Empire's End: Episode 4: The Real Sin

by JP Raymond

  “This sounds very logical,” Lanaliel said.

  “Sure it does for someone like you, who hasn’t suffered bigotry his whole life. Trust me, Lanaliel, the majority does not share its power willingly. They only give it away when they are forced to, and they begrudge you even asking to be treated fairly.

  “Anyway, we argued more and more about it. I said we had a good life here. Why couldn’t we just keep it? She scolded me for being ambitionless, for not having more honor. I told her honor was bullshit made up by people who were just trying to convince you to die for them. It went round and round until I finally lost my cool and told her she was just a tool, a sellout, an Uncle Tom.”

  “Uncle Tom?”

  “It’s an insult. Uncle Tom was the main character in the novel, Uncle Tom’s Cabin. He’s black, and he’s seen as someone who is overly subservient because of his race, even though he’s aware of why he’s treated the way he is. Instead of fighting the powers that be, he acquiesces. One black person calling another an Uncle Tom is basically saying they’re a traitor to the race.”

  “Ah, I see. And you called Gwen Uncle Tom because, as you saw it, she wanted to participate in oppression by joining the Space Rangers instead of fighting for human freedom.”

  JaQuan’s heart skipped three beats. He hadn’t expected Lanaliel to understand the situation so perfectly. When the Mandran boiled the argument down so succinctly, it was like a punch to the gut.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” he said.

  “I assume, since ‘Uncle Tom’ is a profound insult, Gwen reacted badly,” Lanaliel said.

  “Most definitely,” JaQuan said. “She said a bunch of terrible things. I stormed out. I was angry, and I needed to clear my head. I went to the bar, drank myself into a stupor. I staggered to my workstation and passed out. I woke up with a major hangover. When I got back home, she was gone.

  “So, since she left, I did the same. Cataan’s Claw was in dock and looking for an engineer’s mate. I applied. I wanted the fuck off that station if Gwen wasn’t there.”

  JaQuan fell silent. He drank more of his water, trying to drown the memory. But it refused to go away, floating on the surface, haunting him instead of sinking back into the depths of his mind.

  “Did you love her?” Lanaliel asked.

  He might as well have shot JaQuan in the heart.

  “Yeah. I loved her.”

  “Then why would you say these things to her?”

  “Because I didn’t want to leave Nimia. Well, I didn’t care about that. I just wanted to be with her. I wanted us to work somewhere and have a quiet life together.

  “That’s not her style, though. She needs a cause to fight.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, my friend, but don’t you? Since you joined us three years ago, you have frequently expressed a cynical view of justice in general and Imperial law in particular. You are constantly urging Alan to write something important instead of an adventure novel. It seems to me you and Gwen Carter are not so different.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “She’s gone. And now she thinks I’m a terrorist, thanks to Brody.

  “Speaking of whom, has anyone figured out why he pulled this stupid stunt?”

  “Kitekh has questioned him several times,” Lanaliel said. “But if she has learned anything, she has not shared it.”

  JaQuan chewed on that. It was better than thinking about Gwen. In fact, Brody’s assholery had brought him face to face with her again. And it just didn’t make sense. Why would a group insistent on humans becoming full citizens commit a crime guaranteed to make people hate them more? JaQuan understood that fanaticism didn’t exactly subscribe to logic, but this was just stupid.

  Unless there was a different objective.

  “I think it’s time my ‘old friend’ and I had a conversation,” he said. “Maybe he’ll tell me things he hasn’t told Kitekh.”

  “But we have work to finish on the hyperdrive,” Lanaliel protested.

  “I’ve replaced the crystal, which is what you needed me for,” JaQuan said. “The rest of the work doesn’t require someone smaller than you. Since I ran into him at Daxal Station, I’ve nearly been killed by Imperial forces and the Kwin Faan. I want to know why, and I’m tired of waiting.”

  “As you wish, my friend,” Lanaliel said, “but it will take me longer to complete the work alone. You will delay our ability to leave the Horari Belt.”

