by Nick Webb
“The honor is mine, Captain Mercer. Welcome to Oberon.” His manner was stiff and formal, and from the look in his eye Jake wasn’t entirely sure if the welcome was warm, or sincere. “My aides have informed me of the role your ship played in the most recent battle between the Vikorhov Federation and our countrymen. How … fortunate you showed up when you did.” The man’s eyes, half hidden behind the blurry lenses, crossed slightly. Jake could tell the man was suspicious—something about how he looked at him, how he spoke, put Jake on edge.
But this was no pirate or slaver on Destiny. This was the elected head of government of a thriving metropolitan society. From the looks of it, Dezreel City, the capital city of Oberon, was a vast, sprawling metropolis of perhaps several million people, full of skyscrapers, lavish districts, slums, and bustling with traffic.
“I’m glad we could help, sir.” Jake smiled. “As one who has dealt with repressive enemies in the past, I felt compelled.” He weighed his words carefully, trying not to reveal any more information than he had to. The Prime Minister had to know, of course, that the Phoenix was from Earth—Old Earth, the man would probably call it—and that her crew was trying to stay out of sight from the Empire. But beyond that he decided to hold as much information to his chest as possible.
“And your ship? Has she sustained damage in our defense? If so, we would be happy to assist you in repairs. I’m sure you’ll be wanting to get on your way as soon as possible.” The man’s tone was unmistakable. He wanted them gone.
“We would welcome your help, sir. And we do not wish to overstay our welcome. If you desire it we can be gone within the week.”
The Prime Minister forced a broad smile. “Don’t take me the wrong way, Captain. We are very glad you’re here and for what you did for our ships. But you must understand, these are difficult times, diplomatically speaking. We are a peaceful world, one that has shunned violence since her founding. If the Vikorhov Federation sees a massive warship docked at our spaceport or in orbit, what are they to think of our intentions? They would assume we are preparing for war and would send their full force upon us immediately.”
Jake cocked his head in confusion. “And that battle up there? What was that? Aren’t you already at war?”
“War? Absolutely not!” He looked sheepishly around at his advisors and the small congressional delegation that had accompanied him, forcing out a chuckle and the broadest politician’s smile he could muster. “It was a minor skirmish between some of our non-governmental ships and a few of their patrol ships. In fact, I hear that they were in the process of disengaging right as you showed up and inflamed the situation.”
Jake stopped smiling. “Inflamed?” He bristled, but glancing sidelong at Po, he caught her warning look. Calm down, her face said to him. He took a deep breath through his nose and forced a smile that would make the politician facing him proud. “An unfortunate misunderstanding. Very well, sir, we will be on our way as soon as possible. Captain Brand has promised us some needed supplies, and after we finish some necessary repairs we’ll leave the system.”
The Prime Minister’s eyes narrowed at the mention of the name. “Brand promised you supplies? What sort of supplies, if you don’t mind my asking?”
Jake hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much the man needed to know, especially given his icy welcome and the less-than-charitable response to the Phoenix saving the Oberanian ships. “Food. Water. Other common supplies,” he waved a hand absentmindedly, as if shoeing the question away. “But if you don’t mind, sir, our crew is weary and at wit’s end from the battle. They could all use some shore leave. Do we have your permission to disembark while we’re here?”
With a sigh, and a furtive glance at the congressional delegation—it was as if he was putting on a show—the Prime Minister pushed his glasses up and nodded. “Of course, Captain. Ours is a peaceful world, and a free one. You are welcome to go wherever you wish.
“Thank you, Prime Minister,” said Jake. He turned and introduced the rest of his team to the politicians, and the group exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before the Prime Minister took Jake aside by the arm.
“Walk with me Captain.”
Jake fell into step with the man and they passed out of the Minister’s office and paced down the hall, past marble busts of men and women—he supposed they were all former leaders of Oberon—and past works of art hanging on the wall. One of them Jake recognized as Rembrandt. He wondered if it was a facsimile or an original.
