Elite

by Allen Stroud

  A beeping noise punctuated the end of the sentence and the man glanced up towards the exit. ‘I have to go Mister Kel, I’ll return soon, now you’re no longer infectious.’

  Infectious?

  The door closed and the lights dimmed. Kel sat up, the electrodes he’d seen before were gone, but a small wireless receiver was still attached to his wrist, a heart rate monitor he guessed. He found a mirror on the table to his left and picked it up, taking a look at his face in what little light remained. Stubble lined his chin and head. He’d never trusted the permanent defoliation units favoured in the Core, seeing a shave as part of a morning ritual. He judged the recent growth to be three days old. That meant another twenty-four hours gone since the Adder blew up. Another twenty-four hours of his life taken away. However that wasn’t the only thing he noticed. Prominent cheek bones, jaw and bulging eyes, told a story in themselves. What happened to me?

  Gently, he turned and got his feet on the floor. The tiles were cold underfoot, but otherwise everything felt normal. He leaned forwards carefully, putting weight onto his legs. The muscles didn’t complain, so he pushed them a little harder and stood up.

  For a moment, balance was an issue and his left hand snapped out to grab the table, but he steadied and was pleased to find everything worked. Everything I can test, he thought and grinned, thinking of the young girl who’d fed him. Need to thank her. He wondered why she hadn’t been in a suit like the man. I guess I’ll find out.

  He walked slowly to the old-fashioned door. No mechanics or presence recognition, just a handle and hinge. He reached for the lever and tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge, he frowned.

  Why lock me in?

  The window in the door gave him a dim view of the corridor beyond. He could see people running to the far end. They were all in the same suits, but had the helmets pulled up as well. A wheeled bed appeared with someone lying on it, being pushed towards his door before turning to the right. One of the figures stayed outside, tapping buttons on the wall. A hiss of pressure and metallic rumble as the room sealed.

  The person on the bed had to be another infected case. Perhaps they’re keeping me to help treat them? He walked back around to his bed and picked up the dataslate at the end. Oxygen deprivation, vacuum trauma, nerve damage and freeze burns were all there and to be expected, but underneath, unknown viral contagion. The date on the entry, several hours after the previous ones.

  Did I bring something here?

  * * *

  The intercom winked on Bertrum’s desk. He pressed the button. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Transmission from Alioth, sir,’ said the girl on the other side. In the hour since the ambassador’s visit, she’d recovered her poise.

  ‘Thank you. Put it through.’

  The main screen darkened for a moment and then a man’s face appeared. Kyle Merion, the planetary procurement minister. Bertrum recognised him from the news bulletins. Perfect hair and a dashing smile, the Merion family were from Olwain and had an illustrious past; accompanying the photograph, a long passage of text. He read carefully, absorbing the nuance and diplomatic double speak. Whilst the tone remained cordial, the minister was concerned about the trade deal verification and what had happened with Finch. Bertrum keyed up a short response and attached a copy of the new letter of marque given to Finch’s replacement arranged that morning. He flagged the reply for the main office and pressed the intercom.

  ‘Reply with you, send immediately.’

  ‘Of course, Prefect.’

  He flicked through the screens on his desk and brought up the Ashoria news feed. Nothing interesting, but there won’t be yet. He placed an alert on the ticker and swapped to another window, completing the energy transfer accounts between the Kadian district and Ashoria then opened Firstfall’s judicial review documents. All recent court cases requiring ratification. Exactly the kind of mindless bureaucratic distraction I need.

  An hour later, the alert on the feed pinged and Bertrum activated the audio.

  ‘The body of a woman has been discovered in the Lemanton district of the city. A LaveSec patrol locked down the area and transported the victim to City Central. An official statement is expected soon ...’

  Bertrum smiled bitterly. Once again, evidence of Walden’s authoritarian regime at work. No doubt, the meeting between himself and Godwina had already been digested and the appropriate response determined. From the moment she opened her mouth, she didn’t have a chance.

