Conquests & Consequences

by Lee Watts

  "Four minutes present speed, but the Dauntless will be within range in two. Uh-oh, the Admiral must have sent out a general alert. She's deploying a… greeting party. Four capital ships are forming a line in front of the outpost. We'll be within their range at almost the same time the Dauntless closes on us. We're sandwiched."

  "Excellent," Sosimo chirped genuinely. "Maintain course."

  "Sir," the befuddled helmsman began, "there are four capital class ships to our front and a battlecarrier to our back. We're way outnumbered."

  "Starship combat is more about nuance than numbers," Sosimo assured him. "Watch and learn."

  "How much longer until we reach weapons range?" asked Commodore Balin.

  "One minute, Sir."

  "Weapons, lock onto the Fortune's engines. We only want to stop her not destroy her."

  On Outpost Forty-Seven, the admiral, with the constant facial expression of something foul smelling under her nose, watched the screen as the Fortune drew within range. She would relish the conceited man's recapture and make sure to deal him a generous portion of humility when he was back in custody.

  "Admiral," the outpost's sensor operator reported, "the Fortune's not slowing down. He's going to ram our ships!"

  "LaRouche is just trying to get us to break formation," she scowled. "He's gone to great lengths to stay alive. It's a bluff. Tell the ships to hold position."

  "Ma'am, the Dauntless is firing torpedoes."

  "Excellent. Put it on the screen."

  The image of three brightly burning orbs streaked through space toward the renegade vessel. For a moment, the admiral actually smiled, but her lips quickly returned to their natural position as she saw the torpedoes pass their intended target and slam into the engines of three of the four ships ahead of the Fortune.

  "What's Balin doing?" she bellowed.

  "I'll hail the Dauntless."

  "Never mind! We'll get LaRouche ourselves. Lock onto the Fortune's engines and prepare to fire."

  "Target locked."

  "Fire!"

  Leaping from the space station, a pair of high-charged torpedoes raced out.

  "Admiral, he's still at full speed and heading straight for us!"

  "Let him come."

  Stopping short of Sosimo's ship, the twin balls of energy smashed into the last functioning ship of the picket line - rendering it, as the other three, immobile.

  "WHAT IS THIS?" the outraged admiral demanded. "I told you to target the Fortune!"

  Frantically, the officer checked the weapon system to explain. "It must be a malfunction in the auto-targeting system. The torpedoes were programmed for the Fortune. I don't know why they hit one of our ships."

  Somehow, she knew Sosimo was behind it and made a curse of his name.

  "LAROUCHE," she called out. "Fine, target the Fortune manually. I want him stopped!"

  The officer brought up an image of the targeting scanners on his display. He paused, confounded by what he saw.

  "What now?" the admiral grumbled.

  "He's everyone."

  "What do you mean, 'He's everyone?' Put it on my screen."

  Appearing on the admiral's display was the sensor reading of the area. The four ships of the picket line each emitted transponder signals identifying them all as the Fortune, which is why the station's torpedoes, and the weapons of the Dauntless, had hit the wrong ships.

  "He's recoded their transponders," grumbled the Admiral. "HOW'D HE DO THAT?"

  Noticing Sosimo's fast-approaching ship had again switched its transponder and now read as the Dauntless, she tried to get a step ahead of the trickster.

  "We won't fall for it this time," she said. "Have the targeting sensors lock onto the Dauntless' signal. Give me a full spread. I want every system on that ship knocked out!"

  "Aye, Ma'am. Firing."

  Activating the outpost's vast array of weapons, the officer unleashed a barrage of torpedoes at the ship masquerading as the Dauntless.

  "INCOMING," Shen Lei called out in warning.

  "Full stop," Sosimo hurriedly ordered.

  The helmsman activated the emergency breaking thrusters, causing Balin's ship to roar past the Fortune. Now closer to the station than the Fortune, the battlecarrier was immediately hit by the outpost's intense volley of fire. Shields down, the attack caused the Dauntless' weapons, communications, and sensors to go off-line just before its mighty engines went dark.

  Sosimo, quite pleased with himself, leaned back in his chair. "There, that should be everyone. I doubt there's another ship in the sub-quadrant that'll be able to pick up our trail before we're long gone. Resume course."

