Beyond the Gates of Antares, page 15
He straightened his shoulders, rising to his full height. He had no idea who these beasts were, or who they served, but he would be damned before he gave them the satisfaction of seeing a glimmer of fear in his eyes.
The invaders ignored him, moving about the room, checking that the crew was dead. Finally, they took up stations around the perimeter of the chamber, their eyes cold.
On the floor, Va’Rana was barely breathing, the wheezing hiss of each effort the only sound in the room.
The next figure to move through the door gave him a start. It was not a Freeborn pirate captain, as he had expected, but rather the tall, lithe form of a NuHu woman, a cloud of red hair flowing out around her head as if she was underwater.
The woman bent her head to ease beneath the doorframe, and then rose to her full, impressive height once inside. She surveyed the room with glittering eyes that passed over him as if he wasn’t there. They found the still form of Va’Rana, and the cool regard was replaced with the unmistakable heat of hatred.
“Mei-Hana.” The voice was almost unrecognizable; it took Pehn a moment to realize who had spoken. He had thought Va’Rana beyond speech. But the hatred he had seen in the woman’s eyes was matched in the whisper-thin name, spat out like an epithet.
“Hello, Va’Rana. I’m flattered you remember me. The Conservatory was so long ago.”
The woman’s voice was low and rich, but dripped with acid.
A drone had floated into the chamber behind her; a nano drone, providing the enemy NuHu with the nanosphere she needed to avoid Va’Rana’s fate.
She reached out with a long, elegant stave she held in one hand and caressed Va’Rana’s face with the weapon’s blade-like vanes. A glittering trail of nanites floated around the fallen Mandarin’s head, but he waved them weakly away with one hand, as if brushing away flies.
“Keep your filthy creatures off me, renegade.” There was no strength in the voice, but a ghost of the old Va’Rana could be detected somewhere beneath the dry, rasping sounds.
“Leave him alone.” Pehn moved forward before he realized what he was doing. He still held his useless pistol.
The towering woman turned her cowled head to stare at him and raised a single spidery hand in his direction.
Pehn forced himself to stand strong. He had seen what an angered NuHu was capable of, and the nano drone hovering behind the woman would provide more than enough nanites to power whatever she intended.
But echoes of the temperate serenity of his fallen IMTel shard gave him the strength to stand before certain, agonizing death.
“Enough.” A man swept into the command center who would have seemed tall, had he not come to stand beside the imposing NuHu renegade. In dull browns and blacks, he looked nothing like the stereotypical Freeborn leader. But the man’s head, half-shaven and half covered in wavy white hair, was enough to identify him.
“Stihl.”
The features resembled those of the image the Even Hand had provided of its captain; close enough that Pehn knew, too late, how he had been fooled. It had been an artificially-generated image laid over the pirate captain’s infamous face.
The man smiled and shrugged. “I think you probably expected me, by now.” He turned to look up at the renegade. “I thought you were going to make this quick? We move on a schedule.”
The woman scowled as she turned back to crouch beside Va’Rana.
“In my dreams this lasted far longer, my brother.” She reached out and caressed one, flinching cheek. “Your brothers and sisters of the Aan ask that you remember.” She stood. “As for me, I don’t think you’ll remember anything where you’re going.”
With a dramatic gesture of her free hand the woman drew a glittering stream of light from Va’Rana’s mouth and eyes. With a strength Pehn would not have thought he had left, the once-majestic Mandarin thrashed, his back arcing, his scream reverberating around the smoke-filled, blood-stained room.
The stream of light swirled through the air, drawn into the glowing sphere atop the renegade’s stave. As the last shimmering motes were drawn from him, Va’Rana collapsed into a limp pool of fine cloth, armored plates, and white, empty flesh.
Pehn looked up as Stihl stepped over the body, heavy heels cracking on the floor, to the center of the command deck. The inhuman warriors stood along the walls, some watching the captain, some staring balefully at Pehn. Stihl’s face was twisted in distaste as his dark blue eyes scanned the damage.
