Terminus Shift (Targon Tales - Sethran Book 2)

by Chris Reher

  “Cazun,” he gasped when the Dutchman tumbled out of the terminus Ciela had targeted and back into real-space. He sat up clutching his chest as if that would ease the deep gulps of air he drew into his lungs. He barely managed to reach for the ship’s control system to bring it back on course and check for bearings and damage. “What the…”

  She reclined on her bench as serene and still as she had been those few seconds ago. “Quite the ride, huh?”

  He still breathed heavily, shaken by the experience. “You didn’t say there were a billion exits!”

  She smiled and opened her eyes. “You would have just worried.” She waggled her eyebrows. “You look kinda sexy panting like that.”

  “You are something, you know that?”

  “Yeah. Did you like it?”

  He looked over the cockpit displays, seeing nothing to indicate that the Dutchman was at all put out about this trip through whatever that was. “Gods, yes.” He fell back into his couch. “How did you know where to go? They all looked the same to me.”

  She tapped her forehead. “Special Delphian, remember? I wouldn’t pick any of those exits if I didn’t know where they end up. That’d be foolish. I’ve made friends with your ship. It’s so much smarter than the Othani. I could do this all day.” She sat up with a groan. “Well, that’s a lie. I’m going to pass out for a while.” She paused. “Why did you ask me about something being alive in there?”

  “Is there?”

  She pondered this for a moment. “Sometimes I’m not sure. It can’t be possible, of course, but we don’t really understand what ‘alive’ means, do we? Sometimes I do feel... watched during a traverse. Like someone is noticing me pass by. Strange, isn’t it?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe not. There’s a lot we don’t know about subspace.”

  She squinted at him. “You’ve felt something in there.”

  “Yeah. Like I told you before, poking around subspace is a bit of a hobby for me. You just made it a whole lot more interesting.”

  She raised herself up and gripped his arm when he offered it. “You’ll have to show me your hobby, Headhunter. I thought you mercs just hang around and drink heavily in your time between shooting people.”

  “That just gives me a headache,” he said, catching her when she stumbled. “The drinking part, I mean. Are you all right?”

  She nodded, apparently content to let him keep an arm around her to walk her to the sleeping cabin. “Was a long jump. That takes a toll.”

  He waited until she dropped onto her bunk before returning to the cockpit. Only then did he realize that he no longer bothered to lock her door when not supervising his prisoner. Prisoner? “Some merc you are,” he said to his reflection in an inactive screen.

  * * *

  Equatorial Magra Torley rarely made the list of favorite vacation destinations when those living on other parts of the continent or, indeed, other planets, looked for a place to get away. Temperatures here rivalled those of Feyd but the humidity and endless rains made them seem even more unbearable. Seth landed the Dutchman amid a collection of other cruisers on a metal platform raised above the mud, wincing when something seemed to give beneath the ship as it settled.

  Ciela studied the screens above the cockpit. There was little to see beyond the air field other than massive vegetation whipped by ferocious winds. Seth had had to compensate for the shear upon landing and she had covered her eyes when the Dutchman more than once threatened to careen into the massive trunks. She watched them bend impossibly far against the wind’s assault. “Do we have to go out there? It’s pouring. Make them come here.”

  “They’re waiting for us over there. I guess they’re making some sort of point before letting us tag along.”

  She followed him into the main cabin. “Hot outside, too.”

  “And buggy.” He picked up his medical scanner and compared Delphian physiology to the conditions of this environment. The northern sectors of both main continents were safe for most Prime species but this area teemed with hazards. “You’re going to need a little patching up.”

  She watched him sort through a collection of vials and other medication in his kit. “I don’t want a shot. I don’t like needles.”

  He found the patches he needed. “You and me are two of a kind, lady. Don’t worry. This should do.” She wore only a sleeveless shirt and loose trousers and now held her arm out while he applied two of the thin slips to her skin. “Sort of bloodsucking moths out there. They can leave nasties in your blood. Tuck your pants into your boots to keep leeches out.”

