by Nick Webb
“How much recoil do we need to exit the grav field?” he asked.
“Calculating. At our current altitude of sixty thousand feet, the Orion would need an escape velocity of seventy thousand miles per second.”
Hyleesh smiled. “That’s plenty. Reroute to outer space.” He pulled the impulse lever and tapped on his screen. A whir echoed from the back of the ship.
“We are currently en route,” the navigator chimed in. “Are you sure you want to open the cargo bay?”
He sent a last look at the images streaming from the tail view. “Positive.”
By now Zika would’ve received his response. The Stingrays were closer, their unmistakable silhouettes framed by a blood red sun.
“Here we go, baby,” he said, confirming the last order. “With love from your favorite captain.”
The cargo bay door opened. He watched it from the indoor camera, then switched back to the tail view. The missile dropped and then, as soon as its propeller fired, picked up speed and aimed toward the Stingrays.
Hyleesh watched. “Damn, it doesn’t have a tracker,” he realized. And then a smile surfaced his lips. It don’t need no tracker.
Sure enough, as soon as the Stingrays saw the incoming object, a row of artillery barrels flipped up along their wide-span wings.
Hyleesh’s smile evaporated. “Shit.”
He pulled the impulse lever all the way down. He wanted them to fire, he just didn’t want to be near by when they did.
“Not enough fuel to—”
“Override!” he yelled, then slumped back and let the acceleration wave do the rest.
The explosion came seconds later.
They shot it, he barely had time to think before the cloud of energy engulfed the ship. The digits on the accelerometer spiked to eight, then ten g’s, and after that he barely had the strength to mumble, “Keep. Trajectory.” Before everything went black.
* * *
A yelp. Then another one. He opened his eyes. The cockpit was bathed in a dim, milky light. Everything was quiet. Except for the yelp.
“Damn!”
He flipped the lights on and checked his coordinates. The 3D screen reassembled above the dashboard. Yulia was but a small dot in a sea of stars.
Outer space. We made it.
Another yelp, quieter this time.
He unbuckled and sprang to his feet.
“Argos!” he called. “I’m coming, my friend!”
The dog was barely moving. Weak, and even thinner than he remembered, but still alive. Hyleesh unlatched the first aid cabinet, grabbed a handful of energy bars and walked back to the cot. He unwrapped the bars and had to feed the first one into Argos’s mouth before the pup recognized them as edible. But once he did, the rest were gone within seconds.
Hyleesh stroked the dog’s auburn coat. “We made it, buddy. Wanna know how? The Yaxees had enough Quarium to make twenty propulsion bombs per year. And they’d just used them all on Yulia.”
All but one.
The one he’d stolen before leaving for Sarai. He’d hoped to get more, enough to limit the damage to the planet, but things hadn’t turned out as planned.
Good thing he had the one, though, securely stored in Orion’s cargo bay, or he would have never gotten away from the Stingrays. His only fear was that the bomb would fly past the Stingrays and fail to detonate until impacted the ground, but the Stingrays had risen to the bait. They shot the missile carrying the bomb, thus triggering the fusion explosion that signed their own death sentence and bestowed enough recoil to propel the Orion back into outer space.
Now he was the most wanted man in the galaxy, with a handsome reward on his head and no troops to command. But he had the ship of his dreams and a companion to travel with. Hyleesh opened the first aid box, tore a pair of latex gloves out of their sterile package and smiled to himself.
He no longer was Captain Weber.
From now on, he was just Hyleesh.
The luckiest man in the galaxy.
Q&A with E.E. Giorgi
E.E. Giorgi is a scientist, a writer, and a photographer. She spends her days analyzing genetic data, her evenings chasing sunsets, and her nights pretending she’s somebody else.
Where did you grow up?
I was born in the U.K. but grew up in Tuscany, Italy. As the daughter of a biologist, the highlights of my childhood were collecting toads after the rain, growing newts and tadpoles in the old bathtub outside, and traveling abroad every summer.
Did you study biology in college?
No. I ended up studying math because it was beautiful and perfect. Except one day I realized that “beautiful and perfect” does not apply to real life problems, so now I still do math but I apply it to biology. Which is the coolest thing, because I get to do biology on a computer instead of in a wet lab.
Do you still live in Tuscany?
No. After I graduated from college, I moved every other year for ten years (twice across continents) before settling in New Mexico, the Land of Enchantment. It’s the most beautiful place on Earth. After Tuscany, of course.
What inspired The Quarium Wars?
The inspiration for this short story came while I was writing the first book in a new space opera series. The character of Hyleesh came to me halfway through the story when I realized I needed some backstory for Argos, his companion dog. This also gave me the opportunity to explain some of the political background behind the quest for Quarium, which is a basic element in the series. I’m planning to release the first book, Anarchy, in the fall. Join my newsletter if you would like to be notified the day of the book release, and you will receive a free story as a thank you: http://eegiorgi.thirdscribe.com/newsletter/
What other books have you written?
