Baldwin's Legacy: The Complete Series

by Hystad, Nathan

  “Someone has one of our ships,” Conner said. “How is this possible?”

  “I don’t know.” Tom was angry. Clearly this was a Concord job, or someone had done one remarkable job of tricking the Veerilions. “I need to speak with the Prime.”

  They continued to witness the attack. The fighters fought from the sky all around the planet, and Tom was happy to see one of the enemy go down. “Where is that? Do you still have the pilot?”

  Omnik swallowed and sniffled again. “The pilot is dead.”

  “Well, let’s see the body,” Rene said. “It might give us an idea who did this.”

  “I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” Omnik said.

  “Why not?” Conner asked.

  “Because they were liquefied.”

  Tom froze. “Did you say liquefied?”

  “That’s correct. Nothing was left of them but a pool.”

  “Where’s the ship?” Tom asked, and Omnik’s officer pointed to a distant spot on the screen.

  “There,” he said. “Would you like to see it?”

  “Yes, please,” Tom told him.

  Omnik motioned for her officer to rise, and she introduced him as Erim. “If you’ll follow me.”

  The big Veerilion led them from the room and into a sleek transport ship parked outside the facility. Omnik joined them inside, and soon they were lifting away from the capital, heading inland. The trip was short, and in ten minutes, they were landing again. Tom was anxious to see the fighter, but the fact that the pilot was nothing but a pool of liquefied matter set alarm bells ringing.

  Conner leaned in, speaking quietly to Tom. “What if it’s the same thing the Statu used?”

  His question was obvious, but it still sent a wave of fear through Tom. “It can’t be.”

  “What if it is?” Rene asked from his other side. “They were always clever, and they’d have a reason they chose Veer as their target.”

  Tom clenched his jaw in anger. “Stop it!” he shouted, far louder than intended. Erim and Omnik peered at him as they exited the transport. Tom lowered his voice. “It isn’t the Statu, because we dealt with them. They’re gone.” He hoped this was true.

  The landscape was much different this far inland. It was full of rolling hills and green grass. The nearby city stood tall, mostly undamaged from the attack, and the fighter lay where it had in the video, unmoved since the assault.

  It was the same model as his old unit, and Tom stared at it as they crossed the field toward the crashed craft. Conner and Rene had flown them before, but only in training. Tom had logged a lot of hours inside those crafts, and this was definitely Concord-issued. The hull was intact, the bottom side burned, the nose slightly crumpled from the impact. Chunks of the ground encircled the front end, and Tom set a hand near the cockpit’s rungs.

  There were no markings on the side where the serial number and callsign should have been, and he inspected it more closely, seeing no evidence of tampering or paint removal.

  “Should you be doing this?” Conner asked him.

  “What, just because I’m an admiral, I shouldn’t be climbing around on a downed enemy vessel?” Tom asked with a light laugh, trying to break the tense mood surrounding them.

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant,” Conner said.

  Tom took the rungs, clambering to the cockpit entrance. He pried it wide, hinging the lid upward, and saw the sticky remains of the pilot.

  “We scraped up what we could for testing in our laboratories. We can tell that the pilot was Callalay,” Omnik advised him from the ground.

  Tom leaned over the seat, searching for something else.

  “The computer’s fried,” Erim said. “We tried everything but weren’t able to retrieve anything useful.”

  This model was different than the newest iterations, and Tom pressed a lever, tilting the seat forward. The ship had a backup drive, one that only this generation used. He saw it plugged in along the floor, and he used his fingers to pry it free, pocketing the device. It might prove nothing, but it was worth a shot. Even if it was encrypted, he was confident Kan or someone else could assist in breaking the code.

  Yin Shu’s projection materialized beside him, hovering near the opposite end of the cockpit. “Thomas, there is no tag inside.”

  “You’re right.”

  “This cannot be a Concord vessel,” she suggested.

