by Neil Davies
Steve took another drink, coughing slightly as the back of his throat burned, a comforting, satisfying burn.
"Life's a bitch, eh Steve?"
He looked up and smiled as Jack Holt sat down opposite him, placing a new unopened bottle of MBP on the ring-stained table.
"And then you die. So true, so true."
He was sure he must be slurring his words by now, but they sounded fine to him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he suspected that meant he was extremely drunk, but if it did he was also too drunk to care.
"At a guess I would say that you met with Suzy?"
Jack poured himself a drink, preferring to use the glass that was no longer of interest to his friend.
"I came, I saw, I screwed up. Or rather I didn't come, I didn't see clearly enough and I still screwed up."
"I gather it wasn't the best of homecomings then."
"I told her the truth. I told her the fucking truth! Why did I do that? I never tell women the truth, it's been the rule of my life. Never tell a woman the truth. It just screws everything up."
"So, you told Suzy the truth..."
"...and it screwed everything up."
"Just what exactly was this truth?"
Steve sighed and took another mouthful. He could feel tears welling in his eyes and that angered him. He knew it was just the drink, but it still angered him.
"I told her I didn't love her. I mean, she's a nice girl and all that but I just don't love her." He shrugged, struggling to appear nonchalant. "She wasn't pleased. She was not pleased. Why is everything so fucking complicated? Maybe I should have stayed on Earth, married Sharon. You know, normal things that normal people do. I bet Martin doesn't have problems like this."
"Last I heard Martin was in the army. Would you really rather be doing that?"
Steve shook his head emphatically. He might hate the complications that women caused him but he hated the thought of military service more. Too much discipline. Too much pressure to conform.
"I just want to do my job and enjoy my life. What's wrong with that?"
Jack smiled, "Nothing. Nothing wrong with that." He paused and took another drink. "How is the work front by the way? I don't suppose you've had much chance to find any yet?"
Steve shook his head. "Saw Suzy, came straight here and got completely wrecked."
"Well, you might have a problem with jobs like I said before. Not much around at the moment. Very tight, and with you being out of it for a while... well, you know the corporates like to play it safe and use the same people again and again, and the independents aren't the greatest of payers, or the most reliable..."
"Cut the shit Jack. Even in my state I can see you're leading up to something."
Steve took another drink, belched, almost threw up, mumbled "fuck" and took another drink to force the last one down.
"What I'm leading up to is that I got wind of a job and I thought you might be interested."
"What kind of job, and why haven't the other traders got onto it?"
Steve lifted the bottle, found it was empty, and reached instead for the new one Jack had brought. He hesitated for a moment, wondered whether he really wanted to open another bottle, wondered why he had even considered such a stupid question and unscrewed the top. He was knocking back the first mouthfuls as Jack answered.
"It pays well, really well, but there's some risk involved. It's a cargo for Szuilta. Heard of it?"
Steve waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Vaguely. Unsociable buggers aren't they?"
"Apparently. Anyway, no one seems that eager to take it on and I managed to side-track it and put it on hold before any did take an interest so..."
Steve put down the bottle and looked cautiously at his friend. He may be drunk but he was not stupid. There was a catch in this somewhere. He wasn't afraid of the risky trade, and neither were most of the traders on Sellit, so what was going on? Why was Jack pushing this his way?
"I could get other jobs," he said finally, after a thoughtful pause. "Might take a while, but you know I could get other jobs, so why are you doing this? Don't say friendship or I might finally puke and I'm pointing in your direction. What's the catch?"
There was the slightest of hesitations before Jack answered.
"I want to go with you on this one."
It was a flat statement, no emotion in the voice, but it almost made Steve choke.
"But you haven't been out on a trade for... well, Larn knows how long. You're a desk pilot. No offence Jack, but are you sure you're up to it?"
"Christ Steve, I'm bored. I hate this job, this sitting around while you guys get to do all the glamorous stuff. God knows I've done it long enough. It's time for a change. Time to get back to what I enjoy doing. I've still got my licence. Please?"
Steve smiled, as much at his friend's exclamations as anything else. Jack's family had been among the few remaining Christian believers on Earth and, although he had converted to the Larnian faith many years ago, in times of stress his upbringing rose to the surface, particularly in his language. Jack obviously felt very strongly about this.
He tried to think clearly, pushing thoughts through the alcoholic haze that blurred his mind. It meant splitting the fee, but he was sure he could work a percentage favourable to himself, and Jack did say it paid well. It might be nice to have company on the trip for a change, and he'd known Jack since they were kids.
He gulped another drink and smiled.
"Tell me more about this trade."
Baxter was waiting for Jack as he turned the corner of the corridor to his apartment.
"Mr Baxter. I'm surprised you waited outside."
Baxter smiled in return and stepped aside to allow Jack to open the door. He didn't speak until they had entered the apartment and the door was closed behind them.
"Just because you work for us doesn't mean I shouldn't respect your privacy."
