Mutiny on Outstation Zori

by John Hegenberger

  Jamie whistled silently.

  Aura swirled her cape and strode aft. "Certain people have better things to do than stand around discussing hardware."

  Jamie continued to ask about the ship's specs for the next ten minutes, at which time the Dagger received clearance to exit the bay.

  The pilot and co-pilot strapped in and exchanged passage codes with the skystalk's computer. The tractor nest dropped and the ship maneuvered away from the dock, into the crowded region of space surrounding Hyperion XI. An hour later, they were accelerating at sublight 10 from the Cavon Province, Turner Werch, and PANIC Inc.

  * * *

  Jamie downloaded the contents of his mosaic screen and stood, stretching the tightness from his lower back. He would have to see about adjusting the co-pilot's seat, or he'd arrive at Zori a hunchback.

  "I'm going to check on my things," he told Karr. "Just to make sure Zaxt hasn't shredded them."

  Kleg grunted his consent, as Jamie moved aft, closing the hatch to the command center behind him. He relished being away from Karr and exploring the rest of this unusual ship.

  Two of Aura's crewmembers were in the ship's engineering compartment. They seemed ordinary enough. Each was Humanoid with sober, almost unmoving features. Qestans were a plain looking people, if you discounted their shared penchant for gaudy dress. One wore an orange and black diagonally striped tunic and polka-dot vest; the other, a madras robe, open from top to bottom, exposing a peach shirt and checkered kilt. Jamie's headache grew stronger.

  He wandered into the ship's small, but comfortable observation lounge. The lighting was dim and the room empty save for the soft-sculpture furniture and wide viewport. Beyond and outside the Silver Dagger, the stars silently beckoned.

  They had always beckoned to him. A Cavonian by birth, Jamie had been transferred to the Frontier at the age of sixteen and had scratched out a living as a circuit-jockey ever since. He worked hard, accepting the responsibility of his clients with determined seriousness, pausing only at occasional moments like this, to gaze out at the luminous star field.

  He had been contracted for three circuits along the same route by First Transport Lines, a shady subsidiary of House Paethor. He'd carried miscellaneous goods and traded at the best profit margins he could find. He was considered trustworthy and competent. At first, his 6000-ton freighter, the Shane, had belonged to the Company, but Jamie eventually bought it, even though the vessel showed serious signs of aging. It was damned disturbing when a part fell off during an junket. Still, it kept him moving, and he could commune with his stellar companions, an interest he'd picked up from his old friend, Cast Janssen.

  Again the question of Cast's whereabouts rose in Jamie's thoughts. Regardless of the differences in their appearances, the two men had been like brothers. Cast, whose head always seemed a little too large for his frail, two-meter tall build, had smooth skin and nictating membranes in his eyelids, which made him seem to appear wise beyond his years. But Jamie knew better.

  Originally from the Paethor Province, the pilot had jokingly claimed to be the black sheep of the Royal Family. However, Jamie had stumbled into the truth of his partner's background, while transmitting transport codes and visa info in the Bujold Belt.

  The truth was that Cast came from the Paethoran lower caste. He had worked his way up to freedom by saving his owner from certain death during a religious ceremony. As a new member of the free caste, he'd been unable to own land, but had been permitted to rent a transport license after successfully passing the pilot's exam and paying a stiff fee. From that time on, he'd shuttled equip for the major corps in the Paethor Province, until some altercation had caused him to head out for the empty spaces of Frontier Zone 5.

  The empty spaces now in front of Jamie's view shifted slightly as the Dagger increased speed. The star-spattered vision still thrilled him, setting a prickling down his spine, even when he had so little info about where in space he was headed.

  Aura's voice seemed to creep up from behind him in the dark. "Shouldn't you be doing something?"

  Jamie turned, mildly embarrassed at being caught musing. "I—uh—was just calculating our position relative ah—to..."

  "You were drifting," Aura said, like the telepath she was. She stepped forward into the muted light, joining him at the viewport. "Wandering in space."