  “It might be, but it hasn’t finished production. See the seat?” He pointed at a spot near the front of the chair, trying to ignore the sticky substance on it. “The thread patterns are different than I remember.”

  “Are you certain?” Shu asked, and he nodded.

  “Absolutely. This is a knock-off.” Tom climbed down, happy to learn this was a replica. His boots landed on the ground with a thud, and he grinned at the others. “At least we know one thing. This wasn’t us.”

  “Then who was it?” Rene asked.

  He patted his pocket and shrugged. “We’re going to find out.”

  ____________

  Today was the day.

  Brandon powered the freighter up, glancing over his shoulder at Kristen. “You ready for this?” he asked her.

  “It’s going to work,” she assured him for the fifth time since they’d woken up.

  The suborbital defenses were in place, but Brandon hoped it wouldn’t come to that. For this plan to work, they needed the incoming ship.

  Carl entered the compact bridge, humming an old song. Brandon didn’t know the words, but he’d heard Carl belting it out on occasion. He always sang when he was nervous.

  “Where’s Jun?” Brandon asked.

  “She’s… not coming,” Carl said.

  “Why not?” Brandon asked. “We had this planned out.”

  “I asked her to stay behind,” Carl told him. “Devon can do her job just as well.”

  Brandon understood. Carl was trying to protect Jun, but he hated last-minute changes like this.

  “Fine, but he’d better be on his game,” Brandon said, hearing Devon’s plodding footsteps from the cargo hold.

  The seat vibrated as he flipped a switch, and he silently wished the colonists safety while they were gone. If the enemy made it to the domes, that meant Brandon had failed his task.

  Kristen sat in the chair beside him, her blue jumpsuit a mirror of her eye color. “We’re going to do this. I always knew there was a reason for holding on to this technology.” She tapped the boxy unit connected to the weapons system. These old freighters were used for long hauling within the solar system, and their weaponry wasn’t defensive. It was made to break apart rock or floating debris near the mining sites.

  This craft, in particular, had logged over one hundred round trips from Jupiter to Earth over a span of fifty years. Brandon had been lucky to find it a decade ago, nabbing it for a bargain as it was being decommissioned.

  The box Kristen indicated was another story. This device had the ability to disable drones and had been created to deal with haywiring units at the Callisto mining site over a hundred years ago. The incoming Invader vessel was going to learn about it first-hand today.

  “You were right to bring it along. We hoped we wouldn’t need to use it.” Brandon averted his gaze, breaking eye contact with Kristen. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

  “We can do this,” she said softly.

  “No. It’s too late. Sylvester was right. Even if this works, they’ll come again, and again. We’re going to die,” Brandon told her, instantly regretting it. But Kristen didn’t blanch at his comments; she only frowned.

  “Then we take it to them. We steal this ship and head to Earth in it,” she said, echoing his own thoughts. He hadn’t wanted to share them with anyone, because the rest of the colonists would have said he was crazy for even thinking it.

  “We still die, then,” he said.

  “For what we believe in. President Basher needs to pay, as do the Invaders. Let’s do this. We’ve sat back and hidden for too long.”

 
Kristen’s eyes filled with tears, and Brandon nodded once. “I’m in.”

  “Are we ready to go?” Carl barked, causing Brandon to jump in his seat.

  “We’re good.” Brandon fired up the propulsion lift, sending them off Mars’ surface, kicking up a dust storm as they moved through the red planet’s atmosphere.

  “Computer, time to intercept?” Brandon asked as the shaking freighter moved into space, straight for the incoming enemy vessel.

  “Time to intercept is forty minutes, sir,” the female computer voice advised.

  “Everyone know the plan?” Brandon climbed from the chair, letting the automatic controls take over as the thrusters sent them from Mars.

  “We meet them, see what kind of bastards we’re dealing with, and hit ‘em where it hurts,” Devon said, pumping a fist in the air.