  “Leeches?”

  “A bit smaller than the ones on Tayako. But they hurt. Don’t drink the water here. Actually, don’t eat anything, either. Take this anyway.” He handed her a gel capsule.

  “Don’t you need a patch?”

  “Just the one for the arsenic in the rain. I grew up on Torley. Not around here, though.”

  “But you didn’t grow up to be a rebel.”

  Seth shrugged. “I was on my way. Seemed more exciting than what my parents had in mind for me.” He stuck another patch on her arm just for good measure.

  Those had been thrilling times, he recalled. Magra Torley’s government, perpetually at war with the vast continent on the other side of the planet, tolerated rebels for no other reason than the steady supply of stolen technology, stolen planes, and masterless mercenaries willing to use them. In response, Magra Alaric had opened its doors to the Union, installing extensive military bases and allowing fully armed orbiting stations above its dominion. A conflict like that held much excitement for a young Centauri with few restrictions put upon him by his long-suffering Human foster parents.

  “So what changed your mind?”

  He sat to pull his boots on, following his own advice to tie off the hems of his ancient combat trousers. “Dead bodies, mostly. Scared people. Ruined towns, like yours. It gets old. Spent a season in a very small jail cell before my parents shipped me off to teach me manners at the Air Command academy.”

  “Ugh,” she said.

  “I will be forever grateful to them.” He pointed toward the Dutchman’s cockpit. “Turned me into a damn fine pilot, if I can boast without shame for a moment, even if they couldn’t turn me into a soldier. I’d still be blowing up bridges if not for them.”

  “Some bridges need to be blown up.”

  He came to his feet and gestured to the exit. “That’s Arawaj talking, Ciela. Start seeing things for yourself.”

  She frowned and took a breath as if to launch into another fierce bit of rhetoric. He raised his hand to ward that off. “Just try. I used to think there was just one exit on the other side of that keyhole. Maybe you’ll find a few out here in real-space, too.”

  “Sounds kinda preachy,” she mumbled and walked ahead of him to the ramp. She raised an eyebrow when he handed her a knife, a thin blade inside a quick-draw holster, but made no comment as she belted it around her hips.

  There was no hood or poncho that would serve to keep the rain away and it took just moments for both of them to get drenched to the skin. The steady downpour shifted occasionally to blast them from the side as they walked down from the platform. Beyond the wall of whipping treetops lay the town of Riva but they would not see that today. The Arawaj gang they were to meet waited for them in the huddle of outbuildings near the air field. Broad overhangs reached nearly to the ground to channel rain water into a stream running through the middle of the narrow lane between them.

  Seth and Ciela ducked under the awning of a building whose signage seemed to suggest some sort of outfitter. Seth was glad to have restocked his coolant supply on Tadonna; his data sleeve warned of leaking radiation from the stores next to this building.

  Two Feydan men sharing a meal of dumplings on the raised porch watched the new arrivals hurry into the shelter. Their unwavering leer was focused on Ciela. Seth glanced over at her and saw that, although her shirt was black, it was soaked through and left very little to be imagined about
the shape beneath. She frowned at him when he took a step forward and in front of her.

  “Looking for Pacoby,” he said.

  The man whose ear was pierced by what appeared to be a Caspian’s toe claw shifted his gaze to Seth. “Not here. Not fond of rain. You’d be Kada, then?”

  “Right.”

  “Tadonna’s vouching for you. Pacoby’s not so sure. Says to check you and send you topside if we like you. You’ll jump with him.”

  “Just tell us where he’s going. We can find our way there.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  Seth muttered a silent oath. Finding Pacoby still down here would have made things a whole lot easier for them. He had envisioned a quick bullet to the brain and a quicker exit on the Dutchman.

  The Feydan rebel held up a scanner. “Would ye oblige us, kind sir,” he said, grinning when his partner guffawed around a mouthful of mash over the wit he displayed.