  It was true, of course, but Jamie decided not to confirm her interpretation of his mood. Instead he stood quietly beside the woman, feeling the stirrings of a tension that was more than embarrassment.

  "I often wander myself," she on in hushed tones. "Or at least wish that I could. But the responsibilities of my position with the Qestans and the Dark, leave me with little time to..." She let the words drift into the shadows.

  "Tell me about the Dark," Jamie said, quietly.

  She searched his eyes. "They're—we are a small band of rebels in a very large Imperium. We've been known to use electronic espionage, blackmail and even a little looting of Imperial satellites, for the good of the Cause: equality of the masses, anti-imperialism and peace." She rested her weight against one of the cushioned chairs. It was an awkward stance, but one that put Jamie more at ease. "Peace. Something I've seen very little of." Her gaze went back out to the stars.

  Jamie thought about her comments for a moment. "How much of what you just said do you really believe?"

  "Most of it," she replied. "A little. I don't know. That's why I'm here. To get my head straight. To get away fresh. Wander for a while." She looked down at nothing. "I've been having trouble lately making up my mind."

  "About what?"

  "Things. Big things. Little things. It's hard to describe, really. I woke up one morning and found that a large group of my people had left my organization without discussion."

  "Maybe they were lured away."

  "No. They were dissatisfied with how I was running things. So they just packed up and left in the middle of the night, probably never to return. I began to question the importance of what we were trying to accomplish. Ever since then, it's been harder and harder to make a decision. That can be fatal to a political leader." She looked up at him, wearing that half-smile. "I can't afford a fatality at this stage of my career."

  It occurred to Jamie that she had just revealed an inner secret, as if he were the one with the mild telepathic abilities. He felt self-conscious about treading on her thoughts and didn't know quite what to do when another person's feelings were exposed unexpectedly.

  "So, you brought along a few of your followers, cut back your responsibilities, and planned this project as a sort of working vacation."

  "Yes, but I'm not sure that I haven't brought most of my troubles along, too."

  "What do you mean?"

  She stood erect again. "When you lead a small independent group such as mine, you are constantly dealing with doubt and deceit. You must have noticed the unusual or suspicious aspects of this mission."

  Jamie put his hands behind him, resting them on his sore lower back. "Yes. Some things have been a little strange. Turner pulling the whole thing together, for one. I'm sure he could have bought the information under the table, instead of financing our operations. And, Kleg, a dubious ally at best, allowing himself to be a part of a routine search mission, for another. What do your mental powers tell you about him?"

  "That's one of strangest parts of this whole assignment. I can't get a reading on Kleg Karr. He's shielded; his thoughts are hidden. It might be a talent he's acquired over the years to help him succeed as the pirate he is. Or it could be that parts of our mission are being withheld from you and I. Personally, I can't stand the man. But, as co-pilot, you're close to him. Let me know if you pick up on anything, will you?"

  Jamie fought to keep his mind away from alarm. He had just been asked by this attractive terrorist to spy on the pilot, if not captain, of the ship. It didn't matter that Karr happened to be only as appealing and friendly as an armpit.

  "I'll think…" Jamie said, "about it." He turned aga
in to stare out at the distant stars. They looked back coldly, saying nothing.

  "I'm sorry," Aura said, quickly. "I've compromised your position. Forget that I asked." She started to leave.

  "No. I meant what I said. I'll think about it. You may be right, and we need to deal with this as best we can."

  She nodded. "He's not necessarily a dangerous man; just a bent one."

  Jamie chuckled at that and watched Aura move aft into the darkness. A bent pirate and a terrorist with an identity crisis. This had any HAVENset beat all to hell.

  * * *

  When he swung back into the ship's command center, assured now that Zaxt had not destroyed his baggage, Jamie found Kleg huddled on the deck down on his knees with three Qestan crew members. An odd rattling sound came from where the group had their heads together.

  "Now, on the next roll," Karr said, "if you make your point; you win. Or if you get a seven or eleven. But any other number means you've crapped out."