  “Something like that. Carl, you’ll be in the engine room, making sure the shields stay charged. This bucket has a tendency to short out when it’s being overworked. Devon, you’re on the blasters. You’re always talking the big talk, so let’s see you prove it today, okay?”

  Brandon waited for a quippy remark that didn’t come. Devon looked terrified.

  The trip to intercept went by quickly, with Brandon trying not to think about their next step. He told himself they needed to win this battle before anything, so he did his best to concentrate on the task at hand. Brandon certainly hadn’t expected a Class Seven rover to show on screen as they zoomed on the approaching ship.

  “Freighter, identify yourself,” an even voice said through the speakers. Brandon hadn’t even granted it access, and this concerned him. They must have had a way to hack into his old system.

  “We’re lost, and damaged from a chunk of rock bigger than a barn,” Brandon said, using a fake accent.

  “There are no asteroids in the vicinity, and reading your…” Brandon muted the call, and nodded to Kristen.

  “It’s time,” he told her, flipping a switch to relay the message to Carl. “Be alert.”

  “On it,” Carl’s voice returned.

  “Devon, ready to fire?” Brandon asked, and the man wiped an arm over his brow, his eyes brown and wide.

  “Yep.”

  Brandon unmuted it and heard the tail end of the conversation. “…stand down, prepare for boarding.”

  The drones erupted from the rover: two of them, and both would be carrying a deadly robot. “Now!” he shouted, and Devon began pounding at the drones with the blasters. This particular model of freighter wasn’t made for this kind of job, but Brandon had seen to the alterations himself. The drones’ shields broke faster than could be expected, and they each exploded into debris. The rover was ten times their ship’s size, with the Invaders’ advanced technology. Still, it had one thing from the pre-invasion years, and that was the central processing chip Kristen targeted with.

  The beam from the device flared, hitting the mark. Before the rover’s crew had grasped what was transpiring, the bright lights along its outer hull dimmed. The thrusters cut out, going dark.

  The rover was dead in space.

  Carl’s voice carried through the speaker. “Look, you didn’t even need me.”

  It was true. The Invaders hadn’t managed a single shot.

  “We still might. We’re going to have to clear it, so everyone strap into your suits. Time to claim our prize,” Brandon said as he urged the freighter forward, steadily closer to the very ship he was going to return to Earth in.

  ____________

  Lark didn’t fully trust Prophet, but so far, she’d done nothing but stick to her word. She’d have no qualms about killing him if she felt he was going to betray her or their benefactor, but he was in this to win, not to return to prison. Once he did this job, he could be at the head of something like he’d always planned, with a strong ally.

  He didn’t fully comprehend how his mysterious collaborator had garnered any information about Sol and the inhabitants of Earth, but Keen was prepared to make the trek and play at being a Concord admiral.

  Someone kicked his boots off the mess table, and he opened his eyes, seeing Prophet staring at him. The ridges on her forehead were prominent, the poor lighting casting silhouettes over her face. Lark guessed she’d spent most of her life in the shadows. “You almost done sleeping?”

  Lark sat up, finishing his cold Raca. “Do you ever sleep, or are you a Begolyte night worm?”

  A smile flickered across her face for a second. “You have a way with words, don’t you? Let’s hope they’re nicer when you meet with the Earth president in a few days.”

  “What’s the deal with these guys? Humans? Are you serious? I don’t buy any of it.” Lark rose, bringing his cup to the sanitizer.

  “What’s so difficult to understand?”

  “Why have we never seen them before?”

  “Your people left thousands of years ago, but clearly not everyone departed when your ancestors did,” the Callalay woman said.

  “I still don’t see how they’re going to help us gain control of the Concord,” Lark told her.

  “Neither do I, but I have some news. There have been three attacks by Concord ships on partner worlds over the last week. I think we have our opening. Chaos is within the system. People are finally beginning to hear about it, and protests are being planned for Nolix as soon as a few days from now,” Prophet told him. She stepped close, her body blocking his exit from the room. “You’d better not screw this up.”

  “Why’s this so important to you?” he asked her.