Jack shrugged his light jacket off and hung it carefully in the narrow alcove just inside the doorway. The apartment wasn't big, accommodation space was limited on Sellit, but it comfortably housed a small hallway with doors leading to the kitchen and the living area, into which he now led Baxter. Another door, leading to the single bedroom, lay slightly ajar in the far wall.
"Take a seat." Jack indicated one of two high-backed chairs that faced each other across an oval table.
"Thanks, but I won't be staying long. Where's Drake by the way?"
Jack smiled. "Sleeping off more bottles of MBP than I care to think about."
"Did he take it?" Baxter was tense, fidgety. He wiped his hands against the side of his jacket as if they were perspiring.
"He took it. He'll do anything to get back into trading and away from Sellit at the moment."
"That's good. Well done."
Baxter was blatantly relieved, and if Jack had been holding any doubts about the seriousness of his mission they were now gone. When Baxter spoke again it was with a more relaxed, conversational tone.
"When will you go?"
"I told him I was on leave from tomorrow, so anytime after that."
Baxter reached into his jacket and pulled out a small bio-chip.
"This has all the clearance codes and necessary authorisations. You can leave tomorrow morning."
"Won't that look suspicious? I mean nothing gets through that quick."
He slid the chip into his trouser pocket.
"You work for Administration Mr Holt. Tell him you pushed it through somehow. Tell him you had it all ready, you were sure he'd accept. We would like you to leave as soon as possible so use your imagination. Will Mr Drake be in a fit state to ship-out?"
"He'll have a bastard of a hangover I'm sure, but nothing he hasn't dealt with before," said Jack, nodding. "He'll be fine."
Baxter seemed to hesitate, turning to leave and then turning back.
"We've had further reports that strengthen our belief about Suzex's involvement. Watch your back Mr Holt. He won't hesitate to kill you if he suspects you'r
e working for us."
Chapter 14
"He refused to follow a direct order!"
Loadra's voice, full of venom and righteous anger, filled the Controller's private office, echoing off the walls that, even painted a subtle shade of blue, could never quite disguise their true nature as sections of a space cruiser.
The Controller paused before answering, making the High Priest wait, never letting his eyes stray from that wild glare filled with the certainty and blind confidence of all fanatics. He moulded his voice with a perfection born from years of diplomacy, calming it down, refusing to be drawn into the emotion-filled argument that Loadra seemed intent upon.
"He refused to kill a child as I understand it." He made a show of studying the report on the desk in front of him, although he had already memorised the contents. "Yes, a child. And where did this direct order come from? I didn't give it."
"She was no child, she was an Aksian soldier. Lieutenant Lichfield disobeyed an order from his Commander. He is guilty of mutiny." Loadra spat the word out.
The Controller leaned backwards in his chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully in front of his face. When he spoke, his voice was as controlled and calm as before, but the underlying menace was clear.
"Tell me about the raid, since no one saw fit to tell me beforehand."
The High Priest hesitated. This reaction to the news of Lichfield's mutinous behaviour unnerved him. The Controller had always held the military forces he commanded in high regard, understood the chain of command, and had never balked at the often difficult decisions of wartime. Perhaps thoughts of peace with the heathen Aksians had clouded his mind, altered his reasoning? He almost spoke like an academic, with their pathetic bleatings about religious freedoms and the right to worship. They also whined of peace and the right of the individual to conscientiously object to the killing that was so necessary.
When Loadra finally spoke, his voice had calmed to a cold, flat, emotionless drone, but the eyes still burned.
"An Aksian listening post was detected operating from the Milos system. We are still at war. That listening post posed a threat to your safety. I gave the order to proceed with the mission."
"You gave the order."
The Controller pursed his lips, his eyes closing in deep contemplation. He wanted to explode with the anger that boiled inside him, to scream a tirade of abuse at this religious fanatic who would jeopardise the future of a whole planet for his own personal hatred of the Aksians, but he knew enough about the man to realise that a confrontation at this time would do nothing but increase his fervour, deepen his hatred. The Controller was already aware that Loadra disliked him personally and despaired of him spiritually, but at this point the High Priest still respected his leadership. There were times when Loadra balanced precariously on the edge of overt hatred and dissent, but his inbred loyalty and powerful belief in the rightness of Earth's Larnian faith held him in line. The Controller did not want to push him too far at such a delicate time.
"Loadra, my old friend." The Controller's voice was smooth and tinged with sadness, but the words tasted bitter in his mouth. "I know you acted in the way you thought best, and I appreciate that you had my safety in mind, but this time you were wrong. We are on our way to sign an historic peace treaty with our age-old enemies, the Aksians. We have agreed with them to suspend all hostilities in the time leading up to that treaty. Your actions have broken that agreement, perhaps even threatened the whole process. You should have consulted me first."
He paused, just giving Loadra enough time to fully understand what had been said but not enough to gather his obvious anger.
"What can we do to minimise the effect of this? You are an intelligent man, Loadra, and my advisor on all matters spiritual. What would you suggest?"
At the reminder of his duties, Loadra controlled his rage. There would be enough time for that later. The Controller had sought his advice and he was honour-bound to offer a considered and, above all, professional opinion.
