Hostile Territory

by T. L. Knighton

  Where things got interesting, however, was how the church dealt with critics, particularly former members.

  When actress Jessica Sandstrom left the church centuries earlier, she outlined some really bizarre beliefs. Among other things was a belief that aliens had visited Earth many times, and that their founder, Jason Beard, had been personally told to prepare humanity for their permanent return.

  The church, of course, denied this. They also began blasting Sandstrom as a kook and an ambitious woman who was upset that she couldn’t take control of the church and was subsequently kicked out.

  As a single instance, Sandstrom’s claims would be easy to dismiss. However, others came forward, verifying significant parts of her story, particular regarding their beliefs. Again, the church responded by attacking the individual’s character and mental faculties.

  When members of the press began trying to dig into the church, that’s when things got surreal. Once investigative pieces began hitting the net supporting people like Sandstrom, the church began smear campaigns against the reporters. Unlike with Sandstrom, however, these got even worse.

  Multiple journalists were accused of engaging in some of the most egregious crimes. Sexual abuse of their minor children was the most common one.

  For decades, the church kept up its campaign to destroy anyone they disagreed with, until their tactics finally began to hit and hit hard. Members of the church began getting sued over and over, losing liable and slander lawsuits left and right.

  The church claimed they were being unfairly targeted by the courts. They argued they didn’t do anything, so clearly it was some kind of witch hunt.

  When colonization became possible, the church—still overflowing with wealth despite claims of being targeted—funded the first private colonization effort. Ten thousand people boarded the colony ship destined for the first Earth-like world discovered.

  Between the time they’d made planetfall and when the gateship arrived bringing the gate technology that permitted instantaneous travel between systems, the church on Armstead had built a thriving civilization …and a strong desire to never lay eyes on any other humans.

  It was only the fast thinking of the gateship captain that allowed the gate to even be installed by pointing out that there were members of their church still on Earth who might like to reconnect with the rest of their faith.

  The EDC took control of most planets through economic maneuvering and creating a sense of dependence, which was then threatened unless the colony in question conceded its authority. That is until about twenty years ago when Senator Dwayne Sowards spearheaded an effort to maintain Armstead’s independence. This was unusual because Sowards had opposed every other independence effort put forth by colony worlds, but Armstead?

  As a result, Armstead got to enjoy trade with Earth and the rest of EDC controlled space, though they strictly maintained control over what was imported and what wasn’t. The was a case of open protectionism, though from what Tommy understood Armstead still allowed fairly free trade between planetary industries.

  But again, why would Sowards back this planet unless there was some kind of a payoff?

  It was that tidbit that brought Tommy and his crew to this beautiful and terrifying planet. They were here to get proof that Sowards was paid off by the church to advocate on their behalf. Not even being one of the Clans would protect Sowards from those charges.

  The fact that it might also make it unpopular to oppose colony independence was simply a clever little bonus, though the whole process of what got them to this point was still a little confusing to Tommy. He hated politics, but here he was, knee deep in it.

  As Sabercat touched down on the hard plascrete deck, Tommy was immediately up and out of his chair and headed toward the cargo bay.

  Harley stood inside the bay, readying the numerous crates for offloading. As Tommy approached, the first officer handed his captain a data pad. “One manifest,” he quipped.

  Tommy nodded and took a deep breath as the cargo door lowered.

  His first breath of outside air was that of a beautiful, sunny spring day. He inhaled deeply, thrilled to have made it safely dirtside. After all, he’d figured this was the hard part of this trip. After this point, it would be all gravy.

  The Armstead Port Control offer stepped onto the ramp created by the door and strode up into the bay.

  “Manifest,” he demanded.

  Tommy pointed his data pad toward the officers and swiped his finger up, electronically “flipping” it to the other man’s pad.

  The officer looked down and examined the contents. “This will need to go to the secure warehouse,” he commented.

  Tommy just nodded. Considering the load was tons of gold, he wasn’t the least bit surprised by that. The fact that he’d just gotten it out of a secure warehouse further made being shocked an improbability.

  Of course, considering he and his crew had planned the heist of the aforementioned gold from a secure warehouse was kind of a side note for him at this particular instance.

  “Here’s what you need to know,” the officer began.

  “Armstead has a distinct ‘no weapons’ policy, which means those,” he said, pointing to the Capella nestled snug in its holster on Tommy’s hip, “stay on your ship. We understand you might have use for them in the black, and you may be allowed them on other worlds, but not here.”

  “Understood,” Tommy replied. He may not have liked it, but it also wasn’t that uncommon a law these days either.

  “Next, the only personnel permitted on your ship are those who arrived with you—assuming they’re non-immigrants, that is—and your crew. Workmen can be approved if needed. Any deliveries of supplies will have to take place outside your ship, where they can be checked to make sure nothing is being smuggled off world, then your crew will be permitted to load them yourselves.”

  Again, Tommy nodded, silently thankful Ararat didn’t have that rule…and realizing they might by the time he could return. If he could return.

  “Finally, you are not restricted to your ship, but there are parts of town you will not be permitted in. Access requires local identification, and since you don’t have it, don’t even try.”

