Breathing Space: Sunblinded Three (Sunblinded Trilogy Book 3)

by S. J. Higbee

  Jasen Starcaster had our fleet standing off, blowing up the mines that Eddy’s gang had scattered around the approaches of their enclave. It didn’t take long as there was no opposition.

  “Yes!” exulted Andy Bulstrode. “That’ll teach those slimers! Not so keen to poke their cowardly noses out for a fair fight.”

  “Those gutless curs far prefer blasting small children and defenceless civies.” It wasn’t often Andy and me agreed so wholeheartedly.

  “It’s too easy,” Hannah said, her flat voice cutting through our excited exclamations. “It’s not over. There’s probably some ambush about to kick off.”

  “Surely not,” protested Florian, our cred-counter. “They didn’t know we were coming.”

  “They’re crims. Unless they’re suicidally stupid, they’ll have some kind’ve backup plan for this eventuality.” Hannah’s grim certainty threw a bucket of cold water over our initial excitement and the Chamber was draped in taut silence when the explosions started.

  Jasen Starcaster must have thought along the same lines as Hannah, because our vessels were still well away from their defensive grid of ships when they started exploding in sudden blooms of fire flowered to be almost immediately snuffed out by frigid vacuum. There was none of the violent and noisy effects you see on holodramas – it was something of an anti-climax, if you want the truth.

  Which meant the flotilla of small fighters that zipped up from Erato and sped away from the fighting were clearly visible. A small group of our own patrolling single-seater Streaks gave chase and while it seemed like a long light year, it can’t have been more than a few minutes before the rest launched from our carrier, Prime, to even up the odds. Despite Norman’s constant boasting about owning a battleship carrier, this was the first time we’d been able to afford to fully outfit and equip her with sufficient ordnance, so she was no longer an empty threat. As our force of Streaks zipped off in pursuit – careful to give the buckling remains of the defence net a wide berth – cries of excitement and encouragement filled the Council Chamber.

  We waited for three more long hours, watching the shattered remains of the defensive net being slowly pushed aside by judicious use of Prime’s tractor beams. This slow-mo manoeuvring was interspersed by slices of action when Peacebringer Two, Prosperity and Perseverance started to overhaul some of the escaping flotilla that had begun to run out of fuel, air or both. In some cases, their shocked pilots surrendered. In others, they didn’t.

  By this time, news of the Erato Campaign was starting to seep out and our Publicity Department was dealing with a steady trickle of enquiries that turned into a flood from all the major journo stations during the next twelve hours. Fortunately, we’d planned for such an eventuality and a pre-prepared statement was released. Admiral Jasen Starcaster in full dress uniform stated that the Peace and Prosperity Corps were currently engaging with Erato to bring those responsible for the Hawking Atrocity to justice and the outcome would be relayed as soon as it was available to anyone who was interested. Short, dignified and leader-like.

  So far, our casualties had been light. A couple of Streaks had collided, killing both pilots and there’d been an accident on Prime where a launch tech got badly mangled. But the next phase was the messy bit, when our troops landed on Erato and started fighting a bunch of desperate, drug-crazed scumsacs. I leaned back in my seat, wondering if the marines who’d been waiting to file onto the shuttles had felt this sick. By now, they’re probably busy fighting on the surface. A thought that did nothing for my stomach.

  Don’t you dare puke! What kind’ve Chief pulls such a stunt at a time like this? Jessica was right, curse her.

  All this I recall with pin-sharp clarity. And why? Because while these thoughts floated through my head, a cloud of brilliant orange blossomed across the pirate enclave on Erato. Being on the planetoid’s surface, fed by the atmosphere, the firestorm continued on and on. Smoke pouring from the inferno gathered in drifts obscuring our view, however it was clear that Eddy’s stronghold was burning. By the look of it the whole site was ablaze. Was this the result of our bombardment? Or some trap set by Eddy and triggered by the first of our ground troops as they landed? We didn’t know. Silence blanketed the Council Chamber as we sat watching the billowing smoke and hungry flames, waiting to hear what had befallen our brave fighters.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Looking back, I realise it could have been so much worse. A booby-trap designed to be triggered by our groundforce could have wiped out most of our troops – which was what we all feared when watching the firestorm. What took a long light year to trickle through were accurate numbers of casualties and who they were. The atmosphere in the Council Chamber thickened to pent misery as we all silently prayed that our friends and companions hadn’t been turned into ash by the raging flames.

