Nearspace Trilogy

by Sherry D. Ramsey

  I felt my face flush slightly. Had my unspoken question been so obvious? I merely said, “Thank you.”

  “They left us with an ethical dilemma,” Fha continued. “Could we stand quietly by and allow them to find other species and perpetrate the same aggressions? After much consideration and debate, it was decided that we were morally constrained to try and stop the Chron.”

  She swung her head side to side sorrowfully, dark eyes troubled, beak low. “We were regrettably slow in reaching this decision, and the Chron had already found your Nearspace and begun systematically attacking you. By the time we stopped them, you had suffered greatly.

  “We found this system, a ‘hub’ system which the Chron used to travel to various others. Several natural wormholes converged here, and we configured several others—”

  “Pardon me,” Viss interjected in his politest voice, “did you say ‘configured’ wormholes? As in, constructed them?”

  The Corvid nodded. “It is not a simple technology to manipulate, and the resource costs are extremely high. We were also fearful that it might fall into Chron hands, as some of our other technology did. But there seemed little choice. We established this station and others, and the attendant guardian asteroid fields, to keep the Chron contained within systems they already controlled.”

  “I can’t imagine they were too happy about that,” Hirin said.

  “An understatement,” the Corvid agreed with a bob of her head. “It was during this time also that we sent data-collecting drones into your Nearspace, and learned much about your several species. That is why we appear proficient with your language. It is actually being filtered through a database and translated as we speak—but it allows a comfortable semblance of conversation.”

  “But it’s been a century and a half since our Chron War,” Baden noted. “Surely you haven’t been holding them off while they hammered away at this system all that time?”

  “Fortunately, no. They’ve had other things to concern them in that time, notably a schism in their society between the warlike sects and more peaceful ones—although we have been unable to learn many specifics. That set them back decades.”

  “But now?” I asked. “From what we’ve seen, they seem to be on the offensive again. And after so long, why are they apparently breaking through your defenses?”

  “They certainly are on the offensive. Despite their setbacks, they have not stood still in the development of technology. They are not content to stay within the systems they currently control. They have become more adept at using algorithms to calculate and navigate a path through the asteroid fields, as well as developing a stealth mechanism so they can sneak through the wormholes.”

  “Why not simply destroy the wormholes that lead out of their systems?” Rei asked bluntly. “Cut them off, seal them in, and forget about them?”

  Fha’s beak fluttered again in what might have been a Corvid smile. “Destroying wormholes is not as easy as you might think. We can disable them temporarily—you saw that when our ship fired on the renegade Chron who was trying to reach your Nearspace.”

  I sat forward. “You mean the damage to that wormhole is temporary?”

  She nodded. “In relative terms. It will revert to its previous state naturally, usually within—” she paused, then finished, “three to five of your years.”

  My heart sank. Three to five years! PrimeCorp could harm Mother in a matter of days, much less years—if they hadn’t already done so. I shied away from that thought. As for me and my condition—I shuddered, remembering my earlier nosebleed. I was quite certain I’d be dead long before that wormhole was in working order. I forced myself to nod. “I see.”

  “So it is a temporary solution, and there is another reason that is more—mysterious,” the Corvid went on. “We cannot explain it, at least not yet. When a wormhole—a naturally occurring one—is disrupted, we have found that another one will soon appear, connecting the same two systems as the original. Its endpoints may be a great distance from the originals, but there it will stay, as stable as the first one was, for as long as it is needed. When the original wormhole is restored, the replacement will, after a time, dissipate. It is as if some fundamental balance in the cosmos must be restored and maintained.”

  Hope surged again. “So a new wormhole could open at any time between Nearspace and the system where we were stranded?”

  The Corvid nodded gravely. “Yes. But it may be difficult or nearly impossible to find, and there is no way to predict precisely when it will appear.”

  I sighed. “Okej. So you can’t seal the Chron into their systems. What do you think they’re after now?”

