Heart of the Nebula

by Joe Vasicek

  The conference was just getting started, and a constant stream of delegates was headed toward the convention center connected to the spaceport. But Lars was holding the preliminary meetings on board the Freedom Star, on suspicion that the convention center was bugged. All of the guests had checked out, and Sterling was handling security on board the ship, so that gave James the freedom to step out.

  He passed out of the terminal and into the crowded central concourse of the station. The overhead skylights offered a magnificent view of Gaia Nova, but that was where the extravagance ended. Most of the storefront properties were empty or caged up. Several merchants had set up shop in front of the vacant properties, giving a superficial sense of bustling activity, but most of their wares were trinkets: secondhand clothes, fake leather handbags, and contraband datachips. The unappetizing smell of roasting synthetic sausage wafted on the stale breeze, probably from a cheap food stand. Though the place was clean enough, the locals wore old and faded clothes, their faces gaunt with sunken eyes and creases about their foreheads. Beggars gathered around the curb at intersection points, never completely out of sight.

  This is a society under occupation, James thought to himself. There is no freedom here.

  The convention center straddled a main hub, vendors and merchants selling their wares from ragged blankets spread out just in front of it. An armed guard stood watch at the front door as the delegates crowded in.

  The Hameji want us to feel their authority, James thought as he joined the delegates. They want us to remember who’s in charge.

  The lobby of the conference hall was a little less crowded than the concourse, but not by much. James stepped into a green marble foyer with plush white couches and a brilliant crystal chandelier. A fountain sat in the center, but it was conspicuously dry, and the furniture around it was starting to fade. Old wealth—artifacts of a dead empire.

  No longer than a minute after James entered the foyer, the elevator to his right hissed open, and a squad of Hameji guards stepped out.

  “McCoy!”

  James stared at the Hameji, his hair bristling. They were heavily armed, but the young boy they escorted carried only a light handgun holstered on his waist. He wore the austere gray uniform of a Hameji officer, with a sash that denoted his rank. It looked strange on him, since he couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. The top of his head only came about midway up James’s chest. Even so, the guards showed him as much deference as a general.

  “You must be Jahan,” said James, his eyes never leaving the boy’s.

  Jahan folded his arms across his chest and scowled, as if to make himself look older. “I take you to Sholpan,” he said. Without another word, he spun on his heel. James followed in silence, flanked by the Hameji guards.

  * * * * *

  Sholpan’s suite lay far below the main level, in a section set apart exclusively for the Hameji. Dozens of black-clad soldiers passed them on the way, almost a full platoon. At the door, the armed guard stopped and patted him down before letting him enter.

  James held his breath as the door hissed open. As the boy officer led him in, he fidgeted nervously with his hands.

  “Ah, hello, Master Jahan. Have you brought—?”

  Sholpan drew silent as James stepped inside. A lump rose in his throat as his eyes met his sister’s.

  She stood at the center of the room, wearing a long, gold-embroidered white dress. Her flowing brown hair was tied back in a single braid stretching almost to her waist. Although her eyes seemed familiar, the lines on her face showed that she was a grown woman now.

  “James!” she cried, running forward to give him a warm hug. As they embraced, the sweet smell of Auriga Novan fragrances filled his nose, nearly making him swoon.

  Jahan spoke in a language that James didn’t understand, and Sholpan answered. The boy bowed, then turned and left them.

  “Oh, James,” she said, smiling radiantly. “It’s so good to see you again!”

  “And you too, Stella.”

  Her smile fell somewhat. “Please don’t call me that—you know I’m one of the Hameji now.”

  “I know,” he said softly, “but you’ll always be my sister.”

  “And you my brother. How is everything back home?”

  He sighed. “Not well, I’m afraid. Once you left, Prince Juta tripled our annual tribute and put down a number of insurrections in the larger settlements. We’ve been forced to import almost all our food and medicines from the outer planets, but piracy runs rampant and our forces aren’t strong enough to root them out. We’ve petitioned Juta for assistance, but outside of the tribute, he barely seems to acknowledge our existence.”

  Sholpan nodded, her eyes sad. “I’m sorry to hear that. The Hameji are too busy with their endless wars to pay much attention to the needs of their subjects. I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise anything.”

  “Their wars,” said James, clenching his fists and turning his head away. “Haven’t they conquered enough already? What more is there to fight for?”

  “You’d be surprised. A united federation has coalesced in the galactic south, concentrated around New Vela. With the way the nebulae are arrayed, the Hameji have no choice but to attack them there. But the Council of Generals is fracturing, and there’s a lot of disagreement over who should lead once they’re gone. In fact, that’s what I was hoping to tell you about.”

  “Oh?”

  “I just received word this upshift that General Tagatai’s fleet has arrived in the system,” she said. “He’s the leader of a particularly aggressive faction in the hierarchy. I pulled a lot of strings to make this conference possible, but…” Her voice trailed off.

  James frowned. “But what?”

  She looked up at him with frightened eyes. “I think I might have put you all in terrible danger.”