  Jasen Starcaster finally came through our screen, his face set. “Chief… friends… It is my sad duty to tell you that we have lost Commander Beck, who insisted on leading the forward force onto Erato.”

  I’m headed for Hell, I know that. My part in Norman’s death booked me a place there years ago – never mind the fact that I’d also murdered George. And one of the other black marks against my name will be the blast of relief I felt on hearing Jasen’s news. As for the response around the Council Chamber – Diana shrugged and muttered something under her breath. Florian Starsearcher’s normally sober expression twitched into an involuntary grin, before he managed to look suitably sombre again, while everyone else shook their heads and murmured polite regrets. No one looked devastated, not even Beck’s longtime voting ally, Andy Bulstrode.

  However, it was finally confirmed the following day we’d also lost Constanza and Ralph. More dead companions… I shut my eyes, unable to shift the notion that their demise was punishment for my unworthy thoughts about Logan Beck’s loss.

  For Mother Earth’s sake! I swear sitting in front of those screens is rotting your brain – didn’t you hear Jasen say that Constanza and Ralph were right alongside Beck? They were all caught in the initial blast together!

  Jessica’s rant gave me an idea. Can you talk to them, maybe? Are they also ghosts? After all, they died as suddenly as you did…

  I’d asked her questions of this nature before, but as ever, she refused to answer and disappeared as abruptly as she’d jumped into my head. However, I needed to shove Jessica and her temperamental behaviour to the back of my mind as I was about to start yet another interview for the ever-hungry journos.

  *

  A couple of days later, my world was completely rearranged by an apparently innocuous daily update by Jasen, “…been down to Erato, which is a real mess… …forensic teams report having found part of Eddy Wright’s body…”

  What!

  “…DNA tests conclusively prove the finger definitely belongs to him.”

  “Eddy’s dead?” the words fell out of my mouth. Not that there was any point in speaking as this was a pre-recorded sitrep.

  The grin on Jasen’s face was sufficient proof I hadn’t misheard him, as he continued, “It is with great pleasure and pride I can report that we have completed our two main objectives – to halt all pirating operations from Erato and to bring Eddy Wright to justice.”

  By this point, I was skipping around my room, hollering with joy. Eddy was dead!

  They found any more bits of him than a finger? Cos if I were you, I wouldn’t be getting too excited just yet. I’d wait till they find his head before you start celebrating.

  Mercury’s dust! Can’t you be happy that things are going right for a change— Wait – does that mean you can’t sense him in the Afterlife? Is that what you’re saying? Jessica? However, she’d gone.

  I took a breath. Knowing her the way I did, it was more likely that she was just being her usual paranoid self and this time around, I refused to allow her grim outlook pollute this precious moment of joy.

  Because I was all set to make a series of calls. Calls I’d dreamed of making for the last ye
ar and more. The first one would be to Admiral Jasen Starcaster, offering my congratulations and making a proposition…

  *

  I realised why George had been so fond of calling Emergency Council Meetings. Watching the slightly apprehensive faces all staring at me certainly enhanced my newly hatched happiness. For once, it was easy to smile back at my fellow Council members as I continued, “Therefore, given the success of the Peace and Prosperity Corps during our assignment for the Sector Two Justice Federation, I have decided to step down from the post of Chief. It has been an honour to serve this wonderful organisation, however I now feel it is time to make way for someone else to help shape the Peace and Prosperity Corps in this new era…”

  Whatever my fellow Council members were expecting, it clearly wasn’t my resignation. The faces around me were mostly morphing into amazement, though Andy Bulstrode was beaming, while Diana looked stricken.