“Captain Mercer, your coming was fortuitous—please don’t misunderstand my hesitation earlier,” began the Prime Minister, his tone markedly different from before. Gone was the stiffness. But the uneasiness remained. “I have constituents, and factions in congress to manage, and it would not be healthy for my political career if I appeared the war-monger.”
“Of course, sir. I understand completely.” He didn’t, but he said the words anyway to set the man at ease. Politicians. They say what you want to hear, so you might as well tell them what they want to hear. Especially when you wanted something from them.
“But this business with Brand. You say he will be procuring supplies for you?”
“Is that a problem? Isn’t he in the Oberanian fleet?”
The Prime Minister stopped walking down the hallway and stopped to face him. “Captain, there is no Oberanian fleet. Those are vigilantes. Acting without government direction.”
“Are they acting with government consent?” asked Jake.
The man flashed an uncomfortable smile. “It’s complicated. Most here on Oberon prefer peace to war. Peace is the main platform of my political party, and we’ve dominated Oberanian politics for decades. We have no fleet, but we depend on these ships for part of our defense. Not all of it, mind you. Oberon has excellent orbital defenses—the Vikorhov Federation wouldn’t dream of invasion with their fleet. They’d be blasted out of the sky by our ground-based ion cannons before they could fire off the first shot. But that robust passive defense has allowed us to remain a pacifistic society for generations.”
“So why the vigilantes? What’s Brand’s story? And his people and ships?”
The Prime Minister shrugged. “Some people think the best guarantor of peace is to continually prepare for war. I disagree. I think these ships of Brand’s unnecessarily provoke our enemy. We’d be safer without them. But to maintain our coalition in the congress I’ve had to make certain … deals with them. So while they don’t have government direction or direct monetary support, they have unofficial sanction, and material support.”
Jake nodded. “Very well. So you wish that I’m not seen too much with Brand around town, then.”
“I knew you’d understand. And just …” he eyed Jake, cocking his head as he turned back towards his office where everyone else was still hobnobbing, “Be careful, if you know what’s good for you.”
Jake wasn’t sure if the man was threatening him or warning him.
Either way, the advice was sound. He’d definitely keep his eyes open while on Oberon, and not let his guard down.
Last time he’d done that, he’d nearly spent the rest of his life as a uranium miner.
***
Jake grinned at his friend next to him at the bar. Music pounded in their ears—Jake felt the throbbing bass deep in his chest of some obnoxious techno beat—and the bartender topped off his drink.
“See buddy? Just like old times!”
Ben scowled. “Old times? You mean just like three weeks ago.”
He snorted in reply, and sipped his beer. “You remember that joint down on Miracle Strip Parkway in Fort Walton?”
“Which one?” Ben made another face. “By my count there were approximately eight joints within five hundred meters of each other on that highway.”
Jake eyed a waitress as she walked past while responding. “You know, the one with the big-ass bartender with the handlebar mustache. And his ugly-ass wife with that black tuft of hair on her chin and the eyepatch, the one that wait
ed the tables all by herself. You remember her?”
Ben finally raised his mug to his lips. “How can I forget?” he said, before taking a small sip.
“You remember what she told me that one time?”
The music changed to another swinging, pulsing beat. It seemed all the music on Oberon had prominent bass—at least it did in this bar. Jake eyed the waitress again as she walked past, and she caught his eye, giving him a small wink.
Ben set his mug down. “She asked you to run away with her to Cuba, where you could be her cabana boy and walk around her private pool in nothing but your uniform hat and boots.”
Jake shuddered. “And you know? That was right after D-Day, and the investigation was still ongoing and they were interrogating me every day for eight fucking hours a day for weeks on end. I damn near took her up on the offer!”
He was grinning ear to ear, but Ben didn’t crack a smile. “Why didn’t you?”
Jake’s smile melted away and he deadpanned, “I prefer my eye-patched women a little more hairy.” He threw back another swig of beer, careful to pace himself—it would not do well to make a drunk fool of himself on a foreign world where they were trying to repair and resupply their ship.