  Lei shook his head in admiring disbelief. The battlecarrier and four other capital class ships had been rendered completely inoperable, and the Fortune hadn't even fired a shot.

  "Aye, Captain," the helmsman answered. "Coming about."

  Unharmed, and buzzing over the heads of its motionless adversaries, the sleek Fortune deployed a jamming drone to scramble the long-range sensors and communication signals of the outpost and crippled ships. Changing course, the Fortune proceeded to Doneac III where its captain picked up 'things' both practical and peculiar. With that accomplished, he left Realm space to seek his fortune.

  CHAPTER 2

  "When a wicked man dieth, his expectation shall perish: and the hope of unjust men perisheth." – Proverbs 11:7

  Shuffling his feet, Salazar sighed in resignation. The eleven-year-old despised coming to the mountain mansion. Due to the inhospitable conditions of that rocky, snow-swept steppe, the area was uninhabited save for this lone structure. Chilling, incessant winds ensured there was nothing to do outside. Inside, the drab décor, lack of other children, and formality of the staff left Salazar lacking for boyish diversion.

  From beyond the closed door, the dark-haired boy and his mother overheard yelling. Despite a deteriorated condition, his grandfather's shouting indicated the disease ravaging the man had made no dent in his intolerant nature. Salazar peered down the wide hall behind him and considered running, but knew it was unacceptable.

  "Do we have to go in?" he pleaded while gazing up at his mother, Mara.

  "Your grandfather is one of the wealthiest, most influential men in the Realm," she answered sternly. "So, you will go in and show respect."

  When the door opened an antiseptic smell wafted from the room as the disgruntled Doctor Nim-Gimmer exited. Nim-Gimmer's annoyed expression altered upon seeing the attractive figure of the duke's shapely daughter before him.

  "Lady Yorin," the dark-haired surgeon said with a slight bow and thick T'lec accent. The lean, milky-purple skinned doctor looked down at the boy, sizing him up. Salazar squirmed under the T'lec's gaze. Though human, as all intelligent life in the galaxy, Salazar thought the T'lec closer to actual aliens than any other race. He believed this was mostly due to their many genetic manipulations more than anything natural. T'lec's had advanced their medical techniques far beyond other nations, but many worlds, including those of the United Realm of Theera-Enty, banned their practices.

  Returning his attention to the elegant Mara, Nim-Gimmer gestured to the wall-length window nearby saying, "A word if you please."

  Though the two adults took a few steps away from the preteen, he deduced from Nim-Gimmer's expression the prognosis was dim. Despite new skin grafts, and organ and limb transplants, the disease was still decaying the duke.

  "You're family," Nim-Gimmer pleaded, "maybe you can talk some sense into him. If he'd allow me to perform a full transplant, it would buy him more time."

  Mara shook her head.

  "You know that procedure is illegal in the Realm, not to mention most worlds in the civilized galaxy."

  "If not a donor body what about a clone? Since it would be grown from his cells, it would still have the caryon, but his condition would improve. I could force grow the clone to his current age, and you could claim he's in remission."

  "I'll talk to him," Mara acquiesced. "But I doubt he'll chan
ge his mind."

  "If he doesn't then there isn't much else I can do."

  "I understand. By the way, Doctor, I believe it's almost time to refill my prescription."

  Nim-Gimmer nodded. "I'll take care of it, and I must say, the treatment seems to be working wonderfully."

  Glancing in the nearby mirror and brushing a hand along the side of her youthful face, Mara smiled.

  "Yes, I am quite pleased."

  Salazar huffed to himself thinking of the irony of her justifying the illegal anti-aging T'lec therapy she had acquired while at the same time balking at the idea of breaking Realm law to treat her father.

  Turning from the mirror, Mara returned her attention to Nim-Gimmer.

  "Is it alright if we go in?"

  "Yes, he can have visitors, but no guarantee on how pleasant your visit will be. Mediator Wasi is with him now."

  With a bow to Mara, he turned, gave Salazar a devilish smile then left. Mara faced the door and smoothed her dress as Salazar glanced over his shoulder at the departing surgeon.

