A hologram of Varez appeared on the bridge. “Why aren’t we jumping, captain?” he asked Hunt point blank.
“I want to know how the enemy found out about this shortcut,” Hunt demanded, his dark eyes glinting with cold anger.
Varez spread his arms and lifted his eyebrows, innocence incarnate. “Captain, I swear I’ve no idea. My people are all loyal Alliance citizens.”
“Captain, if I may,” Jason intervened. “I talked to Varez right before Captain O’Neil recalled me to the Phenix. Varez knows about the murder. Isn’t it suspicious that we found him an hour later near the relay used to send data to the Biozi?”
“Indeed, Commander Blaze is raising a good point.” Hunt’s eyes drilled into Varez.
“I can explain,” Varez said quickly, showing Hunt his palms. “I knew nothing about any relay. We just wanted to deliver supplies to people on Vega, that’s all. When we jumped into the system, a Biozi ship appeared out of nowhere and chased us.”
“You’re lying,” Hunt said. “The ship you’re on isn’t registered. It’s not part of the Alliance fleet. You didn’t jump directly form Neo; you changed ships somewhere, maybe in a neighboring system where you have your base. Talk to me about your operation. How many ships? Where’s your base? I want details.”
“We’ve got five blockade runners in total, all stealthy and fast, all jump-capable,” Varez said. “We’ve been scouting the Shield since the invasion last year. We’re making regular deliveries to resistance groups on Vega, Ceres, and Deneb.”
“Where do you get the supplies?”
“Wherever we can. Black market on the Dionysus, other…hmm…unregistered stations and settlements…”
Hunt’s eyes narrowed. “Unregistered? You mean clandestine facilities in uncharted space?”
Varez shrugged, offering Hunt an apologetic smile. “I’ve always been a champion of free enterprise, captain. And I’m not the only one. Alliance laws are seen by some as too…restrictive.”
Hunt appeared unmoved and unconvinced. “I want the location of all clandestine facilities, together with your gravimetric maps. Don’t even think about trying to deceive me. I want all your data.”
Varez smiled again, but this time his smile seemed forced. “Could we discuss—”
“No,” Hunt snapped. “You send all the data at once, or you’ll spend the rest of the journey in the brig, and we’ll confiscate your ship and your cargo.”
The black-market kingpin complied, and his ship transmitted the data. Riley was amazed to discover how many illicit space stations, mines, and processing facilities comprised the shadowy empire Varez controlled. His gravimetric map was extensive and included dozens of systems unknown to the ASF.
“That’s all for now.” Hunt cut the channel. Once the hologram vanished, he added for the benefit of his senior officers, “We’re not following the shortcut used by the blockade runners; we’re going to another uninhabited system. Archer, set jump coordinates to Mu-27-44. This system’s music sounds like a rock concert, energetic, almost violent. Let’s see if the Biozi will dare to follow us there.”
09
In the ruins
The Taar’kuun didn’t dare follow Battlegroup Vega into uncharted space. Captain Hunt ordered to make another jump to get further from the pursuers, then the ships deployed their energy collectors to recharge their black hole generators. Only a singularity, a miniature black hole could satisfy jump drives’ hunger for energy. But even the tremendous amount of energy contained in a singularity had to be recharged after each use of the jump drive.
Dismissed, Riley went to her cabin to get some food and take a nap. Her thoughts gravitated around the idea that a high-ranking ASF officer was selling out the Alliance to the enemy. She wondered who would betray their own species, and why? The fear of betrayal haunted even her dreams.
The battlegroup resumed its journey, avoiding populated systems. When the ex-capital world of the Alliance was only a jump away, Hunt convened O’Neil for a face-to-face. As the ship’s XO, Riley was also summoned to the meeting.
“Captain, we’re not jumping to Vega, right?” O’Neil asked. “The Biozi armada could be waiting for us there.”
“Varez and his smugglers provided good intel,” Hunt replied. “The armada isn’t in the Vega system, and we know the strength and disposition of the enemy fleets guarding it.”
“It could be an ambush,” O’Neil pointed out. “You trust the word of a scumbag like Varez?”
