It wasn’t until they reached the bottom of a slow rise of hills that Shawn wordlessly stopped the team. Turning to Tausan, he gave the colonel a signal to follow him up the small embankment. Near the top of the steep rise, the two went down to their stomachs to minimize their profiles. Crawling on forearms, they shuffled to the top of the ridge and tentatively looked over.
The slope of the hill on this side was far more gradual, transitioning into a valley that had likely been a lakebed in the far distant past. Now it was little more than a hard surface, baked and cracked into a million pieces and speckled with boulders of every conceivable size and shape. About two hundred yards from the hill, an area roughly a hundred square yards had been flattened into a rectangular landing pad.
Parked neatly on the pad was a sleek Rugorian blockade runner, a type that Shawn had grappled with during the Great Galactic War. He knew from experience that its tapered front end housed several beam weapons. From there, the hull elongated back into two fin-like structures, each containing sensors and even more weapons. The three-hundred-foot-long vessels, with their oversized engines, were built for speed—meant to rush past enemy blockades or anything else that stood in their path. It was the craft of choice for a great many pirates currently plaguing Unified space, and this one seemed no exception to that rule. Around the base of it, a small cadre of support workers tended to the vessel that appeared to be getting ready to take off.
To the side of the vessel, a disk-shaped support structure standing atop of thick stalks had been erected. It looked as if it had been there for decades. The configuration was unfamiliar to Shawn, but it didn’t look Rugorian in origin. It was a large metal mushroom sprouting from the desert floor, with windows lining its widest portion, which would give anyone in the post an unobstructed three-hundred-sixty-degree view. It was impossible to tell how many pirates were in the building, but Shawn guessed it was substantial. Besides the building sat the now-unmanned skimmer they had witnessed earlier.
“An outpost of some kind,” Tausan said as he surveyed the structure.
“Probably set up as a staging grounds for raids into Unified space,” Shawn agreed.
“If that is the case, then we may have a way in to their installation.”
“Oh,” Shawn said in surprise. “And just how would that be?”
“The Rugorians were once allies of the Kafaran Empire, Commander. If I take you as my prisoner, it’s possible they will allow us to venture closer.”
Shawn chuckled. “Okay, that’s almost as crazy as McDermott’s earlier suggestion of stopping the skimmer and asking for directions.”
“I am open to suggestions, Commander. If you have any.”
Shawn sighed, then looked back to the runner and its maintenance crew. “I’m working on it.” The three men nearest the vessel appeared to be unarmed, but they could certainly have some weapons concealed in their flowing garments. The Unified team had the high ground, and that was to their advantage, but it would give them little protection if the Rugorians decided to lift off and take a swipe at them. And, if this ship was getting ready to depart permanently, there was no telling when the next one would be around. “Fine,” he huffed. “I’ll entertain you for a second. What’s your brilliant plan?”
“For the ruse to work, it will have to appear that I have captured all of you.”
Shawn chuckled. “Impressive, for a Kafaran. Capturing everyone one of us all by your lonesome.”
“Are you suggesting I couldn’t have done it if the situation had called for it?”
Shawn shook his head. “You would have had better luck in killing us.”
“That would have been the easiest way, true,” Tausan acknowledged. “But prisoners are more valuable.”
I’ve never heard of a Kafaran taking prisoners. They usually just slaughter indiscriminately. Shawn had the good sense not to speak the words aloud. “McDermott may get a mind to open his mouth and ruin the whole thing if we’re not careful.”
“I’m quite sure there is a way to … silence the good ambassador.”
Shawn smiled in amusement. “I do have a tranquilizer in the med kit.”
“Then it would seem that you have found a solution to that problem, Commander.”
“He’s not going to like it.”
Tausan grunted before turning to Shawn. “Good. I loathe politicians, regardless of the species.”
“Colonel, I think you and I might become friends after all.”
*
Inside the upper portion of the outpost, First Mate Makau leaned against a computer terminal and glared at his captain, Hast, who had just informed him of some very bad news. Their ship, the Golden Storm, was going back into Unified territory on another supply run. It was no wonder that Captain Hast had waited until the ship was nearly ready to depart to deliver the orders passed to him from his superiors. The House of Dracton, head of the largest collection of Rugorian ships in the quickly splintering pirate navy, was running dangerously low on supplies. The task of gathering had been delegated to any ship capable of delivering, and hefty rewards were promised for those items most needed: medical supplies and weapons. They were also the most dangerous to acquire, and many crews failed to return at all, let alone deliver. After looting many of the nearby systems dry, the Golden Storm would have to seek out more lucrative sources away from Falorin—and that meant Unified space, and an inevitable run-in with Sector Command.
“I don’t like it,” Makau protested. “It’s too dangerous.”
Captain Hast took a slow drink from his brandy and then set the glass down on the armrest beside him. Makau was as good an officer as the captain had ever served with—possibly the best—but the increasing frequency of his disagreements with the House leaders was beginning to give Hast trepidation. After all, it was never a good idea to question the House. If they discovered Makau’s disobedient streak, which Captain Hast had the good decency to keep out of their periphery, it would have surely meant the death of his first mate weeks ago.
