by Nick Webb
No, it was weeks. Just over a month ago in San Bernardino.
He glanced back over his shoulder and watched the others approach. They sneered at him. What was wrong with them?
He pressed down on the brake and came to a slow stop. It was as good a place as any to eat—it’d been years since he’d eaten. At least, it seemed that way.
The other bikes slowed and stopped next to his as he swung a leg over the bike, pulled a glove off, unzipped his leather racing suit partway down his chest, and unstrapped the bag attached to the rear of the bike.
“You have something for us?” one of his companions asked. Jake. He’d stopped sneering, but his face had taken on a pallid green tone, as if he were about to be sick. Ben glanced back at Po, who’d climbed off her bike. As she pulled off her helmet he noticed her skin was similarly toned the same sickly color, and he wondered what the hell was wrong with them.
“Just lunch,” said Ben. He opened the bag and tossed a smaller sack containing a ham and cheese sandwich at his friend, who caught it, sniffed, and took a small bite. Then another.
On the sandwich, where he’d bitten into the bread, a ring of blood. Crimson red.
“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Ben took a step back from Jake, and glancing at Po, saw that she’d begun picking at her cheek, revealing a huge hole that only grew larger and bloodier the more she picked.
Jake answered. His voice had descended to an ungodly rasp. “Captain Watson was right to trust me over you, you motherfucker. You hopeless, miserable, talentless hack.” He dropped the sandwich and took a step towards Ben, who stumbled back onto the ground in sudden alarm.
Ben reached into the chest compartment of his racing suit and pulled the gun out. How did it get there? Did it matter?
“Stop. You know he should have given it to me. He told me so,” said Ben, pointing the gun at Jake’s face, which had grown even greener. Blood ringed his lips.
“He told you so? You’re just a fucking people pleaser. Why the hell would he choose you?” Jake paused, and wiped the blood from his lips. “Ok, fine, you want to know a little secret? He did want you. Right before he died. He wanted his little superhero to be captain after him. Superhero my ass. Look at him, Po. Just a kid in a superhero costume.” Jake lurched an arm forward and pointed.
Ben looked down at his racing suit. It was black and red and striped and armored in all the right places, as if in imitation of the old pulp style superheroes of old.
Po laughed, pointing down at him. “You worthless shit.”
Ben swiveled the gun towards her chest and fired.
She flew back and lay still in the dust.
Jake looked down at the body and chuckled. “You really shouldn’t have done that. You’re hurting those closest to you, you know.”
Ben aimed at Jake’s face and fired, putting a hole into his forehead.
Jake grimaced, but managed to chuckle again. “You can’t hurt me with that.”
He fired again. Another bleeding hole in Jake’s forehead. “Like hell I can’t.” With a yell, he unloaded the entire clip into his friend, blasting hole after high-caliber hole into the face, the chest, the throat. Finally, with a snort and a grunt, Jake collapsed into the dust, unmoving.
And Ben shot up out of bed, sweating and heaving.
What the hell was that? He reached for the light, and padded over to the sink, cupping water up to his mouth. He could almost still taste the dust in the air from the dream. And the blood. Good god, all that blood.
He cupped water over his head, letting it drip back into the basin.
What if it was true? What if Captain Watson really had wanted him as Captain, not Jake?
He rubbed more water into his face and drank some more, finally drying off with a towel and sitting back down on his bed.
Nonsense. Doc Nichols was there. Jake was his friend. Jake was his friend. He was closer to him than he was to anyone. Jake was his friend.
You will hurt those closest to you!
He rubbed his temples and groaned. The voice was getting louder. His voice. The master’s, Stone’s, telling him to … do things. To take action. To put Jake into his place. Even now, especially now, after that dream, the very thought of Jake filled him with an indescribable rage.
And he didn’t know why.
Maybe Doc Nichols could do something about these picobots. He hadn’t told the doctor about them, but he wondered if the man knew about them anyway, what with all the tests he’d already run during his long stay in sickbay after returning from Destiny.