  For a moment, he considered the wisdom of the action. Godwina’s people were still in transit with the evidence and information he had been asked to retrieve. But that wasn’t Walden’s problem, it was his.

  He pulled up an Imperial ambassadorial requisition form from the archive and began filling in the details.

  * * *

  ‘Lave was once one of the most important systems in the galaxy,’ Renner explained. ‘In those days, every independent pilot worth their salt got a license from Lave. The Galactic Co-operative collapsed and a coup on the planet brought in a scientist called Doctor Hans Walden. He promised to bring back the glory. Many old pilots and families from the Co-operative backed him, my father amongst them.’

  ‘What happened?’ Gebrial asked.

  ‘He did what most dictators do, wrapped the system up in a bubble and sucked its life away. Been nearly a hundred years since he took over and little by little, Lave bleeds to death. Your ignorance says everything.’

  ‘What’s this got to do with me?’ Pietro asked.

  ‘Your friend Finch carried planetary trade agreements to Alioth and Sol,’ Renner said, ‘we intercepted him before he met with the Alioth representatives and killed him. We’ve analysed Walden’s actions and they don’t make sense. His companies control massive swathes of agricultural produce, but he’s brokering agreements to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. There’s no profit in a trade deal between Alioth and Lave, so once again, the people will bleed for whatever gain he’s arranged for himself.’

  ‘And you decided to kill Finch for that?’ Pietro said.

  ‘He wasn’t Finch, no one is Finch. Walden’s been using him and others to further his plans,’ Renner said. ‘He falsifies records and documents then sends out ships to arrange his business. We want him stopped and removed. Anything stopping Walden’s work is good by us.’

  ‘So, you’re terrorists,’ Pietro said.

  Renner’s expression darkened. ‘I fought in civil wars, ran down bounties, murdered, ganked and stole on all sides of this galaxy. But I never lied in my life. I live in a ship and sleep with the stars. In every planet and station I travelled to in forty years, I found one place I could call home - Lave, where I got my wings. I was lucky, got in before the EFP shut the office in Ashoria. You stand on the steps and you feel every pilot who stood before you. Plenty of space jockeys like me, all over the Federation, the Empire and throughout the independent systems. Some are traders, some mercenaries, but none of them terrorists.’

  Pietro shrugged. ‘In my line of work, anyone trying to topple a system’s government is a terrorist.’

  ‘We prefer the term revolutionary,’ Renner said.

  ‘Okay, that explains why you violated Federal laws to kill Finch. Why did Heldaban Kel take a sample of his blood and the metal chit he was carrying?’

  ‘The chit authorises the trade,’ Renner explained. ‘Without it, Walden has to encode another one and send a new factor from the planet. The DNA, well ...’

  ‘You think Finch was a clone? I can tell you he was,’ Pietro said.

  ‘But a clone of who is the question.’ Renner said. ‘I have my suspicions, but we need to run the DNA through our lab. A good thing you found his body for me.’

  ‘What doesn’t make sense is all the effort made to shut down the investigation,’ Pietro said. ‘A small dictatorship being harassed isn’t something my people would usually get involved in; or the Imperials for that matter.’ He scratched his head. ‘Shame we didn’t grab the chits.’

&n
bsp; ‘There was no chance,’ Renner said, ‘unless we’d taken the ship.’

  Pietro nodded, mulling over the details. ‘So, you want me to help you overthrow a dictator I’ve never heard of on a planet I don’t care about.’

  Renner smiled. ‘You’re a dead man Devander.’ He glanced at Gebrial. ‘And you, Arrik told me, you don’t want to go home to Codorain. You both come with me and you get new lives.’

  ‘How can I refuse? You have my ship.’

  ‘I’ll give it back when we reach our desitination,’ Renner said, ‘plus you’ll have your answers. More than you’d be given going back to the Federation.’

  ‘If I go back, I get a bullet in the skull,’ Pietro said.

  ‘Well then.’

  * * *

  Heldaban had returned to the bed, when the door opened again. It was the same man, still dressed in a disease control suit. ‘I’m sorry about that Mister Kel,’ he said, ‘an emergency.’

