by Mark Barber
Beyond the Gates of Antares
Markov’s Prize
By Mark Barber
Beyond the Gates of Antares: Markov’s Prize
Edited by Brandon Rospond
Cover by
Zmok Books an imprint of
Winged Hussar Publishing, LLC, 1525 Hulse Road, Unit 1, Point Pleasant, NJ 08742
This edition published in 2018 Copyright ©Winged Hussar Publishing, LLC
Beyond the Gates of Antares is the property of Warlord Games and Rick
Priestley, produced under license by Winged Hussar Publishing, LLC
ISBN 978-1-945430-80-0
Bibliographical references and index
1.Science Fiction 2. Space Opera 3. Action & Adventure
Winged Hussar Publishing, LLC All rights reserved
For more information on Winged Hussar Publishing, LLC, visit us at: https://www.WingedHussarPublishing.com
Twitter: WingHusPubLLC
Facebook: Winged Hussar Publishing LLC
Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition, that is shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s and publisher’s rights is appreciated
Markov’s Prize
Prologue
Merchant Vessel ‘White Nova’
Docking Bay 369
New Gissel Station
Western Determinate
A yellow light flickered on the inter-seat console, warning again that the igniter plugs for the number two engine required a periodic inspection. Lifting her head off her fists where she sat slumped in the second pilot’s seat, Katya Rhona reached across and canceled the warning before sinking back into her chair. She looked out of the main viewscreen at the vast, empty, and quite frankly dull panorama of deep space that sprawled out in front of her father’s angular cargo ship, ready for another haul and another potentially dangerous exchange at the far end. The battered, run down trading station was out of view behind her; her father had landed their corpulent cargo ship very deliberately on this orientation, in case they needed to ‘hit the road quickly’. The only sound to break the silence was the hum of generators and the barely audible choking of the air conditioning; even the stale stench of recycled air had become normalized after such a long time confined to the ship.
Katya momentarily considered whether to leave the ship’s grimy cockpit and head back to the cramped accommodation area immediately aft, where her three-year-old brother Micha was still asleep. She shook her head – he would be better off left undisturbed, and she had schooling to think about. Taking a tatty hairband off her wrist, she tied her black hair back into a ponytail before swiveling her chair around to face the navigation console where she had left her datapad. The weariness induced by deep space travel did little to dull her enthusiasm and pride as she booted up the small tablet and initialized the education software package. She was already attempting assignments which were in the syllabus for thirteen year olds; she was three years ahead and still achieving top grades.
Briefly describe a nanosphere and the impact it has on your life.
Kayta closed her eyes; she considered the question, and how to structure her answer.
The nanosphere is how I am answering this question in this format, she thought, watching as her thoughts scrolled across the screen as text as soon as she had assembled the sentences in her mind. It is made up of billions of tiny, robotic spores, so small the panhuman eye can’t see them. We are all surrounded by a field of these nanobots, and they allow us to link up with machinery without having to touch it. We can communicate without seeing each other or even having to use a separate device. Planets and ships also have their own nanosphere, and as long as our nanosphere connects with the bigger one the planet or ship has, we can share thoughts and ideas and even jokes. Without it, we would have to operate everything with our hands instead of our minds. Doctors would have to see everybody in person to check them, teachers would have to see all of their students every day, leaders would not know what their people wanted and needed. Without nanospheres, we would live in the dark ages.
Momentarily satisfied with her answer, Katya again canceled a miscellaneous warning light on the interseat console, reminding her to add another paragraph.
In the case of some situations where safety might be affected and a stray thought could be misinterpreted, old fashioned manual controls are used. Controls like this are used when operating vehicles or weapons.
She submitted her answer on her datapad and read through the next question.
Describe the threats to free will posed by the most advanced societies.
Katya reached across and grabbed her father’s old military service jacket from the back of the first pilot’s seat, wrapping it around her like a blanket and running her fingers over the rank insignia on the sleeve as she pondered the next answer.
Some societies have more complicated nanospheres than others and can use them like a disease to take over ships and planets. The IMTel used by the PanHuman Concord is a threat to those of us in free space. The IMTel can infect our nanospheres which would then infect us. It would control the way we think and the way we feel. We would no longer be free.
Light footsteps from the entrance to the cockpit caused Katya to turn in her seat. Micha wandered in from the accommodation area rubbing at his red eyes, his animal print blanket still draped over his narrow shoulders. He looked up at his sister and his face broke into a smile.
“Sister!” He blurted out as he waddled quickly over, his arms outstretched.
Katya returned the smile and picked him up to embrace him, sitting him on her lap and spinning their shared seat around by kicking at the floor with one foot.
“Faster!” Micha giggled.
Laughing with him, Katya span the chair around faster and faster, her still active mind wondering at how in a universe of nanospheres and predatory empires, a three-year-old boy could still be entertained more than anything else by a spinning chair.