  “Lanaliel, the names of our ship and our captain have been broadcast to the whole galaxy. Right now, it doesn’t matter if the hyperdrive is working or not. There’s nowhere we can go. But if we figure out what the hell this is all about, maybe we can fix it.

  “You work on the drive. I’ll work on Brody.”

  He left the chamber before Lanaliel could protest further. Unbidden, worry for Gwen leaped from his heart into his brain. He hoped she was all right, that Alan hadn’t hurt her badly, and that she could get out of the closet Rorgun insisted they lock her in.

  Damn her anyway. Why couldn’t she ever be reasonable?

  Gwen ground her teeth and tried very hard not to pull out her beamer and drill a hole between the infuriating Mandran’s eyes. He leaned back in his chair, with his arms crossed, staring impassively at her, just as he had done when she’d first arrived on-station.

  “I have already told you what there is to tell, Ranger Gwen,” he drawled.

  Gwen exhaled through her nose, trying to get her anger under control. If she blew up at these assholes, she wouldn’t get any cooperation. Her shoulder burned, making it hard to think. It would need treatment when she got back to her ship. But that could wait. She had a terrorist ex-lover to catch.

  “Their ship isn’t docked anymore,” she said through her teeth. “Where are they?”

  “They left,” he said, eliciting snickers from his fellow controllers.

  He continued to blink at her as though he were a stone wall she could not beat down. The barest hint of a smile on his coal-black face said he was enjoying himself.

  “I can see that,” she said. “Where did they go?”

  “I don’t know, Ranger Gwen,” he said. “They didn’t tell me.”

  Titters rippled through the control room as the other criminals joined in the Mandran’s mockery of her.

  “They must have filed a flight plan,” she said.

  This time the room erupted in belly laughs. Even the stoic Mandran bastard she was dealing with broke into a grin and chuckled.

  “We don’t require or take flight plans, Space Ranger,” a Graur said from across the room.

  Gwen studied him. It was the same jerk she’d threatened to emasculate before.

  “This is a safe haven,” the lone Elohiman controller said. “The administrator allows people to come and go in relative privacy.”

  “Doesn’t seem very smart,” she commented. “A good crime boss wants to know who is coming and going so he has leverage.”

  Her insult didn’t faze any of the controllers. They continued to grin derisively at her.

  “Look, if they didn’t file a flight plan, you must at least have observed what vector they took when they left.”

  “Maybe,” the Graur said, leering at her. “I don’t remember if I was paying attention or not.”

  He was rewarded with another round of laughter from his mates. Gwen’s patience was at an end.

  “Listen, you assholes,” she nearly shouted. “These aren’t ordinary smugglers. They’re not even ordinary kidnappers. They’re terrorists! They came here because they blew out their hyperdrive. The fact that they left means they got what they needed to repair it. Once it’s operational, they’ll be able to go anywhere in the galaxy to do whatever they want. They kidnapped the daughter of an Imperial Senator. I don’t know why, and I don’t know what they intend to do with her. But I know it isn’t good.

  “These dickbags are not your friends. They’re not your comrades-in-arms. They’re the worst kind of scum. If they get their way, the whol
e fucking galaxy will burn. So, please, knock off the low-rent comedy act and tell me where they went. I’ll be gone, and you’ll never see me again. But those traitors have to be stopped before we all lose everything.”

  She cast a fierce glare around the control room. No one smiled anymore. They all glanced from person to person, each of them trying to gauge what the reaction should be.

  “On the news,” the big Mandran said, “there was mention of a reward.”

  Gwen snapped her head around and stared at him for several seconds. He didn’t meet her eyes.

  “This was on the news?” she said.

  “Yes,” the Elohiman said. “It has been broadcast regularly every hour.”

  Holy shit. They’d gone public? Senator Mol must have been hoping to enlist the public’s aid in finding his daughter.

  “What reward?” she asked.

  “According to the news, it is ten thousand sovereigns for information that leads to the apprehension of the kidnappers,” the Mandran said.

  “I would be happy to make sure your name reaches the senator’s ears,” she said. “I’d even deliver the money myself.