He had to do something about them. Otherwise, he just might put a bullet through Jake’s head, and not just in a dream.
***
Jake jogged to the front of the ship, feeling the blood pulse in his broken nose and the pain from his weeks-old ankle sprain still jabbing at him. But it felt good—he needed the exercise, and the pain reminded him that he wasn’t dead. Not like the former comrades he’d eulogized. Not like all those miners that didn’t survive the uprising at Velar’s uranium operation on Destiny.
And he certainly hadn’t fared as badly as Ben.
He made it to the umbilical port connecting the Phoenix with the spaceport just as the indicator on the hatch lit up, indicating someone was requesting entrance. The marine stationed there glanced at Jake with a questioning look.
“Open her up, corporal.”
The man touched a control and the double-doored hatch cranked open. On the other side was a smiling Captain Brand.
“Captain Mercer! I didn’t realize we’d get the personal treatment!” Brand stepped through the hatch with his hand extended.
Jake took it and smiled back. “How could I not? It’s an honor to finally meet you in person, Captain Brand.” He looked past the other man and saw some overall-clad workmen pulling perhaps a dozen pallets of large gray boxes. From the way they struggled against the pallet jacks, Jake guessed they must have weighed half a ton each.
“The first of what will probably be eight more deliveries throughout the day and into the night. Will that be acceptable? I don’t know how long your duty rotation lasts. We can defer the later shipments until tomorrow morning if you’d prefer—”
“No, that’ll be perfectly fine. I’m just amazed your factories were able to pump out these slugs so fast,” replied Jake, wiping one of the large boxes as it rolled past.
“We have quite a bit of unused capacity. The economy has taken a bit of a downturn and many factories are idle.” Brand motioned to other workmen still on the other side of the hatch and waved them through. “Believe me, this is helping out more than just the Phoenix, Captain. This is all subsidized by the central government, which has traditionally been loathe to help out blue collar industries with this kind of assistance. Rest assured that several hundred workers will probably get bonuses this month.” He glanced back furtively at the workers still streaming through the hatch with their deliveries. “Captain, after we direct these men to their destination, I was wondering if I might have a word with you.”
“Of course,” Jake said. “Might I ask about what?”
Brand lowered his voice, so that the workers wouldn’t hear. “Just concerning the tactical situation with the Vikorhov Federation. I know you’d rather not insert yourself into Oberon sector politics, but I thought you’d might want more details than you probably have at the moment.”
Jake nodded. In fact, he did want to know exactly what was going on in the system, for he wasn’t just worried about a future hypothetical insertion into the sector politics. The fact was that he’d already involved the Phoenix in the conflict between Oberon and the Vikorhov Federation, and wanted to know what he’d gotten himself into.
“Mind if I invite my senior staff? My XO and chief of security should probably hear this.”
“By all means, Captain Mercer. Now, where are we off to?”
Jake indicated the direction down the hallway with an arm, and led the way. “Storage bay 1. We’ll gather it all th
ere, and let the work crews on the Phoenix disperse the ordnance to where it needs to go.” He reached in his pocket for his comm pad. “Commander Po, you awake?”
After a few moments, a groggy-sounding voice came over the pad. “I am now. What do you need, Captain?”
Jake felt guilty for interrupting her sleep—gods knew she needed some—but he thought this information from Brand would be too valuable to miss. He was sure Po would pick up on details that Jake or even Ben would miss. “Sorry, Grizzly, but could you meet me in the conference room in twenty minutes?”
“Of course. Something happen?”
“No, but Captain Brand is here, and he’s offering to brief us on Oberon sector politics if we have the time. I thought it might be good for us to hear.”
“Absolutely. On my way.”
Jake paused, then began, “Could you tell Ben for me?” He felt like it was chickening out, but it seemed Ben was harboring some kind of hidden grudge towards Jake, and he didn’t want to aggravate it. Waking someone up after just a few hours of sleep counted as unnecessary aggravation.
“Yes, sir. Po out.”