“Kat!” Her father’s voice crackled through the speaker on top of the cockpit’s instrument cowling. “Fire up them engines, girl! We’re in a hurry!”
Katya slowed her spinning and used her nanosphere connection to integrate with the communication system.
“What’s happening, Pa?” She asked. “We’re just…”
“Get those engines flashed up, now!” Her father yelled, his voice interrupted by what sounded to Katya like gunfire. “And get the dorsal turret online!”
“Go to your bed, Micha, quickly!” Katya urged as she put her brother’s feet gently back on the floor. “Go back to bed!”
Spinning the chair back around, Katya flipped on the starter coils and was rewarded instantly with the familiar tick-ticking sound as they sparked and looked for a fuel source. Opening the fuel valves and switching on the pumps, she gently opened the throttles and let out a breath as both engines fired up to idle power instantly.
Her brother stared up at her in confusion.
“Go to your bed, Micha!” She urged, the severity of the situation dawning on her as she heard the dull whump of magnetically charged gunfire in the docking bay behind her.
The aft personnel door hissed as the outer airlock opened and th
e boarding ramp clunked down in place. Katya leapt up to her feet and rushed across to the cockpit doorway, looking down to the back of the ship to confirm it was her father. The familiar figure quickly shut and locked the airlock behind him before sprinting along the central corridor and barging past her to fling himself into the first pilot’s seat.
“I said to power up the gun turret, Kat!” He grimaced as anger broke through his forced smile. “Now strap your brother in and plot me a route out of here.”
“Where do you want…”
“Anywhere! Make it quick!”
Katya scooped Micha up and sat him down in his familiar seat at the engineer’s station, strapping his five point harness into its quick release buckle before jumping into the second pilot’s seat and repeating the process. The whole cockpit shook once, then twice, as a loud clang reverberated from the right side of the ship.
Katya’s father powered the engines up and eased back on the control column, pointing the nose of the White Nova up toward the stars and away from whatever mess he had left behind in the docking bay. Katya was momentarily thrown back into her seat as the vessel accelerated harshly before it punched through the space station’s shields and out of the effects of its artificial atmosphere. Her father banked around to the right and followed her plotted coordinates to bring them to the first safe and chartered jump gate she could find. Micha began to cheer and bounce up and down on his seat.
“You like that, little man?” Their father beamed, pulling his sweat soaked, purple bandana down from his forehead to dangle around his neck. “That was a close one, but we’re still in one piece!”
“Doesn’t look like there’s anybody following us,” Katya grimaced as she checked the external viewscreen projectors and the short ranged scanners. “Whoever that was, they weren’t quick enough to get to a ship.”
“Probably best, Kat,” her father replied as he flashed her a cheeky smile. “Well, that was a hoot!”
She did not reciprocate.
“I’ll get Micha settled down with some toys,” she said quietly, unbuckling from her seat before recovering her brother and carrying him to the accommodation area.
When she returned several minutes later, her father had the ship on autopilot and was checking the inventory screen’s report on the contents of the cargo hold. It took her a few moments to pluck up the courage to voice what was on her mind.
“He’s three, Pa,” Katya said quietly. “I’m ten. I shouldn’t even know what guns sound like, let alone how to power them up.”
“Won’t happen again, Kat!” Her Pa winked. “That deal there just went bad. I got out of there with our money and half of the cargo. I didn’t screw anybody over, I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear. It was just one of the buyers was…”
“Pa, they shot at us.” Katya found her tone a little more assertive but still not matching how she felt inside.
“I made a lot of money from that one,” her father countered gently, “more than we’ve made before.”
“What use is it if we’re dead?”
“What do you want me to do? Hmm? It’s just the three of us, Kat, and this is all I know how to do. It’s all I’ve got. Who do you think this is for? You are a bright kid and I’m not saying that just because I’m biased, I mean you are really bright! You’re passing lessons and exams which are meant for teenagers; you’ll make something of yourself one day, but that schoolin’ ain’t cheap. This trip, this deal, I made enough for a year’s higher education for both you and Micha, when he’s old enough. Dammit, Kat, who do you think I’m doing all of this for? All of it!”
His roguish smile gone, her father sat down in the first pilot’s chair and stared quietly out at the stars. Katya contemplated his words before walking quietly over to stand behind him and then tenderly wrapping her arms around him as their battered old cargo ship drifted slowly through the space of the Determinate.
***
The Grand Arena
Central Sports and Entertainment Station
Central Determinate
Another hammer blow struck Ryen Tahl in the jaw, sending him reeling backward and leaving a high-pitched whine in his ears as his vision swam in and out of focus. Still audible was the chanting, cheering, and roaring of over one hundred thousand spectators who were crammed into the arena grandstands surrounding the brightly lit fighting ring. His opponent, a gargantuan Algoryn who stood two full heads taller than Tahl, paced forward again with his teeth and fists clenched, his pale green skin dripping with sweat and blood. Clothed in the dark crimson trousers of an Algoryn Fighting Master, Vel Ye was the reigning champion of Determinate Fighter; the most popular and lethal martial arts tournament in all of Antarean space. And now, Tahl faced him here in the tournament final in his first year of full contact fighting.
