by Dave Bara
“That detail I didn’t know, but it doesn’t surprise me, knowing Admiral Wesley as I do,” he said.
“He’s certainly loyal to the navy,” I said. Serosian’s frown from the chess match returned.
“That’s his one great fault, Peter,” he said. “He’s probably too old to adjust to the new paradigm. We all have to work together to succeed: Quantar, Earth, and Carinthia. The Union Compact is still very new and very, very tenuous. Things could break down at any time if the empire reasserts itself.”
“I know my father trusts him.” That elicited a sidelong glance.
“Indeed,” he said, then let my statement lie. “I am sorry about the situation they’ve put you in, but in light of the attack at Levant, it’s probably a sound policy.”
“And what about the Historian aboard Impulse? What do you know of him or her?” The frown remained on Serosian’s face.
“He’s from a different school than I am,” he finally said, as if that was enough.
“Different school? What do you mean?” I asked. Serosian seemed reluctant to answer, but did anyway.
“There are those of us in the Historian Order that believe that humanity is best served when each individual is allowed to fulfill his utmost potential. We believe in nurturing and growing our charges, the ‘taking under the wing’ idea. That’s why I chose to mentor you, and Derrick before you. But there is another school of thought, another sect, that believes humanity is best served when individuals are sublimated to humanity as a whole, when the needs of the collective human society are put first. They believe that too much individualism, too much diversity, led to a breakdown of societal norms in the empire and created an atmosphere where corruption was allowed to become rampant as all behavior by individuals was rationalized. They think this led to the collapse of the Corporate Empire. They want humankind to be tested as much as possible, to be pushed and prodded into group action and knocked down when they fail the community or fall short of expectations. It’s a delicate balance between the two philosophies, and the Church does not favor one over the other. Tralfane is of the latter school. He will push you in every way, Peter, and it will not be pleasant,” he finished.
I took some time to soak this all in, as it was new knowledge to me. “I appreciate your honesty,” I said, then turned my attention to the matters at hand. I eyed my friend. “This attack, is it the First Empire?” I asked.
“Unknown at this time,” he said without hesitating, as if he expected the question. “Initial analysis of the Hoagland Wave indicates that it doesn’t match any known First Empire frequencies. That could be because we don’t have it in our catalog, or because it’s a new type of wave. Either way I need the telemetry from Impulse to be certain.”
“But if it’s not the First Empire, in one form or another, then who could it be?” I asked.
Serosian’s face went grim. “There could be other forces at work here,” he said.
“Other forces?” I was surprised by the implication. “You mean the Sri? I thought your order wiped them out in the civil war.” Serosian had told me many stories about the secret war between the Church of the Latter Days and the Sri during First Empire times.
“It’s true that their home world of Altos was attacked during the war, but it was never destroyed, at least not militarily,” he said. “We don’t know where they went. It’s always possible some of them survived on Corant, or perhaps on some other world.”
The knot in my stomach returned at the mention of the old Imperial capital. Corant was said to be a mythic world of gold and bronze, of crystal lakes and flowing rivers, with only one major city. There was no industry allowed, everything was imported to the capital from other worlds in the empire. The countryside was said to be made up of massive estates for the wealthiest and most loyal of the emperor’s vassals. So it was said.
The Sri themselves were another issue altogether. They were reputed to be a secret society of technological wizards that used their knowledge to make humans more like machines than men. The Church had outlawed their technology as unnatural and spent considerable assets to see that it was destroyed during the civil war. Apparently, they weren’t as successful as the histories liked to portray.
“And if they are out there, what will they be like?” I asked.
Serosian’s face became an emotionless mask that I couldn’t read. “Pure science, with no accounting for the spiritual. Technology for technology’s sake,” he said. “It’s a materialistic universe view, cold and soulless, and one that leads to enslavement.” His hand went to his chin in contemplation as I waited for more. “If the Sri are out there, Peter, then they are far more dangerous than a revived empire. And if the Union cannot defend against them, then the Church will have to act.”
“Act? What does that mean?” I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.
“To destroy them, at any cost,” he said. I didn’t want to ask the next question, but I had to.
“And what about us? The Union worlds?” I said. “What if we just ‘get in the way’ of your private little war with the Sri?” Serosian averted his eyes from mine.
“The technologies that could be unleashed on the universe . . .” he started, then trailed off. “The weapons . . .” he hesitated again, and then shook his head. “This is why you must succeed, Peter, why the Lightship missions are so important. Any other scenario is unthinkable.”
“And if the Sri are in league with a revived empire?” I asked. He leaned forward and met my eyes.
“If the First Empire still exists out there and it is under Sri influence, then none of us are safe,” he said. “Watch your back, Peter. The heir to the seat of Quantar would be a welcome target for either of those potential enemies.”
I nodded. “And what about this Captain Zander?” I asked.
“What of him?”
“He led Impulse directly into the attack that killed Natalie and my countrymen. Should I trust him? Should I hate him?”