  Seth leaned forward to allow a scan of his retina. The rebel sent it to wherever it was going to be scrutinized and then raised his scanner to Ciela. She also leaned toward him and it took a moment before she realized that he had lowered it for a better view of her soggy neckline. Seth felt anger rise, a rare sensation for him.

  Ciela turned to him. “Can you shoot that man, please? He’s rude.”

  Seth blinked but recovered before the others did. He drew his gun and poked it into the rebel’s ear before the man had time to reach for his own.

  “No need for that,” the rebel said, holding his hands up to placate the madman with the gun. “Just having some fun here.”

  The other rebel had stopped chewing in surprise. He drew back when Ciela pulled her knife and moved closer to him. She raised it slowly and then stabbed down to skewer the food in their bowl.

  “Remember what I said about the food here,” Seth said when she turned up the knife with the dumpling. She flipped the morsel out into the rain where two lizards darted from under the porch to devour it. He returned his attention to the rebel at the end of his gun. “Going to send that?”

  The man nodded and fumbled with his transmitter.

  Seth lowered his gun and they all waited in uncomfortable silence until the rebel received his response.

  “That’s Kada,” a voice without video spoke from his wrist unit. “Not one of ours but he’s worked with Pe Khoja so that’s good enough for us. The other one doesn’t show up.”

  “She’s my spanner,” Seth said loud enough for transmission. “Part of Velen Phar’s crew.”

  Another silence followed while someone weighed the value of Seth’s word against the lack of Ciela on their database.

  “Tadonna confirms,” a woman cut into the conversation. “You’re cleared, Kada. We can always use another spanner on the trip. Cie Pacoby wishes to meet her.”

  “Are we done here now?” Seth said genially when the transmission ended.

  “You’re damn lucky,” the rebel snarled, having recovered his wits if not his pride. “You’d not get twenty steps if you hadn’t checked out.” He allowed Seth’s data sleeve to copy the coordinates for Pacoby’s ship in orbit.

  Seth turned his back on them and slung his arm around Ciela’s waist. “Enjoy your dinner.”

  They hurried back to the Dutchman, both aware that the disgruntled rebels would surely complain to Pacoby about their treatment.

  “You did that well,” Seth said when they waited for a full decon cycle to complete before entering the ship. “By the time we get up there they’ll have told Pacoby we’re homicidal hooligans intent on skinning them alive. Pacoby appreciates those qualities in his people.”

  “So I hear,” she said, shivering. “You should have zapped that guy a little for his bad manners. It’s freezing in here!”

  He unlatched the pressure door when the Dutchman announced them safe to enter. “Get into some dry clothes,” he said, unable to divert a glance at her damp shirt. “Please.”

  Chapter Eleven

  As Arawaj rebel accommodations went, this was the most peculiar one Seth had seen up until now.

  They had found Pacoby’s convoy and obeyed his request to lock onto his ship, a powerful little Fleetfoot flanked by two others. Arawaj shunned the small luxuries Seth allowed himself on his own cruiser, either by inclination or simply shortage of funds, but this ship suffered no lack. They were met by two well-dressed Centauri, near perfect gravity and excellent air quality when they stepped aboard. Like on all Fleetfoots, the walls were unclad, showing their complex network of conduits, supports and service grids, but the structure looked well-maintained and spotless. Seth and Ciela exchanged a surprised glance when they heard music piped softly through overhead speakers.

  They were searched thoroughly and not especially gently, making them feel a little more at home.

  “This way,” was the only thing the Centauri woman said before walking ahead of them through the main corridor. They passed several doors and junctions to other passages and Ciela busied herself, out of habit, with memorizing any variances from the standard Fleetfoot design. They walked past the bridge, located in the heart of the ship, and into an adjoining cabin.

