by Jason Letts
Lena furrowed her brow.
“And what kind of people are we?” she asked, annoyed.
“Thieves. I thought we’d established that. Try to keep up, dear. Now are you going to step out of the lift, or was seeing me all you wanted and you’re ready to go back down?”
The woman turned and walked into an expansive office suite that featured expansive windows looking out at the construction. Instead, there were paintings on wooden walls and leather furniture situated into semi-circles near multiple fireplaces. In some ways it wasn’t that different than the Regent’s Center on Mars. Everyone seemed to want to re-create the grand chambers of old Earth.
She led them to one of the furniture groupings that had something more akin to a desk near it. Rather than go around to the back and sit down, she leaned against the edge closest to the middle, her hands still balled up and her demeanor quietly aggressive. Rion and Lena stood around some of the other chairs.
“You’re Ultima Pauline Verche,” Rion said.
“It’s a strange title, I know, but we try to envision a new system of designating rank and responsibility around here. Ultima doesn’t just mean I’m at the top of the pecking order. It’s a statement about leadership that goes beyond orders and society. There’s a spiritual element to my guidance,” she said.
Lena nodded slightly. Rion couldn’t imagine how anyone could find anything spiritual in someone with such a menacing disposition.
“You’re creating a persona,” Rion said. Her mouth opened slightly, perhaps an attempt to smile.
“It’s something you might be familiar with, if you did indeed arrive here on the Assailing Face. But by my reckoning you would’ve still been in diapers when that ship took on its mythic status, in part by destroying many of my own ships, so perhaps it’s still a new concept to you. I was born into the Marshall Force and believe in it so fervently that I’d sacrifice my life to it. In a way, I have,” Verche said.
She had a way of ruminating when she spoke that involved getting distracted by the various decorative objects in the room. At times it was like Rion and Lena didn’t need to be present for her to talk like this, since she rarely looked at them.
“What you’ve accomplished at the helm has been impressive,” Lena said. Rion couldn’t tell if she was sweet talking the old lady or if she really meant it. Either way, Verche scowled.
“That’s an entirely different matter. Now will you come out with what you’re here for? My lecture doesn’t start until tomorrow.”
Rion took a deep breath. He reached into his pocket and squeezed the disc his father had given him, not for luck as much as for a calming sense of familiarity. Convincing her was crucial to his plan.
“You’re right that we haven’t been flying the Assailing Face long, but now that we are we want to put it to good use. It seemed like you scoffed there at the suggestion that the Marshall Force has come a long way. While it really has, perhaps you’d been more ambitious and hoped for even more progress. That might mean you could use our help,” Rion said.
Verche’s hand was grazing a tablet on the desk. Her mind was somewhere else.
“We have a usual process for onboarding pilots and other disaffected types. Let me call someone up and you can sort it out with them.”
“No,” Rion blurted more forcefully than he meant. “I don’t think you fully appreciate the unique abilities we have. We held up an Alliance weapons shipment and brought it to your door. Those supplies could single-handedly change the trajectory of your fight against the Alliance, and that’s just the beginning. But because we’re offering something of unique value, we’d like something special in return.”
This time Verche’s hand went still and she forgot her distractions, gazing at them intently. Her eyes were pale, like she was going blind.
“Out with it, young man. Tell me what you want. And I urge you to be modest about it. We have a strong sense of justice around here and I have half a mind to execute you for stealing your ship and the cargo, then take both. One way or another you’ll pay a penance for what you’ve done, so from my perspective you are already indebted to us.”
Rion snorted, seeing that he was going to have to defy her to have any chance of setting his terms.
“With all due respect, we don’t care about your threats or the chance of being cannon fodder for your fleet. We’re here because we have an axe to grind with the Alliance, which has wronged us in more ways than we care to recount and they’re now perpetrating heinous crimes against people from here to Mercury. Our mission is to go after them hard until they no longer exist.
“Currently from what I gather you are barely able to defend this small corner of space around Uranus and beyond. You lack the necessary equipment and manpower, severely limiting your probability of victory. It could be that our mission could go hand in hand with yours, helping you achieve things that wouldn’t otherwise be possible. But in return we want a hand in shaping the future we create together.”
Rion felt flushed when he finished speaking. Even though what he said and his true intentions were off by several degrees, it still riled him up inside to think about the fighting he would have to do to get what he wanted.
Verche appraised them more warmly than she had previously. Her balled fists were now crossed around her stomach.
“You’re talking about the downfall of the Alliance. That’s a song I’ve had in my head for a very long time. Can you hear it? You see, societal institutions take on lives of their own. Sooner or later, all of them have to die and be replaced by something else, but before they go they lose touch with their core purpose and become obsessed with self-preservation. The Alliance is beginning its death spiral, and it’s only going to get worse,” Verche said.
“The question I have is if the Marshall Force would be any better,” Lena said.