Serosian contemplated me. “Whatever happened at Levant was no accident. Don’t hate a man you’ve never met for Natalie’s loss. Hate the ones who killed her with their machines. Hate the empire, Peter.”
Then he stood up and walked away from the table and went to the window, staring out at the shining globe of Quantar.
I took another drink of my wine and contemplated what I had gotten myself into.
Exploring High Station
By evening, only George Layton and John Marker had arrived from my select team of cadet instructors, so I rounded them both up for the impromptu memorial service for Natalie and the others. I sent out a general announcement on the station com band, and by the time we gathered at 2000 hours about two dozen Quantar officers and enlisted ended up joining us. I was forced to lead the service, both by my rank and by my standing in Quantar society. I said the few words I could manage and we all lit a candle for those lost, followed by twelve minutes of silence, one for each of the lost souls. During that time I thought of Natalie, and then Derrick, and how much I had lost in such a short time.
At the end, each of the participants placed their candles on a makeshift altar I had prepared one by one, some adding photos of their friends who had been lost. When the crowd was gone I blew all the candles out, but I left the memorial where it was.
As I walked away with Marker and Layton I tried to clear my head and connect with what I was actually feeling. The fact was that I had emotionally broken from Natalie a few months ago, when she had first learned of her new assignment. We were being forced to separate by military necessity, so I knew we had to draw the line on our personal relationship as well. She didn’t like it and neither did I, but we stuck to it. Now it felt like once I had turned my emotions off, I wasn’t sure I knew how to turn them back on again.
Marker insisted we go out on our last free night together and Layton agreed, so in the end I was forced into carou
sing about the station. We hit several bars and restaurants, but eventually we ended up at a standing table at our favorite hangout, Paddy’s Pub on the tourist deck, drinking our last beers together as cadets. From here on out it was going to be all business.
Corporal John Marker was a huge man with caramel-colored skin, an inheritance of his mixed descent from the aboriginal peoples of the Australian continent on Earth. I’d always wanted to tease him that I thought he looked more Maori than Aussie, but he was far too big to give stick to, and I was smart enough not to go there. Layton was like me, as Earth-English as they come and white-skinned as sheep’s wool.
Marker was twenty-six, old for the cadet corps, and two years older than Layton, who was a year older than me. I had just turned twenty-three the previous month, so this was my last official drinking binge before assuming my station on Impulse. I’d come into the Lightship program two years late, but I made up for it by doubling up on my classes and finishing in three years instead of four. And becoming valedictorian of the class in the end, of course.
Marker raised his glass of stout. “For Natalie,” he said. Layton and I repeated the toast, and I drank from my pint of beer. It was bitter for me in more ways than one.
“We’re both sorry about this, Peter,” Marker said. I nodded.
“Thank you both,” I said. “Natalie was special to me, so we have to make sure we honor her with our performance on Impulse.”
“Agreed,” said Layton. “I just wish we were getting our first assignment on Starbound.”
“We all do,” I said, taking another swig of my beer. “But this mission is critical to the Union, and our performance is critical to Quantar. I’ll miss Starbound too, and the adventures we could have had aboard her.”
Marker stirred at this, and I could see the alcohol was starting to get to him. He’d been drinking far more than Layton or I had.
“And here’s to Starbound,” he said, loud enough for everyone in the pub to hear. “The finest ship in the Union!” The whole pub raised their glasses at that one.
“Here, here!” said Layton and I, lifting our beers and clacking them with Marker’s. I was sticking to bitter, but Layton was going adventurous with a brown Belgian ale. Marker was strictly a stout man. We all killed our beers and then Marker called to the bartender for more.
“I can’t believe they’re breaking us up,” said Layton in the intervening moment.
“Believe it,” chimed in Marker. “That goddamned Wesley’s a pillock. All he cares about is keeping his nose up the Carinthians’ arses. As long as they’re happy he keeps his job.”
“Here, here!” said Layton, raising his empty glass just as the serving girl brought more. Layton tipped her heavily and then patted her gently on the bottom as she walked away. She turned and smiled back at him.
“I’ll have that one eating out of my hands by midnight,” he said. Marker looked down at him through glazed eyes.
“It’s already 0030 hours, idiot,” he said. I had to laugh at that. Layton took the insult affably enough and then turned his attention to me.
“Do the bloody Carinthians even drink beer?” he asked.
“I think they invented it,” I quipped back, taking another big swig from my glass. Marker laughed so hard he snorted.
“Well, here’s to ’em then,” he said, taking yet another drink. On cue, three officers in Carinthian green came into the pub and made their way straight to the bar. One was an older gray-haired officer that I took for station staff, another a young red-haired man of ensign rank, and the third was an athletic-looking woman with the rank of commander.
“She’s pretty,” said Layton as the three Carinthians doffed their berets and started drinking in a corner of the bar. I watched her as she brushed out her regulation-cut hair with her hand and took a drink of a very dark beer. She was indeed pretty, but not overly so. I caught her taking a quick glance in my direction and nodding at me. I quickly looked away, not wanting to be seen staring at her.
Marker’s booming voice interrupted my surreptitious observations.
