Tempest: Book Two of the Terran Cycle

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  “What exactly will this back door do for you?” Roland asked.

  “The A.I. sees and hears everything, Mr North... it’ll cut down on my costs. Do we have a deal?” The Laronian tapped his fingers against the railing.

  “Deal,” ALF replied on behalf of the group, much to their obvious irritation.

  Everyone looked to Kalian instead, wanting his decision. He met Li’ara’s eyes and knew she thought it was good plan, but he could tell she didn’t want to split up. The conversation on the Rackham briefly played out in his mind again and he felt like punishing Li’ara.

  “Deal,” Kalian repeated.

  “Excellent!” The Laronian clicked his fingers and the Novaarian presented Roland with a small data stick. “Upload the contents into one of the main control terminals in Protocorps HQ; the stick will do the rest. Now if the two of you would like to follow my minion here, he will show you to your new ship. Don’t worry about getting through security, everything’s already taken care of.”

  Roland stood up, “Perhaps none of you heard me when I said...”

  “Roland...” Esabelle reached out for his arm and the bounty hunter just looked at her. Kalian couldn’t tell if something was going on between them, or if Esabelle was manipulating Roland with her Terran abilities.

  Either way, he appeared to be mulling over his next words. “Fine, just bring it back in one piece. And you with it, eh?”

  Esabelle smiled warmly in reply. Kalian decided to ask about it later.

  The warm smile vanished in an instant when Esabelle turned to The Laronian, “If you double cross us in any way, I promise you the whole Conclave will know your secret before I die.” The Terran held her gaze with the galactic visage of The Laronian.

  The mobster’s fingers ceased their endless rattling mid-air. It was a long moment before he decided to reply, and Kalian was none the wiser as to what they were talking about. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Esabelle nodded and indicated to Kalian that he shouldn’t ask. “Then I think it’s time we left Vallara.” With suspicious looks from everyone, the group started to leave and ALF’s image dissipated.

  “A last word of warning... Mr North,” The Laronian called after them. “You are not the hunter anymore.” With that the mobster exited through another door, followed by his entourage.

  The group landed the temporary ship on the platform next to the Rackham so Ch’len could swap ships. Kalian watched from the view-port as the fat Ch’kara waddled across the landing platform while he blasted out every obscenity he knew.

  “What kind of stupid deal did you O-2 breathers make? That ship’s the only protection I’ve got!” He peeked up at the starry sky and whimpered at the sheer vastness of the open world.

  The ship wasn’t much to look at but it was still a lot cleaner than the Rackham. The bridge was spacious, designed with a crew of six in mind. Shaped like a fork, its three engines spread out from the aft of the ship, covered in old scars and several bad paint jobs. It was the perfect unassuming ship to slip past Conclave security.

  Roland sighed as he looked longingly at the Rackham.

  “Am I ever going to see her again?” the bounty hunter asked.

  “Well considering the four of us are going on separate suicide missions,” Kalian shared his sigh, “I’m gonna say no.”

  “Suicide missions...” Roland half laughed to himself. “Been there, done that. Just promise you’ll bring her back to me, kid.”

  “I will if you will.” Kalian turned in the pilot’s chair to look at Li’ara, tinkering with the guidance system at the back of the bridge.

  “You still haven’t sealed the deal there?” Roland asked playfully. Kalian’s only reply was a warning glance. “Don’t worry, kid, she’s tougher than both of us.”

  “So what was The Laronian talking about back there?” Kalian changed the subject while examining Roland’s face for any reaction.

  “I’ve got no idea.” The bounty hunter’s expression was that of stone. “I’d be more interested to know what Esabelle was talking about.”

  Kalian knew he was lying and he didn’t have to listen to his heart beat to know that.

  “You want to know what?” Esabelle came over.

  “What did you threaten that nut-bag with?” Roland swivelled in his chair.

  “Kalian?” Esabelle looked at him expectantly but he had no idea what she wanted him to say. “What have I been teaching you? Always know what’s around you. I scanned every molecule of that arrogant moron before he even started talking. The Laronian is not a Laronian.” Both Roland’s and Kalian’s jaws dropped. “That helmet hides his face but he wears holo-bands up his sleeves to disguise his hands in case his gloves ever come off.”

  “What is he?” Roland asked eagerly.

  “He’s an Atari. Under that holographic blue skin he’s all pink.” Esabelle’s cocky smile was disturbingly similar to Roland’s.

  “No shit! Now that’s worth knowing.” Roland settled back into his chair as Ch’len came onto the bridge. The Ch’kara dropped several packets of food onto the floor as he fiddled with the dials on his breather, desperate for breath.

  “OK...” Li’ara announced after finishing with her inspection. “It’s not the flashiest bucket of bolts but it’s got a solid set of engines on it. We’re good to go.”

  The group looked to one another for a moment as they all considered the possibility that they wouldn’t see each other again. Kalian wanted to say everything he felt to Li’ara but clamped his jaw shut, determined to punish her for pushing him away. He knew it was irrational and child-like but he didn’t care. Li’ara had made her feelings clear and they were to remain apart. There was an awkward moment when Roland tried to hug Esabelle but she tactfully moved aside and said her goodbyes to both him and Li’ara. Roland patted Kalian on the arm and wished him good luck with as little optimism as possible, while Li’ara waited for the bounty hunter to step aside.