  Kel pointed at him and stared.

  ‘My name?’ the man guessed. ‘Yes, I’m Markus, the colony’s chief physician.’ He walked over and picked up the slate. ‘You’re now fully recovered, but I need you to understand what’s going on. The contagion you brought back with you is currently unknown to us and we’re having trouble treating it.’ He scanned the notes, flipping the pages and looked up at Kel, his expression grave. ‘Mister Kel, you’re alive because of your natural resistance and your exposure to vacuum. Whatever this virus is, it was raging through you prior to that. Do you remember being sick?’

  Kel shook his head.

  Markus looked puzzled. ‘Okay, well, we’ve synthesised your blood from the samples we took. Hopefully we can develop something from that, but, judging by what I’ve seen so far, exposure to space saved your life. Unfortunately, we can’t do the same for everyone ...’

  Kel held up his hand, pointed at him again and then the door.

  ‘Yes, you’re all clear; you can go as soon as you want to. Your credit account has been billed for the care.’

  Kel shook his head and pointed once more, jabbing his finger towards the wall, and the bed.

  ‘The other patient? Markus guessed.

  Kel nodded.

  ‘I’m sorry she was a nurse who treated you when you first arrived and were unconscious,’ Markus said. ‘You probably don’t remember ...’

  * * *

  -----Original Message-----

  From: Turgan Devante

  Sent: Fourthday Day 202. 3286.

  To: Shulton Kaspet

  Subject: The Disappeared. Items for Publication

  Administrator,

  At this point it is worth including a short extract on our dossier of information relating to the outbreak of Sohalian Fever in 3239. These records are extracts from journals published at the time and were found collated in several key laboratories aboard Lave Station.

  * * *

  Should you wish further information on this, I have collated all relevant information and can make it available to the commission.

  Turgan Devante – Archaeologist. Ashorian Historical Society.

  Chapter 14: The Star

  Two days later and Pietro found himself sweating in the co-pilot’s chair.

  In his years of travel, he’d never been this close to a star. For the most part, his space journeys remained a transition between assignments, not a place to conduct business. People swapped information. They made their political moves on space stations and planets, not out alone in the darkness.

  Or next to the system’s main stellar body.

  Forty-eight hours with three people in the Gallant had been difficult. A Cobra Mark III comfortably accommodated two. He’d suggested Gebrial or Renner transfer to another ship, they let him pilot, and trust he wouldn’t try and escape, but Renner turned down all requests. His reasons became clearer when the other ships peeled away, leaving them alone in their trip to the star.

  They coped. Gebrial had the least experience on a spaceship, so found it the hardest. The lack of passenger liner comforts was always going to be a problem for her.

  To start with, Renner and Pietro stayed mostly in the cockpit, leaving the cabin for the girl. But as they drew closer to Liabefa’s star, everyone began to feel the increase in temperature, despite the Gallant’s best efforts to keep them cool. The perspiration was constant, making the whole ship an enduring hell. Both men kept wipes on them, which were continually dropped into the ship’s recycler. No point in wasting the liquid.

  ‘You do this often?’ Pietro asked.

  ‘No,’ Renner said. ‘Difficult at the best of times, a flare star is a real challenge.’

  ‘You’ve done this before though?’

  ‘Yes, but not in this system or on any star this hot.’

  Pietro bit his lip and keyed up the navigation screen. ‘There’s an automated guidance path the computer can plot. May be helpful?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Renner replied shortly. ‘Just keep an eye on the mass reading, proximity and distance indicators.’

  Pietro sighed and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The three counters were spooling down on the console in front of him. Renner could read them for himself if he wanted, but it gave the navigator something to do. No pilot would want distractions while attempting a difficult manoeuvre. ‘Hull temperature three thousand degrees Kelvin.’

  ‘Deploying scoop,’ Renner said. ‘You ever used it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why’d you buy it then?’

  ‘Went with the cover,’ Pietro said.

  The ship shook and Renner gritted his teeth, pulling hard on the controls to stay level. ‘Like I said, flare star, how long till we reach perihelion?’