“You know, Commander,” he said, elbowing me playfully, his voice starting low but then rising. “You know goddamned well I’d follow you to the steps of the Emperor’s palace!” he said, raising his glass. “If the goddamned Union Navy gave us half a chance!”
“I know, John,” I said, trying to quiet him down. “I’m looking forward to having you both aboard Impulse.”
“Well, I hope the cod-eating Carinthian Navy know what they’re getting!” he said, practically yelling now. The bar was noisy but more and more patrons were paying attention to Marker’s vocal exercises, especially the three Carinthians. He put his arm around me and started in again, this time in the clear direction of the Carinthian officers.
“This here’s the best goddamned cadet graduate in the fleet,” he said, tapping my chest repeatedly with his index finger while slopping beer on the floor. “Name’s Cochrane. Peter Cochrane, and you’d better respect that!” he said, the slurring of his words increasing. “You’re gettin’ our bess!” Then he wrapped me in a huge bear hug.
“Thanks, John,” I said, while waving apologetically to the Carinthians as Marker refused to let me go. The older officer looked miffed and the ensign had a disapproving look on his face, but the woman smiled a bit at me, more out of sympathy than anything else, I guessed.
“George, why don’t you see if you can help me get John here back to his bunk,” I said. Marker was still draped all over me.
“Sure thing,” said Layton. He took one arm while I took the other.
“Perhaps you could use some help with your friend?” said a husky female voice from behind me. I looked around to see the Carinthian commander standing behind me.
“Um, sure,” I said, pleased that she had come over to make my acquaintance, but worried about the circumstances. I was in fact quite unsure of how she could help with a man of Marker’s size. She was around five-foot-seven from my guess, clearly in good shape but I couldn’t say she was more than a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet. Marker was a hundred more than that, easily, and he was starting to sway like a badly designed bridge.
“You’re a cutie,” he said to her.
She ignored him, smiling, and then turned to the young ensign from her group and waved him over. He put down his beer with a look of great distaste and reluctantly came over to our table. Without a word he slid in next to me and took my place. At first I didn’t understand what was happening until he and Layton started walking the now-quiet Marker out of the pub. When I turned back the staff officer was gone and I was alone with the Carinthian commander.
“Um, what just happened?” I said.
“Your friend looked like he need some help home. In the interests of interplanetary unity I thought I would offer my ensign as assistance,” she said. I smiled.
“I see,” I said. “And your other friend?” She turned to look at the empty space near the bar where he had been standing a moment ago and shrugged.
“Probably home to his wife, I’d guess,” she said. I picked up my beer as she pointed to a booth that had opened up.
“Perhaps we could get better acquainted?” I opened a path with a sweep of my hand and then followed the commander to the booth and sat down. She slid in across from me with her beer glass in hand. I noticed she also had a double shot glass with some kind of chaser.
I extended my hand. “I’m Peter Cochrane,” I said.
“So I gathered from your friend. Pleased to meet you, Commander Peter Cochrane,” she said, gripping my hand firmly in reply for a few seconds. As I pulled back, my fingers went to my new collar pins nervously, then I took a drink of my bitter. I had two full stars, she had three.
“And whom do I have the pleasure of sharing this drink with?” I said, trying to open up the conversation.
“I’m Dobrina Kierkopf, Commander,
Royal Carinthian Navy, class of ’74,” she said. The same year that Derrick had graduated from our Academy. That would make her twenty-six, three years older than me. I took another sip of my beer to calm my nerves.
“Pleased to meet you, Commander,” I said. “Kierkopf? Is that Carinthian?” I asked out of curiosity.
“Actually it’s Slovenian,” she said back. “We have a plurality of German ancestry on our world, with large mixes of other nationalities from Central Europe on Old Earth.”
“Ah, fascinating,” I said. Then without thinking I blurted out: “So, Commander, what brings you to High Station?” She smiled silently for a moment as I got redder and redder. It was an innocent enough question . . .
“That sounds like a pickup line, Commander. Do you use it often on superior officers?”
I swallowed hard, embarrassed at how my question had come out. “Forgive me, Commander, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Oh, so you don’t find me attractive?” she cut in, a very stern look on her face. “Am I too old for you?”
“Certainly not, ma’am! It’s just, I didn’t—” She laughed hard and then covered her mouth as she giggled. “You’re playing me,” I said.
“Guilty,” she said, then took a drink of her stout. I did my best shy-young-officer impression then and matched her with a drink of my bitter.
“You really should switch to something more robust,” she said as I had a mouth full of beer. It took me a second to respond in kind.
“No thank you, madam,” I said. “I’ve tried that motor oil before and once was enough!”
“You’re sure?” she asked. I nodded.
“Absolutely.”
“Then maybe I could interest you in trying some of this.” She slid the double shot glass across the table to me. “It’s a family favorite back home, especially in New Wurzburg, where I’m from,” she said.
I looked down at the nearly full shot glass. The drink was clear with a slight green tinge and looked harmless enough. She sat and waited patiently, her hands clasped together.