  “Well...” she started.

  “Good luck, and be careful.” Kalian nodded and left the bridge after Esabelle, taking good care to control his tear ducts. He never looked back.

  “Does nobody care if I die?” Ch’len exclaimed to silence.

  Uthor stood as a statue at the forefront of the Sentinel’s bridge, his heavy hands clasped behind his back while he observed the plethora of News ships that swarmed the mega structure’s green hull. Beyond the News ships the planet Ch’ket swelled in the expansive view-port. The High Charge could see his own vessel, the Nautallon, docked with one of the giant rings that haloed the planet.

  “Give me an update on the quarantine,” the Raalakian called out to the bridge crew, knowing someone would be ready with an answer.

  “A ten-mile strip of the Tiphus Ring has been cordoned off with checkpoints at each end, sir.” It was Gre-den, his second in command that answered. The Shay had been by the Raalakian’s side since he took command of the Nautallon, and often knew to pre-empt his commander’s needs. “The report from the final scan is coming through now.”

  “Excellent. Give the order to evacuate the Gommarian.” The alien ship had taken the place of the Sentinel in the shadow of Cerula.

  Gre-den appeared at his side after relaying the orders, “Do you think this will work, sir?” the Shay asked in hushed tones.

  “The Highclave believes it will.” Uthor’s tone implied his own lack of faith in the plan. He looked down at his old comrade and remembered he could speak freely with the Shay. “This ship isn’t ready yet. It shouldn’t be paraded for the masses just to keep their eyes off the Tiphus Ring.”

  A small alarm could be heard emitting from a nearby console where a Novaarian ensign was sitting. Her four arms quickly navigated the holographic display to silence it.

  “Report, ensign,” Gre-den ordered her.

  “It’s already been corrected, sir.” The Novaarian was embarrassed. “The Sentinel was passing through the gravity-barrier alert. We’re still getting used to the size of her.�
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  Uthor rolled his black eyes. Another example of the danger it posed to reveal a ship that wasn’t finished with a crew that wasn’t accustomed to it. The Sentinel’s size had proved to be as problematic as the Marillion when it came to approaching a planetary body. Their sheer size had the ability to affect a planet’s gravity-well like a moon.

  The High Charge walked round the oval bridge, to the nearest available monitor, and activated the live feed. Elondrasa and the rest of the Highclave were introducing the galactic community to their newest battleship. Using simple technology they were able to make it appear as if the council were actually onboard the Sentinel and walking the camera through the very bridge Uthor was standing on. Looking at another holographic readout, the Raalakian could see that the Highclave was safely tucked away inside the Marillion in the capital system, having pre-recorded the images.

  “None of this will matter,” Uthor continued. “You can’t hide over seven thousand human beings on a core world. It won’t be long before this ship is old news and they are discovered.”

  “I hear the Planetary Location Office has already narrowed their choices to two worlds,” Gre-den replied.

  Uthor failed to hide his surprise. “The P.L.O is involved? How did you come by this information?”

  “I have a friend that works there. She informed me last night.”

  Uthor didn’t need to check with his second-in-command that the channels he used were secure. “The Highclave really is playing this close to the chest. Then again, it would be easier to keep an eye on the humans from a planet, rather than an orbital ring packed with ships and technology.”

  The Raalak felt his rocky forehead crinkle as he considered everything Kalian had told him. There was too much going on around him that felt out of his control. It was his duty to keep the Conclave safe from threats foreign and domestic, and right now he felt they were being attacked by both. There was no denying that something beyond the control of the humans was making aggressive actions towards his people, but could Protocorps really be involved?

  The High Charge had always left criminal investigations to local security and other officers under his command, but he had suspected some criminal involvement with Protocorps for years. They were simply too big and too powerful to have never made a deal with one of the syndicates. Though now he thought about it, it wasn’t much of a stretch to believe that they could own the syndicates with their wealth.

  In his mind he kept seeing the image of the cube inside the A.I. hub on the capital. Forensics had already confirmed for him that the pictures were valid and hadn’t been tampered with. Uthor had gone over the images for hours on the journey to Ch’ket, wrestling with taking the information to the Highclave. But even they had ties to Protocorps. Something ALF had said on the Gommarian kept repeating in his mind; It may have no intention of striking now, but when it does it will have planned every eventuality. A pit opened up in his stomach at the thought of that. If he was going to conquer the Conclave, the first move he would make would be to compromise the one thing that holds it all together. The A.I. knows the ins and outs of every level of infrastructure there is. There would be no fighting it.

  It suddenly occurred to Uthor what he would do to combat that threat, and he remembered the four dangerous humans that escaped the Gommarian.

  “Gre-den?” Uthor called the Shay closer. “I need you to do something quickly and quietly for me.”

  “Sir?”