“Part of that natural cycle of institutions is gaining the trust early on from the populace that’s necessary to rule. That’s when the potential to build prosperity within a fair and equitable society exists. That may last for a while, hundreds of years, before the corruption and rot take hold and the Marshall Force needs to be replaced itself, but you don’t get that good period without having a disruptive transition of power.”
Rion leaned against the chair, knowing Bailor would’ve loved to engage in a discussion on this topic that would last through the night, but their time was short and the chance to seize what they wanted could vanish at any moment.
“So do we have a deal then?” Rion asked, trying to sound assertive yet relaxed. “The tides of your war against the Alliance could shift starting right now.”
Verche wasn’t quick to answer. She reached back toward the end of the table and picked up a glass of what appeared to be a dark liquor. Despite the intrigued look in her eyes over the possibilities they were contemplating, she didn’t jump at the offer.
“Make no mistake, if you want to go out and disrupt the Alliance, steal more weapons for us, destroy their ships, that’s something we’ll have no trouble abiding by. You have my blessing and you’ll be remembered, celebrated even for it. But a seat at the table when what happens next is hashed out requires more than that. We can’t have any lightweights making far-reaching decisions, so unless you have substantial policy experience you’re not telling me about, that would leave you out.
“But back to you being celebrated. This could be a hay day for you and your ship beyond anything you imagined. Fame, wealth, the stuff of legends. Are you two a couple? I take it from that look you gave each other that you’re not. Finding attractive partners and turning your life into a never ending Saturn cruise would be effortless. That’s my counter offer, and I think you’ll find it better suited to you than what you’re asking for.”
Rion snorted, and it wasn’t just the derisive way she observed he wasn’t in a relationship with Lena, though that certainly didn’t make him any more inclined to agree.
“I can’t imagine what we could’ve done to give you the impre
ssion we were lightweights without the research and capabilities necessary to put forward serious proposals. But I assure you that when the time comes our positions will be impregnable. You don’t know us, but you’ve never met two people less interested in fame and wealth. Coming from nothing leaves you with no illusions about what you have, no matter what’s around. If you aren’t prepared to let us continue our work after the fighting has stopped, we won’t need to take up any of your time,” he said.
He hadn’t planned on leaving it all on the line like that until the words came out of his mouth, but it felt right and he knew putting Verche on the spot was the best move they could make. Declining and making getting out alive difficult for them was a real possibility, but he believed in the carrot he dangled in front of her. She chewed her lip and looked down at her glass.
“What about you, pretty-faced girl from Neptune? The Force has been very kind to the people there. What do you have to say for yourself?”
Lena seemed unfazed by the comments that doubtlessly had a degree of condescension to them.
“You’d be just as bad as the Alliance if you were in their position. I suppose you could take that as agreement with what you said about the cycle of institutions,” Lena said.
“But what about having every person from here to the sun knowing who you are and wanting to be near you?” Verche asked, a satisfied look on her face.
“I’d kill myself before an hour passed,” she said, wiping the smirk right off Verche’s face.
“You’ve been away from home a long time.”
Lena nodded. Rion crossed his arms and cleared his throat.
“I give my word to the captains of the Assailing Face that if the Marshall Force wins against the Alliance you will be given the chance to share your views and be heard by all of us. If the merit is there, you will continue to play a leading role in our organization. There, now go get them,” she said.
Happy as he was, Rion remained stone faced. He had to give Lena a lot of credit for arriving at the same conclusion he did. For some reason getting what he wanted made him think worse of Pauline Verche. That she would cut a deal like this suggested the lengths she would go to in order to gain power. Now they would have to go out and kill for her.
“The weapons are yours. I hope the taste of winning is as sweet as you’ve imagined it to be,” he said, extending his hand. Verche took it.
Back in the elevator, Rion had the strange sensation that he couldn’t catch his breath. A discomfiting feeling inhabited his chest.
“The only reason she agreed is because she doesn’t think we’ll live to see the end,” he said. Lena jerked her head to look at him.
“I can’t wait to show her otherwise,” she said.
CHAPTER 9
After filling Bailor in, the trio took their time hanging around the Marshall Force’s home base, enjoying a chance to stretch their legs after the long journey. Part of touring the station involved watching their new friends crack open the cargo hold, which was a weapons stockpile to dream of in a giant tin can. The crews rushing in to unload it were giddy and all had bloodthirsty looks in their eyes.
More interesting at the moment was the local cuisine, which consisted entirely of liquefied meals. A vendor had over a dozen tall tubes against a wall containing the various flavors. While the different menu options were simply named for their colors, which didn’t inspire much confidence, what they had was so good that they had to sample them all. Drinking all of their meals suddenly didn’t seem so strange when the options never failed to be delicious.
Part of the recuperating involved getting back in the ship and puttering about the area. Local points of interest for tourists included an area known as the graveyard, where a collection of ancient spacecraft had been deposited, and some artistic creations floating around simulating aliens or mythical monsters. But their break ended in the blink of an eye with a question from Bailor.