  "I don't like him," he whispered. "Every time he looks at me I feel like he's checking me out for spare parts."

  "Doctor Nim-Gimmer is a gifted physician. It takes a great deal of money and effort to slip a T'lec master surgeon onto Enty."

  "Why should it?" Salazar protested. "After all, what's so bad about a doctor helping people that needs all this sneaking around?"

  "Royal decree has outlawed T'lec procedures in the Realm. The Lyons refuse to let science advance because of the outdated moralities they're forcing on the rest of us. Their closed-mindedness is killing your grandfather. Salazar, in this life you have to learn to look out for number one because no one else will. Always remember that. Now, let's go in."

  The pair entered the duke's chamber, which reeked with a putrid, rotting odor turning the boy's stomach. Glowering out the window at the whipping snowfall, Duke Yorin sat at the far end of the expansive room. The shriveled man sat hunched in a low-hovering anti-gravity chair. The ornately-clad Chief Mediator Yilib Wasi quietly circled him while performing some spiritual ritual. Salazar was surprised to see the ever-smiling priest there. The duke made no secret of his distaste for all things religious, but with death so near, the duke decided to hedge his bets and 'make nice' with the clergy... just in case. With a substantial contribution to the Sect, the duke was assured his donation would go far to do the works of the Elder and heap bountiful blessings and mercies on him in the life to come.

  Salazar wrinkled his thin nose while observing the decaying man and circling vulture. As the duke's incurable caryon disease manifested, the first symptom was a yellowish bruise eventually becoming pasty then brown. This was followed by a shriveling and rotting of the affected flesh. When a flare-up finished its cycle, the T'lec surgeon would transplant a cloned digit or limb in place of the withered one. Done a piece at a time over the years, the transplanted parts were slightly disproportionate to each other, and though the skin tones were close, they didn't perfectly match. Considering his grandfather a patchwork man, Salazar vowed to not be reduced to such a fate. He had hoped to be like his mother, and the hereditary disease would skip him as well. Unfortunately, recent scans showed he was a carrier, and it was only a matter of time before the illness began manifesting itself.

  "I SAID GET OUT OF HERE YOU WORTHLESS, BUTCHERING…" the duke's voice trailed off upon noticing it was Mara and Salazar. "Oh, it's you," he grumbled in recognition of his only living relatives, yet his bitter expression remained.

  Born from years of a sour countenance, deep lines etched his haggard face. The priest, Yilib Wasi, continued his low chant while ringing a bell and circling the increasingly annoyed duke.

  "Enough of the voodoo! Are you done yet? How long does this purging take anyway?"

  "My prayers must cover your entire spirit," the soft-spoken mediator explained with his always eager to please smile, "so every error is covered with the Sect's forgiveness and no part of the Vortex has pull on you."

  Duke Yorin was known for being neither patient nor pleasant, and his expression confirmed this reputation. Yilib, apparently satisfied the duke's spirit was sufficiently 'covered,' announced the ritual was complete.

  "May the blessings of the Elder enrich you," the clergyman said as he picked up his small accounting pad from the table. Placing it in the folds of his flowing robes, he bowed slightly.

  "Enrich me, seems I'm the one enriching you," the duke grumbled.

  Leaving, Yilib beamed a smile at Lady Yorin as she made her way to the anti-gravity chair.

  "Father, you mustn't go on so about Doctor Nim-Gimmer. He's only-"

  "He's an incompetent charlatan! Look what he's done to me."

  Extending a feeble, trembling arm, he displayed its inconsistent tones of flesh and ill-matching fingers. "And what good has all this done me? I'm still in the same mess. Nothing's cured, and he has me looking like some failed science experiment!"

  "The doctor said if you would only let him perform a full transplant he could-"

  "I'm not letting him put my brain in a bucket and throw me into some clone. I don't trust him that much. Blast, I don't trust anyone that much! No one's taking my brain out! Besides, the caryon's in every cell, it would spread to the new body, and eventually, I'd end up back where I am. No, he's just trying to eke out every bit of cash he can from me. I've already paid him a fortune. If only King Lyons and those traditionalists would let doctors harvest organs from parents willing to donate new tissue. It could add years to my life. It should be the parents' right to do with the material what they want!"

