"How's our course look?" he asked.
"Just two more jumps to Lusitania, so we'll be burning in by the end of next watch," Piper said, confident in her astrogation skills. "And no sign of any pursuit, if you were worried about it."
"He wasn't," a rough voice stated. Seated forward of Piper, at the ship’s piloting controls, was Yanik S'srish. The blue-toned Saurian was at nearly two meters in height and broader than any human. Unlike many Saurians, he still had the vestigial tail that members of his species were born with, as his religion didn't involve removing the tail as a sign of devotion. Between his size and the tail, he barely fit into the control station even while sitting farther back than any of the others. "Were he worried otherwise, the captain would never have stopped for the dinner until we arrived at Lusitania."
"You know me so well, Yanik."
"Your patterns are familiar to me," Yanik replied while his right yellow eyes blinked twice. "Which means they may be familiar to others as well. You may wish to adjust."
"I'll take it under advisement, Yanik. Felix and Brig should be up soon to relieve you. I'll be in my office for a while if anything happens."
"Understood."
* * *
There were many universal constants—gravity, electromagnetism, light, insincere politicians, and paperwork. Henry suspected the last two might have been linked.
Granted, this wasn't like his time in the Coalition Defense Forces, where any command position demanded daily reports, after-action reports, finalized after-action reports, requisition reports, and all other paperwork used by the bureaucratic machine to annoy the men and women out in the field. As an independent captain, Henry could set his own paperwork requirements on his ship, which he kept to a minimum.
But that didn't eliminate the need. The Shadow Wolf might have been independent, but he still had to file all sorts of paperwork with the governments controlling the places his ship hauled cargo to and from. Some governments were better than others.
Lusitania was roughly ordinary by his standard. Slightly less paperwork than the Coalition—granted, that was due to the wartime economic laws—and far less than the League and other more authoritarian statist governments in Sagittarius, but more than if he visited New Oranje, H'taka, or Galt. Having the Minister of Trade as his customer meant Henry was less likely to get in trouble for an error, but Lusitania's semi-authoritarian government ensured plenty of work for its bureaucrats. His manifest and invoices had to be accurate to ensure they collected their due in custom duties, which even a Minister of Trade could not waive. And then there were the itemized requests to the service companies at the spaceport to ensure the proper refueling, re-airing, and re-victualing of the ship.
In the middle of calculating fuel costs for his invoice, Henry glanced up when his door's chime went off. Since the hatch and bulkhead were soundproofed, he couldn't call out for them to enter. Instead, he tapped a key on his desk. The door slid open, and Vidia entered. "Dinner was… interestin', wasn't it?" he asked.
Henry gave him a sarcastic look.
Vidia smiled gently. "Your rules make sense. Otherwise… I think it might take a new manifestation to figure out how to keep the peace."
"That's what I get for combining a libertarian, a thwarted socialist revolutionary, and a militant former League rebel in one crew," Henry remarked. "And a New Oranjer."
"Don't forget the Saurian draft dodger and the League military deserter," Vidia added, still smiling. "And I'll point out that the libertarian is your friend and not a hired hand."
"I know it rubs Tia the wrong way," Henry began. "But we needed the help, and Felix knows ship operations."
"She doesn't like bein' likened to the League, for obvious reasons. Truth be told, I think she hates them more than Brigitte or Felix."
"I would agree, and I'll even say she's earned it as much as we have." Henry set his pen down and directed his full attention to Vidia. "But you're not here to talk to me about dinner, are you?"
Vidia shook his head. "I can see it in you, Jim. Ever since that close call at New Hathwell. You're thinkin' bad thoughts again."
There was a thin edge to the resulting smile on Henry's face. "I can't help but wonder about Montaine. Two thoughts. One, is he a boy scout or power-hungry? I mean, he's got that bright look the young and idealistic always get, but he loved the idea of throwing us into a gulag, and that tells me he likes having the power."
"With the League, I think those two are one and the same. As Oskar said, to them, it's all about the whole, not the man."
"And that means taking joy in hammering any nails that pop up." Henry nodded. "Yeah. The other half of my thought about Montaine is… how long until he turns into Donner?"
"You mean his chief, the man you and Minister Vitorino bribed with a bottle of wine?"
"A bottle of fine Lusitanian port," Henry corrected jovially. At Vidia's nod, Henry chuckled. "Yeah. How long until it's Montaine letting the League's precious laws slide for his own benefit? How long until that loyal cog in the machine starts looking out for number one?"
"Only God knows."
"I don't think God has anything to do with it," Henry said. "It's basic human nature. When it comes down to it, most of us are going to look out for ourselves, and the ones who don't, well…"
"They're the ones who end up bein' cashiered from the Coalition Defense Force while the real criminals walk away with the money," Vidia said. He ignored the pointed, almost angry glare from Henry. "And it comes around to it again, Jim. You won't forgive."
