Nearspace Trilogy

by Sherry D. Ramsey

  She shook her head. “No, not lame. I’m not sure what it is. But the annoying part about it is that you make me want to do this thing, too. Because of everyone else in Nearspace, and not just because of what might be in it for me.” She mock-glared at me. “That pisses me off more than anything else.”

  I laughed. “I think there’s more to you than that tough exterior you show the world, and you don’t want to admit it.”

  She gazed off over my head, into the far distance at something only she could see. “Well. I guess I’ll see what I can do to help, if that does turn out to be what Sedmamin wants. It should be interesting to hear what he has to say, anyway.”

  Jahelia Sord slid off the table and brought her empty mug over to me. “Thanks for the caff.”

  I took a second to change mental gears. “There’s one other thing,” I said as I took the mug and set it inside the scrubber.

  She raised her eyebrows. “The other shoe falls.”

  I smiled. “Nothing too serious. But it’s about— the nanobioscavengers,” I said.

  Her face went very still. The look was gone in an instant, but I’d seen it, and I knew the casual lightness of her voice when she spoke was at least partly a put-on. “What about them?”

  “I talked to my mother about you. She thinks you should see her to get checked over and maybe—probably—get an infusion of newer, better bioscavs. If mine could fail, so could yours, anytime. They’re about the same age, even if they might not be the same prototype.”

  Her face still had that closed-off look, even as she kept her tone casual. “I’ve never had any problems,” she said, “but tell your mother, thanks for the offer.”

  I frowned. “Don’t just shrug it off. Your parents both died—you told me that. Theirs failed. Given the time frame, yours can’t be all that different.”

  She crossed back to her chair to collect her jacket. “Thanks for the caff, and the gossip about Sedmamin,” she said, shrugging into the coat. “I’ll get in touch when I hear anything from him, and you can do the same. You know how to reach me. In the meantime, I’m due some rest and relaxation, and FarView’s a good place for that.”

  “But you’ll think about it? The nanobioscavengers?”

  She didn’t answer right away, just buttoned up her jacket and pulled it down over her hips. Then she turned a bright, false smile my way. “Thanks, Paixon. I’m sure we’ll talk again soon. I know the way out.”

  Without waiting for me to answer, she turned and strode out of the galley.

  TWO DAYS PASSED without any word from either Sedmamin or Jahelia Sord. I’d never admit it to Viss Feron, but what I missed most was Viss asking my permission to tear apart this system or that intake, since we had some “down” time. I wondered what he and Lanar were doing all this time. I wondered if they’d found Yuskeya and the others. I wondered when we would hear something. I wondered if I was going to go crazy waiting.

  Rei and Maja did their best to distract me—hell, they were distracting themselves, too, and they knew it as well as I did. We went shopping on the mercantile level, and between them they made me buy more new clothes than I normally would have in a year. I was sure some things would be consigned to a drawer and never seen again. We all went out and dined in some of the restaurants, trying to keep the conversation light and fun. We took in entertainment; a play adapted from a Tali Shonen novel I’d read, and a blues band playing in a poky little club. Twice I saw Jahelia Sord out and about on her own errands, but apart from a smile and a nod, she made no move to join us or strike up a conversation.

  It was the longest sojourn I’d ever made on FarView—usually we might drop in to offload or pick up some cargo, or make a one-night stopover so that people could get off the ship and physically and metaphorically “stretch their legs.” The station was home to about six thousand residents, with another thousand travellers, tourists, and visitors likely to be aboard at any given time. Many of the permanent residents worked in scientific research for one corporation or another, because none of the Corps owned FarView—it was maintained by the Worlds Council and governed by the NWAC, and was mandated to offer equal opportunity to anyone who wanted to live, work, or trade there. The three docking arms extended from the top of the central hub, which in turn was comprised of habitat, mercantile, entertainment, cargo, administrative, food production, and laboratory levels. Each arm was capable of docking ships on four sides, so there was rarely a problem obtaining a docking assignment.