  ‘About four minutes at this velocity,’ Pietro said. ‘What’s the plan?’

  ‘Reduce speed, aim for the centre and activate the atmospheric shield,’ Renner said. ‘Then we dance around the flares until the tanks are full. If we went with the computer’s plotted trajectory here, we’d be dead in five seconds.’

  ‘Okay,’ Pietro said. ‘I guess you know now I trust you?’

  Renner smiled. ‘You don’t have a lot of choice.’

  Pietro returned the grin, but noticed something on the scanner and his smile faded. ‘Did you ask one of the others to follow us?’

  Renner looked around. ‘No, we’re all making our own way to the rendezvous. What kind of ship is that?’

  Pietro activated the information display and immediately regretted it. ‘An Asp,’ he said softly, recognising the ID number.

  ‘Outguns us,’ Renner said, ‘makes things interesting.’

  ‘Same one that followed me out of Darahk,’ Pietro said. ‘Kel and I barely got away.’

  ‘A dogfight this close to a star would be suicide,’ Renner said. ‘What’s he thinking?’

  ‘To follow and take us apart as soon as we’re at a safe distance I guess,’ Pietro said. ‘That’s what I’d do.’

  ‘We’d best discourage him,’ Renner replied.

  * * *

  The journey back to Miola’s space station was a beautiful ride. The observation deck provided a stunning view of the planet as they left atmosphere, the sun’s corona, bathing the clouds below in a brilliant haze. Over the intercom, the ship’s captain, plainly well versed in his work, gave advice on the best places to look and twenty or so passengers followed his directions with excited faces and open mouths.

  The whole experience was lost on Heldaban Kel.

  He felt responsible for the girl. He’d tried to ask her name, but the words wouldn’t come out. Eventually he’d settled for wiring a donation to the hospital and sorting a ticket away. They’d assured him he was clean and he could do nothing more. Thankfully no one else had been in contact with him.

  He thought back to the bio-hazard suit the man had worn when he’d been interrogated. They must have known! His hands curled around the runners on his safety couch. They let me go, knowing this might happen!

  Three hours after laun
ch, they were docked at the station and Kel made his way to the hire and purchase berths. Another hour and he sat in a different ship. A Sidewinder, cheap and functional, but he didn’t have time to wait for better.

  Twenty minutes later he was back in space and immediately calmer. Everything seemed good from the pilot’s seat without a planet or passengers crowding around you. Now, where was I? Kel pulled up the hyperspace chart, locked on to Hodack, waited for the mass reading to indicate safe distance and activated the jump.

  The countdown ended, the ship lurched and the stars turned into long streaks. This time he disengaged the manual control and clumped out into the cabin. The Sidewinder had been impounded before and the smell of illegal narcotics permeated the air recycler. Without a complete oxygen flush, it always would. Kel put it on the list of things to sort out when life calmed down.

  If I don’t get this crate blown up first.

  He pushed the button on the nutritioniser. Pale green paste pumped out in an unappetising ball. No frills around here. He sucked down as much as he could before little bits floated into the room. Everything would be pulled into the filters and back into the ship’s recycling system. That means I’m getting a hit from whatever got smuggled in this ship last time, he thought. His mind turned to the infection he’d brought to Miola. He activated a chair and sat down.

  How did I get sick?

  An airborne pathogen wasn’t likely else Markus wouldn’t have released him. He remembered the DNA sample he’d taken from Finch. Might have been that, he thought.

  But that didn’t make sense, why would Walden infect Finch with a disease?

  It did, however, explain the Asp and the cleanup.

  * * *

  ‘Fuel tanks half!’ Pietro shouted.

  Arcs of plasma curled out from the star. Renner disengaged the flight assist and yanked the controls, forcing the Gallant into a powered turn, dodging through the solar flare. The air in the cockpit rippled and the Cobra groaned as temperature neared maximum tolerance. The Gallant danced in the realm of the inferno, the Asp only a few kilometres behind, the double helix mark on the side confirmed who it was.