by Allen Stroud
Pietro’s hand went to the carbine in his pocket and drew it in one fluid motion, aiming for the Proctor, but something slammed into the back of his head, knocking him flat. A second blow and everything went dark.
* * *
Pietro found himself on a metal deck, a thin layer of inertia compensation material stretched out beneath him, the kind reserved for delicate cargo. The familiar vibration of engines confirmed they were leaving the station.
He sat up. He was in a ship’s hold and alone, no sign of Gebrial.
The inside of his mouth throbbed painfully. He put a finger to his teeth and found the back molar missing; his acquired leather coat also gone.
They must have known, but how?
Straps restrained his arms and legs, securing him to the floor. Like a piece of cargo, he thought.
‘Agent Devander, can you hear me?’ Delaney’s voice came from the ship’s speakers. ‘We’ll be taking off shortly, make yourself comfortable.’
Pietro lay back and looked around. A vast empty space, an Imperial Proctor wouldn’t travel into Federal territory in an Imperial ship, so he guessed a nondescript vessel instead. Anaconda or Python? One solitary container took up a berth behind him, packed in an absorber with buckles and straps. A control panel on the front and low electric hum suggested whatever lay inside, needed to be maintained at a constant temperature.
Pietro closed his eyes and felt the station’s gravity slowly fade away with much of the headache, letting him think. The larger freight ships were more sedate than Cobras or Adders, a cargo hold was a dangerous place, not designed for passengers. The strapping and packing might prevent him floating around, but during acceleration, there would be much less inertial compensation; six time’s normal gravity; still enough to break bones if it went on too long. When Imperial ships transported people, they were kept in stasis and in specially designed containers. The Proctor didn’t seem to care if he lived or died.
What am I involved in?
Proctors were enforcers of law and custom within the Empire. A missing girl wouldn’t cause one to journey to Solati, the Proctor had all but admitted as much. He guessed they wanted the chits. They had to be more important than simple trade symbols. Miranda had said they were planetary contracts. That meant more tonnage than a cargo hauler could manage, more than ten or twenty haulers perhaps?
Pietro’s attention turned to the bindings. The securing straps had been knotted around his wrists and ankles and attached to runners in the slot. With some work, they might loosen. But where would I go? He remembered when he’d secured Heldaban Kel, unconscious in the cargo hold of the Gallant, before he’d jettisoned him. Deep space and a confined room made for a good prison.
He couldn’t work out how Delaney had managed it. Somehow he’d gained classified Federal intelligence information, located a Federal agent in a Federal station, walked in and kidnapped him.
The whole situation led to one conclusion.
Someone sold me out and now, they want me dead.
Chapter 10: The Girl
Gebrial’s experience on the ship was completely different.
She remembered travelling to the starport on Codorain II as a child. Her father had shown her the ships parked in the docking area and they’d been aboard some of them. Stuck on the ground, the craft looked clumsy, ugly and helpless. The dull metal interiors gave little indication of what it would be like to fly in space.
Later, she’d spent time on an Astrogator passenger liner and gone with her parents to the viewing gallery. Codorain II suspended below, a gigantic gleaming orange-and-blue-and-white-patched balloon. The hemisphere showing was almost entirely sunlit; the continents between the clouds, a desert and vast oceans, standing out sharply against the dark of space. And all around in the black void, were the stars.
That was a sight she’d never forget.
Her trip to Solati Reach had been less eventful, stowed amidst cargo containers and boxes in a service seat, the cheapest flight she could find and afford.
Now, as she sat in a chair on the bridge of an Anaconda, surrounded by members of the Imperial Guard, the view of New Caledonia through the huge transparent observation window was something different again. The brilliant blue seas and puffs of white cloud were undeniably beautiful. The traffic around Mackenzie, thrilling to watch as spaceships of all shapes and sizes made their way in and out of the docking area. Seeing the serene wheel-like space station from the outside was an amazing thing, but the whole experience was tempered by one thought.
I don’t want to be here.
Delaney sat in an elevated chair behind her, whilst his pilot manoeuvred the Anaconda away from the station and the planet. The magboots she’d been given would allow her to move through the ship, but only if they let her and that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.
‘Your father will be pleased to see you return,’ Delaney said smugly.
The Imperials had abandoned their civilian disguises and wore military jump suits, armour and weapon belts. In days past she might have been impressed at the sight, but that was before she’d run away.
Now it brought back memories of a life she didn’t want.
‘Spool up the hyperdrive as soon as we are clear,’ Delaney instructed and she heard the clump of his boots as he stood up. ‘Bring the girl.’
A gloved hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet. The lack of gravity and grip on her arm made the walk uncomfortable. They took her out and to a large cabin, bigger and better than the one on the Gallant and left her alone with the Proctor. ‘What have you done with Pietro?’ she asked.
‘He’ll be fine in the cargo hold,’ Delaney said. He pressed a button and a couch emerged from the wall. She sat down, whilst he took a folding seat. ‘If he isn’t, it won’t matter.’
‘That’s inhumane.’
Delaney laughed. ‘Did Agent Devander tell you what he does?’
