by Allen Stroud
‘Ambassador, quite an occasion for you to visit us in person.’
The greeting cut through any preamble, as Bertrum intended. Imperials would spend an hour fencing when they wanted and he was in no mood for it. For her part, Godwina did well to hide her readjustment. Her reply was straight forward. ‘I thought it best.’
‘What is so urgent?’ Bertrum asked.
‘Just to inform you that the matter you asked of me is in hand,’ Godwina explained. ‘Imperial agents came into possession of all the Federal investigation materials and detained the investigating officer, confiscating the chits that you wished returned.’ She gave him a measured look. ‘I assume the objects work in the same way as the ones given to the Imperial trade factor?’
Bertrum shrugged. ‘Yes they do.’ No point in denying it.
Godwina sniffed. ‘Delightfully archaic.’ Her gaze strayed to Bertrum’s legs and hips. ‘This planet is an object lesson in nostalgia.’
Bertrum rewarded the barb with a thin smile. ‘Was there something else?’ he asked.
‘If you mean more than idle curiosity at finally meeting the prefect of Ashoria in the flesh, then no,’ Godwina returned the smile with one of her own. ‘Of course, we could be of further assistance ...’
Bertrum’s eyes narrowed. ‘You wouldn’t have come here without something in mind.’
Godwina’s eyes flicked to the aide, who blushed and looked at Bertrum. ‘Prefect if you would like me to—’
‘Yes,’ Bertrum snapped. ‘Get out.’
The girl didn’t need telling twice and twitched from the room as if she’d been stung. Bertrum watched her go and turned back to the ambassador. ‘You know, every conversation in this building is recorded?’
‘I doubt there are many conversations in this city that aren’t,’ Godwina replied. ‘Your Good Doctor cannot have enough time in his life to listen to everything he spies upon.’
‘Nevertheless a meeting between the Imperial ambassador and Ashoria’s prefect would be a cause for examination.’
Godwina nodded. ‘Indeed, so why hide? Better to accept a conversation like this will be monitored and hide nothing. You Lavians, despite your delusions, have some refreshingly simple customs, which my people should learn from. However, there are individuals, like your aide, who must not hear my proposal.’
Bertrum sighed. ‘We return to the question I asked. Why come here in person?’
Godwina leaned forward. ‘Prefect, I have done you favours. This means several things. First, you owe me, second, you became valuable because you owe me and third, your master is aware you owe me, which makes your position dangerous. You are right; he will listen to our conversation, he would be a fool not to.
‘When I came to this system, I accepted a gilded cage. This planet is an archaic backwater. I was outmanoeuvred and without options, but I hoped some lustre remained in Lave’s name that might be nurtured and would return me to Achenar’s forum in triumph.
‘In time, I learned my mistake. Lave is no slumbering galactic giant awaiting a catalyst. The system has been paralysed ever since Walden came to power. I live amidst an Interstellar community and I am always shielded from speaking to Colonial citizens. I watched you ruin the planet. Your Lavian brandy is famed, yet you restrict export. Your tree grubs were a delicacy, yet you chopped down your rainforests and rendered them extinct. The Good Doctor’s plan failed.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ Bertrum asked.
‘Of everyone I know, you alone maintain contact with Walden. I welcome him listening to us. Go back to him and give him my offer. Bring Lave to the Empire, much will remain the same and the Duvals will return glory to this planet.’
Now it was Bertrum’s turn to smile. ‘You would gain considerable credit for bringing this system under the rule of Achenar.’
‘As would you,’ Godwina enthused. ‘Lave leads this region politically and economically. Diso would follow then Leesti and Tsionla! Your master would be a force in the Imperial Senate and we would take seats in the common forum!’
She was on her feet now, caught up in her own vision, it consumed her. He remained seated and stared until she remembered herself and saw the speech had not affected him.
‘Thank you for your offer,’ Bertrum said as she retook her seat.
‘If you could only understand the opportunity!’ Godwina urged. ‘At least put it to Walden.’
Bertrum nodded. ‘I will, of course.’
‘With a recommendation?’
‘I present information to the Doctor. I do not recommend any action.’