“We’ve had this conversation before, Makau,” Hast replied calmly, the warm alcohol soothing his aching throat. The accursed sand of this planet had worked its way into the captain’s lungs over the past six months. During the last several weeks, he had begun to have coughing fits as his body tried to expel the particle-sized invaders, and he longed for the wet, humid climate of Rugor for relief. Desperate to find any cargo that would bring him back to his home world—and into the good graces of the House of Dracton—he would do almost anything to get it.
“One of these days we’re not going to make it back,” Makau said, folding his arms defiantly. “This is not the life I envisioned when I joined this House.”
“This is not the life any of us envisioned,” the captain replied and finished with a fit of coughs. “We do what we must to ensure the longevity of our people.”
“We’re already on the brink of civil war with our own people,” Makau spat. “And now we risk an all-out assault by Sector Command. It is foolish to continue this madness.”
“Sector Command,” Hast said with a raspy chuckle. “Trained dogs, the lot of them. We’ve bested them before.”
“We were lucky,” Makau corrected. “There was only one small cutter, and the Golden Storm was faster. We barely got away with our skins intact, and what did we have to show for it? A cargo hold full of useless trinkets.”
“That’s what we get for boarding a Minosian freighter.”
“No. That’s what we get for being greedy.”
Hast took another drink. This time, the liquid did little to alleviate the dryness in his throat. “You are a good friend, and our campaigns together have, at times, been quite successful and profitable. However, don’t fool yourself into believing that I’ll continue to remain silent about your outbursts. The House of Dracton is all that matters, not our personal feelings on the matter.”
Makau sighed, then cast his eyes to the floor. “We squabble for scraps while the House of Fiefs and the Rugoria
n Protectorate eat like kings.”
“The protectorate is no different than Sector Command,” Hast scoffed at the reference to Dracton’s hated enemies. “In fact, they are worse. And their pets, those bastard Fiefs … their ships are no match for ours in any arena.”
“What they lack in equipment, they make up for in leadership,” Makau said, carefully gauging Hast’s reaction. “That is why we have yet to subvert them.”
“Our people will not stand for unification with the greater masses of this galaxy,” Hast replied grandly. “And that includes a truce with the Unified Collaboration. We are free, and we will remain so, not under the thumb of any government … even one of our own making. If the protectorate fails to see that, they will perish.”
“And, in an attempt to do that, Rugor will spiral into civil war. Rugor is dying, Captain.”
“Rugor will go on, and so will our people, Makau.” The captain sighed, quickly feeling fatigued from their debate. “You will see, old friend. I only wish we had allies on our side.”
“Allies?” Makau laughed. “Like who? Who would join us in eradicating our own people?”
“The Kafarans, if they knew what was good for them.”
Makau shook his head in disappointment. “That allegiance died a long time ago. Besides, they have their own problems to deal with.”
Hast nodded slowly. “I’ve heard those same rumors.”
“Regardless, siding with the devil is no better than an all-out confrontation with Sector Command. Rugor was fortunate the Galactic War ended when it did. I fear what the Kafarans would have done to us had they been the victors.”
“Partners, we would have called it.”
“Masters, I think, would have been the correct term.”
“It’s all academic at this point,” Hast began. “We can talk about this after we get underway. We need to get to the ship right now and—,” but the rest of his sentence was interrupted by a message coming in from one of the guards. “Yes?” the captain asked after pressing the intercom button on the control panel.
“Captain, there is a group of trespassers heading this way on foot from the top of the western ridge.”
Bolting from his chair, Hast grabbed a pair of nearby binoculars and peered out the large window. Likewise, Makau turned and began to scan the horizon with his eyes. Hast craned his head from left to right, looking for the distant interlopers. Catching a glint of something metallic, the computerized viewer focused and enhanced the target. “I see them,” Hast breathed triumphantly.
“What do you see?”
“It looks to be four humans, three males and a female, with one on a stretcher and supported by the two males. Behind them … is a Kafaran. He has a gun, and has it pointed in the direction of the humans.”
“They are his prisoners?” Makau asked in surprise.
“It would appear so. They are probably the survivors of the craft our scouts spotted yesterday.”
“Captain Hast,” the voice asked from the intercom. “Should I eliminate them?”
A plan quickly formed in Hast’s mind, one that would surely get him the rewards and prestige he wanted, to say nothing about getting him off this planet. “No. Bring them to me, alive. All of them.”
*
“Do you honestly think this is going to work?” Melissa asked in disbelief.
Stepping slowly down the slippery slope, Shawn hazarded stumbling down the hill and craned his head behind him to look at her. “Honestly, I don’t think it has a chance in hell.”
“Then tell me why on Third Earth you agreed to it.”
“Because it was the best we could come up with.”
“Keep quiet,” Tausan shouted from behind them. “I do not wish to betray our ruse.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Trent quipped. “You don’t have a gun pointed at your back.”
“Kafarans aren’t known for taking bothersome prisoners,” Tausan replied. “I may have to shoot you to keep up our façade.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Trent laughed nervously. “I think your sense of humor is improving. What do you think, Skipper?”