“You still think you can reshard this ship in time?” He didn’t look back, but the renegade lowered her hands and moved to join him.
“I should be able to connect Dog to most of the systems. Standard vardosi tech should suffice for the rest.” She looked down at the pirate captain, who was still lost in thought, his eyes vague and tight. “The ship will be resharded before you reach your destination.”
Stihl nodded and then turned back to Pehn.
He felt the heavy weight of the plasma pistol dragging at his hand and looked down at it. With a sigh he tossed it to the floor.
“Thank you for delivering your ship and her payload, Commander.” There was no anger or joy on the pirate captain’s face. He might have been conducting a mundane business transaction in some savage bazaar. “My quartermaster will be delighted.”
Pehn never even noticed the captain raising the small plasma pistol, a thin cord attaching the weapon to one of the ports on the shaven side of his skull. There was a flash of light, a moment of heat, and the commander of the Concord Combined Command Battlecruiser Lumen knew no more.
***
“What is the meaning of this!?!” Admmiral Bha ko-Rhan screamed, his voice shrill and shaking. “Where is Stihl?”
The vardanari honor guard moved forward, plasma carbines at the ready.
The four pirates stood before him with impudent smiles stretched across their pale, gaunt faces.
Ko-Rhan began to shake. The drones continued to hover, shifting around to catch as many angles of his embarrassment as they could.
It wouldn’t matter. Their memories could easily be wiped. This moment, as mortifying as it felt now, would fade. Even the honor guard would understand, given time. This heartsick pain wasn’t the end, merely disappointment at the death of this day’s glorious dream. It would have been so perfect, to take Rollen Stihl on the very dawn of the Golden Venture’s maiden voyage.
He shook his head, his face hardening. There would still be plenty of opportunity for him to cement his command of the ship. The politics would be galling, but his family was sufficiently well-placed, it shouldn’t be a problem, in the end.
“Admiral.” Commander Jhessik’s voice seemed strained over the general comms. Ko-Rhan realized his report was overdue.
“It’s alright, Commander.” He wanted to spit, but kept his voice calm. “We have four guests in the central boarding lounge. We’ll—”
“Admiral, we have a translation through the gate.” The strain was more pronounced. “Sir, it’s something large.”
There was a jumble of nervous voices in the background of the open channel.
“Two contacts, sir. The second is broadcasting vardosi codes, but they’re not up to date.”
Ko-Rhan shook his head. “Just bring up the defense grid. Not even another world ship could—”
“I believe that’s my cue.” The pirate woman, Aymes, raised one hand. A small, sleek remote was revealed there, its bronze finish gleaming dully in the pale overhead light.
She pressed a button.
Ko-Rhan reached toward her with a yell, and the vardanari raised their weapons to fire, faces twisted into fierce, threatening scowls.
There was a dull sound from behind the blast doors. A blue-white light seemed to flare for a moment, and the umbilicus, still attached to the Loyal Courser, shook slightly.
And then everything was still.
The admiral straightened and smiled evilly at her. “Well, whatever that was, it appears to have failed.”
Ko-Rhan gestured for the vardanari to seize the remote and restrain the prisoners. There would be plenty of time to deal with them when he had finished with this new strangeness.
“Commander, what is the status of the new arrivals?” He turned to move back toward the command center. His mouth tightened into an annoyed frown; he would have to deal with this new crisis in his dress uniform. Then he brightened, waving for the drones to follow. Perhaps the newcomers would provide a suitably impressive conclusion to the day’s drama. Images of him leading a battle in his formal gear wouldn’t hurt.
“Commander! There’s something wrong!” The fear in Jhessik’s voice was unmistakable. Beyond the tone, the audio itself seemed to waver, as if the signal was passing in and out of reception.
That should have been impossible on the internal systems.
“There’s something wrong with the systeml! The shard is … it’s dying, sir!”
That brought ko-Rhan up short. “Jhessik? Jhessik, report! What’s happening?”