  One of the Qestans nodded and spoke in a deep, guttural voice. "Crapped out."

  "That's right. You boys catch on quick. Now who wants to be the first to roll the bones?"

  Jamie saw Aura step through the hatch and immediately grasp what was going on. The woman seemed to have a knack for coming into uncomfortable situations.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing? The cords of her neck drew tight. "Get up!" she commanded.

  Her followers jumped to their feet at the sound of her voice.

  Kleg rose. His right hand was clinched, and his left held a fist full of deits.

  The three Qestans bowed their turbans in shame.

  "In a week, we arrive at FZ13," Kleg explained. "Got to pass the time."

  "Get back to Engineering," Aura pointed aft, assuming a regal posture. Then she addressed Karr. "We'll have none of your Capitalistic thievery on this voyage. Not with my people!"

  The three colorful Qestans slunk toward the hatch, as if were wired together.

  "Hold on a minute!" Kleg raised an open hand. "Just who the hell's the Captain of this ship?"

  Aura stepped toward him. "That's exactly the question running through my mind."

  "Listen," Jamie said. "Do think that we might have just one hour of peace around here without..."

  Devor used the interruption to affect an exit, throwing over her shoulder an acid comment about barbaric pirates and their relationship to the despised League of Merchants.

  Kleg glared at Jamie. "Who asked you to butt in? I was just getting on her good side." He stuffed the deits into the breast pocket of his Imperial Admiral's dress tunic. The costume was open at the throat, exposing Karr's bare chest. The sleeves had been ripped off, but glittering epaulets, medals, and awards adorned its front.

  It was an irrational uniform; one that begged an equally irrational comment from Jamie. "Where did you get that outfit, anyway?"

  Kleg grinned broadly. "Won it in a dice game on Starhaven. The sucker wearing it claimed to be a cashiered Starmada Admiral. Although, I suspect that the closest he ever came to His Majesty, the Emperor, was as a Dental Officer."

  Jamie felt his headache stronger again.

  "I had the sleeves torn off," Karr went on, as a symbol of my honesty. Nothing up my sleeve. Get it?"

  "What about behind your back?"

  "That's pretty good, Clamber," Karr laughed. "After this is over, why don't you come see me about a job with my free-lancers?"

  A graphic popped onto one of the command screens, but Jamie paid it no attention. Neither did Kleg.

  "That's right." Karr did one of his growls. "Keeps the juices flowing. One for all and all for himself. Nothing at all like Aura's Neo-Communists."

  The ancient political term was unfamiliar to Jamie. But another thought came to mind. "Have you and your boys ever been out in FZ5? Maybe doing a bit of raiding. Of freighters?"

  The graphic on the comscreen began to flash.

  Kleg drew himself up. "Maybe." Apparently he sensed some importance in Jamie's question. "I get around."

  The comscreen began to beep faintly, at last drawing the captain's attention.

  Jamie stored his suspicion away for the time being, as he peered over Karr's shoulder and read the incoming message from Turner Werch.

  ^**Outstation Zori reported having been taken over by an Outside Force. Suggest you proceed immediately with all caution. T.W.**^

  "Only a guy as rich as Werch," Kleg said, "can afford to put periods behind his initials."

  CHAPTER 5

  As it developed, Jamie's headache was not the result of stress or tension, but the first signs of a terrible cold.

  Since everyone else in the confined space of the Dagger was susceptible to the infection, Jamie had to wear one of those damn face masks that completely covered the lower portion of his face and supposedly prevented the spread of microbes. This only made him feel more miserable with aching sinuses, watery eyes, and sneezing that threatened to blast his mask across the compartment, if it hadn't been strapped to his head by an elastic band.

  At first, he thought perhaps he was allergic to something on the ship, but the medcomp analyzed his blood and announced that he suffered from a strain of Terrian flu. Passing through hyperspace had been particularly painful, a kettle drum pounding in his head for days during the jump.