‘He’s a police officer, with the Federation.’
‘He’s a little more than that,’ Delaney opened a small compartment and selected a dataslate. He keyed the screen and let the device go with a slight push. It floated through the air towards her. ‘Agent Pietro Devander let someone die out on Nobleport station just so he could capture the killer. He used you to get to Arrik Kel and had him murdered too. No point being merciful to a man with no heart.’
Gebrial frowned. ‘You’re lying,’ she said.
‘I assure you I’m not,’ Delaney replied. ‘Take a look.’
Gebrial plucked the dataslate out of the air. On the screen, a picture of Pietro next to a scrolling list of incidents. She scanned them briefly, her eyes lighting on the repeated words, ‘theft’, ‘murder’, and ‘threat’. Then, she threw the slate across the room. It hit the wall and the display cracked. ‘Lies!’ she shouted.
Delaney didn’t react. He barely moved at all, except to stare at her. His eyes were blue, almost transparent. ‘Reintegration into our society can be strange at first,’ he said softly. ‘Best if you relax and accept what will happen. The process only becomes difficult when you fight. Accept your fate and life is simple and easy to bear. There are worse things in the world than being unhappy.’
Gebrial bit her lip. Those cold eyes spoke only of pain. ‘I don’t want to go back,’ she said.
‘What we want is rarely what we get,’ Delaney replied. He leaned towards her, his fingers brushing her cheek. ‘The Federation is no paradise of freedom. Their worlds are dark, selfish and cold, where credit and commodity rules. Your family loves you and, once you settle, your community will support you.’
‘It won’t be my life.’
‘For a time,’ Delaney acknowledged, his face inches from hers. ‘But then, you will not suffer. Indeed, the condition we found you in meant you were lucky to be alive.’
Gebrial frowned. ‘What do you mean? I—’
The stinging slap across her cheek was a surprise. There had been no clue in Delaney’s face. The ring he wore hurt worst. She would h
ave been knocked from the couch, but for the magboots holding her feet on the floor.
He was standing over her. His hand seized her throat, dragging her up towards him. Tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision. ‘Remember, the reality of all things right now is mine to shape. You continue to exist because I want you to. To everyone outside this room, you are dead. Your being found alive is conditional on my good nature. Compared to the actual purpose of this mission, both you and Agent Devander are insignificant.’
‘Because he gave you the chits,’ Gebrial rasped, struggling for air.
‘Exactly so,’ Delaney answered. He let go and she remained, motionless in a half stand. He walked to the door and it slid open. ‘You remain here,’ he said. ‘I will visit you when I wish. If you are compliant, you will be well treated.’
The ship seemed to lurch underneath her. A sensation she recognised immediately despite her inexperience. ‘We’ve jumped,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Delaney said, ‘which means we’re one jump closer to Codorain. One jump closer to home.’
* * *
‘Escape capsule, not functional.’
Heldaban Kel slammed his fist against the duraglass console in frustration. An audible crack made him wince. The Adder had taken enough of a pounding without his contribution.
Since the Asp left him for dead, he’d fought a small fire in the cargo bay and got a look at the engines. Severe damage and the spewing tendrils of fuel in the rear viewscreen confirmed even if he got them working, they wouldn’t get the ship to the inner system stations and planets.
Afterwards, he examined the communications array. The ship’s transmission circuitry was the cause of the fire and apart from the recorder box no signals had been sent or received. The network registered him as being here, but lost connection after the first laser blast.
The debris cloud forming around the Adder gave him a sliver of hope. A station patrol might be sent to investigate and clear up the outer system, but Miola wasn’t a popular place. The dogfight had taken him some distance from the trade lane and these things were never a priority. I’ll grow old and die before they reach me, Kel thought.
So he’d turned his attention to the escape capsule. If he could get the unit to work, the distress beacon onboard could broadcast his position as soon as he launched. Without comms no one would come looking, but the capsule was designed to get attention and all commanders had a duty to respond.
Kel had flown for most of his adult life. He fixed ships in mid space, even whilst under fire, but they’d always been his ships; ones he knew well. The Adder was similar enough to others he’d flown, but once he started looking ‘under the hood’, the differences became clear. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find the right relays and circuits, but he needed more time.
He keyed up a chart and queried the distance to the inner system. Thankfully, the fight had ended with him trying to run in that direction, so when the engines cut out, the ship kept moving towards the inhabited region. The display recorded the kilometre count shrinking every moment, but at present velocity, more than two years would pass before he came close to civilisation and he couldn’t manoeuvre. So, even if he survived that long, he’d be a silent comet, pulled around the system’s inner planets and if anything got in the way, he’d crash.
Great.
With the ship’s limited tool kit, he managed to lever the floor panel away from under the pilot’s chair. Much of the operations mechanism lay there, in a similar design to the Sidewinder, but the two ships shared little else in common.
Then he found something he didn’t expect, a large blue metallic box, with a winking light on top. He knew instinctively what it was.
A bomb.