‘The change of life for you would be dramatic,’ Godwina added. Her eyes flicked over his body. ‘You are aware of our advances in medicine and—’
‘Yes I am,’ Bertrum snapped. He stood up and walked stiffly to the door, opened it and held it for the ambassador. ‘This conversation is over, please leave.’
Slowly Godwina got up, smoothing her robes. ‘I never met Walden. Even on the day I came here, he left you to conduct the ceremony and welcome in the city.’
‘That perhaps tells you everything you need to know,’ Bertrum said.
‘I play along with this charade,’ Godwina said, ‘if these Colonials were to learn the truth ...’ she left the implication hanging.
Bertrum replied only with a blink and indicated for her to leave, which she did. The meeting was over.
* * *
Atticus Nathanial Finch. The man’s dead stare was an accusation.
Gebrial screamed and Pietro scrabbled back as the frozen body floated towards the cargo bay doors. He managed to snag a foot, turning the corpse about and back into its box. The control panel beeped and the container slid shut.
He looked up at Gebrial cowering on the deck. ‘It’s okay,’ he said, trying to calm her, ‘makes a lot of sense.’
‘To you, perhaps!’ Gebrial said.
The deck plate beneath them glowed red. Sparks floated in the air, an alert siren went off and a second door slid across the exit to the rest of the ship. The metal on the floor began to melt in a ragged line. A hull cutter?
‘What’s happening?’ Gebrial shouted over the noise.
‘We’re being rescued,’ Pietro said, ‘but I don’t know who’s doing the rescuing!’
The line became an arc and moved towards a circle. A moment before completion, the cutter winked out, there was a crunch, the metal gave way and a booted foot appeared in the gap. ‘Anyone about?’ said a voice.
‘Yes!’ Gebrial yelled back before Pietro could answer. ‘And we need saving!’
A bald head emerged, then a man, looking up at them. When he caught sight of Pietro he smiled. ‘Agent Devander, fancy finding you here.’
Pietro frowned. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked.
‘Not yet, but you’re going to,’ the man replied. ‘Particularly now you’re dead.’ He gestured to them both. ‘Come on, climb down, watch the edges, they’ll still be hot.’
‘Why should I trust you?’ Pietro said.
The man laughed. ‘You got better options, have you?’
Pietro sighed. ‘No, I guess not.’
Gebrial climbed down first. When she was done, Pietro lowered himself. ‘You’ll need a grapple gun as well,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘We’ve a third passenger, who can’t move,’ Pietro explained. He looked around and found familiarity. ‘This is my ship,’ he said.
‘Yes, Agent Devander,’ the man said. ‘I stole it, after you turned down my request for a chat.’
Pietro’s stomach flipped. ‘You were one of the men detained by station security, one of Arrik’s friends—’
‘Yeah, we go way back,’ the man smiled again and Pietro saw he was holding a kinetic pistol. ‘You remember where the cockpit is, don’t you?’
* * *
From one prison to another.
Moments later, Pietro found himself in the Gallant’s co-pilot’s chair, with Gebrial in the navigation berth. Their ‘rescuer’
had made the pilot’s seat his own and was engaged in removing the docking clamps. The forward viewscreen was a whirling mass of ships, missiles and laser blasts. Four craft were strafing the Anaconda, taking care to draw fire away and keep shields depleted. Pietro watched them with a pilot’s practised eye. The passes and twists were intricate and deadly. He realised they were holding back, keeping the ship in-pinned, whilst the undock procedure was completed.
‘How did you get around my recognition controls?’ Pietro asked.
‘With a few bits of tinkering,’ the man said. ‘Your frozen friend is secure in the cargo bay, though he may thaw out later.’
‘Are we your prisoners?’ Gebrial asked.
‘No,’ the man replied. ‘Give me a chance to explain what’s going on. That fair?’
‘Who are you?’ Pietro asked.
‘Tobias Renner,’ the man replied. ‘Been wanting to chat with you Agent Devander.’
‘I hope you get the chance,’ Pietro said, ‘but if you don’t move fast, the Vipers’ll show up.’
