by Ryk Brown
“Outboard ends of the lateral access tunnels, on the sides of the nacelles, off the engineering compartments. One in the nose and a smaller one hanging from the back edge of the utility bay. Oh, and get that damned pressure shield working. We could’ve used that.”
“Uh, it was working, Captain,” Dylan told him. “It shared the same power circuit as the aft shield emitters. We lost the pressure shield when Marcus shot out the emitters.”
Del looked at Marcus. “You shot out the emitters?” he asked. “On purpose?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Marcus replied.
Del’s eyes rolled back.
“I don’t suppose we could get stronger shields?” Nathan asked.
“Not without redesigning the nacelles to accommodate larger ZPEDs,” Del replied.
“That would probably take a few extra days, wouldn’t it,” Nathan surmised.
“A few.”
“I guess we’ll have to wait on that,” Nathan decided. “What about the P-Seventy-Twos?”
“What about them?” Del wondered, his brow furrowing in suspicion.
“Can we beef up their shields as well?”
“Same problem,” Del replied. “Not enough room.”
“Damn. I was hoping the new ones would have better shielding.”
“New ones?” Del asked.
“Yeah, we lost the last two,” Nathan explained.
Del was crestfallen. “The…”
“One survived, the other didn’t,” Nathan replied somberly.
Del’s demeanor completely changed in that moment. “We’ll get it done, Captain,” he promised. “All of it.”
“Thank you, Del,” Nathan replied.
* * *
Nathan had said little since his arrival at Miri’s home on SilTek. He’d visited with his niece and nephew, and he’d spoken with Neli and the Ghatazhak responsible for his family’s security. However, he had offered no more than the usual small talk with his sister.
Miri watched as Nathan picked at his dinner. The two of them had waited to dine until the others had eaten, expecting private conversations about recent events. But none had been forthcoming. More than halfway through their meal, what little conversation had occurred had been about Miri’s progress with her physical therapy.
Finally, Miri decided to press the issue. “When are you going to tell me what happened on Earth?”
“You already know what happened,” Nathan replied.
“I know you lost Loki and Naralena, but that’s all I know. Something else is bothering you.”
“There are lots of things bothering me, Miri,” Nathan insisted. “There are always a lot of things bothering me.”
“Yes, and you usually can’t shut up about them,” she teased. “Now you’ve gone mute. What did you learn on your trip back to Earth?”
“What makes you think I learned anything?”
“Because I can read you like a book, little brother.”
Nathan sighed.
“Now spill, or I’m going to make you finish the rest of this weird, mashed vegetable that Neli concocted.”
“Since when did you resort to cruel and unusual punishment?”
“I’ve got a teenage boy and a pre-teen girl, remember?”
Nathan smiled for the first time since they had sat down to eat.
“Are things that bad back home?”
“Earth isn’t my home,” Nathan insisted. “It hasn’t been for some time.”
“You know what I mean.”
“The entire planet is under martial law, and Galiardi refuses to hold an emergency election during a time of war. A war that he created.”
“And the people are tolerating this?”
“They’re split,” Nathan explained. “Galiardi’s got so much propaganda running that people have no idea what’s true and what’s not. Half of them want the Jung Empire wiped from existence; the other half want an immediate cease-fire. People are protesting all over the world. Many of those protests have turned violent, giving Galiardi an excuse to use deadly force against his own people. There is even an organized underground resistance attacking EDF assets.”
“Well, maybe this resistance can bring Galiardi down?” Miri suggested.
“Not likely,” Nathan replied. “Their numbers are too small, and they don’t have the resources to mount a successful revolution. Even if they did, it would likely turn into a civil war.”
Miri thought for a moment, picking at her own meal. “That’s why you’ve been so quiet.”
“Huh?”
“The right of succession,” she told him. “You think that’s the only way to avoid a civil war.”
“I didn’t say…”
“And you’re worried that if you invoke the right, the fact that you’re a clone will make matters even worse.”
“It might,” Nathan said.
“Yes, it might,” she agreed. “But that’s not why you’re so quiet. You’re afraid I’ll want to invoke the right of succession myself.”
“The people don’t have to know that I’m a clone,” Nathan stated. “Not that many of our own people are even aware of that fact.”
“But you can’t keep it a secret forever,” she argued. “Sooner or later, the people will learn the truth.”
“But if I call for an emergency vote…”
“That’s a big gamble to be taking with an entire world, not to mention all the worlds that are allied with Earth.”
“I don’t see any other course of action.”
“So you’re just going to show up and demand to take over as president? A guy who was executed and buried seven years ago? How well do you think that’s going to go over?” she asked.
“I imagine half the people will be willing to accept it,” Nathan stated.
“Which makes the Earth no better off than before,” she pointed out. “And of course, you’ll still have Galiardi to deal with.”
