by Joe Vasicek
I’m weightless, she realized with a start. As if in confirmation, she lifted up off the floor and bumped her head lightly on the ceiling.
The container began to slow, sending her drifting toward the opposite end of the narrow space. She caught herself with her feet. Even though she knew that down was supposed to be below her, she felt almost as if she were standing on the wall with her chest to the ceiling. In the darkness of the container, it thoroughly disoriented her.
Eventually, the container came to a stop, leaving her floating in midair. With space so tight that she had to keep her knees and elbows close, she felt herself begin to panic. Her breath came short and fast, while her heart began to pound. Let me out of here! a part of her seemed to scream. The growing stuffiness only made it worse. She reached for the release wire, fingering it with her sweaty hands—
No, she told herself. I’ve already made it this far. She took a long, slow breath and forced herself to stay calm. If she was weightless, it was probably because the container was in the station’s docking arm. That meant that she was almost on the ship—almost, but not quite. Just a few more minutes, and she’d be there.
Sure enough, a low groan sounded from somewhere behind or beneath her, and once again the container began to move. She steadied herself with her hands and held her breath. Without warning, gravity returned, dropping her onto the wet, smelly blanket. The reorientation was such a relief to that for several moments, she just lay there savoring it. The container moved a little further, then came to a rest as the heavy machinery moved on somewhere else.
She waited until the sounds died away again. This time, though, the silence was much deeper than before. She almost feared to open the hatch, but the air had become so stuffy that she knew she couldn’t last much longer. After counting to one hundred, she gripped the wire and pulled.
The outside bars released with a loud clang. For a brief moment, Kyla’s heart stopped, and a horrible sinking feeling took hold of her. The hatch creaked open just a crack, letting in some blessedly fresh air, but she waited in the darkness just in case someone had overheard her. Seconds turned to minutes, and no-one came. When she was confident that it was safe, she swung the hatch open and climbed out.
The space between the hatchway and the bulkhead was barely large enough to squeeze through sideways. It took her a while to get out, but when she did, she found that it wasn’t quite as bad as it was inside the container. A dim green light somewhere on the other side of the room gave just enough light to see by, and while the space was narrow, it extended a long distance in either direction. She rounded the corner and found that there was even more space on the other side, with a door—though where it led, she had no idea.
A cargo hold, she thought to herself. I’m on board a starship. Her heart started to race as a wild, heady feeling of triumph began to seize her. After running for so long, she was finally going to make it.
The groaning of metal on metal through the bulkheads made her jump. In the silence of the hold, it sounded as if a giant rat had scraped its claws against the hull of the ship. She bit her lip again and glanced nervously around, but only the dim lights in the ceiling met her eyes.
Thudding noises came next, followed by a series of hisses so low that she could barely hear them. She pressed her ear against the wall, and they came through all too clear. The floor shuddered, and her stomach began to turn, but not from hunger. Something was happening—the ship was turning.
We’ve pushed off, she told herself. This is it—we’ve left the station.
As if in response, the noises abruptly stopped. She frowned and pressed her ear against the wall, but caught nothing but the beating of her heart.
What’s going on?
Moments later, she felt an odd, nauseous sensation sweep over her, starting in her stomach but soon extending throughout her entire body. She looked up only to see the already narrow bulkheads crowding her in. Her vision began to swim, and she felt as if her body was being turned inside out—as if the universe were playing some kind of cruel joke. She closed her eyes and tried very hard not to scream.
Then, in an instant, the feeling passed. Sweat ran down the back of her neck and behind her ears, turning colder with each passing second. She reached up with her hand and wiped it off.
The jump, she realized. We’re away.
She took in a deep breath and settled down on the cold metal floor. Wherever she was headed, there was no going back anymore.
Chapter 4
James walked down the spacious corridor of the Freedom Star, glancing with mixed feelings at the cascading hydroponic vines and etched porcelain walls. A little less than a day had passed since their departure, and he still couldn’t get over all the luxury that now surrounded him. While the Hameji occupation had certainly impacted everyone’s standard of living, it was clear to him now that it had affected some people less than others.
The only reason civilized society isn’t overrun by barbarians and criminals is because of the sheepdogs, Danica’s words came to his mind. But what about all this inequality? He gritted his teeth. With all the flagrant opulence around him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had risked his life only to let a more insidious predator undo all that he had worked for.
Toward the bow, the corridor opened up to a magnificent wood-paneled staircase leading down to the observation deck. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a stupendous view of the starfield outside. A dazzling crystal chandelier hung from the center of the room, directly over an automated serving bar. Retractable tables and chairs ringed the windows, enough for the luxury yacht to host large, extravagant parties while parked in orbit.
Lars sat on the far side of the room, admiring the view from one of the chairs. He wore the standard gray jumpsuit of a merchanter, complete with compact utility belt and a black leather vest that was wrinkled and cracked with age. James’s lips turned up in a smile; he’d hardly ever seen Lars wear anything else, not even in the video speeches he’d made to the General Assembly of Citizens. In his decidedly working-class clothes, he looked more than a little out of place here on the luxury yacht.