"Forgive who? The corrupt sons-of-bitches making money off of our blood?" Henry asked. Heat filled his voice. "The politicians and generals who decide that it's better for the service if the whole thing is hushed? Don't want to rattle the boat. There's a war on. We'll ruin the life of the one guy who tried to do the right thing." Henry leaned forward at his desk. "In the Coalition, we go out believing God's on our side. Doesn't matter if you're Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or Bahá'í…"
Vidia nodded slightly, recognizing the listing of his religion among the larger ones. He wasn't new to the rant, but he still listened quietly.
"That's what we're told again and again. But it's not driven the League off our frontier. It's not winning the war. When you look into it, you see the Coalition's got corruption just like the League. Hell, it's everywhere. That's what life out here has taught me. No matter where I've gone, it's all corruption and hypocrisy." Henry thumped his hand on his desk. "And here I am, running errands for Vitorino, who's just as corrupt as the bastards who threw me out of the CDF. So what's that make me?"
"A man tryin' to survive, like any of us." Vidia smiled wistfully. "I think God understands that."
A harsh little chuckle was Henry's answer. "It must be nice, having faith."
"You used to."
"Yeah. Then I realized something." Henry's voice had lost its heat. It had lost all but the barest hint of emotion. "I realized the truth about God."
"And you will enlighten me?" Vidia asked with genuine interest. It was new ground for them.
"If He's out there… He stopped caring about humanity a long time ago." Henry leaned back in his seat. "And I don't blame Him."
Vidia inclined his head. "Well," he said, "that is a breakthrough of a sort. But I still think you need to forgive if you're goin' to feel any better, Jim."
"And who do you think I should forgive?"
"Yourself."
With that, Vidia departed, leaving Henry to his work and his thoughts.
4
For Miri Gaon, time was nearly out. Her second tank of air was down to twenty percent. Several hours of exhausted sleep might have given her an hour or two extra from the lower breathing rate, but that was all. In about four or five hours, give or take twenty minutes, the oxygen content of her breathing air would begin declining. More and more waste gases would build up in the suit. She would get light-headed and have trouble breathing until everything stopped.
It was not an enti
rely unpleasant way to die. There were worse methods. Escaping execution was why she was out there in the first place.
As her hours ticked down, Miri considered the choices that led her to her stay in the void. After Lowery and the commendations, the medals, the debriefings… she might have stayed on. Not in the field, as the League knew who she was, but she might have gone into training. She could’ve taught and guided others to match her accomplishments. It was what her superiors expected. But she would never put another human being through the same hells she'd gone through.
She chose retirement instead. Because of the scope of her accomplishments, they were kind enough. She received the full pension by special dispensation instead of the half-pension her early retirement would have otherwise mandated.
But pensions couldn’t buy security that easily, and the League knew who she was. They had agents in Coalition space as much as the Coalition had agents in League space. Those agents could be given the orders to have her executed, just as they went after defectors. She would forever live with an eye open at night and a gun under her pillow.
But out in neutral space, going from planet to planet and hiring on with any spacecraft looking for an extra hand, she was a moving target. And she got to see the galaxy. Worlds that still had peace. No rationing, no war reports dominating the news, no cheap politics with everyone accusing one another of defeatism.
Nothing to remind her of Lowery or of what she had done.
Miri's eyes went back to the display. Five percent. She was nearly out of time.
Maybe that was okay. Perhaps dying out there, alone in the dark, just herself and God, was what was meant to be.
She prayed it was true in the moments before she fell asleep for what might be the final time.
5
Gamavilla
Lusitania, Independent System, Neutral Space
5 August 2460
The parliament building of the Republic of Lusitania was a work of art. People from across the planet, indeed from across the entire Trifid Nebula region, came to view the building of alabaster marble and granite from its place at the end of the Plaza of the Republic—known locally as Praça da República. On its north end, it was bordered by the Rua da República that connected to the aforementioned plaza, being one of the main roads of the capital city Gamavilla. The south entrance facing the plaza was faced with marble sculptures of some of the most significant figures in the history of the founding states, with the fresco above the classical columns at the entrance depicting the signing of the Accords of Colonization between the leaders of the Portuguese, Moroccan, Galician, and Basque colonists who had settled the planet four centuries before.
Inside the building, public tours were permitted limited access to see the works of art bequeathed to the Republic over its existence. Beautiful paintings and sculptures, calligraphic art in the Islamic style, and fine crafted items of Berber make were all found in the rotunda to celebrate the peoples of the Republic.
At present, a group of schoolchildren was the largest group of visitors, tended by a teacher and four chaperones who were seeing to their charges. They were reviewing a painting of the landing of the Vasco da Gama, the colony ship that gave Gamavilla its name.
Without prompting, a man in an elegant dark suit spoke. "You are enjoying yourselves, I hope. Education is always served by enjoyment."
"I am," a particularly bold child announced from the group. One of the chaperones and a teacher each gave the child a look, but he seemed unfazed by it.
"There is quite a story behind that painting," the man said. "It was made ten years after colonization by the first great painter of Lusitania, Miguel Hakkaoui. He was half Moroccan himself and landed aboard the Idris ibn Abdallah."
"But I thought each nation stayed apart in those days?" another child asked. "In school, they said we had no unity."