  “Danger? What do you mean?”

  “When it comes to the occupied systems, there are two camps,” she explained. “On the one side are those who think that governing is a nuisance, and that the conquered peoples should be given enough autonomy to govern themselves. Qasar falls squarely into that camp, as do most of the Generals. To them, this conference isn’t a threat so much as it is a chance to delegate their power and focus on more important things.”

  “And the other camp?”

  “The other camp sees any attempt at collective organization as a threat, and believes that the collaborators should be punished as severely as possible.”

  “And I take it this Tagatai is in that camp?”

  “That’s right. He’s part of a movement within the hierarchy that wants to consolidate the newly won territory into an empire—one in which the Hameji rule with an iron fist.”

  “So what will they do about the conference?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” said Sholpan. “The politics are complicated, because Qasar and Tagatai are cousins. I’ll try to prevail on him to stand firm by his decision to permit it, but if Tagatai forces him to stand down, things could get ugly—fast.”

  James nodded, his expression grim. “We’d better sync our wrist consoles, then.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Here, let me see yours.”

  They held their wrists together, so that the consoles were almost touching. It took a second for them to read each other, but when they did, the screens blinked green, indicating that they were properly synced.

  “Will the Hameji be able to trace this link through the network?” James asked.

  Sholpan shook her head. “I doubt they’ll go to the trouble. Even if they do, I’m Qasar’s wife, so I have immunity.”

  “Right.”

  “There’s one other thing,” she said. “It won’t be easy for you to hear, but—”

  “But what?”

  She swallowed and paused for a moment, looking up at him with her large, round eyes.

  “With the way the wars are going, Qasar wants to join his fleet with the main campaign. It’s all he ever talks abo
ut. Just recently, we heard that one of the Generals has died, and now Qasar’s doing everything he can to make sure he’s picked to fill the vacancy.”

  “I’m sure nothing will come of it,” said James, a lump rising in his throat. “He’s the one in charge of Gaia Nova, after all.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Sholpan. “In the hierarchy, assignments are given preference by seniority. Right now, Qasar ranks almost as high as the Generals themselves. This time, it’s almost certain that he’ll get his way.”

  James’s hands began to tremble. He folded his arms to try to hide it, but his lip began to quiver, and he had to look away.

  “I’ve missed you all these years, James.”

  “Me, too.”

  “This might be the last time we see each other. Even if I survive—”

  “Of course you’ll survive,” said James. “You’ve lived through worse, haven’t you? We both have.”

  She looked him in the eye and smiled. In that moment, she looked more like the sister he remembered. The makeup, the hair, the ornate dress and thick scent of Hameji fragrance—none of that could disguise her. It opened a bitter wound in his heart, and he had to bite his lip to keep the tears from flooding out.

  The wailing of a young child in the other room distracted them both. “Oh,” said Sholpan, “Abie is awake.” She rose to her feet and walked to the door. “Here, Abie! That’s a good boy.”

  James’s stomach fell as she came out with a young toddler, no older than three or four. He had the black hair and wide face of the Hameji, but his skin was fair, like his mother’s. He waddled up to the couch, sucking his thumb and staring at James with bold curiosity.

  “Who is that, Abie?” Sholpan said in a mothering voice. “That’s Uncle James!”

  James tried to smile, but when he reached out with his hand, the young boy ran back to his mother in fright.

  “Sorry,” Sholpan chuckled. “He can be a little shy sometimes.”

  “Of course.”

  “Isn’t he cute?”

  “Of course he is. He’s beautiful.”

  For a Hameji.

  She tried to smile, but when she looked at him, her face fell in spite of herself. “I don’t want to think of what he’ll be when he grows up, but right now he’s all that I have.”

  James nodded, unsure what to say.

  “I’m sure you’ve got business to attend to,” she said, lifting her son to her hip. “I hope I haven’t kept you.”

  “No,” James whispered. “Not at all.”

  They hugged as they said their goodbyes, Abaqa cooing between them. He is a beautiful boy, James thought to himself as he rubbed his nephew’s head. As for the father, James hoped he never met him.

  As the door hissed shut behind him, though, he spun on his heel and walked off down the corridor as fast as his legs would take him. If not for the guards behind him, he would have pounded his fist against the bulkhead and screamed.

  * * * * *

  Sara walked purposefully through the bustling foyer of the conference hall and out to the main station concourse. With the delegates still trickling in and the conference not scheduled to start until the next dayshift, no one would miss her if she snuck out for an hour or two. And with Ensign Jones on the Freedom Star and James meeting with his sister, it was just the opportunity she needed.

  The Goldenstar Cafe, she thought as she scanned the abandoned properties and hole-in-the-wall bars and shops that ringed the concourse. Graffiti covered the walls in places, and a few ragged beggars huddled in an unused passageway. She skirted around them by a wide margin, keeping herself among the merchants with their wares spread out across the floor. The cacophony of hundreds of people bartering and arguing with each other shielded her almost as effectively as the crowd itself hid her from view. She slipped through it without anyone even noticing her.