  She shrugged. “More of the same, we imagine. They reject all attempts on our part to communicate with them. Their initial forays into this system, and their attempts to break through into others, intensified recently.”

  I glanced over at Hirin and caught his eye. He cocked an eyebrow. Had the Protectorate scientists, mucking around on the artifact moon, somehow turned the eyes of the Chron toward Nearspace once again?

  “I fear that difficult times may lie ahead for us, and for others,” the Corvid said.

  “I’m certain you’ll find the inhabitants of Nearspace to be allies,” I said, “but is there any way to forestall another war before it begins?”

  “If there is, we have not been able to find it,” she said. “We cannot indefinitely keep them from leaving their systems, if we cannot destroy the wormholes, and they do not wish to be confined. The only thing that has restrained them this long is the schism in their society—should the two sides reunite with a shared agenda of conquest, or should the warlike Chron find other allies, we would not be able to stop them.”

  “Is that likely?” Hirin asked.

  Fha raised her shoulders and dropped them in a very human shrug. “We do not know. We have had little contact even with the peaceful ones. They are—mistrustful at best.”

  “Which is why you thought we’d be safer staying here,” Viss said.

  The Corvid nodded. “We felt obliged to offer you our protection, since it was the actions of one of our ships that severed your means of returning home directly.”

  “But we can’t stay here,” I said. “We need to return to Nearspace as quickly as possible. For many reasons, as well as warning others about the impending threat of the Chron.”

  “In addition to which, the Captain is ill and needs special medical attention,” Yuskeya added.

  I threw her a reproachful frown, but she ignored me.

  Fha regarded me with a keen eye. “We have limited knowledge of your physiology, so I am afraid we could be of little assistance in that regard.”

  Rei continued my initial thought. “But can you help us get back to Nearspace?” she asked impatiently. “Everything hinges on that, and so far, well, you haven’t been very encouraging in that department.”

  The Corvid regarded her unblinkingly. “I cannot get you there,” she said finally. “But I can show you a way. Whether or not you choose to take it is up to you.”

  The holographic image of the wormhole that had been suspended above her head disappeared, and a starmap took its place. The configuration was completely unfamiliar to me, and extremely complex, showing numerous systems linked by wormholes. There were more systems than in all of Nearspace, and I felt a sudden insignificance.

  A series of three wormhole skips blinked green, and my heart sank.

  “Three skips?” Hirin asked, trying, I could tell, to sound optimistic. “That might not be too bad, if the in-system travel times are reasonable. This is the most direct route?”

  “It is not the most direct,” the Corvid said, “but slightly less dangerous than the most direct. I still have mixed feelings about the propriety of even offering this as a possibility. Because,” she said, and the middle two systems in the route changed to slowly blink red, “it will take you directly through a sector of Chron space. Which makes it difficult for me to calculate your chances of survival.”


  Chapter 23 – Jahelia

  Zelendu and Jousting

  I LET MYSELF drop into my chair, my hands falling from the screen where I’d been furiously typing all I’d heard over my eavesdropping rig—which consisted of Pita, in my datapad, patched into the bridge comm system.

  “Sankta merde, Pita, did you hear all that?” I subvocalized into the throat touch mic.

  “That they’re going into Chron space? Yeah, I heard it. I can’t believe we went to all that trouble to download me into this thing and bring it aboard, only to end up on a suicide mission.”

  I pursed my lips. “I don’t know—we might have a slim chance of survival. Whatever else I might think about Luta Paixon and her crew, they seem to have a knack for getting out of tight situations unscathed.”

  “This is not a tight situation.” Pita’s voice sounded dryly amused in my head. “This is a death sentence.”

  “Oh, come on. You can’t even die.”

  “I feel like I can die,” she retorted. “Doesn’t that amount to the same thing?”