  The Protectorate maintained administrative offices on FarView, partly because it was responsible for station security, and partly because it was a convenient hub in the system. So Protectorate uniforms mingled in the crowds of civilians on all of the levels. I kept an eye out for Regina Holles, since Lanar had said she was here, but beyond our initial conversation our paths didn’t cross.

  On the third day after we’d arrived, Hirin and I had left the Tane Ikai to seek out a bit of lunch on one of the mercantile levels. We found a little cafe with a view wall on the outer rim of the station offering a lovely overlook on the vista of star-studded space. We were lingering over dessert—cinnamon pano studded with dried jarlees fruit that made me lonely for Yuskeya—when the station klaxon startled everyone around us.

  “Lockdown protocol initiated,” a calm but commanding voice intoned over the ship’s comm system. “Please proceed to refuge stations.”

  Around us, chairs scraped the floor as people began to move toward the cafe’s exit. They stayed calm, but concerned faces and whispered questions flurried all around us. Solar flare? Radiation pocket? Micrometeoroid dust cloud?

  Hirin looked a question at me and I raised my eyebrows, pushing my own chair back. The comm system continued to issue instructions in that clear, unruffled voice.

  Residents, please return to the habitat levels or proceed to a designated refuge station. Visitors, please return to your ships or proceed to the nearest refuge station. Refuge stations are identified by a red ring or circle icon.

  “Should we try to get back to the ship? Or find a refuge station?” I asked Hirin.

  “We’re three levels down from the docking arms,” he said, one hand firm on my elbow as we joined the flow of people leaving the cafe. The crowd jostled us along with it. “I think we’d better look for a station.”

  I thumbed my ID implant and pinged Maja. “Where are you?” I asked when she answered.

  “On the ship, with Baden,” she said. Her voice was controlled but an undertone of worry gave it a sharp, clipped edge. “You?”

  I had to hold the implant close to my ear to hear her over the announcement system and the worried murmurings around me. “Mercantile. We’re heading to a refuge station. Any idea what’s happening?”

  “None,” she said. “Where’s Rei?”

  “I’ll try to find out. Stay put and stay safe,” I told her. I pinged Rei. She didn’t answer.

  I’m not sure what made me turn my head and look back into the cafe. Maybe I just wondered how many remained inside, maybe it was a premonition. But as I did, my eyes sought the dark of space outside the cafe’s view wall. A flash of light sparked in the void—a flash I knew all too well. The flare of a ship’s shields responding to impact. No explosion followed, so the shields had held. But that was a dogfight. Headed this way.

  I caught at Hirin, turning him to look.

  “Kia inferna?” he muttered. “Who’s that?”

  “I don’t know, but we’d better get to that refuge station.” Part of me wanted to stay here and watch, but common sense vetoed that idea. We joined the throng of people again, and I pinged Rei. Still no response. I wondered how many pings flew around the station and if anyone could hear the notifications above the din of worried people.

  Chaos threatened to blossom out in the main corridor. The thin veneer of calm rubbed off as folks made decisions about where to run—home, work, refuge stations. I spotted the red circle over an open bulkhead perhaps twenty-five metres down the corridor, on the hubward s
ide. People scurried in through the opening. Could we make it there through the sea of bodies before the space was filled and they shut the door? We had to try.

  The klaxon continued its incessant, grating bleat. The calm, cadenced instructions coming over the station’s comm hadn’t changed in frequency or intensity, but the repetition underscored the urgency of the situation. This was no false alarm. Something bad was happening outside, and anything that included ship-based weaponry had the potential to—

  The first impact hit the station. We’d made it only halfway to the refuge station. FarView’s own shields flared with an intensity that flashed in through every view wall visible from the corridor. I closed my eyes involuntarily against the light and felt Hirin’s arm slip around my waist as the decking shuddered under our feet. Screams and shouts reverberated off the walls of the corridor. The refuge station’s bulkhead door slammed closed. We were out of time.