"Not yet. But some of our people were working on that. We enjoy the result of those labors and efforts. Can anyone tell me why we came out to this planet?"
After several seconds of seeing no other response, the eager boy said, "To get away from Earth. We followed the Exodus Fleet to Sagittarius, although we did not join their Coalition."
"Why not?" another child asked.
The man answered before the boy could. "Because we wished to be our own peoples. We had cultures we wanted to preserve. This is of understandable importance to me, you understand, for I am the Minister of Culture as well as Trade."
With that revelation, Duarte Vitorino enjoyed the shocked, almost horrified expressions on the faces of the teacher and chaperone. Another politician might have been bothered that they had not immediately recognized him, especially not like they might recognize Caetano—but who wouldn't know Cristina Caetano, the she-wolf of the Tagus Valley? He was just fine with his relative anonymity. There were other ways to get things done than to be the center of attention.
"I am quite sorry," he added, devoting his attention to the group. "I rarely get to go unrecognized, and it was a treat to see the children enjoying their trip. Thank you for your time. I must be off now."
"Thank you for your time, sir," the teacher said, still visibly shaken. "We are honored. Are we not, children?"
The children agreed in a chorus that combined the genuinely enthusiastic with the utterly bored.
Vitorino smiled and nodded before moving on.
* * *
After a meeting with the Prime Minister and other senior legislators on his pending trade agreements, Vitorino left the parliament building to visit his favorite café, a lovely place along the plaza called Abdul's. Named for its Moroccan founder, it served cuisine from across Lusitania, and Vitorino enjoyed the recipes used. He preferred sitting at one of its street-side tables and seeing the life of Gamavilla's center, the people attending its café.
His lunch usually went peacefully. But today, he knew it would not. That expectation was proven correct when he looked up to pour another glass of Madeira and noticed the approaching figure.
Paulina Ascaro. She was, like him, a politician, and she'd been his colleague as the Commerce Minister. But she was with the Party for Democratic Unity and had lost her cabinet ministry after a snap election. Vitorino thought her solely to blame, as she'd tried—and failed—to break the governing coalition by voting against a new bill streamlining the rules by which the government could enact the State of Siege. While her voters in the city and region of Zalain within the Basque districts returned her to the assembly in defiance of the government, her party failed to gain the extra votes that would thwart the government in signing the law.
Were Vitorino the more paranoid type, he would have been worried about being seen with her in public. She was, after all, a significant opposition leader, and his coalition allies in Cristina Caetano's PdDN—Partido da Defesa Nacional, Party of National Defense—particularly hated her. They tend to hate everyone who disagrees with them, given their fascistic nationalist ideology. An accusation that he was working with her might cause him trouble. But he was confident in his influence within his party, the National-Republicans, and in his standing in the government, so he let her approach without comment.
She was near him in age, three years younger, as far as he knew, but she looked ten years older. Her nose seemed almost too small for her pinched-in face. Brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, covered as they were by the austere dark business jacket she was wearing, which helped hide a thin frame that made her look almost anorexic. Not that she was weak, of course. Vitorino thought her greatest vice was not weakness but her strength of will, which often translated into a stubborn behavior he considered mulish and counterproductive. He refrained from a sigh and set down his fork, waiting to hear her speak.
"Minister, good afternoon," she said, her Portuguese accented from her Basque upbringing.
"Good afternoon, Assemblywoman," he said amiably. "Would you like to sit? I bought a bottle of Madeira that I have yet to complete."
"That won't be necessary," she
said. "I just wanted to confirm that those trade treaties you've supported have met final cabinet approval."
He smiled. "Some of my colleagues should be careful. Caetano would be incensed to know you have ears in the cabinet."
"I'm sure she would. It will make her attempts to complete a fascist takeover of our world more transparent."
Vitorino sighed. "Come now, Assemblywoman—"
"Don't tell me you believe her sated, Minister. You're too intelligent by half. The woman intends to consolidate power and remove the last vestiges of our rights. The behavior of her political thugs makes that clear."
Vitorino couldn't argue the point. The PdDN's behavior, at least that of their street-level members, did often go too far. And members of the Party for Democratic Unity and other democratic parties were often their victims. "We have censured the conduct of her people more than once, and she does what she can to rein in their passions," he said, a hint of humor in his voice at how untrue the statement was.
"That’s the government's line, I know, and it's a sick joke," Ascaro replied. "You gave her the Defense and Home Ministries. She controls the military, the gendarme, the RSS, and the police. And she uses them on my supporters while her own get away with literal murder!" There was clear heat at the end. Ascaro's parliamentary calm was weakening.
"Her party is third in seats. No functioning government coalition can form without them," Vitorino pointed out calmly. "Caetano knows it. I'm afraid I can do nothing until we have another election."
"You're assuming we have another one. With the State of Siege laws…"
"I'm well aware of your concerns, Assemblywoman. But again, I can do nothing. I am Minister of Trade and Culture, not the Prime Minister. Perhaps the PdDN will weaken before the next election cycle."
"Even if they did, the violence the PdDN uses will warp the results. You and I both know they undermined the last election."
Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight Page 61