  "Harvest," Salazar balked in confusion. "You mean, people have a kid only so they can harvest its organs?"

  "The T'lec have been doing it for years with great benefits for the sick," Mara answered in superiority. "In the Realm, the state acts like it owns the tissue. The material is entirely of the parents, and they should be allowed the freedom of choice to do with it what they want."

  "But…" Salazar was in a daze of what he was hearing.

  "What about the kid? What about its life and-"

  "Don't you dare question me, Salazar," she snipped. "Now, be quiet, and do as you're told."

  "Yes, Mother."

  Turning to the duke, Mara picked up the conversation. "What about the Academics for the Quality of Life Union?" she asked. "They might be able to file a suit and get the courts to challenge the Council."

  "No good," the Duke grumbled. "Courts take too long. I need help now."

  "You could go with cybernetics."

  "Almost as bad, maybe worse. I'm not letting him turn me into a bot a piece at a time."

  "There are no other options."

  "Ah, but there is. I have another chance and hope… the device."

  "Father, you've talked about you and Darius finding that during the war ever since I was a little girl. It's ridiculous. Even if there was such a thing and it did work, you know Darius would never let you use it. Such things are 'forbidden' remember?"

  With a deep, wet rattle, the duke broke into a coughing fit, turning a hint of purple while fighting for air. With a bandaged hand, he put a handkerchief to his mouth. Salazar noticed the splotches of blood on the cloth. Gasping, the duke tried to speak.

  "You… could persuade him," he rasped.

  "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly in favor with the royal court," Mara retorted.

  "Confound it, find a way! It's the only hope. Besides, it'll give Salazar a chance to escape this fate. You don't want to see him become a collection of rotting parts like I am. We must take the throne. It's the only way, and the key, he always has it with him."

  "What?" Mara asked in frustration.

  "Look here," the decrepit man said as he used a recently stitched on finger to key controls on his floating chair. The commands caused a series of holographic projections to emanate from a display table. The images were recordings of King Darius Lyons during various broadcasts.

  "There," the
Duke bellowed and coughed again. He reversed the playback and froze the image. "Right there. See it?"

  "See what?" Mara asked in annoyance.

  "On his left arm... the bracer."

  "Bracer?"

  "Yes," the Duke answered, indicating the metallic band on Darius' left wrist. "We found it there with the device. If you check the images, you'll see he's never without it. Notice when he's on the throne."

  "Just looks like a wide bracelet to me," Salazar dismissed. "What's that jewel on it?"

  "The key," the Duke answered. "I must have it. If I could have that and the throne all would be right. Mara, you must get the bracer for me. I can be cured."

  Salazar was intrigued. "Cured? But that's impossible. Caryon spreads to every cell. The only way to be cured is to-"

  "Have an entirely new body," his grandfather nodded knowingly while completing the thought. "That's exactly what the device does by transferring the life force from one body into another. I'm not sure, but I think it's Ramillie. Almost all of their greatest devices were destroyed after the abduction."

  "During the time of purging," Salazar replied. "I learned about that in my history studies."

  "Yes, with the Ramillie gone, there was a rush to destroy everything they left behind - such a loss. They had accomplished wonders even by today's standards. Our ancestors, in their superstitious ignorance, thought everything from the ancient races was evil, but a few people hid away some of the artifacts. During the Orelli War, Darius and I were on a ship that had to set down for a few days on a dead world to make repairs. We found a hidden trove of artifacts. Darius took the bracer and the device, and now he mocks me by keeping it in plain sight. He thought that was the only thing of value left on that planet, but I went back and-"

  Mara cut him off. "Father, you're not going to fill his head with wild stories and give him false hope. It's not right."

  "As long as I'm alive I'm the one who decides what's right around here, not you! Never could count on you to do anything. Get out. Out!"

  If looks could kill, the duke would have dropped dead right there, but Mara took solace that she didn't have long to wait. She began to leave, but Salazar hesitated because he wanted to learn more about a means of escaping the ravages of caryon. Mara glanced over her shoulder, her piercing eyes advising her son to promptly heed her call.