‘You might be right,’ Renner said. He flicked on the comms. ‘Docking clamps cleared Faith.’
‘Received,’ a garbled female voice replied. ‘Pull away and we’ll cover you.’
‘Acknowledged,’ Renner leaned back in the seat. ‘You kept this girl nice. Got yourself a Jameson.’
‘What do you mean?’ Gebrial asked.
‘Means, Renner likes the boat,’ Pietro said. ‘Jameson was an old Cobra pilot back a couple of hundred years ago. He kitted out a good ship and went all the way to Elite.’
‘To us that means something,’ said Renner.
Pietro shrugged. ‘It’s just a badge.’
Renner’s expression darkened. ‘Means a lot more,’ he said and turned to the screen. With a screech of metal, the Cobra disconnected from the Anaconda and spiralled away. Renner pushed the engines and rolled in a corkscrew. Laser bolts flew past on the viewscreen and slapped into the rear shields. Gebrial cried out as the gravitational forces shifted around them.
‘Taking heat!’ Renner shouted. 'Hold on!' He keyed up the hyperdrive. The mass reading flashed a warning, they were still too close.
‘Cut left and away,’ Pietro urged.
‘I don’t need advice!’ Renner snapped, but he eased the stick just as Pietro had said. ‘You want to be useful?’
‘On my own ship?’ Pietro said. ‘Of course.’
‘Punch the hyperdrive as soon as we’re clear!’
The missile alert went off and a quick glance at the scanner showed incoming Vipers from the station. ‘You’re cutting it fine,’ Pietro warned.
Renner grinned at him, bearing his teeth. ‘The way we like it,’ he said.
The mass reading pinged and Pietro hit the button. The ship began the count whilst Renner wrestled with the controls. Then the hyperdrive cut in and they shot away, leaving Delaney, the Anaconda and his betrayal far behind.
* * *
‘Where are you taking us Renner?’ Pietro asked.
The Cobra had emerged from hyperspace. Next, a Sidewinder appeared, followed by two old Kraits. The four ships, hung in space, a serene contrast to the firefight they’d jumped away from. The Sidewinder, was a small dagger blade next to Pietro’s Cobra Mark III, the Kraits flanked them both, with aerial pylons on the wings, making them suitable for frontier exploration. When they’d all reported in, Renner turned around in his chair and smiled at Gebrial. ‘Welcome to Liabefa,’ he said, ‘population tiny and trade options worthless. We aren’t stopping.’
‘If you’re trying to avoid being chased, it won’t work,’ Pietro said. ‘They’ll be on us the minute you dock at the station.’
‘Which is why we’re not going to the station,’ Renner replied. ‘We want fuel, but we’ll get it elsewhere.’
‘You got friends out here?’
‘No, we’re heading for the star,’ Renner said. ‘This craft’s explorer fitted. We’ll scoop and hyperspace out.’
Fuel scooping? Risky, Pietro thought. ‘They may still find us anyway,’ he said. ‘The Imperial Proctor who was holding us has connections. I wouldn’t put it past him to get a hack on the recorder box.’
‘Well, nothing we can do about that,’ Renner said.
‘Why did you rescue us?’ Gebrial asked.
Renner smiled at her again. ‘Not to make you miss a reunion with your parents I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘You’re a treat and bonus.’ His smile disappeared and he turned to Pietro. ‘We came for him.’
‘I’m sorry about Arrik,’ Pietro said. ‘I guess he was your friend? If I could have done things differently—’
‘Yes, Arrik was a good man,’ Renner said. ‘You’ll pay for his death, but that can wait and it won’t be me coming for you.’
Pietro frowned. ‘Okay, then why am I here?’
‘Because you’re a man without a life and we want to give you a chance to find a new one.’ He keyed up another screen and the Federal Times news headline appeared. ‘Pirate attack in the core, you name’s on the casualty list. Whether you’re dead or alive, someone wants you to disappear.’
‘Yeah,’ Pietro said.
‘Looks like your people gave you up.’
‘That too, why me?’