“No, but his intel is consistent with the reports of our sources inside the TGS.” Hunt pointed at the map of the Vega system on a holo-screen. “We’ll jump to the asteroid belt; it should hide us from Biozi sensors. Then we’ll let Varez make his delivery.”
“What?” O’Neil frowned, staring at Hunt in disbelief. He was probably so shocked he forgot about military protocol for a second.
“Why not?” Hunt said with calm. “This is our chance to gather valuable intel on the planetary defenses and the situation on the ground. Make no mistake—our fleet will return to Vega, and earlier than you might think. As we can’t rely on the smugglers to gather intel, we need to send professionals. I want Commander Blaze to pilot the blockade runner, and a squad of marines will keep him company.”
“Captain, you can’t be serious!” O’Neil cried out. “You want my wing commander to fly a smuggler ship to an occupied world?”
Hunt shrugged, as if the answer barely warranted discussion. “Blaze is the most qualified. Do I need to remind you that he used to be a smuggler? A skilled one at that. Besides, Varez isn’t suicidal; if he wants to land on Vega-IV, he knows a way to get in and out undetected.”
O’Neil shook his head and scanned the system map, as if looking for hidden clues. “Or maybe greed got the best of him. How can we trust a criminal? It seems to me we’re taking unnecessary risks. For what? Intel? This op wasn’t even sanctioned by ASF command. We’re going maverick here.”
“Admiral Winsley would approve,” Hunt insisted. “We won’t get another chance for a recon like that.”
O’Neil frowned, obviously unconvinced, but yielded.
*****
Jason reacted to his assignment with mixed feelings. The prospect of returning to the fallen capital world of the Alliance in a smuggler ship excited his imagination, yet the idea of working together with a man who’d betrayed him spoiled his enthusiasm. Nevertheless, he acknowledged his orders, geared up, and proceeded to the blockade runner.
Per Hunt’s plan, the battlegroup jumped to the Vega system and hid in the asteroid belt. Jason boarded the Lucky Lady together with a squad of marines led by Sergeant Mortensen. The narrow corridors of the smuggler ship greeted them with dim lights and machine oil smell.
Jason found Varez in the cockpit, ensconced in the captain’s chair. The claustrophobic cockpit could barely accommodate five G-seats, and all the space not used by those was filled with equipment and holo-screens. Varez’s elegant blue coverall seemed out of place on a ship with such drab interior, but he didn’t seem to care.
He turned to Jason and beamed at him. “Jase, welcome, welcome! It’s like the good ol’ times, huh?”
Jason barely glanced at his former accomplice. He crept past him and eased into the pilot seat, next to a beefy, bald smuggler covered in tattoos. The body odor of his new co-pilot made Jason wince.
He focused on his job and woke up the control panel. The controls were primitive, yet he could tell the ship had a tiger in its guts, as spacers would say. He started the engine, and the growl of the reactor confirmed his first impression.
“This babe’s got eight Nova-class thrusters with dual plasma injection,” Varez bragged. “At full power, it can do five hundred gees, no sweat. Inertial dampers can eat ninety-eight percent of that.”
Jason examined the specs on the control panel. “Not bad for such an ugly bucket. It has speed, stealth, and decent scanners too.”
He disengaged the docking clamps, used maneuvering thrusters to get to a
safe distance from the Phenix, and fired the main ones in stealth mode. The Lucky Lady would accelerate less quickly in that mode, but its energy signature wouldn’t register on enemy scanners. The ship would fly on autopilot for a few hours before reaching Vega-IV.
“Now we’ve got time to catch up, Jase,” Varez said brightly.
Jason gave him an annoyed stare. “Listen, I’m not your pal. You were dead to me when you stabbed me in the back and let me rot in jail.”
“But you turned your life around,” Varez pointed out, his tone unchanged. “In a sense, I helped you. If I’d bailed you out, you wouldn’t have joined the ASF and become an officer.”
“That doesn’t change a thing,” Jason snapped. “I don’t forgive betrayal.”