“Jake, what are you trying to do?” Ben stared at him. Again, as before on the bridge, he looked squarely at Jake’s nose or forehead.
Jake sighed. “Dammit, Jemez, I’m just trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” Ben sipped his beer.
“Like hell you don’t. What happened to you down there, Ben? I know it was hell, but you can tell me. If you want to go blow off some steam we can go shoot guns at shit or something. But as your friend, and as your captain, I need to know.” Ben’s eyes narrowed at the word captain, and he immediately regretted saying it, but he went on. “Are you worried you’ll end up like Rhys?” he asked, referring to the broken husk of a man Ben brought back with him from the torture chamber of the insane scientist on Destiny.
Ben said nothing, but looked straight ahead at the bar and gripped his mug.
Jake decided to take a different tack—come at the question from another angle. One Ben might be more likely to feel comfortable answering.
“Did you learn anything that might help us? It seems Dr. Stone was a highly placed Imperial scientist. I don’t know what sort of research he does—did—for the Empire, but maybe it’s something that could help us?”
Ben broke his silence. “Trajan was there.”
Jake nearly spit out his beer. “Trajan? Was there? At the research institute?”
“Well not exactly. The Master—I mean, Dr. Stone, mentioned Trajan had come for something. Something Stone was supposed to deliver to the Empire. He was worried Trajan would be mad that he wasn’t delivering enough.”
“What was it?”
Ben glanced up at Jake’s nose and then back down to his drink. “I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.”
Jake watched the waitress pass by again and followed her long legs with his eyes. As he turned back to question Ben more, a firm hand gripped his shoulder and yanked him around.
A man, flanked by two buddies, stood angrily behind him, hand still on Jake’s shoulder. He looked down at the hand, and back up at the man, smiling dangerously.
“Can I help you gentlemen?”
The man’s accent was thick, and difficult to understand. “You watch too much, you filthy shit.”
“Watch?” Jake asked, confused.
“Our women. Filthy off-worlder shouldn’t watch our women.”
Jake rolled his eyes. “Your women?” He had several retorts, but restrained himself, thinking it best to keep a low profile as an uninvited guest on the world. “I see. I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you kindly,” he added, nodding with a lopsided grin as he turned back to his drink.
The men didn’t leave, nor did the group’s leader remove his hand from Jake’s shoulder. “I think you you leave now, off-worlder.” The man pulled Jake around again.
“Look, buddy, I don’t think you should be touching me like that….” Jake kept his smile cool and relaxed, but let a touch of menace creep into his voice.
“Or what, off-worlder? What you think you do?”
Jake swiveled around all the way to face the men, still seated, but doing so forced the man to remove his hand. “You gentlemen are acting like you’re spoiling for a fight. Now I can assure you that I’ll keep my eyes on my drink, my buddy, and the bartender from now on if you can assure me you’ll step back and mind your own business or I reckon there’s going to be a little excitement here.” He glanced over at Ben, who made no sign at all he’d even heard the conversation but just lifted his mug to his lips and drank.
Before he could react the man lunged forward and grabbed Jake by the arm, yanked him off the barstool and swung him towards his companions who caught him and gripped his arms in between them. He stood wedged in between the two friends, facing his opponent. Jake tried catching Ben’s eye, who sat still behind the man. He’d made no threatening moves, nor given any indication he’d even seen the altercation begin. Maybe he was pulling a classic Jemez move, letting them think he was out of the picture before, BAM, he’d come at them from behind.
The man sneered. “Time to teach off-worlder shit a good lesson.” He took a step towards Jake, who at that moment, using the other two men’s firm grasp as leverage, pulled himself up and lunged with his legs, catching the man in the chest and sending him flying against the bar with a crash. Glassware, beer and nuts flew through the air.