  Someone is attacking the station. My brain knew it, but I couldn’t accept it. This could not be happening. How could this be happening?

  “Luta.” Hirin’s voice was hard and low, his breath soft against my ear. “Run!”

  Chapter 9 – Lanar

  Aliens and Rescues

  EYES RIVETED ON the grainy video, I felt my hands clutch into fists inside the enviro-suit, the creases of fabric digging into my flesh. My throat tightened, making my breathing harsh and rasping in my own ears. Beside me I sensed Viss go very, very still. What nightmarish thing was about to happen to Yuskeya and the others? What is this Corvid showing me?

  Yuskeya looked up, startled at the entrance of the five Chron figures, and I saw her hand dart involuntarily to draw a weapon she wasn’t wearing. The Chron had their backs to the camera filming the scene, so I couldn’t see their faces, but every Protectorate member knew the sleek outlines of Chron armour. Didkovsky, also unarmed, launched himself in front of Andresson and Summergale.

  Then the entire tableau froze or paused. No one moved, and Yuskeya continued to kneel next to the injured Corvid, looking up at the Chron. I glanced at Fha, but the Corvid kept her uninjured black eye fixed on the playback.

  On the screen, Yuskeya suddenly nodded and stood, then turned to speak to Andresson and Didkovsky. I realized belatedly that the video hadn’t paused—one of the Chron, or more than one, had been speaking to her. Andresson nodded, although Didkovsky’s face, cloudily visible through his helmet, looked defiant. Yuskeya spoke again, leaning toward him with an intensity I recognized all too well, and after a moment he nodded, too. What happened next shook me. Together, Yuskeya and one of the Chron helped the fallen Corvid to his feet, an arm draped over each of them, although the taller alien had to stoop to make it work. I realized when the Corvid began to move that one of its legs must also be injured. The smooth glide that usually characterized the crow-like alien’s motion was gone, replaced by a struggling limp.

  Didkovsky helped Summergale to stand, and I realized that the Lobor had suffered an injury as well. The video jittered and the image blurred, presumably as the station suffered another strike. One of the Chron put out a hand to steady Yuskeya as she almost stumbled. Moving together, the group slowly exited the camera’s range.

  I turned to Fha, frowning, and she regarded me with one bright eye. “Those Chron helped them,” I said slowly. “They were not the ones who were attacking the station.”

  Fha clicked her beak-like mouth. “No, they were of the peaceful Chron your sister learned about. They came with several ships to help us, because their network for gathering intelligence on the violent faction indicated the attack was going to happen. They helped save the uruglat from destruction.”

  I swallowed. “And what of my people? What happened to them?”

  Fha turned from the now-static video display and walked slowly away from it, back toward the central display where she’d stood when we entered the room. Viss and I followed. Dr. Ahmed and Lt. Commander Galwan took a few steps, then hung back, surveying the rest of the room.

  “The uruglat suffered heavy damage—so much so that we knew, should your people’s environmental suits fail, we would not be able to provide proper atmospheric conditions for them. The Chron took them onto their own ship, and away to safety,” Fha said. She pulled a spindly hand from inside her robe and held something out to me. Despite my revulsion at the proximity of those terrible claws, I put out my gloved hand, and she placed the item on my palm. It was a datachip. A very familiar-looking datachip that could have come straight from Nearspace.

  “This holds a message for you, from the one who travelled with your sister and stayed with the peaceful Chron.”

  “Cerevare?” Viss asked. “She was here?”

  Fha nodded. “The—Lobor, you call them?—was the one who brought the message to me. She left it so that when someone came looking for your people, they would know where to go.”

  Viss sighed heavily. “If Cerevare has them, I feel better already.”

  I nodded and slipped the datachip into a pocket of my envirosuit, securing the pocket closed carefully. “And what about you? Is there any way we can assist you?”