Tahl caught a glimpse of himself on one of the enormous floating screens above the fighting ring, giving both the spectators and viewers in their homes across a thousand systems a ringside view of the action. Clothed only in white gi trousers and the black belt denoting his proficiency as a practitioner of kerempai, his shaven head and course stubble made him look older than his twenty years. Blinking blood out of his eyes, he brought his guard back up to protect his head and advanced forward to face the Algoryn man-mountain.
Leading with two rapid jabs and a cross punch to his adversary’s face, he forced Vel Ye to raise his guard. Capitalizing on the response, Tahl brought a deliberately slow side kick up and into the Algoryn’s gut, feigning the main thrust of his attack to again shift his opponent’s guard. The instant Vel Ye dropped his guard again, Tahl sprang into action, turning into a spinning hook kick to bring his heel smashing into the Algoryn’s face. The blow made audible contact but only succeeded in knocking the huge fighter back half a pace. Tahl never saw the response but suddenly found himself lying face down in the center of the ring, struggling to raise himself up onto his elbows as a mixture of blood and saliva dripped from his open mouth and another wave of agonizing pain washed over the left side of his head.
The deep, bass pitch of a siren echoed throughout the cavernous sports auditorium, signalling the end of the round. Tahl forced himself up to his feet, staggered unsteadily over to his corner of the ring, and slumped down in the chair that had been hastily set up for him.
“Ryen?” Gavv, his ageing trainer leaned over and flashed a small light in his eyes. “Ryen? You hearing me okay?”
“…Stats…” Ryen slurred. “…What stats?”
“Get him sorted. Quickly.” Another familiar voice from over his shoulder – Herres Warne, his manager, if that was the best word to describe his role.
“His vital signs are all stable enough,” Gavv reported as Tahl’s eyes began to focus again, “but he’s got three fractured ribs, and a couple more blows to the head like this will need surgery to sort out. At best.”
“Never mind that… you stupid, old bastard,” Tahl gasped, “what do… the stats say?”
“You’ve got more strikes in than Vel Ye, but his are far cleaner and far harder. I can’t see how the judges would side with you, Ryen. You’re losing.”
Warne swore viciously as he jumped into the ring and bent over; his wiry, bearded face now taking up most of Tahl’s view. “This isn’t good enough, boy! You haven’t come this far to lose now! You get back out there and you kick this bastard’s damn head off!”
“Don’t pretend… this is about me getting the title.” Tahl felt pain flaring up in his head and ribs as his breathing evened out. “This is all about you… and your damn money!”
A dismissive backhand slapped hard against Tahl’s face, striking him exactly where one of Vel Ye’s hammer blows had cut his eyelid open in the third round.
“Watch your mouth, boy!” Warne spat. “You remember who you work for and you remember that all the martial arts skills in the universe won’t stop a shot in the back of your damn head!”
Tahl slowly raised himself back up to his feet and spat out another mouthful of blood
. The huge screens at the top of the arena played slow motion replays of the previous eight rounds of the fight, showing highlights of the match as statistics scrolled across the bottom of the displays. Off to his left, Tahl could hear the rhythmic banging of several hundred spectators stamping their feet in time as the seconds counted down to the penultimate round.
Although only a little over average height for a panhuman, Tahl towered over Warne. His teeth gritted, Tahl leaned over to stare his manager in the eyes.
“The day will come… when you and I will have a proper talk,” he seethed before barging his way past the little man and walking back toward the center of the ring, one arm guarding his damaged ribs.
Vel Ye was already out and waiting. The towering Algoryn shook his head in disgust as Tahl stood opposite him.
“How did you ever get this far in real fighting?” He grunted and narrowed his eyes as he cast a dismissive glance across the shorter fighter. “Go home to your play fighting, Concord.”
Tahl remembered the sweeping green fields where he grew up, the simplicity of life when he was still connected to the IMTel, the positive energy and feeling of fighting in non-contact tournaments as a child within the PanHuman Concord. For a moment, he felt real sadness and regret before a boiling anger that seemed to define his very existence then surged back to the surface.
The siren sounded and a deafening cheer emanated from the crowd as the round began. Vel Ye moved confidently toward his smaller opponent. Tahl dropped his guard. No bouncing lightly on his feet, no preparation to dodge the killer blows from his hulking adversary. He stood still in place, one hand lightly up by the solar plexus; the other extended out in a low guard. He thought of the very basics, the essence of force and all that was required for that one, perfect strike. Timing, movement of the hips, concentration of every muscle to project the strike through and beyond the point of impact. He felt a calm which had been absent for a long time now.