  “Understood,” Tommy replied.

  “The areas you’ll be permitted in are generally around the spaceport, but it has plenty of bars, restaurants, vid theaters, the works. Any questions?”

  Tommy smiled and said, “None at all. We understand you folks like your…privacy. We can respect that.”

  The officer replied with a tight smile, “Good. Glad to know we won’t have any troubles.”

  ** ** **

  Mary Quinn wasted her lunch hour looking at the incoming ships. Yeah, the skippers called most of them “boats” for whatever reason, but she didn’t care about the nomenclature. All she cared about was the dream, the dream that she could be on one someday.

  Her eyes locked on the Harrison class transport that had just landed. It was old, worn, and battered, but she couldn’t help but dream of standing inside of her. She pictured the kindly captain showing her a cabin, then leaving her to settle in, all to leave Armstead behind forever.

  Unfortunately, she knew reality. She was never going to get on board that ship. It was never going to happen, and it was crushing.

  Still, a girl could dream.

  ** ** **

  In the distance, the main temple for the church stood tall above everything else. Shaped like a steep-sided Nubian pyramid from before the Caliphate of North Africa destroyed them all with the top third sheered clean off and made of steel and glass rather than brick and hosting a rectangular structure that seemed to be centered on the top. Rumor had it that absolutely nothing and no one was allowed to enter, that it was a sacred space for their alien brothers.

  For a planet with a population like Armstead’s, however, the spaceport was all but abandoned. They had pads for dozens and dozens of ships, but Tommy only counted eight as the last of the crates was loaded ont
o the last trailer.

  On most worlds, the lack of transport traffic would be surprising, but not on Armstead. In addition to their xenophobia—which was surprising considering it was founded by members of a religion that basically worshipped aliens—they also needed little to be imported while also manufacturing little for export. In other words, they didn’t want traffic and they didn’t need it either.

  “Am I cleared?” asked a female voice from the cargo bay.

  Tommy turned and looked at her and couldn’t stop himself from smiling like an absolute goober.

  She was a vision, her dark hair and pale skin always made a striking combination in his mind. The fact that she was now wearing a blue sundress with tiny yellow flowers on it only compounded her stunning beauty. Dianne Caldwell had always been gorgeous to him, even while he was making her life absolute hell.

  He still kicked himself for acting like an ass. However, he was also somewhat thankful for an extended stay on an alien island, a traumatic event that ultimately changed him into the man he was today.

  “Yeah,” he replied. “You’re restricted to the dock district, though.”

  She nodded and said, “I figured. My contact should be at some bar called The Wet Your Whistle Tavern.”

  Tommy chuckled, finding the name amusing. “You want me along?”

  She shook her head. “I’d already asked Harley to come along. He’s a bit more intimidating.”

  He wanted to take offense at that, but he just couldn’t. Harley was a mountain, to start with, plus he actually moved like a personal bodyguard. Since that had been his previous line of employment, that only stood to reason, of course. However, it didn’t hurt his chances of keeping Dianne safe without any trouble.

  “I understand,” Tommy finally replied with a gentle smile, hoping it conveyed the sincerity. He really did, after all.

  “He’s going to change into something more befitting the bodyguard of a Clan daughter and then we’ll head that way.”

  “Yeah, I can’t imagine a dock district bar being as refined and genteel as most of our previous social circle would be comfortable with.”

  She laughed softly, each sound melodious to his ear. Yes, he recognized he was becoming an absolute sap where she was concerned…and he was fine with that.

  “No,” she said, her mirth still coloring her words, “I’d imagine not.”

  “If you need us…”

  She nodded and smiled. “I know.”

  More importantly, however, Harley would know…and he’d know to call in all hands if necessary.

  Chapter 3

  The tavern wasn’t much to look at, but Harley had seen worse. It was a hole-in-the-wall kind of place with terracotta-colored walls, a basic wooden bar, a handful of stools in various states of needing repair but none unusable, and a smattering of tables and chairs that were more or less matched littered throughout the room.

  “You’d think a church wouldn’t be big on bars,” Dianne commented.

  Harley felt the corners of his mouth turn up a bit at the remark. While she was a good and decent soul, an exception among the Clans. A lone exception before he and Tommy had found themselves stranded and Tommy forced to carry the load after Harley found his spine snapped evading a terrifying predator.

  Still, she was a rich girl still somewhat naïve about so many things.

  “The Church of Eternal Vigilance doesn’t have any issue with alcohol, so there’s no reason to shut down the bars.”

  “They don’t?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Alcoholism, sure, but they view that as a weakness of the spirit rather than the fault of the spirits, if you will.”

  She smiled at his weak joke.

  “I don’t see my contact,” she said. “Let’s take a seat. He’s supposed to know what I look like.”

  Harley nodded. “Do you have a table you’re supposed to sit at to wait?”

  “Not that I know of,” she replied, confused.

  “Then I need to pick the table,” he replied.

  As they approached a table in the back corner with four seats, Harley pulled out a chair for her, putting her slightly to the side.