  He spent the time studying the design of Outstation Zori and wondering about the "outside forces" that had taken over the installation. Zori was constructed in the child's toy, spinning top configuration similar to other Outstations throughout known space. The Imperium had built dozens of such research and transfer sites, in order to complete its communications web of Tachyon Beam Dictors in areas of space that were relatively empty. FTL communications was available through the use of tachyons, but the unique particle waves required boosting over long distances, and occasionally there was no convenient planetary mass in the wave's path. Thus, the need for an Outstation.

  Zori measured 900 meters in diameter at its six-bay drydock area, located just below the sensor wells and control module. Its main shaft was slightly more than twice as long as the drydock disk, consisting of ten stacked levels, assembled one after the other along the central shaft, like random items on a shish-kabob skewer.

  The widest element of Zori's design was the triple-armed extensions of its gravitic landing platforms. These flat up-facing pads functioned as parking lots for small craft of varying sizes. If a vessel needed extensive repairs, it could be taken into the docking bay, where standard pressure and atmosphere could be added around it to facilitate ease of access to exterior parts.

  Zori's defenses, Jamie learned between sneezes, consisted of six laser cannons, two ion cannons, three matter-antimatter torpedo tubes and a huge plasma gun set in the lowest level of the central shaft, just below the storage silos.

  Like all other Outstations, Zori orbited the galactic core and was fixed in relation to other stellar systems. Unlike other Outstations, Zori was not so much a traveler's waystation and vacation resort, as it was a research facility. Where other stations supported a complex TBD array at their tip, and bounced signals along to the next station in the chain, Zori hosted a bank of CCDscopes that peered deep into the Great Unknown, gathering micro-bits of information about the location of objects at the end of the universe.

  Zori was different from most outstations ln one other significant way. Instead of guest modules branching out from its central shaft just below the gravitic landing pads, Zori contained a medium-sized military barracks. The station was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, so the Imperium had decided it would make a good site for special training exercises and the cold storage of undesirable and dangerous materials.

  The chances of dealing with the station's unusual condition—let alone of locating Cast or the missing Esper Shadow ships—dropped dramatically in Jamie's mind, when he learned of the high military contingent on Outstation Zori. Dealing with circumstances on the station would not be an easy task, especially in his current w
eakened condition. He would just have to tough it out, aches and pains and all.

  Gradually the effects of his cold began to fade, leaving him with a mild muscular stiffness in his neck and shoulders.

  Due to Jamie's illness, Kleg had begrudgingly taken to training a few of the Qestans in the rudiments of piloting a scout ship. Aura's followers seemed adapt at the finer points of spacemanship and navigation, and they showed an even stronger interest in the Dagger's programming.

  One morning, a loud and nearly violent altercation occurred when Kleg discovered two of the colorfully clad Qestans busy stripping down the nav comp in an attempt to modify its motherbrain.

  Zaxt had helped a sneezing Jamie re-install the programs and loose components. The Qestans were ordered to stay away from the command center without full supervision. Aura defended them by saying that they were only trying to improve what was obviously an archaic piece of equipment. The situation resolved itself, after Kleg with his clever dice games, won nearly every deit the Qestans had to their names.

  As the ship neared FZ13, Karr prepared to activate the cloaking device and they all met in the lounge, gathered around a gametable to discuss strategy.

  "I say we go on in and take advantage of the situation," Kleg announced.

  "How?" Jamie asked. "We don't know what's going on over there."

  "Exactly. There's never been an outstation taken over by 'outside forces,' whatever that means. It's possible they might be easy victims, under the circumstances."

  "The problem is," Aura offered, "we have no idea what those forces might be. All communications have ceased, even though a localized scan of life-signs indicates that everyone is still on board."

  Jamie wadded up his face mask. "How did word reach Turner that the station had been taken?"

  "There was a transmission sent a little after we left Hyperion." Aura pointed at a data screen. "The message said that it contained the final communication from the residents of the Outstation. No reason was given for why this was considered final, and there has been no response to replies made since."