“But I changed too, Jase. I don’t run this op for profit. I’m trying to help those desperate people the Alliance left behind. Don’t you think we have a duty to help them?”
Varez sounded sincere, though Jason knew all too well that deception was a core skill for any smuggler. And Varez had it mastered.
“I’m not buying it. Tell me, how come you own a nightclub and spend your time drinking and whoring while our citizens work twelve-hour shifts? In my eyes, you’re a disgrace to our species. You don’t deserve to be part of this new mankind. And don’t pretend to be my friend. You never were, and you never will.”
Jason rose from his seat and stepped toward the exit, then turned around and added, “I’ll be keeping an eye on you. One wrong move, and I put an end to your career. Permanently.”
He left the cockpit, but the foul odor of the crew followed him everywhere on the ship. He felt the desire to put on his helmet and breathe recycled air, but that would’ve sent the wrong message. Instead he went to the cargo bay where Mortenson and his marines were waiting.
They were sitting on the crates, virtual reality goggles hiding their faces. Their arms and legs moved erratically, as if they were broken androids.
“Watch out, watch out!” Mortensen shouted. “Watch your six!”
“I’ve got it,” another marine shouted back. “Full throttle now!”
“Arrgh, frag it!” the sergeant wrenched off his virtual reality helmet and glared at Jason, as if the latter held responsibility for whatever debacle had ended the sim. Mortensen’s eyes widened as his brain registered the presence of a superior officer, and he scrambled to his feet. “Ten-hut!”
The other marines imitated him and jumped to attention.
Jason raised his hand in a casual salute. “As you were. Just wanted to get some fresh air, so to speak.”
Mortensen’s lips spread in a large grin. “You’re very welcome, sir. Care to join the sim? We’ve got a spare helmet.”
“What are you running?”
“Level-nine commando op, a hostage rescue. A blast of a scenario. Very high risk. You’ll like it.”
“Level-nine, huh? I never managed to pass level five. Sure you don’t wanna try a dogfight sim?”
Now all the marines grinned at Jason.
“Against you, commander?” Mortensen shook his hulky head. “I don’t think so. We, simple grunts still have self-esteem. How about we find somethin’ we’re all good at?”
Jason returned his smile. “What’s the fun in that? Let’s play something we all suck at.”
*****
Jason returned to the pilot seat for planetfall. Taar’kuun orbital stations hung above Vega-IV, ominous dark shapes against the pearl-blue disk. Trails from patroller craft and troop transports crisscrossed the atmosphere like an immaterial net around the planet. The devastation on the surface was visible even from space. Where the proud capital of the humans once stood, Jason saw only a crater surrounded by a forest of charred, partly collapsed buildings.
He’d expected such a sight, yet he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. This devastated world used to be his home. Even scarred by orbital bombardment and tortured by a year of war, the planet retained its beauty, though now it took on a tragic quality.
Jason made good use of the ship’s scanners and gathered intel on planetary defenses. He loaded the data into a stealthy probe and ejected it at high speed toward Battlegroup Vega. As he flew in no-comms mode, he couldn’t send the data wirelessly.
Atmospheric entry was a delicate phase. He switched the energy shield to low-friction mode to avoid generating heat, otherwise the ship would flare up on Biozi sensors. Visual or sonic detection also figured among the risks, but the cloaking system took care of that too. It made the ship invisible thanks to a quantum layer that reflected light and radiation, and dampened any noises it produced using a sophisticated interferential system.
The landing zone, a flat expanse at the edge of a city on the main continent’s shore, lit up on Jason’s HUD. That metropolis used to be a thriving port; now it was a ghost city. Through gray clouds, the gutted carcasses of skyscrapers rose like skeletons of gigantic alien creatures. Nothing in the tapestry of charred domes and houses below relieved the gloom.
Jason couldn’t use thrusters in the atmosphere without being detected, so he had to land using the artificial gravity generator—or grav. Using the grav close to the planet’s surface was tricky, but he had little choice. As its name indicates, the grav works by bending spacetime to create gravitational pull. By establishing an artificial gravity well above the ship, Jason countered the effects of the planet’s gravity.