Jake led Brand and the work crew to storage bay 1, where he told the men to leave the pallets lined by the wall amidst the other supplies that had apparently been tossed around in all the confusion over the last several weeks. He supposed storage bay organization was low on the list of ship ops priorities.
Ten minutes later, he led Captain Brand to the conference room just outside the bridge. Po and Ben were already waiting for them when they arrived, standing up from their seats as the door slid open. Po extended a hand to Brand. “Captain, a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise,” replied Brand, gripping her hand. He moved on to Ben. “Hello. Captain Will Brand,” he said, offering his hand.
“Commander Benjamin Jemez,” said Ben.
“Please have a seat, Captain.” Jake waved a hand towards the conference table and the group sat.
“Should Bernoulli be here?” asked Po, with a glance at Jake.
“I thought about it, but I think we should keep him locked in engineering until those engines are in mint condition. Besides, he’s probably having the time of his life down there, tinkering with the thing for the past few days.”
She nodded. “When does he think they’ll be done?”
“He assured me we’ll have full grav-shift capabilities and gravitic thrust restored by tomorrow morning. The last batch of neodymium has all been processed, now they’re just infusing it into the matrix and making other repairs on the power plant. Shouldn’t be long now.” He tried to keep it vague, not wanting to give any indication to Brand about their engine’s unusual capabilities. Jake turned to their visitor. “Well, Captain, I hope you can answer the question on all of our minds. Why in the world was it so hard to hit those Vikorhov ships? I’ve seen deflector shielding before, and gravitic disruption fields, but nothing like that. It was like everything we threw at them just stopped like it was flying through molasses. What’s going on?”
Brand sighed. “What you witnessed was the first full flight test of the Vikorhov Federation’s new temporal shielding.
Ben snapped his head towards Brand. “Did you just say temporal shielding?”
“I did, Commander. Indeed, the Vikorhovs have developed a technology that enables them to create a small region of space around their ships within which time flows at a small fraction of its usual rate. The result is quite remarkable: any projectile or beam directed at the ship is caught in the field, slowed down to almost nothing, giving the target time to maneuver safely out of the way.”
Po nodded in understanding. “I see. That’s why we had to target multiple sections of their ships at once, so that by avoiding one line of fire they fly right into another.”
“Correct,” said Brand. “That was our strategy as well, though I must say it took us far longer to figure it out. I’m afraid we lost quite a few ships out there before we did. We nearly lost the day, until you came along.”
Jake frowned. “That’s what I was wondering about, Captain Brand. Who is we? The Prime Minister told me that there is no Oberanian fleet. Just a bunch of, well, vigilantes is the word he used.”
Brand chuckled. “Vigilantes. The old bastard still can’t bring himself to admit that we’ve saved this world more times than he can count. If it weren’t for us, Oberon would have been conquered by the Vikorhov Federation decades ago. But the Prime Minister’s political party is powerful. They refuse to believe that the tenuous peace we’ve achieved over the years has anything to do with us, and everything to do with their pacifistic military posture. It’s madness. Absolute madness.”
“I gathered from the Prime Minister that they’re not happy we’re here. He said it sends an aggressive message to the Vikorhov Federation. He’s worried about provoking an attack?”
“That’s absolute bullshit,” said Brand. “His party keeps up this blame the victim mentality that’s just sickening. Seriously. Blaming ourselves for the provocations of the Vikorhovs is just … well, you already know how I feel. But that’s where we come in.”
“Again you use that word. We. Who is we?”
Brand glanced at the closed door, as if to be sure no one was listening in on the conversation. He lowered his voice. “I’m the Commander in Chief of the Sons of Oberon.”
Ben furrowed his brow. “The Sons of Oberon? What is that, some kind of paramilitary organization?”
“In a sense, yes. But it really so much more. It is the secret institution that has protected Oberon for the last fifty years from foreign invasion. We do counterintel, we man the fleet, we patrol the borders—we do everything the Oberanian government should be doing, but don’t feel like they can do, politically. So they secretly outsource to us.”