“I don’t think he was kidding,” Shawn replied dryly, which elicited a glare from Melissa. “How’s the ambassador doing, by the way?”
Melissa, who had been walking beside the stretcher supported by Shawn and Trent, looked down at the sleeping diplomat. “He’s out cold, and I have to say that I’m glad for it. Who knows what kind of fit he’d be raising over this plan.”
“That’s for sure,” Shawn agreed. “One things for certain: he’s going to be mad as hell when he wakes up and realizes what happened.”
“I told him I was giving him a mild sedative to ease the pain,” Melissa said. “He didn’t ask if it was going to knock him out, so I didn’t volunteer the information.”
“A very cunning tactic,” Tausan grumbled. “You humans continue to surprise me. You would make a fair Kafaran.”
“I’m not entirely sure that’s a compliment,” Trent whispered, yet was still overheard by the Colonel’s well-tuned senses.
“Fear not, Sergeant. I’ll only shoot you if it is absolutely necessary … which it is quickly becoming.”
Two hundred yards ahead, Shawn caught sight of the Rugorians’ desert skimmer humming to life. It hovered for a moment before slowly moving forward, then abruptly turned to intercept them.
“Looks like we caught their attention,” Shawn said over his shoulder.
“Indeed it does, Commander,” Tausan replied. “Now kindly shut up and keep moving.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend? I say bull. He’s my friend when he proves it to me and not a moment before. The biggest problem with scientists is that they think there is some big, great purpose to the universe … that everyone out here was created to get along with one another. The reality couldn’t be further from that observation. I mean, it may look like a human, it may act like a human—hell, it may even talk like a human—but anyone who knows anything about anything out here in the void will tell you that a Mondogarim has one thing on its mind—feeding you to its children.”
—Vice Admiral Richard P. Krif
Commander, Plans and Policies Division, Sector Command Station 27, Garus-Theta Quadrant
Broken Spheres: A Semi-Illustrated Guide to the Collapse and Rebirth of the Unified Collaboration of Systems.
Chapter 10
After Shawn and the others had been escorted to the topmost portion of the outpost under armed guard, they were quickly shoved into a small anteroom to await their fate. Curiously, Tausan and Melissa had been sequestered from the rest, leaving Shawn and Trent to watch over the still-unconscious Ambassador McDermott in the small office. With the ambassador’s stretcher on the floor, Shawn leaned against a battered desk as he watched Trent impatiently pace the room, the soles of his boots squeaking with each rapid turn.
“Would you please stop that?” Shawn asked. “You’re making me nervous.”
“You’re nervous? That’s funny,” Trent spat as he continued to move around the room. “How do you think I feel?”
“We’ll be fine.”
Trent stopped and whirled toward Shawn. “And just how do you know that, Commander sir?”
“Because we aren’t dead yet.”
“Just so you know, that’s not as comforting as it sounds. They can still kill us.”
“Tausan and I were willing to take that chance.”
“Tausan,” Trent retorted with a huff, then continued to pace. “I still can’t believe you’re taking orders from that … that Kafaran.”
“You’d best get this straight, okay? I’m not taking orders from anyone here, least of all the colonel. That being said, I’m giving him a little latitude here because I think he can help us.”
“Really?” Trent asked in disbelief. “How?”
“The Kafarans and the Rugorians were allies once, which is more than I can say for the Unified Collaboration. That alone gives him an ‘in’ with
these people who would just as soon feed us humans to the dogs.”
Trent shook his head, looked as if her were about to say something, then shook it again. “I just hope you’re right about this.”
“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”
“What about Melissa? Why do you think they separated her from us?”
Shawn shrugged. “My first thought would be simply because she’s a woman. They may not have seen one of those in a while, and they may try to take advantage of that.”
Trent looked at Shawn for a long moment before letting a smile creep across his face. “I feel sorry for the first guy who tries to put his hands on her.”
“Yeah, I’m not too worried about her, either,” Shawn agreed with a laugh.
*
Captain Hast looked at Tausan questionably. “A very likely story, Colonel.”
Tausan had just spent the better part of the last thirty minutes detailing, inasmuch as he could remember, how Sylvia’s Delight had fallen from the sky. Of course, left out were the parts dealing with Sector Command or their unfolding mission to Rugor. Instead, Tausan had spun a tale of a trade negotiation gone wrong. He’d painted Shawn as the proverbial villain, Melissa and Trent as his unwilling accomplices, and the wounded McDermott as the innocent bystander caught in the crossfire. By the look on Captain Hast’s face, Tausan wondered to himself if he had overlooked any detail, or if he’d made the mistake of repeating himself too often.
“Kestrel and his people are my prisoners,” Tausan said, leaning across the small table toward the ruddy Hast. “All I require is access to a transmitter so that I can get back to my people.”
“We’re not in the business of making our location known,” Hast said with a smile, then took a sip from a nearby libation. “Sending a high-powered signal from here to Kafaran space would certainly do that.”
“The signal need not propagate to Kafaran space,” Tausan replied, playing a card that Shawn had mentioned the colonel might need.
In the Presence of My Enemies Page 13