However, the grav didn’t suppress the wind, so Jason deployed turbo-rotors to steer the Lucky Lady. The wind lifted a large quantity of rocks and metal objects, rendered almost weightless by the grav. Some hit the ship, inflicting no damage. Its armor could easily withstand such impacts. For an external viewer, the sight of a cloud of small objects lifting off the ground and bouncing against an invisible wall must have been eerie. Jason hoped there were no Taar’kuun around to see it.
As the landing pads touched the ground, he switched off the grav and breathed in relief. He kept cloaking engaged and the engine on standby.
“I’m going,” Varez said. “Stay here.”
“I’m not taking orders from you,” Jason said coldly, deactivating his seatbelts.
He didn’t believe that Varez was running a humanitarian operation. He was convinced his ex-accomplice had an ulterior motive, and he was determined to find out that motive.
Varez sighed. “Fine, tag along. But I’m warning you—this is no goddamn tourist trip.”
Jason followed him to the cargo bay without a word. Two all-terrain transport vehicles loaded with supplies were waiting, their engines whirring impatiently. Jason and Varez climbed into the first one and settled in passenger seats, while Mortensen and his marines took the other. Although the atmosphere on the planet was breathable, they all donned helmets for protection.
The vehicles were modified military transports capable of carrying sixty tons of cargo. Their nanoalloy armor offered good protection against blasters and natural hazards, and they had a turret with twin 12-mm rapid-fire guns. The cabin contained four seats and was separated from the cargo area by a blast-resistant door.
Most of the Lucky Lady’s crew stayed on board in readiness for takeoff, and Mortensen left four of his marines to watch them. Jason found that a reasonable precaution.
The cargo bay doors opened and the vehicles ventured into the rain of ash.
“No sign of Biozi activity,” the pilot reported.
“They must think the city is deserted,” Varez told Jason. “They can’t be everywhere, so they concentrate their forces in sectors with active human resistance. Here, the resistance is laying low, but there’s an important supply depot underground.”
The vehicle rolled out of the ash cloud and raced through a deserted street amid ruined buildings and car wrecks. Human remains littered the roadside, dark piles of clothes, desiccated flesh, and bone. A pack of dogs bolted away, startled by the noise of the approaching trucks.
The vehicles turned into an underground tunnel and stopped after about a hundred meters. Smuggl
ers rushed out to unload the cargo. Dozens of figures emerged from the shadows and converged to them. Everything was done diligently, with maximum efficiency and minimal verbal exchange.
Jason deactivated his seatbelts, but Varez set a hand on his shoulder and asked, “Where d’you think you’re going?”
“What’s wrong?” Jason snapped. “I wanna help, that’s all.”
Varez was about to say something, but Jason ignored him and jumped out the vehicle. People in dark coveralls dashed around him, carrying crates. He heard a distant child’s cry and saw light coming from an open door.
Maybe due to a combination of stress and sleep deprivation, he felt as though trapped in a hyper-realistic dream. He’d never been around kids, as he spent his life on warships or in the cockpit of a starfighter. The yearning to see how people lived on Vega seized him, and he walked toward the light.
“Jase, come back,” Varez called him, to no avail.
Jason entered the shelter and wandered through corridors of self-repairing concrete with sparse neon bulbs for lighting.
The images he saw on that day would haunt him for the rest of his life. A scrawny crippled man with a plastic leg stared at him with one eye, the other hidden by a patch. His threadbare coverall sported the most prestigious medals of the Alliance Defense Forces.
Several families shared a single room, with bunks piled to the ceiling. Kids glanced at Jason as he passed by, their faces tense, little adults war had deprived of childhood.
In the infirmary, wounded lay on stretchers, probably for lack of beds, connected to primitive medical machines by transparent tubes. Piles of body bags cluttered the floor. Maybe the shelter didn’t have a morgue, or maybe clinic personnel were so busy they had no time to remove the bodies.
“I told you not to come here,” Varez hissed into Jason’s ear. “There’s nothing to see.”
“Sir?”
Jason lowered his eyes to the little boy who’d called him. The child was probably five.
“You’re from the…outside?” the boy asked.
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