  Left alone in there, Seth turned to Ciela with raised eyebrows. She shrugged and looked around what seemed to be some sort of lounge, oddly furnished in carved Feydan designs. Beautiful in their primitive way, but heavy and not something found on ships capable of entering planetary atmospheres. Whatever way the thickly cushioned seats and tray tables had been fastened to the floor was invisible. The walls contained a more practical display system with multiple screens. One of them, made to look like a window, showed a real-vid view of the ship’s surroundings.

  A door to their left slid aside and Sco Cie Pacoby entered from the adjoining bridge. He carried a data sheet in his hand and said nothing when he held it up, apparently comparing the information on it to the two people in front of him.

  “Thank you for allowing—” Seth began but Pacoby raised a finger to silence him.

  “Let the music play,” he said softly.

  Once again, Seth and Ciela exchanged a bewildered look. The music piped into the hall outside did not enter this room.

  The rebel’s eyes remained on his data sheet. Human, this small, neatly dressed man came as a bit of a surprise. Seth had seen headshots of him but had not expected someone as delicately formed as him, reaching barely to Seth’s elbow. Centauri and their Delphian cousins were the tallest of the Prime species but Pacoby seemed petite even for a Human. As one of the more feared Arawaj commanders, his carefully groomed appearance seemed oddly out of place.

  His guests had dressed in preparation of several days aboard their ship in loose, comfortable clothing while he wore a tailored set of trousers and jacket, matched carefully with a spotless, creaseless shirt. Seth rubbed his chin, suddenly feeling a little rumpled.

  But Pacoby seemed entirely disinterested in the Centauri before him. He smiled at Ciela as if moving his lips that way required some calculation on his part. “You worked for Phar?”

  “Yes. Five years on his flagship.”

  He glanced briefly at Seth and then back to her. “So you’re here to liberate your companions? Is that what I’m gleaning from Ruthala Cedre’s message?”

  “Uh, yes. I guess…”

  “Sebasta must be stopped,” Seth said quickly. “This alliance can’t happen. I have a ship, she’s got a talent. We’re here to join your mission. To serve.”

  Pacoby’s pallid eyes travelled to Seth as if finally and actually seeing him. “Are you? Nothing personal, then?”

  Seth returned his gaze firmly, wanting nothing so much as use his bare hands, in the absence of his weapons, to put this man out of everyone’s misery. The horrific acts he committed in the name of the Arawaj cause would soon earn him the sort of command he undoubtedly craved. Even the fairly unorganized Arawaj leadership was known to harbor doubts about his influence on their methods. But unlike many of Pacoby’s followers, Seth was not quite ready to give up
his life for his cause on a ship full of armed rebels. “Of course it’s personal,” he said instead of strangling the man. “She’s lost friends. As have I. All the more reason to join you.”

  Pacoby nodded. Although his eyes had returned to Ciela, his words were for Seth. “Your name is not unknown to us, Kada. But so far your allegiance seems a little… uncommitted. Are you joining this mission, or are you joining the Arawaj?”

  “My service on this mission will show my commitment,” Seth said.

  “Will my friends be hurt?” Ciela said, unable to keep her fears to herself any longer. “If you plan to sabotage the meeting, what about them?”

  Another lifeless smile played over Pacoby’s lips. “We plan sabotage, not annihilation,” he said. “The meeting place is a fortress and we stand little chance of breaching it.” He turned away to place his data sheet on a nearby table, thoughtfully fussing over its alignment with the edge. “There will be two flight decks. One houses a hangar for the Shri-Lan fighter planes. The Shrills. So we’ll be told to dock onto the west deck where they can keep an eye on us. Or so they think. Our plan is to destroy the north air field. It’ll cost them their Shrills and whatever cruisers they have there. Simple, expensive for them, and making our statement sufficiently. The Shri-Lan may want to buy our people, but they don’t want to buy our troubles. They will know what an alliance with Sebasta’s camp will cost them and they’ll send him and his defectors on their way. So have no fear for your people.”

  “But then how will you free them?”

  He turned back to her. “That is not our mission. However, we will attempt to pursue Sebasta after our work is complete. I will welcome four additional spanners under my command.”