  The tall, crow-like alien bowed slightly. “We appreciate your offer, Admiralo,” she said, “but in reality, there is little you can do for us. We have reconfigured the uruglat so that we may make repairs, and we have supplies enough. Others of our kind are on their way to help.”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but she put a long-fingered hand on my arm. Her grip was firm although the bones of her hand felt too fragile to hold such strength. I tried not to think about her talons. “Without the uruglat, we cannot control and maintain the asteroid barriers. Some of them were destroyed by the Chron ships, and we cannot restore or reconfigure them at this time.”

  I nodded. “The one we came through was pulverized.”

  “That means your Nearspace—as well as other systems for which we acted as a guardpost—are at risk. If the Chron come with the means to easily clear away the debris from that wormhole, or ships that can navigate it without damage, they are one step closer to your systems. We will continue to do what we can, but this severely impedes our ability to keep the Chron constrained.”

  “I understand.” I put my own gloved hand over hers. “We will set a guard on the wormhole on our side. And the one in Tau Ceti. They will not be able to come without our knowledge.”

  Fha looked down at me, her one visible eye dark with what I felt was a pitying look. “The Chron will come where and when you least expect it, my friend. Do not be complacent, thinking they have no way in.”

  “You mean the ghosted wormholes?” I nodded. “My sister has told me about those.”

  “Yes. You must be prepared for what you cannot even see. They are ruthless and implacable. Do not underestimate them.”

  “Thank you for your wise words, and your help,” I said. “When we return through the wormhole, we plan to deploy communications beacons to more easily maintain a connection with you here. We will still have to pass messages through the intermediary system, but it will make communications somewhat easier. Are you amenable to the idea?”

  She nodded and took her hand from my arm, slipping it into her robe again. “That will be most agreeable,” she said. “I can have one of our communications engineers give you devices to install at beacon points in the intermediary system. That will speed the transfer of messages.”

  I hesitated. “I—can’t wait long. I have to go after our friends.”

  “Your people are safe, and the beacons can be readied within a day,” she said. “It would be faster were we not in such disarray. But I think you can delay that long. And then, you must return to your Nearspace as soon as you have your people. Others must know to be on their guard.”

  “I will,” I assured her. “Thank you for all your help. Can we assist you in any way while we wait?”

  “No, but thank you for your offer,” Fha said. “I believe our alliance with Nearspace will be a good one.”

  “I think so, too,
” I told her. Then I turned and collected the others with a nod, and we wound our way up the black hallways to our ship.

  VISS STRODE BESIDE me, Ahmed and Galwan trailing us as we made our way back to the Cheswick. We didn’t need a guide since it had just been one long hallway, but I suspected that since the Corvids could “reconfigure” their station, it wasn’t always necessarily that way.

  “Dios! Did you see them?” Galwan breathed. “They’re magnificent!”

  “I should put in a request to study them from a medical perspective,” Ahmed mused. “It would be fascinating to see what basic physiology they share with us, and how they differ.”

  Viss caught my eye, and I let them chatter, knowing it was a tension release after a stressful few minutes. I touched the outside of the pocket where I’d slipped the datachip, feeling the comforting presence of its square outline. I wondered what message it held from Cerevare Brindlepaw.

  “The professor must have gained the full trust of those peaceful Chron, if they were willing to take her on a mission with them,” I mused to Viss.

  He nodded. “And, since she’d already been to the Corvid station, I suppose it would make sense to have her along.”

  I wondered what it was like for the Lobor historian, living among the people she’d studied—and possibly hated—all her life.

  Surprisingly quickly, we reached the black docking bay again. The Cheswick waited, half-in and half-out of the station, and I fought down an urge to sprint through the docking bay to the ship. We walked, but we cycled through the airlock without lingering or looking around the bay. It was disconcerting to see the ship partly engulfed by the dark walls, and I didn’t care to study the sight for too long.

  “What now?” Galwan asked as we shucked our EVA suits and hung them in the lockers.

  “You two can return to your stations, and write up the encounter from your own perspectives, if you would. Put in whatever you thought or saw or anything that struck you. Mr. Feron and I will see what’s on this datachip.”