“Not if I arrest him.”
“For what? Pop’s assassination? You don’t have any evidence. You said so yourself.”
“For lying to the people about the Jung,” Nathan argued. “For dragging them into an unjust war.”
“Good luck with that one,” she scoffed. “Like you said, half the people want to see the Jung obliterated. Part of me doesn’t blame them.”
Nathan looked crossly at his sister.
“I said part of me,” she defended. After a sigh, she added, “It has to be me.”
“What?”
“I have to invoke the right of succession. I am the oldest surviving kin, after all. I was also his personal assistant for seven years, so I’m quite familiar with how things work in Winnipeg.”
“Miri, you’re not ready.”
“I’m never going to be ready, Nathan. Were you ready when you took over the Aurora? Were you ready when you assumed command of the fight against the Dusahn? How is this any different?”
“You have children.”
“Which is precisely why I must do this,” Miri argued. “How am I supposed to instill a sense of right and wrong, of duty and honor, in my children if I don’t live up to those same ideals?”
“It’s a miracle you even survived, Miri,” Nathan reminded her.
“If so, then I’d like to think it was for a reason,” she insisted. “Perhaps this is it?”
Nathan pushed his plate aside, leaning forward on the table, thinking.
“What?” his sister asked.
“I’ve often thought the exact same thing. Why was I revived? Why was I allowed to cheat death, if not for some grand purpose?”
“And what did you conclude?”
Nathan sighed again. “That my survival wasn’t preordained. It was a gift given to me by others. Others who cared for me, and who believed that my continued
existence might better humanity.”
“Is that why you agreed to lead the fight against the Dusahn?”
Nathan chuckled. “No. Everything I just said was bullshit. I just did what felt right at the time.”
“As I’m suggesting I do now.”
“I guess it runs in the family,” Nathan concluded, smiling at his sister.
“I guess so,” she agreed. “Now, how about we go raid the refrigerator and find something good to eat?”
CHAPTER TWO
The jump flash subsided, and the violent shaking of his battered ship stopped. Unfortunately, his cockpit was filled with multiple alarms as critical-failure warning lights flashed all over his console. His fighter was coming apart, and there was nothing he could do to save it.
One light in particular caught his attention. ‘Cabin Pressure’ flashed bright red at the top center of his console. His cockpit was losing pressure, and he had only seconds to react.
The Earth loomed below. Everywhere else was the starry blackness of space. He was losing pressure and had only seconds to react. Attitude control thrusters fired intermittently, causing his ship to pitch, roll, and yaw unpredictably. He needed to get down into the atmosphere before it was too late, but his fighter wasn’t cooperating.
For what seemed an eternity, he fought his flight controls, trying desperately to get his nose down. But every time it began to swing toward the planet, another thruster would fire, knocking his nose back toward space.
Finally, it swung down hard, and he shoved his throttle forward, lighting up his main engine again. His fighter lurched forward but then cut out, and another warning light came on. With any luck, it had been enough.
He closed his eyes and pressed the jump button, praying that it would work one last time.
* * *
“Did you see that?” the controller asked the person at the console next to him.
“See what?”
“I had a blip in low orbit, about halfway between Hawaii and Japan.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
The controller pressed a button on his console, setting his display to jump back thirty seconds. “There it is again.”
The other controller leaned over to see for himself. “Too small to be a ship. Too small to be a fighter, either. A comm-drone gone awry?”
“It pitched down
and then disappeared.”
“Probably figured out that it was in the wrong location and jumped out.”
“It was headed toward the surface when it jumped,” the first controller argued.
“Can’t be a comm-drone, then,” the second controller decided, returning to his own console “They don’t operate in the atmosphere.”
“Then what the hell was it?”
“Who cares? Just write it up and forward it to EDF. UFOs are their job, not ours.”
* * *
His cockpit filled with blue-white light, and the ship shook violently, tumbling nose over tail wildly. As his fighter tossed about in the thick atmosphere, he caught glimpses of a vast ocean below…and land.
But he was losing altitude quickly, and his ship was out of control. He cut all power to his thrusters and propulsion systems, praying that his grav-lift systems still worked. His fighter had lousy aerodynamics, and controlled flight was nearly impossible without them. But at least his malfunctioning thrusters were no longer a problem.
Once again he spotted the land, and managed to turn his fighter toward it. He still had plenty of speed, more than enough to reach what appeared to be an island.
The status lights for his grav-lift system were flashing, cycling between red, yellow, and green, as if those systems couldn’t decide whether or not they were functioning properly. He had trained for many different in-flight emergencies during his career as a pilot, but never anything like this. It almost would have been easier if everything had just stopped working. At least then he could glide in and possibly make a survivable crash landing.