In the same motion Jake swiveled around, yanking an arm free from one assailant and bashing his fist into the nose of the other. Now free he threw off a few more punches at the two men before the first man finally stumbled off the bar and came at him again.
Jake took a fist to the gut which knocked the wind out of him, and doubling over he rammed straight into the man, knocking them both to the ground. Somehow he ended up on top and used the brief moment to punch the sneering face below him three times before one of the others tackled him and he tumbled off and they both ended up under a table.
They struggled, and soon the others joined in, pounding him with fists and feet until suddenly in the dark, pulsing bar, a brilliant flash of light shot out towards the ceiling, illuminating the dimly lit crowd now gathered around.
The men stopped, and Jake leaned forward into a crouch, looking for what caused the flash.
A stern, official voice announced, “I think you gentlemen had better be moving on.” What looked like a police officer brandished a weapon—not one that fired bullets but, judging from the previous flash of light was some sort of ion gun. It wouldn’t kill, but it would burn. And blind. And depending on the electrical output, stun.
“Me, or them?” Jake wiped a little blood dripping down his chin with his sleeve.
“All of you. Quickly now, or I’ll write you all up for disruption of the peace.” The officer cradled his ion gun lovingly, as if wishing he could use it again instead of writing up a report.
Jake’s assailant eyed the gun warily, and sulked away. Jake stood up and shook his head—one of the men had gotten a few good punches in. He looked around for Ben, and not seeing him, turned towards the exit and left through the crowd.
Ben was waiting outside. Jake in frustration waved an arm back towards the entrance. “Why didn’t you do anything? I could’ve used your help back there!”
Ben shrugged. “You looked like you were doing ok,” he said, indifferently.
Jake grumbled, and rubbed his face. His nose still bled, and he felt a cut on his lip with his tongue. “I mean, sure, I probably could have laid them all down, but what happened to our system? You know, I get into a fight and you come along and mop up? They wouldn’t have stood a chance against you.”
He watched and waited as a few passersby walked past them in front of the bar. The street had been crowded earlier, but it was late at night and only a few people could be seen strolling the sidewalk, mostly younger
couples and a few drunks here and there.
“Nurse Ypres’s orders. She said to take it easy. So I did,” he replied nonchalantly.
Jake sighed. “Come on then, let’s go get something to eat. I’m sick of rations. Then we can get back up to the ship.” He glanced skyward, towards the dimly-lit outline of the Phoenix floating at the top of the spaceport skyscraper, attached by a thin umbilical at her bow.
Why hadn’t he done anything? That was unlike Ben. The old Ben, his friend, would have jumped right into that fight. He may have grumbled about it and questioned Jake’s judgement, but he still would have fought with deadly and precise gusto. That was his thing—he trained for years for fights like these, and now, with Jake as his friend, he finally had the excuse to practice what he’d spent so much time learning.
But in his friend’s eyes there was nothing. No concern, no friendship. It was like the man was a robot. Ben had always been quiet and subdued, but he’d never walked away from a fight, and he’d never been shy to tell Jake what was on his mind.
Had the experience on Destiny damaged his friend that much? What happened to him down there?
Jake grit his teeth. It was time he figured out what was wrong with his friend.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT FELT GOOD, DAMMIT. TO watch his friend get pummeled like that. Incredibly good. Exquisite.
And he felt guilty as well. He’d always had his friend’s back, since the first day they’d met.
Ben nodded to the security officer standing guard at the entrance to the umbilical connecting the top of the spaceport to the Phoenix and saluted a quick, half-hearted salute. The man waved him through.
The first day they’d met. It had been three months after D-day, and they’d both been placed into a re-education class by their new Imperial commanders. The asshole officer teaching the class had wasted no time insulting every former Resistance soldier in the class for the next thirty minutes before letting them out early so he could go, in his words, fuck the local whores. Jake had almost gotten into it with the instructor before one of his friends spoke a stern warning into his ear that restrained him, and after class Ben started up a conversation with him after the Corsican rushed out of the classroom on the way to get his willies.