is no way to present yourself to a lady.”
Zak’s eyes went wide as he realized that for the entire conversation with his partner, he’d been standing in the kitchen in his underwear. In his haste to tell her the news, he had forgotten to dress. His face turned a deep shade of red, and he slowly backed around the corner. “Probably not a good day to wear my lucky rocketship underpants,” he said meekly.
“I disagree,” Anna said with a devilish smile. “I find them adorable. Run along now, get dressed. We’ll talk when you’re wearing pants.”
Smooth, Zak. Cecil is never going to let you live this one down.
Chapter 22
The Privateer Ship Andromeda
Combine Space, Orlov’s Star System
When transiting between stars, an object’s velocity and momentum are not preserved. Ships that come through are left disoriented and vulnerable due to transit shock. The greatest difficulty in defending transit points is the constant expenditure of thrust required. The transit points themselves don’t orbit the stars they spawn from; their relative positions are dependent on the position of the stars in relation to one another and the strength of the quantum link between the two. They change their relative positions over time and are difficult to track.
As soon as the Andromeda appeared through the transit point, she was locked onto by a cluster of automated defense platforms. These weapons used a combination of huge solar sails and low-impulse ion thrusters to stay with the transit point and not be pulled into Orlov’s Star. They were small and low mass, but were bristling with missiles and directed energy weapons. When the ship’s communications systems came back online, the crew realized they were being hailed by the defense platforms.
A recorded message followed. The video was of a beautiful, pleasant-sounding woman. She had a flower in her hair, but wore a bland, gray jacket with a stand-up collar. Grafted to her temple was a small electronic device. She spoke Commerce English with an almost mechanical tone. “Welcome, travelers, to the People’s Combined Collective of Orlov’s Star. Whether our homeworld is your final destination or you’re just passing through, you will be pleased with our legendary hospitality. Your first stop will be the customs station, the coordinates of which are being sent with this message. We understand that space is a dangerous place. However, our system is safe and secure. As such, we require all visitors to keep their weapons powered down and offline for the duration of their stay in our system. All weapons and cargoes must be declared to the officials at the customs station and prepared for inspection. Please be advised,” the woman said, playfully wagging a finger at the camera, “that attempting to access our system network without authorization is strictly prohibited. Thank you, and have a lovely visit.”
Catherine grimaced at the recording through the pounding of her head from transit shock. “Well, they certainly seem pleasant.”
Wolfram von Spandau did not share her humor. (He almost never shared her humor.) “We must exercise the utmost caution, Kapitänin,” he said, turning his seat to face her. It was rare for both the captain and the XO to be on the command deck at the same time, but Catherine wanted her most experienced personnel on duty for this one. “I am sending their instructions to Astrogation and the Flight Deck, so that we may lay in a course and be underway. These customs officials may ask for exorbitant bribes. If we refuse to pay, they may confiscate the ship.”
Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell they will. You are correct, though, Wolfram.” She tapped one of her screens. A moment later, Mordecai Chang, the ship’s purser, appeared on her display. The screen split, and Cargomaster Kimball appeared as well.
“Cap’n,” Chang said politely. It was obvious he wasn’t feeling well either.
“Captain,” Kimball acknowledged.
Catherine sipped some water from her drinking tube and addressed her men. “Gentlemen, this is it. We’ve been given our marching orders from these defense platforms, and we’ll be underway shortly. We need to tread very carefully here. They’ll want our cargo manifests as well as a weapons inventory. Give them the ones we’ve prepared for this circumstance. If they send an inspector over, Mr. Kimball, deal with them as best you can. You are authorized to pay out additional bribes if need be. Mordecai, make sure our books are inspection-ready, please.”
“Yes ma’am,” Mordecai said. He wasn’t going to show them the real books, of course. He had special sets of books and documentation for inspection purposes.
“When we get through customs, they’ll send us to one of their commercial space stations. We need to resupply there. Remass is the number one priority, followed by rations. I want everything we bring on board scanned and inspected for surveillance devices. No matter how long we’re docked with the station, the crew is not to leave the ship under any circumstances.”
“Understood, Captain,” both men said. Catherine signed off, and addressed the others on the Andromeda’s command deck. “This is it, people, the last hurdle before we reach Zanzibar. Let’s make this as smooth as possible and get the hell out of this system. Wolfram, is our course laid in?”