  “Shouldn’t I sit where I can see him?” she asked.

  Harley shook his head. “No. I need to be able to view everyone who steps into this place. He’ll find you, but I need to know what’s happening first.”

  She chuckled as she took her seat. “None of my bodyguards ever picked my table or seat.”

  “Then they sucked at their jobs,” he said matter-of-factly as he sat, his back to a wall and the only entry clearly in sight.

  Harley didn’t mean to speak ill of his former colleagues in the personal protection industry, but a lot of them weren’t really pros. They were big amateurs with an impressive backstory. Sometimes, the backstories were even real. However, most were just glorified babysitters with guns.

  He, on the other hand, took the job seriously. In fact, he took it so seriously that he refused to think of himself as being intimidation on this little jaunt. Instead, he saw himself as obligated to die for his principle, no matter what.

  It was because of this that he noticed the man entering the bar.

  Stocky, scraggly dark hair, unkempt clothing, nothing about this guy indicated he was the kind of person you want watching your kids. His eyes darting all over the place, as if he were trying to watch every single person in every single moment, told Harley he was paranoid about something. The fact that he made a beeline for his and Dianne’s table told Harley that he might need to be ready to use a bit of his professional paranoia himself.

  He reached out and touched Dianne’s hand for a brief moment. As she looked at him in askance, he glanced as the sketchy-looking figure headed their way, directing her view of the same man.

  The man, paranoid, asked no questions as he took a seat across from Harley.

  “Can I help you?” Dianne asked.

  “Carlos won’t be here,” the man replied, his voice hoarse and only a little lower than a stage whisper.

  “Why not?” Harley asked. While he didn’t know any names, he did know enough to figure out that Carlos had to be Dianne’s contact.

  Either that or he was playing along with a schizophrenic’s psychotic episode. Considering how the church here viewed psychology and psychiatry, that was entirely possible. The church was notorious for thinking its faith was the answer to all things.

  However, Dianne didn’t seem confused by the name, which meant it was probably legit.

  “Got nabbed. The blackboots grabbed him last night,” the dirty man replied.

  “The data?” Dianne asked, her voice now as quiet as possible.

  The man shook his head. “No, they don’t got it.”

  “Do you?”

  Again, he shook his head.

  “Where is it?” she demanded.

  The jumpy fellow shrugged—Harley swore he saw a cloud of dust continue floating upward from the movement. “Don’t know. Carlos had it stashed. Probably at his place, Quad Four. You might want to look there.”

  Harley chuckled mirthlessly. He’d perfect this particular laugh during his time in the Marines. He’d found it perfect for moments when a private or private first class needed to be reminded that they were only slightly higher in the chain of command than single cell organisms. The fact that it also intimidated the odd general was merely a happy coincidence.

  “How the hell are we supposed to get it? We’re restricted, remember. Port district and nothing else,” he said.

  The other man shook his head. “Naw, this is the port district. Anything can be had if you’ve got the bits.”

  “Including IDs?” Dianne asked.

  Harley suppressed a grin. He’d seen both her and Tommy back in the day, a time when Tommy had more fake IDs than some forgers and Dianne wouldn’t have been caught dead with one. Now, she was trying to land one and Tommy was kicking back on his ship, probably catching up on paperwork or something equally mundane.

/>   Oh, how times change.

  ** ** **

  “Let’s move it!” Tommy bellowed, his Pendleton Defense Model 17 rifle in hand. “Cody, secure engineering. Adele, bridge. Michelle, on me! Let’s GO!”

  The crew moved like a well-oiled machine…with parts scattered all over the place. They had been sitting around the table in the galley, a normal enough place to be at lunch time. However, Tommy’s yelling spurred all of them into movement long before their brains had fired the right synapses to know exactly how to move correctly.

  Cody stood and spun, his foot caught in a rung of the chair where he had rested it, sending him staggering across the deck, right into Adele. That started a chain reaction where the pilot bounced off Michelle, sending the smaller woman into the counter with a loud “Oof!”

  The chaos lasted no more than a few seconds. The glaring Tommy received afterward, however, was clearly going to last far, far longer.

  Those glares were not sufficient to keep him from chuckling in amusement at the calamity he’d caused.

  “What?” he asked innocently enough, desperate to stifle the laughter. He almost, sort of succeeded.

  “What’s with this deermo?” Cody barked.

  “Drill. We’re stuck here and preventive maintenance was already done before we left Ararat, so we’re free for a few hours and can’t really go anywhere, so I figured it was a good time to run a repel boarders drill.”

  “How about a little heads up next time?” the engineer growled.

  Tommy sighed. “That kind of defeats the purpose. You need to have your response automatic, otherwise what just happened will happen if and when it actually matters. And let’s face it, we’re running into pirates far more than we probably should be, so it doesn’t hurt to be ready.”

  Cody replied with a sigh of his own. “We got rid of the tracker. Besides, I thought Harley did this crap?”

  With a shrug, Tommy replied, “Well, I’m the captain and all that, so I’m responsible for everything that happens on this boat, and I don’t plan on dying in the black because we’re not prepared.”