My genres are mysteries and thrillers, sci-fi, and YA dystopian. You can find all my books here: http://eegiorgi.thirdscribe.com/my-books/
Re/Genesis
by G. S. Jennsen
“The only way to deal with an unfree world is
to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”
— Albert Camus
AMARANTHE
Milky Way, Sector 14C
Phoenix Arx
6142.319
12th Epoch Proper
WHEN YOU’RE AN anarch, dying is the easy part. Completing your mission objective before nulling out? Not always so easy.
“A scan of your credentials does not return a valid result. Present Accepted credentials or be pacified.”
The weaponized arm pointed at my chest by the Vigil unit suggested the pacification would not be of the gentle sort. It rarely was.
I brought my hands up from behind my back and stretched them into the air, fingers curled in but giving every indication they were opening in surrender. As the nail of my left index finger reached the center of my palm, I flicked it outward.
The gossamer dampener net unfurled as it sailed through the air to envelop the Vigil unit.
The floating orb began jerking to and fro in the narrow hallway in an attempt to unsnarl itself. I leapt forward and collected the edges of the net in one hand, then wrangled it under some semblance of control until I was able to wrap my arms around the wide, circular frame and brace it against the wall.
It squirmed savagely, but after two tries I found the input port and shoved a spike into it.
“Not this time, Vigil. You don’t get me yet.”
The unit dropped from my grip to the floor and rolled into the opposite wall.
I’d bought myself twenty minutes.
I stripped off my infiltration suit, shrank it and stuffed it in my kit. The fete-worthy attire which remained looked ridiculous to my mind, but nevertheless appropriate to the venue I’d be visiting. I unbound my hair and began scaling the service duct.
* * *
The galactic core hung in the sky like an ornament placed just so to best complement the pavilion. The prodigious light it provided, even here on the verge, fi
ltered through an invisible prism field to cast soft, color-varying rays upon the conveniently reflective flooring.
See how small you are, it whispered.
See how powerful we are, it hummed.
In this case the core acted as a stand-in for the Anaden Directorate, obviously.
The guests enjoying the Phoenix Arx amenities acted oblivious to the implied message, though in truth it was because most of them had internalized it decades if not centuries ago and would never question it again.
Yet as a backup if the message didn’t come through clearly enough—the Directorate didn’t practice subtlety—every rotation of the Arx brought them a stunning view of the Phoenix Gateway in the distance. The colossal triple rings gleamed in the unfiltered glow of the galaxy, beautiful and menacing. This close to the ancient structure, the Gateway appeared more massive than the core itself. It was an optical illusion, but an effective one.
Today the Phoenix Gateway numbered only one of hundreds of its kind; in comparison to many of them it was aging, if not decrepit. But there was a reason for that: it was the first. The first wormhole portal to span the interstellar void and link to another galaxy. A dwarf galaxy, true, and one long since fallen out of fashion.
But once upon a time the Phoenix Gateway had meant everything. This meant it still mattered today, if only as a symbol of all the Directorate had achieved over the millennia.
I noted all this in passing, obscured behind a mask of jaded disdain as I traipsed across the pavilion in a manner which said ‘standing in seemingly open space with the galactic core as a backdrop is so very passé. I’m bored already.’ I made sure my eyes were vaguely unfocused, since as a member of the Idoni Dynasty I would be presumed by all in attendance to be high on at least one hypna, more likely several. Always, lest the horror of existence come crashing in.
My assigned contact worked the delectables area of the pavilion that stretched the length of the left side. I wove my way through a sea of patrons, trying to balance the disinterested attitude against the reality that I was on a short timetable.
A virtual overlay in my vision gave me a reference, but I only dared access the overlay in short pulses. On an Arx an unauthorized comm network became perilously susceptible to detection, and detection was guaranteed to bring a merciless punishment.
The Novoloume who the overlay proclaimed was my contact meandered among the crowd dispensing dollops of hypnas onto the tongues and into the eyeballs of buzzing Anaden revelers with a smooth grace which was as mesmerizing as it was expected. Her shimmery pearl skin transformed the light from the core into rainbows, the hues shifting as she did.
I shook my head as minimally as possible in an effort to break out of the reverie before I approached her.
She held the dispenser aloft, ready to provide a dose of synthesized bliss. I started to decline when she placed an elongated, delicate hand on my waist with a sultry smile. Her breath wafted across my ear as she leaned in.
“I know, my dear, but one must maintain appearances. Trust me.”
Trust was not something that came easily in my world. But this was her world... I offered the tip of my tongue while glaring a fierce warning at her.
The tip of the dispenser touched it, but no further sensation followed. It was empty.
First test passed. I nodded politely. “I’m Eren asi-Idoni.”
“You may call me Maeli.”
“But it’s not your name.”
She shrugged faintly as her gaze drifted over my shoulder. “It is as much a name as I allow myself to have. It is the same for you, no?”
“No. Eren asi-Idoni is my name.”
“Yet the soul behind the name no longer exists, does it?”
I cut my eyes into the crowd, searching for threats. This was all getting far too mystical for my tastes. “Not in the Annals. I’m on a tight schedule here, so—”
“Dance with me.” Her hands grasped mine in a display of surprising strength.