“Yes, Kapitänin.”
“Very well. Extend radiators, send our flight plan to the customs station, and initiate the burn.”
* * *
It was not a short journey from the transit point to the customs station. For twenty-five hours the Andromeda pressed on through the night, matching trajectory with the customs station in high solar orbit. Her sensors were tracking over a hundred ships in the system. Orlov had a large population for a colony, over a billion, and had an incredible amount of space infrastructure. The system’s most sunward gas giant, Artyom, had a dozen moons and an exceptionally dense asteroid ring, all rich in minerals and heavy metals. Orlov’s Star was, by far, the most populous system in its sector of space.
Orlov itself was an inhospitable world, but one incredibly rich in mineral resources, including the very rare elements needed to make transit drives. The planet supported no native life beyond the equivalents of lichens, mosses, plankton, and bacteria, but had an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere suitable for breathing. Orlov was extremely volcanically and seismically active. Massive volcanoes, deep rifts, and powerful quakes scarred its rocky surface. Most of the population lived near the poles, where slowly melting ice caps provided a source of water and fed large, freshwater seas.
Orlov had never been intended for permanent colonization. During the Middle Diaspora, it was a booming hub of mining and trade, but was home to relatively few permanent residents. Being so remote, the system was completely cut off from the rest of inhabited space during the Interregnum, and it was popularly believed that the stranded residents went mad during their centuries-long struggle for survival. The modern-day Orlov Combine was a tyrannical surveillance state unlike anything else in known space.
As the Andromeda approached, long-ranged telemetry gave the crew a good picture of the customs station. It was as bare and utilitarian as anything else the Combine built: A large drum, one hundred meters in diameter, slowly rotating to simulate gravity. Around this was a massive, spindly docking structure, with docking ports for a dozen ships, clusters of radiators, solar panels, and communications arrays. The habitat module spun in the external structure like a wheel in the fork of a bicycle.
Following directives broadcast from the station, the Andromeda opened the docking port on her nose and coupled with an open berth on the space station’s huge superstructure. The ship’s manipulator arm slid forward and clamped onto a load-bearing point, better stabilizing her as she equalized pressure with the station and prepared for inspection. Her crew moved to and fro in freefall, making final preparations for boarding by customs officials. The large stockpile of ground weapons that had been purchased for the ground team were hidden away, buried in several of the sealed containers in the cargo bay. The ship’s course logs were altered, showing her coming from Heinlein instead of New Austin, and stopping at the L
lewellyn Freehold on her way to Zanzibar. None of these preparations meant the captain wouldn’t have to pay some hefty bribes to get through Combine space unmolested, but it would, hopefully, make the process easier.
The shipping manifests, flight plan, and cargo declarations were all checked electronically. Catherine remained strapped into her command chair, watching the various documents scroll across the screen as the customs computer scanned them line-by-line. No red flags had popped up yet, and so far the transit, docking, and customs taxes hadn’t been too expensive. She was beginning to hope that she’d actually make it through Combine space without being searched or having to shell out a huge bribe. They usually paid less attention to ships merely crossing their space than those who actually had business in the Orlov’s Star System.
Then an alarm chirped and the screen flashed red. Damn it to bloody hell, Catherine thought. That’s what I get for wishful thinking. The Andromeda’s falsified flight plan was flagged, though nothing in particular about it was. A baritone computerized voice told her, in Commerce English, that her ship had been randomly selected for inspection, and to stand by for boarding. The message then repeated in Classical French, Esperanto, Mandarin, and other languages before Catherine hit the mute button. Random my pale Avalonian ass.
“This is the captain speaking,” she said, piping her message across the ship. “We are about to be boarded by Combine customs officers. You all know what to do. Remain calm, be cooperative, and if there are any issues at all, do not become confrontational. Let your officers know, and they’ll inform me. I’ll handle any discrepancies myself. That is all.”
A short while later Catherine, Wolfram, and Mazer Broadbent were all clinging to handholds in the uppermost docking bay, waiting to receive the Combine customs officers. Catherine could see the tension on her men’s faces. The worst-case scenario, in this particular case, was pretty bad. There were plenty of horror stories about the Combine security apparatus, and no one wanted to learn if they were true.