  I wasn’t interested in getting into an existential argument with my PAREA AI at the moment. “Anyway, that was only part of what I meant. Did you hear them talking about the tech these crow-things have?” I got up from the chair, pacing the small room. It was killing me that I didn’t know yet what the aliens looked like. All I knew was what I’d overheard from the bridge. “Creating and manipulating wormholes? Static asteroid fields? Can you imagine what some of that would bring in Nearspace? Alin Sedmamin, for one, would literally drool on his great big shiny desk if I told him I could get him tech like that.”

  “I didn’t hear the crow make any offer to share that technology,” Pita observed. “In fact, she sounded fairly annoyed that some of it had fallen into Chron hands in the past.”

  “Well, I’m obviously not going to ask them for it. But if the opportunity presents itself—”

  “Um, and how exactly do you propose to get your hands on any kind of tech or specs? You’re sort of a prisoner here. We’re sort of prisoners here.”

  The room was bigger than my sleeping quarters on the Hunter’s Hope, but it felt cramped. Even smaller when you tried to pace inside its confines. I didn’t need Pita to remind me of our situation. It had been less than twenty-four hours since I’d come aboard the Tane Ikai, and I was already starting to chafe at the restraint. At least the news about the Hunter’s Hope was good—if I could return to claim her before someone else decided she was salvage. But that worry could wait. One problem at a time.

  “Our situation could change if you could get access to the ship network,” I reminded her. “I didn’t bring you along for your scintillating conversation.”

  Her heavy sigh whistled through my brain. “I’m getting there. I think I’m close. There are always vulnerabilities in every system, I just have to find the right one.”

  “Keep at it, then.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  The trouble was I didn’t feel like the boss. I felt completely at the mercy of Paixon and her crew and these aliens and the whims of fate. Helpless, like in those old nightmares. And I hated it.

  Shedding my jacket and pushing my chair against the far wall, I moved into the slow, rhythmic movements of a zelendu form. It was much harder to concentrate without the smooth, polished wood of a vazel staff in my hands, but mine had been left behind on the Hunter’s Hope. I chose a form that took only three square feet of floor space, and pulled some of my kicks. Didn’t want to hit a wall and bring someone running to see if I was trying to break out. That thought made me smile. With luck, and Pita’s help, I wouldn’t have to resort to anything so crude. Only halfway through the workout, a knock sounded on the door. I took a quick glance to make sure neither neither Pita nor the room computer would arouse any suspicions, then said, “Come on in.”

  “I’ve disengaged the lock, but my hands are full. Can you open it?” said a muffled, female voice.

  “Sure thing.”

  A woman I hadn’t seen before stood outside the door with a plate of steaming food and a tall, condensation-beaded glass. Her blonde hair had been pulled into a practical ponytail, but the shorter layers had come free and framed her face. I’d put her age around forty, perhaps—although I, of all people, know that appearances can be deceiving. This had to be the captain’s daughter; she certainly wasn’t the Erian pilot. Blue eyes regarded me shrewdly.

  “Supper time,” she said, gesturing slightly with the dishes. “Spicy pasta and vegetable paste, nothing fancy, I’m afraid.”

  I shrugged. “If someone else cooks it, I’m happy.” I took the plate and glass from her, turned and took the few steps necessary to set them down on the desk. When I turned back, she still stood there, arms crossed, studying me.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  She tilted her head slightly to the side. “I’m trying to figure you out, honestly.”

  I laughed. “Good luck with that. I don’t have myself entirely figured out. Maja, right? Captain’s daughter?”

  She nodded and pursed her lips. “I haven’t really decided if I think you’re a criminal, or merely another one of Alin Sedmamin’s pawns,” she said, shifting her weight to lean against the door frame. “Don’t take offense—he fooled me for a long time, too.”

  I wondered if she realized how easy it would be for me to take a couple of steps, grab her elbow, and twist. Hit the pressure point that would have her on her knees, gasping and whimpering. Then I could head for the bridge, or anywhere else I wanted on the damn ship. She didn’t seem at all worried. Maybe she knew zelendu too, or warrior chi, or some other hand-to-hand. She looked fit enough. Or maybe she realized I had nowhere to go that would do me any damn good.