“I don’t dance.”
“All Idoni dance.”
“Damn, that must be why I never fit in with them.”
She pulled me closer. “There is a Praesidis Inquisitor approaching. Dance with me.”
I didn’t panic, but I did allow her to sweep me along the smooth pavilion floor as I reviewed my limited options.
I kept a neural layer on tap which allowed me to pass as a proper Idoni connected to the integral on casual contact with other Idoni Dynasty members. But Praesidis members always saw through the charade. Praesidis Inquisitors, doubly so. And once they did, it was a swift trip to null for me.
The fact I wasn’t already dead, however, meant the Inquisitor hadn’t come here for me. If I played the part of a... well, a typical Idoni, I stood a chance of escaping notice.
I tried to relax in her embrace and flow with her movements. She was of course correct about the dancing—the natural, innate rhythm was encoded in my genetics. Annoyed, I allowed instinct to take over.
“You have stunning eyes. They are as twin starbursts in the night sky.”
I swallowed, feeling heady enough I started to wonder how empty the dispenser had been. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?” She swept me between two other dancers in a lengthy, dramatic spin.
“That thing you’re doing.”
“It is not a thing I am doing, Eren asi-Idoni. It is a thing I am.”
So all the Novoloume insisted. The pheromones they secreted were not intended to send most mammalian species into a sexual froth; in fact, they had no knowledge of such an effect until they encountered those species.
I’d insist as strongly it was a lie they professed to hide the nature of their blatant manipulation of others, except the talent hadn’t gained them any greater freedom than the other species were permitted. Still, it was no wonder they had been decreed an Accepted Species in record time following contact. Rumor had it the Idoni Primor kept a stable of twenty Novoloume as pets.
I wasn’t immune to her beauty, both real and sense-induced—the Novoloume, regardless of gender, were among the most lovely sapient creatures living. I was nonetheless able to resist the mesmeric aspects of her presence, but the act of resisting was itself distracting. I tried to focus my thoughts on other, more relevant matters.
“Is the Inquisitor gone yet?”
She smiled blithely. The core spun around us, or us around the core. “Nearly. He is currently disposing of a troublesome Ch’mshak.”
That sounded like a show worthy of observing, but I didn’t dare cast my gaze toward it. “Successfully?”
“If bloodily.” Her attention flitted to the left then back to me, and her tone remained studiously casual. “You are the first Anaden anarch I’ve worked with.”
“There aren’t so many of us. It’s not an easy task, breaking away from the integral.”
“I can imagine.”
“You really can’t.”
Her chin dipped. “As you say. The Inquisitor has departed the pavilion.”
“Good.” I grasped one of her hands firmly and dropped the other. “I’m in a bit of a rush. I was told you could get me into the maintenance channel, so make that happen.”
“As you wish.” Her manner became purposeful but no less graceful as she guided me past the crowd to the staff area and onward to the rear wall. A server unit dawdled above a cylindrical tunnel, and Maeli indicated for me to wait.
When it vacated, she gestured to the tunnel. I peered down it to get an idea of what awaited us.
It was tailored for product delivery, not personal travel, and it held no transport implement.
I raised a questioning eyebrow at my escort. “You know how to do this?”
She nodded.
“Then, after you.” No way was I plunging into the unknown shadowy depths and leaving her standing up here surrounded by every creature comfort, where she might decide the trip wasn’t worth taking.
A flash of defiance sparked in her m
agenta irises as she leapt into the shaft. 3... 2... 1... and I followed.
Falling.
The towering Arx had a thousand levels. I suspected I’d be doing so for a while. The snug, curving walls whooshed by in silence, unmarked and unrelenting. They threatened to become as suffocating as the Idoni integral had been.
I closed my eyes and concentrated on the mission details.
The ways in which the mission could fail were legion.
A thruster suit was impossible to smuggle onto the Arx. A stealth, external breach by vessel ipso facto failed due to strict security protocols. An antimatter-tipped long-range missile, in the improbable event it penetrated said security, stood to cause significant damage, but not enough. Multiple distributed detonations were required, and follow-up missiles would doubtless be intercepted.
Turning a ship into an antimatter bomb was arguably viable in theory but an absurd risk in practice. The amount of antimatter needed to be stored on the ship in order for the reaction to reach the target when the vessel ignited was so large it created a sixty-eight percent chance of blowing early.
The solution—or the best solution my superiors had concocted—was a solitary incursion via the channel the maintenance and repair drones used to access the structure. It stretched the three megameters from the Arx in a series of magnetized coils which propelled objects traveling within them forward through space.
It wasn’t as fast as a thruster suit, but I would ride the stream to its destination, just like the drones did.
I chuckled quietly, though the analogy to the Anaden drones above, to when I’d been little more than a drone myself, was too evident to bother enunciating.
The increased resistance against the soles of my feet manifested a bare second before my descent slowed to an abrupt halt. The braking mechanism was designed for less squishy objects than organic limbs.