"If you feel that your long term plan is threatened," even now he avoided the word treaty, "then you should contact the Aksian Leader to explain the circumstances before he retaliates on the biased reports from his own people."
"Sound advice Loadra, thank you."
And I must also put you in your place, he thought, publicly re-affirm my authority without obvious insult.
"Bring this Lieutenant Lichfield to me. I wish to speak to him."
Martin Lichfield sat unmoving and solemn in the dark confines of the cruiser's brig. It had been several hours since he had returned from the mission and the Trailbreaker had made her report. His arrest had been swift and public as they stripped him of his weapons and marched him to his cell.
The penalty for mutiny was death.
It angered him to think that he should die out here, now, on the verge of an end to all hostilities, without ever seeing Sharon again. Angered him and saddened him. But he sat still and emotionless, a soldier of calm discipline, refusing to give his captors the satisfaction of seeing him break down. Perhaps they expected him to plead for mercy? To beg forgiveness? They would be disappointed.
Even now, as he faced execution, he did not regret his actions. He was sick of the killing, the mindless genocide that the war had become.
After the girl died under the brutal onslaught of the Trailbreaker's weapon he had stood silently to one side, watching as the equipment was destroyed, the bodies plundered for trophies. Where was the nobility in this? How could any religion sanction such actions? And yet, whatever the original cause of the war, it was religion that continually fuelled the hatred and distrust, a religion whose priests would preach love to all and then bless the soldiers as they went out to commit murder. Both Earth and Aks worshipped the same god, Larn, the official religion of the galaxy, and yet they destroyed each other over religious differences. Innocent people had been gunned down in the streets of Earth cities because their ancestry led to Aks and they had been raised in the Aksian Larnian faith. Where was the sense? Where was this mythical love to all?
All his life Martin had followed the Larnian faith as it had been taught to him, chanting the prayers, believing the stories, reading the scriptures, but now he felt as though a veil of half-truths and outright lies had been torn away from his mind. One awful, bloody moment of revelation. He had doubts, questions, uncertainties. He felt liberated.
It was a feeling he would take with him to his execution. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.
The door to the brig slid open with a sharp susurration of air that twisted a cold knot of fear in his stomach. He stood to face the man sweeping into his cell. The wild mane of hair was unmistakable, as was the gleam of fanaticism in the eyes.
Loadra, the High Priest of Larn
"You will come with me."
The voice was flat, but Martin could feel the hatred behind it. To this man he had committed the worst sin of all. He had refused to kill the enemy.
"I’m entitled to a trial." Martin's voice shook as he spoke, but he was determined that he would not simply accept whatever they imposed upon him. He had rights, even in the military, even given the seriousness of his crime.
A thin smile split the High Priest's face, a humourless, bitter smile.
"This is not your execution, sinner though you are. The Controller himself wishes to speak to you. Make sure you show full respect. You may be a criminal but you are still an Earthman and still an officer in the Terramarine Corp. Behave like one."
Loadra span on his heel and marched out of the door without looking back. It would never occur to the priest that the prisoner would not do as commanded.
After a moment's hesitation, Martin followed, two Military Police officers falling into step behind him as he entered the corridor.
They marched through the ship in silence, only the gentle humming of the engines and support systems that formed a constant and, after a while, unnoticeable background breaking the strangely disconcerting quiet. The
y passed few people, but those they did stole quick and frightened glances first at Loadra and then at Martin. Rumours would by now have spread throughout the ship’s crew. Few would be unaware of Martin or his crime.
As they neared the Controller's offices their progress was watched by a succession of grim men and women ranged along the walls. They did not wear uniform, but all carried heavy calibre weapons in their arms. The Controller's personal bodyguards, highly trained soldiers handpicked by the Controller himself for duty in this most prestigious and elite section of the military.
Loadra stopped and turned as they reached the door at the end of the corridor.
"You will wait here. Do not move until you are summoned."
He disappeared through the door in a swirl of robes leaving Martin standing to attention, flanked by the two Military Policemen.
Martin had to concentrate to stay upright and still, his legs wanting to buckle, his head to drop, his skin crawling with nervous itching. No man could face death completely unaffected, and he had no doubt that this audience with the Controller was little more than a delay on his path to execution.
For now, he could do nothing but wait.
Chapter 15
The Aksian fleet moved slowly through space. Speed was not essential. Caution was. This was neutral space and until the treaty was signed no one trusted their Earth adversaries not to launch one final attack, an attack directly on the top official of Aks.
Great battle cruisers, bristling with weapons and sensors, ploughed their heavy way through the stars to the front and rear. Carrier ships kept to the flanks, their fast agile fighter craft circling in a constant rotation of scouting missions, darting out to the very limits of communications with the fleet. In the centre of the fleet lay the Leader's cruiser, dwarfed by the giants around it, but made prominent by its gleaming silver hull in stark contrast with the gunmetal grey of the rest of the fleet. Inlaid in bright blue on the nose of the ship was the speared circle of Aks.