But his broken fighter would not make it that easy. His grav-lift systems would not maintain repulsive power evenly, making it difficult for him to maintain level flight. Finally, he had no choice but to shut it down as well, betting that he had enough momentum to reach the island ahead. They had not anticipated ditching in the water, and his injuries would make it difficult for him to swim to shore.
Sparks popped from under his console, and smoke began filling his cockpit, making it difficult to see. He hacked and coughed, fumbling for the canopy jettison lever behind him. Why had they not included parachutes in these things?
His lungs burned from the acrid smoke, and his vision began to blur. Finally, his left hand felt a lever, and he pulled it with all the strength he had left. There was an explosion, and the cockpit filled with a rush of fresh air, sweeping the smoke away in the blink of an eye.
The wave of air struck him like a wall, nearly knocking him out. Had he not been securely strapped into his seat, he doubted he would still be in the cockpit. Squinting, he crouched down as best he could, trying to use the forward window to shield himself from the onrushing air. It was all he could do to see the trees as his fighter struck the top of them. Leaves and branches slapped at the fuselage of his doomed fighter, slapping him in the torso and face. Pain overcame him, and his fighter suddenly came to an abrupt halt, nearly breaking his shoulder straps and sending him flying.
He fell back in his seat, breathless. For a moment, he thought he had survived the crash, but then the entire ship fell straight down like a rock, slamming onto the ground below, causing everything to go black on impact.
* * *
Nathan sat across the table from Caitrin Bindi, quietly studying the document on the oversized data pads that Tekans seemed to favor.
“We will be setting up offices on Rakuen next month,” Caitrin stated, becoming uncomfortable with the long silence.
“You might want to hold off on that for now,” Nathan commented, his focus still on the data pad in his hands.
“Any particular reason?”
“The scope and area of this alliance may change radically in the future. If you want to be centrally located, Rakuen may not be the best choice.”
“Rakuen wasn’t chosen because of its central location,” Caitrin reminded him.
“Nevertheless, I’m not even certain it’s necessary to locate off of SilTek.”
“Except that SilTek does not wish the alliance headquarters to be located on SilTek.”
“This charter reads more like a business contract,” Nathan complained.
“That’s because it is a business contract.”
“When Ariana recommended our alliance be run as a business, I thought she was talking about budgets and stuff…you know, bottom line and all that.”
“Good governments are run like good businesses,” Caitrin insisted. “At least, the ones that last.”
“I’m just not sure the business angle is going to go over so well.”
“I believe what will sell the concept is the overall mission statement.”
“To protect and serve; to promote the security and welfare; and to provide for the peaceful coexistence of all human civilizations. Sounds like what you’d see on the side of a law enforcement vehicle…except for that last part.”
“I think it describes our purpose quite well,” Caitrin argued.
“Except it’s a bit broad.”
“The responsibilities of the corporation are clearly outlined later in the document.”
“As are the regulations governing the member worlds,” Nathan countered. “That part has got to go.”
“If all worlds are not operating by the same set of rules, our job will be far more difficult, thus profits will be greatly decreased.”
“That’s another thing,” Nathan replied. “It shouldn’t be about profits, it should be abou
t results.”
“A noble sentiment but impractical. Profits are needed for expansion, for research and development…”
“I understand all of that, but…”
“It’s either a business, or it’s a government organization run by committee.”
“Can’t it be both?” Nathan asked. “SilTek is.”
“Applying SilTek’s corporate-government model on a galactic scale would be next to impossible,” Caitrin argued.
“Perhaps making it a non-profit would be better,” Nathan suggested.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about the non-profit business model,” Caitrin admitted.
“From what little I remember from economics classes, it’s the same as the profit model, except that a board of directors approves the budget, sets the price of services, and decides what to do with the excess revenue.”
Caitrin shuddered. “Excess revenue?”
Nathan smiled. “What you would call profits.”
“And who would sit on this board of directors?”
“Representatives from each member world.”
Caitrin took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “That might work in the beginning,” she admitted, “but as this alliance grows, the board will become so large that it would be impossible to reach a consensus on anything.”
Nathan thought for a moment. “You may have a point there,” he finally admitted.
“Which is why this alliance needs to be run as a corporation. One that is profitable.”
“I’m starting to see your point,” Nathan said. “However, member worlds must be free to run their worlds as they see fit, regardless of what other member worlds might think.”
“Again, this is going to cause problems. Different ideologies create conflict requiring compromise. Compromise results in neither party being completely happy.”
“That’s why it’s important that every world remain its own sovereign state. The moment we try to govern them is the moment our alliance begins to fail.”
“We must have some common ground as a starting point,” Caitrin argued.
“Isn’t freedom common ground?”
“For most, yes, but it’s not enough.”