by Lincoln Cole
The spot he was patting was where a gun would be, she realized, but right now he was unarmed. Traq guzzled half the small bottle in two swigs, oblivious to the dirty looks their escort was giving him.
Traq slipped the bottle into his pocket and Quinton began walking again, talking more about the city. The atmosphere of the entire group was more subdued.
They traveled another ten minutes to their destination. At least, half the buildings were disused, but even these had people living inside them, curled up in entryways with tattered clothing. High population density with low quality of life.
Quinton led them to a large apartment building and stopped outside. Dust swirled in the air around them as the wind picked up, turning the road into a howling tunnel. It was getting dark.
“This is my home,” Quinton said, then turned to the rest of the group, raising his voice. “Unfortunately, my wife would panic if I tried to feed you all!”
They chuckled and began to disperse. Quinton was left alone with Vivian, Traq, and Ralph.
“It’s going to be a big one tonight,” Ralph said. He was practically shouting to be heard over the wind. Quinton nodded.
“Make sure everyone gets inside on time. Send the men on rounds.”
“You got it, boss,” Ralph replied, turning to face Vivian. “Ma’am.”
The look on his face was casually hidden disrespect. He turned and left, disappearing down the street the way they’d come.
The sun had all but disappeared, she realized. She couldn’t believe it happened so fast. One moment it was a bright sunny day, the next the sun was gone. Already it was dark and forbidding, with shadows climbing up the walls.
The wind whipped at them in sharp gusts. She held onto Traq’s coat and all three moved into the lobby. The wind died down, whistling through little cracks in the walls.
“You ration water?” Vivian said once it was quiet enough to speak. Quinton nodded, heading into a stairwell. He started up the stairs, talking over his shoulder. The inside was dimly lit.
“We have to. Some people,” he said, “think we should be stricter. Keep population growth from outpacing our water and food supplies. For now, water rationing is enough.”
“They want to use the water to control the population? Enforce eugenics for a better future?”
“Basically,” Quinton said with a frown.
“I think most cultures have people who think that’s a good idea,” Vivian offered.
“We couldn’t do that if we wanted,” Quinton said. “People would revolt.”
“What makes the water supply so low? Everywhere within an eighty-mile radius is drenched.”
“Yes, but the water is undrinkable without filtration. Even when caught in basins. Too many chemicals in the air at higher altitudes. “
“Can’t you drill for water?”
“We do, but that needs to be filtered as well. We have a few reservoirs that are safe, but what water is clean and drinkable is strictly regulated.”
“I’m sorry,” Vivian said, glancing at Traq. “We didn’t know.”
Quinton waved her concern away. “It’s no issue. As mayor, I get a slightly larger ration anyway.”
The ceiling was a lot lower than Vivian was used to, forcing her to bend as he led her through a dark and dirty hallway. Trash littered the sides. The lights—mostly cheap incandescent bulbs—flickered as the storm picked up in intensity, shaking the walls.
He stopped in front of a small door. “And here we are.”
The door wasn’t locked. A trusting man, considering his position. Trusting men rarely stayed in power for long.
The apartment was small and cramped, and there was a strong odor of sickness in the air. The first sound she heard was a crying child in a separate room.
“Excuse me,” Quinton said, disappearing into the back.
Traq moved to follow but Vivian caught his shoulder. A groan came from the other room. It was the groan of a woman in anguish, struggling for a life that was slipping away. Vivian knew the sound better than she would have liked.
She scanned the apartment. It was sparse with a pair of oil lamps on opposite corners. She didn’t see any refrigeration units, but she did spot a small gas stove along the left wall.
“It smells bad,” Traq whispered. Vivian shushed him and took a seat on the floor, beckoning for Traq to take one of the chairs. He did, and after about ten minutes Quinton appeared, followed by what could only be his daughter. She looked to be about two years old with curly honey-colored hair.
She hid timidly behind her father’s leg at first, then ran out suddenly and began hitting Traq repeatedly in the shoulder, giggling. Traq had no idea what to do and looked to Vivian for help. When the little girl noticed Vivian, she squealed and ran behind her father again, sucking her thumb and clutching his pants.
“This is Aliza,” Quinton said, smiling sadly. “And my wife is Patricia, but she won’t be joining us.”
“We have medicine on my ship,” Vivian said softly. Quinton shook his head.
“You have my thanks, but she’s received the best possible care we can afford and it’s too late to save her. Now, I just want her to have a peaceful goodbye.” He rolled up his sleeves and opened a cupboard under the stove, pulling out a few wrapped packages. “I wasn’t planning on visitors today, so the meal will be spare.”
“That would be perfect,” Vivian said.
It took about twenty minutes to prepare the food, which consisted of some sort of soft grain noodle and a meat she’d never tasted along with a sprinkling of spices. Vivian sat on the floor, afraid if she used the chair she would hit her head on the ceiling fan. Aliza sat on the opposite side of the room, eyeing her throughout the entire meal. The food was disgusting, but Vivian forced it down.
Traq didn’t seem to agree, devouring his helping in a matter of minutes. No water was served, and when Traq pulled his bottle out of his pocket Aliza reached for it, making ‘ugh’ sounds and clenching her fingers repeatedly. Traq passed it over to her and she quickly emptied the bottle, making smacking sounds with her lips.