  “But I have to find the kidnappers in order to apprehend them.”

  The Mandran turned in his chair. He tapped keys on his board. Images came up on his monitor. Gwen watched as the cargo shuttle undocked and then rocketed away, disappearing behind the largest asteroid.

  “Can you project a flight path based on that trajectory?” she asked.

  “Yes, but it will not be a hundred percent accurate,” he said. “The asteroids shift swiftly. They will surely have to deviate from any intended course to escape the Belt.”

  “Of course,” she said. “But you can still estimate their intended destination.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do it.”

  He gave her a sidelong glance at her order. But he tapped more keys on his board. A moment later, a course and coordinates appeared on the monitor. Gwen memorized them.

  “How long ago did they leave?” she asked.

  “Six hours, sixteen minutes ago,” he said.

  Six hours! Fuck. She’d been out longer than she’d thought.

  “What’s the best time to get through the belt along that heading?” she asked.

  “It is impossible to calculate. There is no way to anticipate how much the asteroids will interfere.”

  “Just estimate it!” she snapped.

  His eyes narrowed. He stared angrily at her, clearly unused to taking orders.

  “Ten thousand sovereigns,” she said.

  With a sigh, he turned back to his board, tapping in more commands. Gwen held her breath while the computer ran its calculations.

  “If one flew recklessly and were willing to absorb some damage to one’s ship, it could be done in forty-seven minutes,” he said. “That assumes minimal asteroid interference and expert piloting.”

  Gwen studied the trajectory. There was no way JaQuan and his friends had made it through the Belt in less than an hour. She’d flown it herself and knew how tricky it was.

  But they had a six-hour head start on her, and she would have to navigate the dangers too. She had to hope that whatever was wrong with their hyperdrive would take several hours to repair. If not, they were already gone and there was no hope of catching them. She tried to believe that wasn’t true.

  “Thank you for your assistance,” she said. “I will make sure you are rewarded.”

  She hoped she’d be able to make good on that promise.

  JaQuan entered the cargo hold with bile leaping into his throat. He was terrified of what Brody would tell him. None of what he’d done made sense, at least not on the surface. Figuring Brody had to have some logic behind his insanity, JaQuan had a terrible feeling they were in even more trouble than they knew. Which was difficult to imagine.

  He found Shinzaa and Rischa working on packing away the mining equipment they had taken to The Outpost for trade. Shinzaa acknowledged him with a nod.

  “How’s the hyperdrive?” she asked.

  “I got the crystal installed. Lanaliel is working on rebooting everything. We should be back in business in an hour or two.”

  “So the crystal is genuine?” Rischa said.

  Shinzaa snapped her head around, looking at Rischa in surprise. JaQuan snorted.

  “Yeah,” JaQuan said. “Kairee was dealing straight with us on that at least.”

  “Heh, that krischenza is about as crooked as they come,” Rischa said, resuming loading.

  “Krischenza?” JaQuan said.

  “Don’t ask,” Shinzaa replied. “It’s not a nice word.”

  JaQuan smiled. No matter the language – or the species for that matter – there were always terrible epithets for people you didn’t like.

  “Anyway,” he said. “It shouldn’t be long before we’re FTL-capable again.”

  “That’s a relief,” Shinzaa said. “Although I’ve no idea where we’ll go now that every fortune hunter in the galaxy is looking for us.”

  “Where’s Brody?” JaQuan asked.

  Shinzaa arched one golden eyebrow.

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to talk to him.”

  She turned and faced him fully, drilling a blue-eyed gaze into him. JaQuan crossed his arms.

  “Why?” Shinzaa asked again.

  “Because I want to know what the fuck this is all about,” he said. “The son of a bitch set us up, and it doesn’t make a lick of sense. I want to know what the hell he thought he was going to accomplish.”

  Shinzaa continued to stare at him. She put her fists on her hips and considered.

  “Kitekh has been questioning him,” she said. “He hasn’t told her anything. Why would he talk to you?”

  “Because he’s an asshole,” JaQuan said. “I’ve got a feeling he’ll want me to know why he’s right.”