  At length, she found an old, peeling sign pasted against a wall with an arrow for the Goldenstar Cafe. It pointed through a dimly lit passageway. Sara glanced over her shoulder before she stepped quickly through. Inside, it branched out into three sub-corridors, only one of which was lit. A grizzled old man walked past her, and she held her breath against the stink of sweat and cigarettes.

  It seemed as if the space was abandoned, but when she took a second to look around, she saw a second sign pointing down one of the darkened corridors. About thirty meters in, she could make out a caged yellow bulb that gave off just enough light to walk by. A couple of people were silhouetted against it, indicating that there was something there.

  Mom would have a fit if she knew I was walking into this place, Sara thought. She felt in her pocket for the stunner she’d managed to sneak past the conference guards. Just touching it gave her a small measure of reassurance.

  As she neared the light at the end of the dark corridor, she saw a steep stairwell leading up to an open doorway. Garbage and litter lay scattered about the floor, but the steps were swept clean. A black-and-yellow sign above the doorway read GOLDENSTAR CAFE. The paint was chipped and broken, and the metal around the edges was rusting, but there was no mistaking it—this was the place.

  She stepped through the doorway and found herself in a dim, smoke-filled bar. A dark-skinned bouncer regarded her with raised eyebrows. The bartender was a burly cyborg with eerie prosthetic eyes who stood unmoving and expressionless behind the counter. Besides him and the bouncer, there was an old man hunched over on a barstool, a pair of bald young women smoking from a hookah at one of the tables, and a man in an olive-green flight suit seated in the far corner.

  That’s probably him.

  Taking a chance, she walked over to the man in the corner. He rose cordially to greet her, a charming smile on his face. He was bald, with thick, bushy eyebrows and large ears. His eyes were a striking shade of gray, light enough that they seemed to pierce her even from the shadows.

  “Soner, I take it?”

  “That’s right,” said the man.

  She extended her hand.

  “I’m Sara Galbraith-Dickson of the Colony at Kardunash III,” she said as they shook. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “And you as well, Sara. Please, have a seat.”

  Something about him set her on edge, though she didn’t quite know why. She rolled out a chair and sat down across from him, her back to the door. He folded his hands and cracked his knuckles, making her wince.

  “I take it you already know why I’m here,” she began. “My father, the patrician—”

  “Yes, yes, we’ll get to that soon enough. But first, I was hoping we could get a little better acquainted. Care for a drink?”

  She tensed. “Thanks, but I really can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ll be expected soon on conference business, and the rest of the diplomatic team—”

  “Oh, come,” he said, laughing dismissively. “You didn’t actually come here for the conference, did you? Or are you trying to keep our little liaison a secret?”

  Once again, his gray eyes seemed to penetrate her. Sara shifted uneasily in her seat and forced herself not to turn away from his gaze.

  “I assure you, we keep all our obligations in full faith. The… domestic situation is a bit complex right now, but my father has no doubt that that will soon shift in our favor.”

  Soner shrugged. “It makes no difference to me how you manage your internal affairs, so long as you keep to your end of the bargain. And that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? To bargain with each other?”

  “Yes,” said Sara, relaxing a little now that they seemed to be getting down to business.

  “It’s a pity that someone as young and as beautiful as yourself should have to worry her head about these things. Perhaps, after we’ve come to an agreement, we’ll have some time for a little fun?”

  His sexist remark was so unexpected that she couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh. Instantly, she felt diminished because of it.

  “We’ll see.”

 
; He smiled again, though this time it didn’t seem quite so charming. “Very well, then. Let’s get to business.”

  * * * * *

  That’s strange, James thought as he made his way back through the concourse toward the conference hall. The few open shops were closing, and the merchants were quickly rolling up their wares. A large cluster of black-clad Hameji soldiers had gathered in the center of the concourse—enough to make almost three platoons. They eyed him coolly as he walked across the wide, empty space to the guards at the main door. They waved him in without asking to see his ID—or even looking at him, for that matter.

  Something’s wrong.

  The foyer, in stark contrast to the concourse, was bustling with activity. Dozens of gaily dressed diplomats from across the occupied worlds socialized and ate a light lunch served from a long folding table at the front. From the lively conversations and animated expressions on the delegates’ faces, it was clear that none of them were aware of what was happening outside.

  James keyed a series of commands into his wrist console and placed an encrypted call to Sterling. Touching his earpiece with two fingers, he stood with his back against the wall and scanned the room for Lars and Sara.

  “Hello?” came the ensign’s voice in his right ear.

  “Sterling, this is James. I need a status report on the delegation.”

  “I’m still back at the Freedom Star, sir. Lars is with me, along with most of the diplomats. Said they wanted to conduct some private meetings on the ship before the conference started.”

  James sighed in relief. “Good. Stay there. Something seems very wrong.”

  “Wrong? What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a situation developing on the concourse with the Hameji.”

  “But, sir—Sara is still there.”

  At that moment, James’s wrist console buzzed to alert him of an incoming message. He frowned and glanced at the screen—it was from his sister.