Once the meal was complete Quinton pulled out a package of cigarettes, offering one to Vivian. She shook her head and he lit up, standing near the window with it cracked just an inch. It was dark outside, but they could hear the wind howling its way down the street. It threw dust against the wall and glass. The repetition of the sound was quite soothing, threatening to lull her to sleep.
They sat in silence.
“I suppose it’s best that I explain why we’re on this planet,” Vivian said. “We came here looking for any information you have about warships.”
Quinton took a puff on his cigarette and leaned back. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“You used to make them.”
“Well, not me personally. They were made here, in orbit around this planet. But that was hundreds of years ago. Thousands maybe, more like a legend now. I wouldn’t believe it myself but look around. We live on a world that’s been depleted.”
He paused, scratching his left eyelid with his thumb. “This used to be a beautiful world. We have images from millennia ago. It was vibrant and green. Dangerous chemicals were brought and used for mineral leeching. Species died off one by one. After a time, the damage was irreparable.”
“Why don’t you leave?”
Quinton chuckled. “Who would take us? What do we have to offer? We make do as best we can. Our vegetation has a harder and harder time surviving. With our water supply so dangerously low, I’m afraid that one day we’ll just start dying off. And no one off-world will even know about it.”
“Why not ask for water purifiers?”
“From who? Our satellites are down so we can’t contact other worlds and we haven’t had a space-faring vessel land here in months. When people do show up they take our metals and trade supplies or credits we can’t spend. Our requests for aid fall on deaf ears. The merchants don’t care about our plight as long as they get our minerals to sel
l on Terminus and Jaril.”
Vivian glanced over as the room fell once more into silence. Traq was sleeping on the rug and Aliza had curled up next to him, sucking her thumb and watching Vivian bleary-eyed. Doesn’t trust me in the slightest, but Traq might as well be her big brother, she thought. Traq must have forgotten about the smell.
It was a horrible thing, to get used to the smell of death.
“One day this planet will be nothing more than a husk,” Quinton said, puffing on his cigarette and dropping the butt out the window. It disappeared with the wind down the street and he slid the window closed. “But you asked about warships. Space stations would be more accurate.”
“What?”
“They only made six of them, from what I heard, and it was several hundred years ago. All six were lost or destroyed.”
“How big?”
“Each had a minimum crew of one million,” he replied.
She hesitated. “What?”
“That was just what they required to operate. The biggest could manage twenty million at full capacity.”
“Holy hell,” Vivian murmured. The biggest Capital ship she’d seen held a crew of three hundred thousand. At full capacity. If what he was saying was true, then Argus and the Ministry would be very interested in acquiring schematics.
“Are the records classified?” she asked. He shook his head.
“Not many people even remember the stations. It was so long ago, and they didn’t last. Must not have been built very well.”
“Can I take a look at anything you have?”
“I can pull it and make you a copy. They assembled most of the components in space. All of those records were lost with the ships, but we did put some of the frameworks together down here. You can have all of it.”
Vivian nodded. “You have my thanks.”
“If I can ask for something in return, I would ask that you deliver a message to Jaril and the Royal family. Things are…getting worse. And if we don’t get water purifiers soon…”
He left the thought unfinished.
She hesitated. “I’m not sure what I can do. I can deliver your message to people in Jaril, but I doubt they will care.”
Quinton nodded though his expression was downcast.
Another few minutes passed and Vivian felt the patter of the wind lulling her to sleep. Quinton yawned and stood. “You can sleep here tonight if you don’t mind, or I can ask for other arrangements to be made up. I’m sorry that we don’t have set accommodations for outsiders, but people rarely stay overnight. They don’t like associating with locals,” he added sadly. “This is one of the few buildings that maintains consistent power during night storms.”
“Here is fine,” Vivian said, glancing down. Aliza was passed out as well, still curled against Traq. They looked peaceful and she didn’t want to disturb them, but that meant she would only have the corner of the room to herself. She wouldn’t have much space to stretch out.
Quinton nodded to her and disappeared into the back. He returned a moment later with two blankets and a pillow. Vivian helped him gently put the pillow under the heads of the sleeping children and then draped one blanket over them. Quinton offered to get her a second pillow, but she declined. She doubted she would sleep long anyway.
Satisfied, Quinton turned off of the lights, locked the door, and disappeared into the room with his wife.
Vivian folded the other blanket and leaned it against the wall. She thought over the new information, wondering what it might be worth. A sinister thought had started creeping into her mind. If the ships ever existed, they were missing. But that didn’t mean the same thing as destroyed. If Darius knew about enormous warships sitting on his doorstep…
Something like that could turn the tide of any battle against the Republic.
Doubtful, of course. Doubtful that the ships existed at all, and even more doubtful that Darius would know of them. Vivian fell asleep, worried what the future would bring.
Chapter 12
Sector 1 – Axis
Argus Wade
1
Argus Wade leaned against the cool metal railing, watching stars twinkle outside the deck’s viewport. He was on the bridge of the Capital Class Warship named Denigen’s Fist. Below the stars, he could see Axis stretching into the distance.