“Sir! I do-do-do-d-d-d-d-d-d-d…” The sound melted into a senseless hiss and then faded away.
Before ko-Rhan could respond, the lights all along the softly curving corridor flickered in a chaotic jumble of dancing shadows, and then died. All around him sounds of battle erupted. Several flashes of plasma scorched pale afterimages across his vision.
It was over in a moment, and silence washed through the blackness. Emergency auxiliary lamps glowed to life. All the vardanari were down. Some lay still on the deck, others nursed various injuries, backs against the walls of the corridor as the pirates held them at bay with long knives of a dull, matte material.
“Golden Venture, this is Captain Rollen Stihl, currently of the C3 vessel Lumen.” The voice echoed down the corridor, setting the walls themselves vibrating. “I expect by now you have realized that your shard is dead, rendering your defensive systems useless. Please have my quartermaster escorted to your command center where she will take command of your vessel and prepare for my arrival, and none of your people will be harmed.”
The voice paused, and ko-Rhan looked around feverishly, but there was no escape. His entire world was ending, each vibrating rattle of the pirate captain’s voice shaking the dust of his dreams down around him. His fevered eyes fell upon the woman, staring at him from behind her long blade. He took a step toward her, heedless of the warning in her gleaming eyes.
“Of course, if you have mistreated Aymes in any way, we will be somewhat less sympathetic to your cause. I will be forced to kill you all out of hand, and then take possession of the Venture.”
Admiral Bha ko-Rhan stopped, helpless rage roaring in his ears, as he stared into the woman’s cold eyes.
She smiled. “You could still try.” She gave him an almost apologetic shrug.
And with that shrug, the last embers of his future spun away into the darkness.
A Fair Trade
By Riley O’Connor
The Attisan Trans-Planetesimal Commerce Hub was an immense structure built into the very foundation of the largest asteroid in the system, a behemoth nearly two hundred thousand yan across. The trading hub was unique in that it was constructed using suspensor fields and deep tungsten-alloy anchors to support a series of long, protruding nanostructures that jutted from the gutted asteroid. The spindly, metallic tendrils could hold well over one hundred vessels at any given time. The dozens of nanite tendrils made the station resemble a monstrous, glimmering hermit crab emerging from its rocky shell, and thus the nickname of ‘the Crab’ grew into ubiquity.
In contrast, the ship approaching the Crab was little more than a parasite. A large cargo hold was integrated into the sleek vessel to allow for a deceptive amount of storage. The crimson exterior of the ship was cracked and faded from countless years of gate travel.
Not that they were uncountable. Detailed logs were encoded on the ship’s system that cataloged every transaction and gate transfer the Carmine Canotila had ever made in its colorful history in serving the Byzantia vardos. Nacen, however, simply had no desire to learn the details of his father’s history with the ship. He saw the Carmine not as a craft with which to ply the effectively endless horizons of Antarean space, but as a cage. Its hull was a consignment to mediocrity in the vardos. Nacen placated himself with the fact that if he performed his role as captain well, it might not be his cage for long.
The bridge of the Carmine Canotila was certainly small, but fit its three occupants comfortably enough. Nacen Byzantia stood hunched over a control panel not currently in use by the ship’s pilot sitting beside him. He was tall, even for a vardosi. A wave of gossamer auburn hair swept over his pale forehead, styled neatly back over thin ears. He wore a form-fitting suit of lustrous black reflex armor, from which hung a deep crimson cloak.
The pilot was a PanHuman woman with short, pale blonde hair. She sat back at the main control panel in her gray flight suit, intently focused on the Carmine’s path through the crowded tendrils of the Crab. There were no windows in the bridge, but several large displays danced against the forward wall at her whim. They laid out various views from the hull and an incalculable number of flight diagnostics that Nacen rarely acknowledged. Behind the pair stood one of Nacen’s vardanari, a distant cousin of his named Camlo. He wore the same iridescent black armor as Nacen, though his own deep red impact cloak hung much shorter around his shoulders. His meager attention was currently being used to inspect the plasma carbine he held as he stood at the entrance of the bridge.