‘We sent Heldaban Kel to assassinate Finch,’ Renner said. ‘You caught him after he succeeded, but before he could complete the job. Then both Imperial and Federal intelligence conspire to shut you down and remove you. They’ve done all this simply because they want no one looking in the right direction.’
‘And what is the right direction?’
Renner frowned, considering his words. ‘What do you know about Lave?’ he asked.
‘Lave?’ Pietro frowned. ‘Where’s that?’
Renner laughed. ‘I think that sums up everything.’
* * *
-----Original Message-----
From: Turgan Devante
Sent: Twelfthday Day 202. 3286.
To: Shulton Kaspet
Subject: Partial Recovery of Spaceflight Recorder Data from Cobra Mark I
Administrator,
We have managed to retrieve fragments from the spaceflight recorder that we recovered last month from that derelict Mark I Cobra. Transcript follows:
+++ TRANSMISSION RECEIVED
+++ Twelvethday Day 107. 3179.
Dear Daddy,
Me and Mummy and Thomas miss you very much. I had a good day at school today. I got an ‘Exceeded’ on my spelling test. Thomas punched me in the arm but Mummy told him off. He said sorry.
Have a safe trip Daddy and I love you.
From Emily.
- - - TRANSMISSION ENDS
+++ TRANSMISSION RECEIVED
+++ Twelvethday Day 107. 3179.
Dear Daddy,
You forgot to message me yesterday. I guess you are pretty busy today. We had a yummy dinner last night. Me and Thomas wanted to see Nana and to play at the big park, but Mummy said not until you get home.
I hope you get home soon.
From Emily.
- - - TRANSMISSION ENDS
+++ TRANSMISSION RECEIVED
+++ Twelvethday Day 107. 3179.
Dear Daddy,
We heard some really loud bangs last night and we got scared.
When are you coming home?
From Emily.
- - - TRANSMISSION ENDS
The body found aboard the wreckage has been identified as the vessel’s registered owner. It appears that the ship’s transmitter, emergency beacon, life support and escape pod were damaged in the attack. The communications receiver and spaceflight recorder operated until the remaining power systems were depleted. There are no later records available on the message originators.
Turgan Devante – Archaeologist. Ashorian Historical Society.
Chapter 13: The Dead
The misty impression of sunlight started to sharpen in Heldaban Kel’s sight. He blinked involuntarily and was delighted at the achievement.
; Where am I?
He remembered the explosive decompression of the ship, the touch of vacuum and the remlok plasifibre skin.
Then what?
His mind yanked away at the sluggish thoughts ... There were instruments, dials, and electrodes. He recalled restless sleep, nerve stimulation and a windowless room, the hiss of oxygen repressurisation and faces appearing in front of him.
I must have been out a while ...
A girl had been feeding him. A red flush of humiliation stole across his face at the memory. She’d spooned paste into his mouth and stroked his throat.
He tried to sit up and felt hands on his shoulders, forcing him back onto the pillows, the girl again, sky blue eyes and a serious expression. She spoke soothingly, the words garbled and strange. He tensed, resisting the slim arms, but the effort proved useless. He had no strength.
He held his hands before his face. They seemed normal. He moved his legs and heard them brush against the sheets. Still there.
He turned his head to the right, to the girl and tried to speak, but no sound came from his throat. She nodded and said something again that he didn’t understand. He tried to concentrate on the inflection and way she spoke, then relaxed and gave up.
Might be worse, I could be dead, he thought.
He closed his eyes.
* * *
‘Mister Kel?’
Heldaban Kel opened his eyes again. The room had darkened; he guessed mid evening. The voice, unfamiliar and male, belonging to a man dressed in some sort of bio-hazard suit.
‘Your speech will return Mister Kel, you’ve no permanent damage to your vocal cords. We had to restimulate and repair your nervous system, so a bit of fine control will have been lost during the process, you should be able to relearn most things though.’
Most?
‘Mister Kel, you’re in the Harris Hospital on Miola,’ the man went on. ‘You were recovered from deep space about thirty thousand kilometres from the trading lane. This isn’t a well populated system, so I’m afraid you had ten hours in vacuum before we got to you. That meant the remlok you were wearing went into deep survival mode.’