  “Put together a team of the most loyal soldiers you know and position them around Protocorps HQ on the capital.” Uthor considered his next words carefully. “Instruct them that they are to keep a close eye on the central building, and they are to assist any humans they come into contact with.”

  “But sir...”

  “They are to minimise loss of life, but they should help the humans at all cost. If they question you, inform them that they may well be saving the entire Conclave and their promotions will know no bounds.” Gre-den didn’t look convinced, “Do you trust me, old friend?” Uthor placed a thick hand on the Shay’s augmented shoulder. Uthor had every confidence that Gre-den held no loyalty to Protocorps; the Shay was Conclave Security through and through.

  “Of course,” Gre-den nodded gravely.

  “Sir, we’re getting some anomalous readings from the Gommarian,” a Ch’kara reported from the other side of the bridge.

  Uthor strode over, annoyed at the ridiculous size of the bridge and the distance he had to cover. With four arcing columns that fitted into the oval shape, all thirty-six bridge crew were stationed across its length. The central podium, designed for the Charge of the ship, sat in the divide between the columns of monitors. Uthor rarely positioned himself inside, preferring to walk around his command centre and get a feeling for his crew, instead of having all their data collated and presented to him in holograph form. Looking at the bloated size of the crew needed to run the ship, Uthor was beginning to see the benefits of the podium. The High Charge came up behind the Ch’kara, where the terminal was receiving data from the skeleton crew left to oversee the evacuation.

  “The shuttles have left already, sir, but the remaining crew are reporting some glitches,” the Ch’kara explained.

  “What kind of glitches?” Gre-den asked.

  “It appears some of the internal walls are... moving.” The Ch’kara brought up another report. “They’re struggling to access certain walkways and corridors that were otherwise available. Some of the doors aren’t responding.”

  “Tell them to stay in contact at all times and to move in twos,” Uthor ordered. “Get me a status update on the cube as well. If anything changes in that room I want to know immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.” The Ch’kara hurriedly went back to work.

  The High Charge and Gre-den strolled off the bridge together. “Make those arrangements, commander. I’m going to dig a little deeper into our friends at Protocorps.”

  Captain Fey braced herself for the throng of people gathered outside the door to their temporary council room. She was escorted by three of her own UDC personnel aware of the concerns and general uproar amongst the people. She could already hear them before they reached the end of the corridor.

  “Captain Fey!” they shouted.

  “Why are we here?”

  “What’s happening?” Their questions were endless and rightly so.

  Upon seeing them she realised it was a mob. The corridor opened up into a larger deck into which at least four hundred people had managed to cram. The room that had been reserved for the council was completely hidden by the masses, each vying for her attention. Men and women were crying, clutching their children and adopted children for dear life, unsure of their sudden re-housing. The captain had always believed in transparency when it came to the survivors of her race;she truly believed it was the only way to maintain order and trust.

  “We will make an address very soon, I assure you!” she shouted over the crowd.

  The soldiers were forced to push people back as they drove their way through to the door. The captain’s instructions had been clear about leaving their weapons behind; it was to be incident free. Hands reached out to grab her but between the soldiers and herself they were able to keep them at bay until the door offered some escape.

  “Please!” the crowd pleaded before the door sealed her in. She felt a moment of guilt at leaving her men outside.

  “Captain...” Laurence Wynter was sat at the head of a long table. The room was bare but for the table and chairs with a window as long as the room on the far side. The other councillors were dotted around the room, leaning against walls and pacing the length of the window. Only Wynter appeared calm.

  “Right...” Upon closer inspection, the captain could see how haggard the group were. A few of them even had torn clothing where they had tried to pass through the mob outside. “Ambassador Telarrek is going to be late; he’s already opened channels to negotiate with the Highclave on our behalf.”

  Jim L
andale stopped by the window. “Something tells me the Highclave is going to be a bit busy right now. Have you seen what’s out there? Even from here it looks humungous!”

  “It’s all over their News networks.” Sharon Booth was watching the feed that played out across the table’s surface.

  “And there’s nothing about us or the Gommarian.” Samuel Vock wiped the sweat from his dark bald head. “They’re using this Sentinel as a smoke screen for kicking us out of our home.”

  “And we should have expected better?” It was Joseph Barnes who spoke out. “We kept too many secrets from them while we strode around their backyard with a big gun! We should have been open with them from the beginning, about ALF, the basement, Esabelle and not to mention those goddamned prisoners we kept locked away out of sight.” He was angry - that much was obvious.

  “Take a breath, Jo,” Wynter advised. “The people outside that door need our heads to remain level. We have to present a clear message that shows we are united and that we trust the Conclave.”

  Captain Fey tried to hide her disdain for Laurence Wynter. He never felt quite human to her. His motives always appeared as if they were in favour of the people, but the captain knew he only wanted to keep some semblance of power. He was a man who had been in control his whole life and he knew no other way to live.

  “Do we trust the Conclave?” Jim’s question was met with silence.

  “Our trust in them is irrelevant,” the Captain replied. “We need everyone out there to trust us, and the only way we’re going to achieve that is if we tell them the truth.”

  “And what is the truth?” Wynter countered.