  “You deserve someone at the helm with a fresh perspective during this exciting phase and my personal recommendation is Admiral Jasen Starcaster, who has distinguished himself as an effective field commander with a good sense of political timing. He is also a reasonable, fair-minded person.” I paused. “I have discussed the matter with him and he has indicated that he is willing to put himself forward for consideration in the upcoming leadership election.”

  I hammered on the gavel as a number of members bobbed to their feet, all bursting with something unimportant to say. And in a little over two months, I shall be free of all this. No more Council Meetings! No more wading through terminally boring Agendas! It was an effort to keep from grinning as I fielded the inevitable avalanche of questions and declarations deploring my decision – some genuine and some not.

  The news of my resignation whipped around Restormel at warpspeed, so I was mobbed by a bunch of mercs while on my way back to my office. A few pleaded with me not to leave, but most shook their heads and muttered they were sorry I was going. Though I was partly relieved at the general acceptance, another part was winded they were quite so comfortable with my resignation.

  Once we arrived at my office, Peter edged closer than the customary half an arm’s length my escort normally left. “Heading off to Holowood once you’ve resigned, Chief?”

  I stared at him. “Why’d I want to do a thing like that?”

  “What about your singing career?”

  Peter’s wits are wandering over an event horizon, “What career? I’ve been trap— busy here these past three and a half years. Can’t recall the last time I sang in front of an audience, other than leading the anthem for Founder’s Day, that is.”

  “You haven’t been on SpaceChat recently?”

  “When do I have time for such stuff?” Though I’m looking forward to lazing around, wasting time on such pointless nonsense.

  “Then you haven’t seen this?” Peter flicked open his coms and with a few twists, opened up SpaceChat, the main intergalactic communication site – if you believed their ad-hype and annoying jingle.

  As the sound pealed out, I snatched the device out of his hand. There I was, singing the lament for Jessica’s funeral with Alisha and Sonja accompanying me. Not that the lying banner scrolling across the scene gave it a mention.

  MERCENARY CHIEF SINGS LAMENT FOR HAWKING, it declaimed.

  “It’s gone pandemic. The song has primed on almost every playlist between here and Earth, so my children tell me,” he added. “So, we were wondering…”

  “If I’d decided to walk away from the P’s to scurry after…” Restraining the urge to fling the prodding thing onto the floor and jump on it, I flicked it off with perhaps more force than necessary, before handing it back to Peter. “Everyone reckons this is why I’ve resigned, do they?”

  Peter nodded.

  I wanted to howl like a laser-grazed dog. No matter what I said or did, posterity would have me scampering away from the organisation to which I’d devoted myself, heart and soul, in some feckless quest for Fame.

  *

  I rubbed my work-scoured eyes and tried to stretch out the stiffness from sitting too long. Admin was torrenting in from the sodding Justice Federation, as every petty button-pusher in Sector Two seemed to have invented yet another footling form or picbox for us to fill before they released the final instalment of the credstack we were owed. Once we’d get the measure of all this nonsense, we’d be able to automate most of the process. In the meantime, it was all labelled ‘FAO the Chief’ and enough of it needed my input, to prevent me from automatically delegating the wretched parchwork en masse.

  I could do with a glass of wine. I was about to press the intercom to ask Chris if he’d arrange it—

  That’s the fifth night in a row you’ve ordered a glass and ended up drinking most of the bottle. Don’t turn into your Mum while trying to keep on top of this stuff, Lizzy.

  Five nights? I’d have sworn on Eddy’s grave that it had only been the last two evenings I’d given myself a small treat to help me keep going through this slog. I slumped across the workdesk, bracing myself for a rant from Jessica. Which never came. It’s got to be desperate if Jessica is slicing me free air. Not that I needed random kindness from her to know that I was in trouble.

  I’d woken up the previous night, my eyes running with tears and Wynn’s name in my mouth, though he was wearing Tomas’s face during that last terrible meeting down in the Crypt. Though, instead of the Crypt, we were in the burnt, shattered bar at Hawking and Wynn/Tomas was wordlessly pleading at me to fight for him, while Eddy crept up behind him swinging a gory chairleg at his head. And as I yanked away the bottle of wine clamped to my mouth and took a breath to shout a warning – I’d choked…

  I jumped up from the workdesk and changed into my sweats with shaking hands, hoping that a prolonged session on BalanceJoust would leave me too exhausted to dream.