  “Sedmamin’s pretty easy to read. He wants power first, money second . . . and we didn’t go beyond that in our conversations.” I sat in the desk chair so I wouldn’t be so tempted to knock her unconscious. “I don’t think of myself as a criminal, if that counts for anything.”

  “Everyone’s the hero of their own story.” She shrugged. “I do think you’re a user, though. You used Baden to try and get information about Mother.”

  “Oh, he told you about that, did he? I wondered if he would.”

  “I guess it didn’t mean that much to him,” she said.

  “No, Baden’s a big boy. I don’t think he was in any danger of being hurt by little old me.”

  “You probably think you’re using Alin Sedmamin, too.”

  I smiled. “Between you and me, I don’t like the man. Entirely too slick. But he can talk a good game. I can see how some people would be taken in by him.”

  She didn’t rise to the bait. “PrimeCorp’s been in the ‘using people’ business for a long time. Sedmamin has a lot more experience at it than you do.”

  That’s what you think. She radiated such smugness, standing there, that suddenly I wanted to hurt her. “Now, Baden Methyr, there’s another slick talker. You think I used him, but it wasn’t like he didn’t—”

  “Would you even care if PrimeCorp actually harmed my grandmother? That was the message you brought Mother, wasn’t it?”

  The abrupt change of topic caught me off guard. I almost said No, I wouldn’t care, in fact I’d be damn happy about it since she ruined my father’s life. To say nothing of mine. But I didn’t. I swallowed those words, smiled, and said, “Isn’t Baden Methyr kind of young for you? But then, I read in your mother’s file that you were a teacher. Maybe you like them young.”

  She was good, I’ll give her that. She didn’t flinch. She narrowed her eyes a little and nodded slowly, like she was talking to herself. “You know, I can see how angry you are. It practically lights up the air around you. I can see it, because that was me, for a long, long time. But I don’t know what your anger’s about.”

  I blew out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, Maja, as much fun as this has been, I’m really not sure what it is you want from me. My supper’s getting cold, and that will
make me angry. So unless you have a point to make . . .” I raised my eyebrows at her.

  “Nope, that’s all,” she said, straightening. “I’m sure we’ll talk again. Enjoy your supper.”

  She shut the door, and I heard the plasma bar click into place, locking me in. Her footsteps retreated on the metal decking, unhurried. Our verbal jousting hadn’t made her run off crying, that was for sure.

  I stared at the plate of pasta for a long moment, fighting the urge to pick up the whole mess and hurl it at the wall. Angry? Damn right, I was angry. I was angry at Emmage Mahane, I was angry at smarmy Alin Sedmamin, I was angry at the stupid aliens who’d put me in this situation. I was angry at everyone on this ship. I was even angry at my poor, dead father, who’d made bad decisions and kept too many secrets when he was alive and left me to deal with them when he was gone.

  I closed my eyes and drew in a long, slow breath, pursed my lips, and blew it out again. Breathe. Repeat. Breathe. Why had I even engaged with the woman? So far, I thought I’d held the upper hand in every conversation I’d had with these people—well, except when Paixon had cut me off. But I’d let her daughter get to me. I didn’t even know how she’d done it. I felt an irrational urge to refuse to eat the supper simply because she’d brought it to me. The rational part of my brain reminded me that the gesture would be pointless. I was sure no-one on the Tane Ikai would lose any sleep over me not eating, and I was the one who’d be hungry.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Pita said in a chipper voice.

  “I’m not in the mood.” Slowly I took up the fork and scooped up a bite of pasta.

  “How’s supper?”

  “Pita,” I said in what I hoped was a warning voice. Honestly, the vegetable paste was delicious, but I wouldn’t admit that to anyone.

  “Well, then, are you in the mood for this?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m in. We’ve got access to the entire ship network.”

  I swallowed and smiled. “Good work, Pita. I knew you could do it.”