  “Because I’m being paid a lot, and I never fail,” she advised him.

  Lark huffed, fighting to not roll his eyes. “Well, don’t expect me to screw this up. My family is on the line.”

  “You’ve already failed them once. Why wouldn’t you again?” she asked.

  “Are we almost there?” he asked, not taking the bait.

  “We’re entering orbit as we speak,” she said, moving aside so he could pass.

  “Good. I’m ready to be done with this.” He peered at his clothing, a real Concord-issued admiral’s uniform. Part of him felt like a fool for donning the outfit. He was a traitor, though, and this was far from the worst he’d ever done. Impersonating one of the Concord leaders was nothing for Lark Keen, but Prophet’s words cut deep. I’m coming, Seda and Luci. Wait for me. He pictured them, finding it harder to visualize his family. With each passing day, their memory faded slightly more.

  The space station rotated around the planet below, a transport stop along a nothing system, where you could have your star drive tweaked, update your AI, or deal in illegal substances. It was within Concord space, and many places like this had been closed down over the years, but they always popped up again. This one was Concord sanctioned, and Prophet had said she’d chosen this one because of that fact. No one would search for them here.

  Lark went to the bridge, watching over the pilot’s shoulder while he brought them in to dock at the hideous space station. It was fairly big, with ten or so vessels berthed along its outer rim. He didn’t want to be seen. Even if he’d never met anyone inside, there was an extremely high chance he’d be recognized. Prophet assured him his mug had been plastered over every newsfeed and transmission over the last few weeks since his escape. He was priority number one and the most wanted man in the Concord.

  The reward was huge, and it made Lark wonder how much his ally was paying Prophet if she wasn’t willing to turn him in to the Concord for the payout. The sum had to be astronomical.

  “We’re here.” Prophet tossed him a device, and he gawked at it, unsure what it was. “Clip it to your collar and put this on first. Do you really want to draw that much attention to yourself?” She passed him a brown cloak, and Lark covered the admiral’s clothing with it. Once that was done, he placed the apparatus on the collar as she’d instructed, and his eyesight went blurry momentarily.

  “What’s this supposed to do?” he asked.

  “Go look at your reflection,” she told
him.

  Lark stepped away, heading to the restroom, and saw another man staring back at him. His hair was longer, dark, and he had the eyes of a Zilph’i. He moved a hand over his nose, and the image blurred. He’d have to be careful.

  Prophet waved her arm, and he followed, entering the airlock. “Don’t touch it, and you should be fine. We’re going somewhere bleak, so don’t worry about being spotted.”

  “And this contact will bring us to the Nek shuttle?” he asked.

  “That’s the plan,” she answered.

  Lark stepped onto the station, one step closer to completing his mission.

  ____________

  Only a few days had passed since Ven’s return to Constantine, and he was already breathing easier. He was settling into his usual routine and finding it much better than biding time on Driun F49. This was the new version of himself, the role he’d accepted and thrived within. Being an executive lieutenant on Captain Treena Starling’s Constantine was a dream come true.

  He trusted the other crew members, unlike the Ugna he’d just spent two months with. The energy here was different, stronger, less contradictory. His quarters were as they always had been, neat and organized, and he exited them without a glance toward the drawer that held the vial of En’or. It had been some time since he’d used it, but he felt as strong as ever. It was something no one had explained to him, but Ven still saw the dancing lights behind his eyelids as he meditated. The Vastness called to him on occasion, not seeking his life as he’d once thought.

  No. The Vastness wanted Ven to be aware of its power, to tap into the conscious stream of energy it held and pluck on the tendrils of the entire universe’s existence. He didn’t understand it, but he now comprehended the Vastness when he encountered it. It was the most beautiful yet frightening thing he’d ever witnessed.

  “Ven, there you are,” Brax said, running a hand over his bald head. “Have you been avoiding me?”

  “No, Lieutenant Commander Daak,” Ven said genuinely.