“Hey,” he said as he climbed down the stars. “Mind if I take a seat?”
“Not at all,” said Lars.
James settled into the shifting contours of the egg-shaped chair across the table. For a moment, the cushions felt lumpy and uneven, but the smartfoam soon conformed to his body shape. As it did so, he couldn’t help but feel as if it were trying to eat him. Lars chuckled.
“Not used to this kind of luxury, are you?”
“No,” James admitted.
“Neither am I. The diplomatic committee likes to charter this starship for its more important missions. Though it does seem a bit opulent, I suppose it’s necessary to grease the wheels of diplomacy. Care for a drink?”
“No, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Lars lifted his glass and turned back to the magnificent view.
“You know,” said James, “it’s only been two days, and we’re already halfway to Gaia Nova. If we were in a sublight convoy, we’d barely be out of the K3 trojans right now.”
“It’s amazing how much difference a good FTL drive makes in space travel.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” he said, shaking his head. “The wars have decimated virtually all of the occupied worlds. Karduna, Tajjur, Gaia Nova—no system has been spared. And yet, five years ago, the kind of journey we’re making right now would have been commonplace.”
“I know,” said Lars. “Sometimes, I feel as if the outer edges of our own system are more foreign to us than the other stars of the empire ever were.”
“They’re definitely more dangerous. With all the local piracy we’ve had to deal with, ‘occupation’ doesn’t really describe the way the Hameji are running things.”
“Yes,” Lars agreed. “To them, we’re just a vassal state. So long as we produce tribute, they’re content to let us manage our own affairs.”
“Or let everything fall apart.”
Lars nodded. “It’s the same thing everywhere. Gaia Nova is one of the worst examples—three stations have collapsed since the occupation began. When you look at all we’ve been through, it’s a wonder that the Colony has survived for as long as it has.”
“Yeah,” said James.
They sat in thoughtful silence for a while. Outside, the stars shone like cold, distant jewels. The wispy pink tendrils of the Good Hope Nebula lay just out of view, but James caught sight of a couple dark molecular clouds—blots in the starfield.
“Do you think this conference will accomplish anything?”
“I hope so,” said Lars with a wry grin. “I’m the one who organized it, after all.”
James’s eyes widened. He regarded Lars for a minute, wondering what to say. “Well, you always were the politically savvy one,” he eventually managed. “I guess you know more about these things than I do.”
Lars chuckled. “It’s a bit of a long shot, I’ll admit. Still, it’s better than sitting idly by as everything falls apart. I’m guessing that’s why you joined the Corps?”
“Yeah, that was one of the reasons.”
“It doesn’t surprise me. You and I aren’t that different, James. But while your calling lies in the military, mine lies in politics. If our people are ever to have a future, they’re going to need great men and women working together in both realms.”
James nodded, relaxing a little. “So what’s this conference about anyway?”
“It’s a gathering of representatives from the Hameji-occupied worlds. Ever since my appointment to the diplomatic committee, I’ve been building a network of like-minded people across the former Gaian Empire who want to change the situation under the Hameji. We reached critical mass some time ago, but it took a while to convince the Hameji that a conference like this was in their best interests as well as ours.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” James asked. “Just what are you hoping to accomplish?”
“I’m hoping to organize a council,” said Lars, leaning forward. “An interstellar council of occupied systems. Right now, we’re at the mercy of the local commanders, and most of them couldn’t care less about us. All they want is a chance to get reassigned to the battle front. But if we can create an organization that can represent our interests directly to the Hameji Generals, then maybe they’ll start to listen to us.”
James frowned. “The Generals? What makes you think they’d care?”
“Because they can’t afford not to,” Lars answered, his eyes lit with passion. “No hegemonic system can endure forever: eventually, the strain becomes too much, and the empire splinters and falls apart. It’s as much in the Generals’ interest to grant us a degree of autonomy as it is in our interests to ask for it.”
“And how would this council change any of that?”
“It gives us a voice and makes the Hameji accountable to that voice. This is what I’ve been working for ever since Karduna fell: to preserve our basic rights and liberties. If things go well—and I have good reason to hope that they will—then ten years from now, we’ll enjoy far more security, prosperity, and freedom than we could dare to hope for.”
James nodded and let out a long breath. Even though Lars’s ideas seemed rather naive, he had to admire the man’s vision.
“But what if the Hameji see this council as a threat?” he asked, applying his military mind to the equation. “What if they interpret it as a form of mutiny?”
Lars held his hands palm up. “It’s a risk, I know. But we owe it to our future generations to work for it all we can.”
We owe it to our future generations to stay alive, James nearly retorted. Instead, he shook his head.
“I don’t know. It sounds like too much of a gamble.”
Lars chuckled. “Why James, you misjudge me. Do you think I’d play this game without an ace in the hole?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m talking about our ‘in’ with the Hameji,” he continued, leaning forward with his hands folded on the table. “You of all people should know better than any of us who that is.”