  Two more weeks - then I’ll be free.

  I was initially headed for a month-long stay at the high-end holiday resort on Planet Paradise at Peter’s recommendation. Though I didn’t really care where it was, so long as it wasn’t Restormel. After that, I’d no idea where I was going. The thought of returning to New London where I’d been born and raised wasn’t remotely tempting. I’d hated the place and now that Mum and the Cap had moved away there were no family ties to draw me back – not so much as a stray aunt. The only other place where I’d spent any time, other than my unfortunate stint on Shooting Star, was the planet Ceres with Wynn. Where he still lived, probably all settled down with some pretty girl. His beauty always drew the girls.

  My BalanceJoust piste had been in my bedroom, but after I was knocked unconscious in a freak accident, my medic ordered that it should be installed in a corner of the gym. So now I had to leave my room. “Let’s go.”

  Chas wrinkled his brow, looking like he’d just seen his entire credstack sucked into a black hole. “Not BalanceJoust again, Chief?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No. We’re going star gazing!” I set off along the corridor, for once striding ahead of my escort. Trouble is, I’ve been far too accommodating – no one would have dared cross-question the General!

  I’d like to report that my fury sharpened me up, but it merely blurred my physical responses so the sodding combat avatar knocked me around the piste on a mere Level 5 setting. It was embarrassing how bad I was. And though I was feeling like the leavings at the bottom of a ramjet scoop, I still had sufficient self-respect not to want my guards witness my sorry performance. Which meant returning to my room still far too wired.

  Zoning out Jessica’s objections, I decided that a glass of wine might help me sleep. Or maybe two…

  *

  I surfaced with a throbbing head, a furry tongue that tasted like it had died in the night, and when I peered in the mirror, it was Mum’s drink-sodden features that squinted back at me. I shut my eyes, not wanting to look anymore. At least I wouldn’t have to face Chris or Peter, as the pair of them had requested Mergency Leave the previous week. And I’m ashamed to admit th
at I’d signed the Release Permits without bothering to discover the exact nature of their emergencies, once I’d ascertained they’d be back before I finally departed.

  I’ve turned into a selfish piece of work, haven’t I just! I should’ve at least made sure they were solid… Which I hadn’t. My head still hammering hard enough to roll off my neck, I staggered into the shower, hoping it would ease my hangover and wondering how Mum had coped feeling like this day after day while having to deal with a pack of small children…

  She didn’t, did she? She farmed the job out to you. Or Eddy. Or anyone else who happened to be handy. She was incapable of looking after herself for large chunks of time, never mind anyone else. And you’re beginning to look and act like her. Already can’t fight properly because the booze is compromising your reflexes.

  My agonised brain felt like it was being pulled from my skull by a tractor beam, as I struggled to find a reply that would shut Jessica down. Don’t be ridiculous! You’re making out I’m some warp-brained drosser who’s spent years crawling into a bottle – I’ve only had a few glasses of wine of an evening to help me sleep, is all.

  It’s past time you faced the fact that the stuff is poison as far as you’re concerned. There’s a bunch of folks who can’t handle more than a thimble before they’re hooked and it seems you’re one of them. Probably your Mum’s problem, too, come to that.

  Which pulled me up short. Had she only been drinking a reasonable amount and I’d jumped to the conclusion that it was a lot more, because of her blurred reactions? I adjusted the temp, then eased my head under the cooler water, hoping it would help. It didn’t.

  To top off a dire start to what promised to be yet another dreadful day – my coms started bleeping and a voice crackled through the intercom – Eileen, I think it was, “Chief? Sorry for disturbing you. It’s the Crypt. They say there’s a prisoner down here and he’s asking for you. Says he has a message from…” She paused, lowering her voice, “from Eddy Wright.”