Nacen ran a nervous hand through his auburn hair. At first glance the pilot appeared intensely focused as she weaved the Carmine around the tendrils protruding from the station where the ships docked. However, the longer Nacen watched her languid strokes at the control panel and indifferent glances toward the ship’s flight diagnostics, the more he got the feeling she was simply bored. He figured the pilot would be no less stoic if they were gate traveling directly into a supernova. He did not like interfering with Linasette while she was performing these tight maneuvers, but felt he should say something as they approached their destination without slowing.
“We should be docking at bay delta-three on the seventh anterior docking tendril. You’re about to pass it,” Nacen said, keeping his voice neutral. No sense getting worked up just yet.
“Sorry, Captain, no we’re not,” Linasette countered.
“What are you talking about? Of course we are.” Nacen had to bite back to conceal a twinge of annoyance. He had only been the captain of the Carmine for a few short weeks and had assumed there would be a warming up period, but this bordered on insubordination.
“It’s on our predesignated offloading plan. It was provided as soon as we entered the Attisan system.”
Nacen brought up the itinerary on the front display screen of the Carmine’s small bridge more to emphasize his point than to provide any actual evidence.
“Well it’ll be tough to dock in delta-three when there’s a C3 frigate blocking the way,” Linasette mused with mild trepidation.
“What?” Nacen exclaimed, too shocked to muster much else.
He studied the view of the docking legs more deliberately now, his eyes focused in slits as they flitted across the deceptively thin tendrils of nanostructure. At last he found the appropriate docking tendril, and the point on which the Carmine Canotila was meant to latch. It was currently being blocked by a large commercial freighter.
“You scared me there, Lina. That’s just an agriculture freighter,” Nacen said.
“I don’t think so, Captain. I can’t access their ship’s IMTel.”
“Imagine that. It’s as if they almost don’t want you playing with their temperature control, reading their financial records, or venting their cargo into space.”
“Well naturally I wouldn’t do anything if I had access. Anyway, if it’s good enough to keep us out, it isn’t civilian. That suggests military. Second, who needs plants on a space station?”
“Merchants with too much money and a penchant for unnecessary aesthetics?” Nacen suggested.
“Well you would know, Captain.”
Nacen ignored the pilot’s attempt at humor.
“But why a Concord Combined Command ship in particular?” Nacen asked.
“I used to fly refueling missions for C3 cruisers on Fomalhaut, before I signed on with House Byzantia. Didn’t have access to their IMTel, either, obviously. But getting locked out isn’t like hitting a wall like you get if you try to hack into a low-level system like an agriculture ship. It’s like passing over it and never realizing the wall is even there.”
Nacen grunted. Understanding the nuances of Integrated Machine Intelligence was not his strength. It served its purpose and that was all he cared about.
“Why’d you do it?”
“Try to hack into their IMTel? I’m just curious why they’re in our docking bay,” Linasette replied.
“No, leave the Concord.”
The pilot gave a dismissive shrug in her thick, acceleration-resistant flight suit.
“Short answer is you guys paid more. Long answer is you guys pay more and a bunch of other stuff I won’t bore you with. Not today at least.”
Nacen nodded silently and turned to Camlo. He preferred the company of Beskin. The older, solemn vardanari had much more experience as a bodyguard than Nacen’s distant cousin standing nervously at attention before him. Camlo was short, with a shock of auburn hair similar to Nacen’s own. Though cropped short, its thick curls waved around his large ears like a mane. Camlo was nearly as new at his role of vardanari as Nacen was at being a captain.
“We’ll keep our unload quick and clean. Get Beskin up here, too. I want my vardanari by me when the station sends their welcoming committee. Linasette will monitor station intelligence for anything that looks like military activity.”
Camlo gave an eager nod and began walking briskly away.
“It still doesn’t make any sense,” Linasette said. “If there was a change in our flight plan, which there isn’t, the station should have alerted us.”
“There are such things as false truths and honest lies,” Nacen said.