James’s confusion grew, until sudden realization struck him. His stomach dropped, and his heart skipped a beat.
“Stella.”
“That’s right, my friend. I have it confirmed on good authority that Qasar is now the chief rear admiral of the main Hameji battle fleet. Given her position as Qasar’s wife, I have every reason to believe that she will be present for the conference.”
Stella. James’s hands trembled, and his palms began to sweat. Five standard years ago, his sister and brother had fallen prisoner to the Hameji during the invasion. Against his father’s wishes, he’d set out on a foolhardy quest to rescue them. That quest had ended in failure: his older brother had been killed before his eyes, and his sister had refused to come with him. He knew now that she’d made the right choice: with her new-found influence as one of Qasar’s wives, Stella had managed to save the Karduna system from imminent collapse. But Qasar’s fleet had been reassigned after little more than a standard year, and everything had only gotten worse since then. In all that time, James had missed her so much that he couldn’t help but feel like a failure for coming back without her.
“Are you sure?”
“Sure enough. I haven’t received her RSVP, but if she’s in the system I have no doubt she’ll be there.”
James leaned back in his chair and sighed. “So you were the one behind my assignment to this mission.”
“Actually, no,” said Lars. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“What? You mean I didn’t factor into your scheme?”
“Not really. I figured I had enough of a personal connection with your sister to make things work—though of course, your presence can only help. But I had nothing to do with this assignment.”
“That’s strange,” said James, frowning.
“Why?”
“Because in my last mission before this assignment, I got in trouble—even thrown in the brig. The patrician pulled me out of it without any reprimands or disciplinary action. He went completely over Commander Maxwell’s head.”
“Interesting.”
“That’s not all. When we arrived, the patrician met us at the spaceport to brief me.”
Now it was Lars’s turn to frown. “He briefed you personally? That’s a strange development.”
“You’re telling me. Why do you think he’d do that?”
“I don’t know,” said Lars. “The patrician has been trying to expand his influence and consolidate his control—the presence of his daughter on the delegation bears testament to that. Some even think that he’s running a shadow government.”
“You think this is part of a centralist power grab?”
“Not exactly. More like…” Lars paused, stroking his chin in thought. “More like he’s trying to distract us from something.”
Distract us. James stared out at the starfield and mulled it over. Intuitively, he felt that Lars was right.
“Sounds like you expect foul play.”
“I’m not sure what to expect,” said Lars. “The patrician is a crafty man, and very difficult to keep up with. I locked horns with him plenty of times back when I was more involved with domestic affairs. Never quite got a handle on his game, but he’s definitely up to something here.”
“And Sterling and I are his unwitting agents?”
“Well,” said Lars with a grin, “not so unwitting anymore.”
“I was hoping you could tell me something about his motives,” said James. “What is he after? Money? Power? Is he trying to override our democracy and set up a quasi-dictatorship?”
“I should hope not,” said Lars, “but even if he tried, he wouldn’t get very far. The General Assembly of Citizens is far more powerful than the Galbraith family—he’s more of a figurehead in some ways than a true power player. Still, I wouldn’t put it past him to subvert the system to
his own ends.”
“Which are?”
“I’m not sure. But with this assignment of yours, you might be able to find out.”
James leaned forward. “How?”
Lars glanced over his shoulder, as if to make sure that they were alone. “Keep a close eye on Sara,” he said in a markedly lower voice. “See if she tries to do anything out of the ordinary—and if she does, be sure to record it. Any evidence you gather may be crucial later, if indeed her father’s up to something dubious.”
“I see,” said James, nodding. “Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of offhand,” said Lars. “Just let me know what you find.” He leaned back in his chair and stretched, signaling that he had nothing more to say on the matter. “I requested the latest ballots from the General Assembly a few hours ago. We’re about to enter the starlane, so this is the last chance we’ll have to transmit them. Care to transmit your votes along with mine?”
“Thanks, but I still feel undecided about those measures. It’s probably best if I abstain.”
“As you will,” said Lars, pulling up the collapsible holoscreen from the surface of the table. “Thanks for the chat. I enjoyed it.”
“So did I,” said James. He rose tentatively from his seat. “But don’t underestimate the Hameji, Lars. If this conference provokes them—”
“Believe me, James, if there were any other way to save the Colony, I would be pursuing that right now instead of this conference. But don’t worry. I’m as skilled a politician as you are a pilot, perhaps even more. This is my game—trust me.”
James took a deep breath. “Yeah. All right.”
“Take care, old friend.”
“You, too.” But really, Lars—be careful.
* * * * *
Sara followed Captain Jarvis into the captain’s quarters without a word. For the commanding officer of a luxury yacht, Jarvis’s personal space was surprisingly bare. A small, neatly kept bed sat unretracted in the corner, with a modest computer terminal next to it and a small wallscreen adorning the opposite wall. It alternated between pictures of Jarvis’s two daughters, both of them grown. There were no portholes or windows.