“And no one knows about this? It’s a complete secret?” said Jake.
“It’s an open secret,” replied Brand. He scratched his facial scruff. “I think most people know what’s going on, but most Oberanians like to feel good about themselves. They like to feel morally superior. And telling themselves we are a peaceful, pacifistic society that would never harm a fly is great therapy for the consumer class. You see, Captain, due to its relative isolation here in the Void, Oberon has managed to achieve a stunning level of success in only 150 years. Without having to constantly worry about Imperial invasion or pirate raids, we’ve thrived. Our economy, our education system, our, well, our everything is a model of success for the rest of the Thousand Worlds. But that success has made us complacent, as success usually does.”
Jake nodded. He understood all too well. In the years since Earth had been subdued by the Empire it had enjoyed more stability, in spite of the Empire’s atrocities. Stability and wealth had made a good portion of Earth’s citizens fat and happy. No one liked being dominated by the Empire, of course, but only the Resistance had the balls to do anything about it.
“So the government pays you to be its military arm?” Po leaned on the table—Jake saw the lines under her eyes and immediately felt guilty for waking her.
“Not directly, no. But they pay for our equipment, our ships, our bases—the ones that they know about, at least….” He finished with a sly smile before abruptly changing the subject. “But I’m not here to talk about us. You want to hear about the Vikorhov Federation, no doubt.”
Jake leaned back in his chair. “By all means. Tell me about the hornet’s nest we’ve kicked over.”
Captain Brand pulled a data pad out of his pocket and set it on the table. With the press of a button, a rapidly oscillating beam lit up the wall, projecting a map of the Oberon sector. “The Void, as you know, is basically impenetrable by any ship with a gravitic thrust to mass ratio less than around one hundred, which in practical terms means anything bigger than a small freighter simply cannot make the shift to any of our stars from even the most massive nearby gravity well. Even from the black hole in Cygnus it would take a ratio greater than eighty or so. Which was why we set up the gravit
ic beacons.”
“The one we followed in to Oberon?” asked Jake.
“Yes. But the Vikorhov Federation has one too at Rastra, the gas giant planet nearest Vikor. They were both set up around fifty years ago, back before Anatoly Vikorhov overthrew the democratic government on Vikor and set up his cult of personality. It’s his own little kingdom now, and he’s thirsty for war. In the years since the coup, they’ve conquered just about every planet in the sector. The only holdouts are Oberon, Florence, and Asgard. Florence pays old Anatoly off with a king’s ransom every year, and he doesn’t dare invade Asgard—they’re small, but they have a deadly military and the costs of invasion would be far too high. That leaves Oberon as the prize. We’re the largest, most prosperous planet in the sector—Anatoly Vikorhov has had his greedy little eye on us since the beginning, and I fear he’s close to getting his wish.”
“Oh? How so?” said Jake. “Do you think they’re about to invade? Was that what the skirmish was all about that we stumbled upon?”
“That was just a prelude. They were testing our defenses, as well as testing their new temporal shielding. Anatoly Vikorhov may be a fat, greedy little despot, but he’s not dumb. He’s been using the spoils of war for the last fifty years to fund science research. Always with the pretense of bettering humanity or some bullshit like that, but everyone knows all that science research is really weapons research, or in this case, the temporal shielding. They just discovered it last year, and started putting it on their ships a few months ago, and ever since we’ve been on the losing end of every engagement with them.” He paused, looking pensive for a moment. “Do I think they’re about to invade? Hard to tell. Oberon’s planetary defenses are actually quite good considering the pacifistic nonsense of the Prime Minister’s party. Dual beam ion cannons defend every major city, and several quads are positioned on every continent. If old Anatoly wants Oberon he’ll have a hell of a fight on his hands. I just worry that by the time he makes his move he’ll have bled our fleet dry. We can’t keep losing engagements like this.” He turned to Jake. “Your surprise arrival was the best thing to happen to us in months, Captain Mercer.”