“So, what do we do next?” he asked. The time to move on immediately became self-evident.
“The last thing I want to do is go to the front lines,” Rion said. “With that new weapons cache things are going to get bloody very quickly. We’ll let the Force’s fleet see what kind of damage they can do with them. If we’re lucky, they’ll be able to start winning without much more help from us.”
“We could lie low and ambush some more caravans,” Lena suggested, but Rion shook his head.
“I’ve got a better idea. We need to attack the Alliance in a way that no one else can. So much of their strength is wrapped up in their control over the distribution of food. If we can hit them hard there, that’ll do more to set them back than anything that can be thrown at them out here at the end of the solar system.”
Bailor took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows. In truth, Rion had gotten the idea from him and the stories he had about his experiences working on the huge agra-centers.
“Then we’re headed back to Earth, right to the Alliance’s back yard,” Bailor said.
“That’s what I have in mind,” he said.
Bailor nodded but then looked away, the cheer of his expression fading.
“Whatever we do, it’s not going to be easy. They protect food like it’s more valuable than gold around there, whether it’s on the ground, in the fields, or up in the massive orbiting packaging facility where everything gets prepared for transport,” he said.
“Didn’t you say something about how a lot of the food is left to rot?” Rion asked.
“That’s something that’s become more of a practice lately, engineered shortages. All of the food leaves the facility in automated barges, but a number of them simply run laps around the sun until it goes bad and gets discarded. It’s a secret that the Alliance doesn’t want to get out,” he said.
Huddled in the cockpit, Lena started to pull up information on the packaging facility, which looked like a tall, spindly space station surrounded by a number of silo-shaped structures where food was stored.
“What do we have to do to gain control of the food?” she asked.
It took more researching combined with Bailor’s memory to come up with an answer.
“If these schematics are still current, the program overseeing the delivery schedule and the flight paths for the barges runs out of this chamber near the apex of the facility. The trouble is that the only entry points are the bay doors used for unloading the food. Someone would have to be inside one of the shipments in order to gain access,” Bailor said.
Finding a way to do that from Earth’s surface without being detected sounded needlessly tough, as Alliance officers would have their hands all over everything each step of the way. There had to be a better solution.
“Wait, what’s that?” Rion asked, pointing near the control chamber to a speck running around it. Bailor leaned close, then zoomed in on that section of the image and squinted.
“It’s a radiator strip used to regulate heat in the siloes, keeping the produce at a constant temperature,” Bailor said. Rion’s shoulders drooped.
“I was hoping it was a vent or port of some kind, because it looks like there’s almost nothing between it and the control mainframes,” Rion said.
Lena grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him a shake.
“Are you talking about getting in from the outside? Even if it’s a radiator strip, I can cut through it to get inside,” she said, unmistakably excited.
“We could easily rig up a mechanism that could be plugged in to give us access to the system. Think about it. We could move shipments scheduled to rot to any of the planets, bypassing any monitoring so that Alliance officers wouldn’t be any wiser. Could you imagine if barge after barge of free food showed up on Venus, Mars, and Mercury? The regents would be in love with us and the people would be irate that the Alliance had been holding back!”
Bailor stammered all the way through Rion’s speech.
“You make it sound so much easier than it is. First of all, rigging up that device with a programming appl
ication would take me every minute of transit time on our way to Earth, and even then I’m not sure it would work properly. But the bigger problem is even getting near the facility without getting the attention of the Alliance or the growers. Our ship couldn’t just show up and let someone out to cut through the exterior without every ship in the solar system hearing about it,” Bailor said.
He had a point, but Rion sensed there was an opportunity here and couldn’t let go.
“But it’s Earth, right? There must be a lot of traffic in the area and countless small orbiting objects circling around.”
“Well, yeah,” Bailor agreed. Rion continued to stare until Bailor got to the eventual conclusion. “The closest traffic lane to the distribution facility is from Venus, which is ninety kilometers away, and even then the angle is terrible and someone traveling along it would reach near the very bottom.”
“No sweat,” Lena said, getting a gawking look from Bailor.
“You don’t think it’ll be at all difficult to fly completely untethered for ninety kilometers through space, catch the bottom of the facility, climb to the top, cut your way through, and compromise the master shipping program,” he said.
The harder he made it sound, the more Lena grinned. She was masochistic like that.
“No, I don’t,” she said. “But how do I get out.”
Bailor cracked a smile and chuckled.
“Actually that would be the easiest part. All you’d need to do is take this shaft down to one of the transfer ports and get aboard one of the barges. We could pick you up on Mars.”
Rion lit up and grabbed both of their shoulders. Once again they’d done the hard work for him and argued their way to something resembling a plan. He knew better than to try to convince Lena to avoid doing something that would get anyone else killed. All he could do was roll up his sleeves and make sure it went off without a hitch.