Kel sighed, climbed out of the cavity and closed his eyes, letting his body drift in the zero gravity. It made sense of course. The Federation needed him dead, but with no connection to their intervention. Recorder data would register the destruction of the craft and likely his ownership on the doctored records, because there was record of him on radio talking to the Solati Reach Station controller and hyperspacing into Miola, the detention before would be forgotten.
How do I get out of this one?
In thirty years of flying, he couldn’t remember a scrape this close. Fighting for the Liberation Front in Tiliala, he’d run across the Valhallan jungle, living on muddy water for six days before stealing a ship and getting away. He hardly remembered the flight, he’d been feverish, but no bomb in the fuselage that time.
And I had a working ship, he thought.
He realised restoring the escape capsule was a hopeless cause. It’d likely been disabled before they brought him on board. He knew the engines were beyond repair and the communication system, beyond his skills.
Has to be another way!
He pushed off the wall and floated to the cargo door. It didn’t budge, so he smashed the manual access panel and wound the lever, forcing it open.
Once in the bay, he went to the one storage compartment that was in the same place on every ship and cranked the lever on the side.
A remlok survival mask dropped out, floating in front of him. Here we go again. The one piece of communications equipment operating independently of the ship’s systems, the minute he hit vacuum, the mask would deploy, insulating his body from space in a plasifibre suit and the inbuilt transmitter would begin broadcasting a distress call throughout the star system.
So long as they didn’t break these as well.
The remlok had a limited oxygen capacity and wasn’t recommended for use in distant parts of any space system, but it was a chance, a better one than surviving a bomb blast in a derelict ship.
He put the mask over his head and tightened the straps.
The automatic release for the cargo doors still worked. Kel crouched on the wall, preparing himself. The second the room depressurised, he had to get clear, push off and aim for deep space, in the opposite direction to the Adder, falling towards the inner system. That way he’d be at maximum distance from the explosion and have best chance to survive.
Provided someone out there is listening ...
He took a deep breath and keyed in the door release sequence. The vacuum alarm sputtered once and sparks lit up the gloomy bay. With a groan, mechanism began to shift.
No turning back now.
Kel counted to five and as he felt the air being sucked out, pushed off into space, aiming for the gap. Half a second later he was through and the remlok deployed. The plastic skin webbed out across his shoulders and arms, sealing him away from the environment, whilst the high pitch squeal in his ear confirmed the transmitter was functioning properly.
For a moment, he worried he might have been mistaken, maybe the scanner had been damaged, the Asp still in the system and coming back to finish the job? His hands and feet went numb. The blood supply to his extremities was being choked by the mask and suit as it fought to conserve his body heat and its own power to keep him alive for as long as possible.
He saw the Adder drifting towards Miola’s sun, a trail of debris floating in her wake. I never even gave you a name, he thought, probably for the best.
Then, silently, the ship exploded. A bright flare quickly choked by the cold void as oxygen and hydrogen fuel reacted and died. A pretty, yet deadly flower, rendered extinct in the night.
Leaving Heldaben Kel to wait.
Alone.
Chapter 11: The Ordeal
‘Prefect, emergency transmission protocol, apologies for waking you.’
Bertrum blinked groggily into the darkness of his office. The neuro-pacifier had placed him in a dreamless sleep as he’d instructed it and he’d expected to wake to Ashoria’s orange dawn. Instead, Niamh’s contrite tone confirmed his worst thoughts.
Walden was trying to reach him.
He’d set up the protocol for this purpose. Should the Good Doctor require his attention, the computer would administer a stimulant injection into the room, wake him with an audio message and gradually
brighten the lighting.
He swung his legs out of the bed, wincing at the jarring pain the movement sent up his back. The exoskeleton supports lay in a pile, like tendrils on the floor. He clipped them into the metal bars that had been surgically drilled through his ankle and knee joints then attached them to similar ones in his hips. Finally, he attached them into the bio-powered belt he wore and switched the system on. The whole process took about thirty seconds, but it was still thirty seconds of his life taken away.
With the quiet whine of the exoskeleton to accompany him, he stumbled across the room. The lights were beginning to brighten and the permanent Walden viewscreen switched on, mid speech.
‘The faith and hope of Lave comes from the sweat and toil of its people, we shall strive as one, to work harder and become worthy of the greatness our forefathers granted us, placing us as the beating heart of humanity’s place in the galaxy.’
The speech was an old one, given at a Ferrite mine in Neudaal fourteen years ago. Bertrum glanced at the recording of Walden on the podium and smiled. He hadn’t aged a day.
He walked stiffly into the private meeting room, to be greeted by the same man’s image, only now he wore an expression of irritation.
‘I assume I woke you Prefect?’
‘Yes Doctor, apologies for the delay.’
Walden’s frown deepened, reinforcing Bertrum’s suspicion that he never slept; such a weakness left for other men. ‘You have been in contact with the Imperial ambassador.’ It was a statement, not a question, but Bertrum nodded anyway.
‘I trust matters with the trade negotiations are resolved?’
‘We are getting there,’ Bertrum replied, knowing full well Walden had likely watched and listened to everything he’d done and said. ‘The ambassador has been most helpful in ensuring the issue remains uninteresting to others.’