They were in high orbit, several hundred kilometers from the surface. Most planets across the galaxy showed a variety of different colors at this height: dim greens and browns of vegetation, bluish water, and swirling white clouds.
But not Axis. This planet was the center of the Republic’s dominance, the homestead of the First Citizen and the Ministry. Axis was uniform gray, a metal ball in space. Much of the planet was covered in domes. The oceans were drained and pumped through enormous pipes.
It was beautiful, he knew. At least in propaganda pictures. It gleamed in the sunlight like an enormous jewel.
Unfortunately, all the splendor was lost on the surface by constant cloud cover and devastating weather. The domes were covered in layers of soot and dirt. Outside those domes it was unlivable: the metal reflected sunlight away from the planet, creating a cycle of cooling that left external temperatures excessively low.
Argus had grown up in one of those domes. Poverty and crime were a daily reality. He’d hated it and wanted to escape. But now, years older and wiser, he missed it.
Millions of ships traveled to Axis on an hourly basis. They delivered foodstuffs and necessities to the multitudes living under those domes.
The air was cleansed and tasted antiseptic. Oxygen and water were shipped in.
Axis was a testament to humanities control over his world. It existed by a giant engine of technology. The last census put the population at forty-seven billion. The estimated natural population should be four billion. A single day of missed shipments, a single hour, would cause millions to starve and die.
2
Argus was born on Axis thirty-three years ago in one of the poorer domes. It was one of those ‘better than life’ models with perfect weather, never too hot or too cold. He grew up craving rain and snow, wishing for seasons that never came.
As a kid, the tenuous balance of the planet never bothered him. The idea of a generator breaking down under his dome meaning thousands would die from dehydration or suffocation was inconceivable. He wasn’t even taught about natural plant life on other planets until he was sixteen.
That was twenty years ago. Then the Ministry found him. Axis was one of the hardest places to hide children similar to him. They received a genetic test at school age, and if the proper genetic markers were discovered, they were given over to the Ministry for care. No questions asked.
There was only one aspiration for those like Argus; one chance of escape from imprisonment at the Ministry: become a Shield. A First Citizen hundreds of years ago was fascinated by the Ordo Mens Rea and ever since they selected the personal bodyguards from their ranks. It rankled the Ministry, but they couldn’t refuse a request from the First Citizen.
Argus wasn’t good enough at fighting to be chosen. He had no chance of becoming a Shield and defending the First Citizen. But he was good with numbers and people. From an early age, he showed aptitude, working his way up the ladder with more and more responsibility until he became indispensable to the Ministry. An important cog in a very, very large wheel. After a while, they forgot he was even a member of the Order.
Being forgotten was the greatest gift Argus ever received. He was careful not to remind them.
The gliding metal door swept open behind him on the bridge and a puff of cool air washed past. He turned and stood up straight, smoothing his black robes. Captain Kristi Grove strode on deck, raising a hand to single her entourage to wait outside.
She must not think I’m a threat, he thought as the door slid closed. He didn’t know if he was more relieved in her trust or insulted by her lack of concern. Argus shrugged the thought away, bowing low to her. She nodded curtly and stepped beside him, looking past to
the planet below.
“It’s beautiful during the day,” she said. Argus nodded.
“Quite.”
“But I prefer it at night.”
“Oh?”
“In the darkness, it takes the appearance of a sleeping beast.”
“I believe we had some business to attend to?”
Captain Kristi turned to face him. “Not just yet,” she said, turning and facing the entrance to the bridge. She crossed her hands behind her lower back and waited.
Less than a minute later, the door slid open again and a timid man walked onto the bridge. He had cropped black hair and deep bronze skin. He was built thick and muscular with a plain face. His uniform put him in the lower ranks, probably an enlisted officer. No one important.
The man hesitated for a second in the doorway and then strode onto the bridge with false confidence.
“Captain,” the low ranking officer said, snapping to attention a few meters short of Kristi. His body was rigid and voice steady, but his eyes betrayed his trepidation. The pupils were dilated and fluttering. The bridge must be an intimidating place for someone like him, Argus knew. His first time on the bridge of a Capital Class Warship had been terrifying.
The bridge itself was one circular room. It could hold fifty to sixty people at terminals throughout with a raised platform in the center. There was an entrance for the High Officers onto the platform and an entrance for lower ranking personnel on the floor.
The bridge was empty right now, capable of running itself without human intervention.
“Lieutenant Commander,” Kristi Grove said to the newcomer with a brisk nod. “Thank you for coming.”
“Captain, I was wondering—”
“What’s your opinion on the other officers?” Captain Kristi interrupted smoothly.
“Sir?”
“The other officers. What do you think of them?”
The man hesitated for a long moment before speaking. “They are excellent officers and leaders. Your First Officer Fredrick Penn is well liked; Chief Warrant Officer Vincent Belgrade is a brilliant tactician…”
His voice droned off as Captain Kristi shook her head. “Abdullah, if I was looking for a political assessment or resume I’d speak to the men personally. I want to know what they mean to the enlisted men. Are they respected?”