  Shinzaa folded her arms across her chest and considered. Irritation grew in JaQuan’s heart and started climbing up his chest.

  “Let him go, Shinzaa,” Rischa said. “They were friends. JaQuan deserves an explanation.”

  “If he’ll give it to him,” Shinzaa said.

  “Give JaQuan the chance to get one. He’s earned it.”

  Shinzaa nodded. She pointed to the right with her thumb.

  “I rigged up a makeshift brig in Bay Twelve,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll let you know if he tells me anything.”

  He crossed the cargo hold, shoving down his anger at Shinzaa for questioning him. Even if there’d been some reason to believe he and Brody had been working together – and there wasn’t – his actions aboard The Outpost had more than proven his loyalty.

  JaQuan shook his head to clear it. He was letting his emotions get in the way. Shinzaa wasn’t the enemy; Brody was. He needed to remember that.

  You let a man make you angry, Lucky Latiel would say, you let him win the fight. You can’t fight smart if you fighting mad.

  He supposed Gwen’s sudden reappearance after three years had him rattled. She was supposed to be on his side. But she never had been. Gwen was driven by duty. Everything else came second.

  Shinzaa’s makeshift brig was clever. She’d cleared out one of the bays and set up an energy screen to prevent anyone from entering or leaving. Brody had a cot and nothing more. There was no san, no blanket, no tablet for him to read. The Graur had evidently decided he needed no comfort. JaQuan presumed they brought him food and took him for san breaks semi-regularly. Otherwise, the traitorous engineer’s mate was leading a pretty dull existence.

  When JaQuan arrived, Brody lay on his cot with his arms folded behind his head and his legs crossed. He turned his head in time to see JaQuan approach, and his face broke into one of his characteristic smug grins.

  “Well,” he drawled. “I wondered when you’d be down to see me.”

  “Sorry,” JaQuan said. “I’ve been a little busy fixing all the shit you fucked up.”

  “Hey, man,”
Brody said, “Kitekh’s the one who ran from Imperial battlecruisers.”

  “And you’re the one who gave her cause.”

  “Well, that’s not exactly true,” he said. “She didn’t know about Ms. Mol when she made a run for it.”

  JaQuan stared coolly at Brody. God, he was an asshole. How could anyone be that cocky when they were locked up?

  “Why are you doing this?” JaQuan asked.

  “Oh, c’mon, JaQuan,” Brody said, returning his gaze to the ceiling. “That’s a stupid question, and you know it. I’m with Manifest Destiny. You know what we’re about.”

  “Yeah, you’re about fucking everything up for the rest of us.”

  “Oh, please, JaQuan, a brother like you can’t possibly be that naïve.”

  JaQuan’s blood boiled. It was one thing to act like an arrogant bastard. It was another for a white guy like Brody to refer to JaQuan as “a brother.”

  “You know good and well these assholes are never going to let us join their Empire as full citizens without proper motivation,” Brody went on.

  “And kidnapping the daughter of a prominent senator is going to persuade them to accept us?”

  “No,” Brody said. He sat up and fixed JaQuan with a steely, blue-eyed gaze. “Elohim powerbrokers like Idrib Mol are not going to invite us to the party. But they love their children too – at least I think they do. And that means threatening her life has leverage. So if he wants his daughter back alive and unharmed, Senator Mol lays off this severe antihuman campaign he’s running. He’ll never accept us as his equal, but he can stop trying to prevent us from being recognized as the Fourth Race.”

  JaQuan shook his head. He understood the logic. It had an internal consistency that made it sound reasonable. But he’d never met the bigot who could be persuaded to stop his persecution with threats. Brody and Manifest Destiny had no chance to succeed.

  “And I suppose that’s why you decided it was okay to pull me into your little psychodrama,” he said.

  “Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Brody said. “Jesus Christ, JaQuan, I needed a ship. I needed someone who could get me aboard. I knew you from Acclimation. I played the angle and it worked. There was nothing special about using you. You were just the connection I needed.”