Authors: Jasper T Scott
Chapter 7
“I
want to know what we’re going to do about it! For frek’s sake, Admiral! Do you think we’re all stim-baked skriffs?”
Admiral Hoff Heston folded his hands on the glossy black table of the operations center and met Captain Ocheron’s blazing brown eyes with a calm look. “We’re not going to do anything,” he said.
Ocheron blinked. “We have a Sythian Fleet on our doorstep—Gors eating all of our food—” Ocheron gestured to Tova, who sat at the foot of the table, glaring unblinkingly at Hoff. “—the Hydroponics Guild is raising prices on all shipments from food to caf and salves, and you want us to do
nothing
?”
“I have the situation in hand.”
“How exactly do you have it in hand?” Ocheron demanded, his thick black mustache twitching as he loomed across the table. Hoff eyed the man’s shiny bald head, and wondered absently if he might be able to see his own reflection there. Ocheron was a big brute of a man, the former Outlaw Captain of crime lord Alec Brondi’s fleet, now one of Admiral Heston’s own captains in the legitimate Imperial Fleet. Ocheron had been pardoned along with everyone else after Brondi had been defeated, but like virtually all of the outlaws in Dark Space, he wasn’t adapting well to the level of discipline and structure in the Imperial Fleet.
“Unfortunately, that information is classified.”
“Of course it is,” Ocheron said drily. “One question, Admiral, how do you expect us to trust you if you won’t tell us what you’re planning? I think I can speak for the skull faces on that, too—right Tova?” Ocheron turned to the High Praetor of the Gors, and Hoff was relieved to see her finally break her death stare with him. She turned the glowing red optics of her helmet on Ocheron and began warbling at him. A moment later the translation came through Hoff’s ear piece.
“We . . .
skull faces
, as you call us, are aware of the Admiral’s plan.”
Hoff winced at that revelation. Captain Ocheron hadn’t been present for the initial strategy meeting which had led them to the conclusion that they needed to get reinforcements from Avilon. Few people in Dark Space even knew Avilon existed, and for good reason. If they knew that a lost sector of humanity was out there somewhere, untouched by the war, then there would be more unrest than ever. The people would demand to know where Avilon was, and insist that Hoff take them there.
But it’s not that simple,
Hoff thought.
Even if the Immortals agreed to take them in as refugees, few would meet up to the Avilonians’ strict standards for humanity, and those who didn’t would be turned away.
Captain Ocheron turned slowly back to Hoff, his pale skin having turned an ugly shade of purple. “The skull face knows and we don’t?” Ocheron jerked a thumb over his shoulder to Tova.
Hoff shrugged. “The Gors were required for my plan to work.”
Ocheron breathed a deep sigh and turned to the man sitting beside him, his XO, Master Commander Leskin. That man had more bright and glowing tattoos than visible skin. He was a quiet man with a frightening appearance, and in Hoff’s experience, it was the quiet ones you had to watch. “I think we’re done here, Commander, don’t you?” Ocheron asked.
Leskin turned to look at Hoff. He wore a pair of glowing blue contacts which contrasted sharply with the pulsing red tattoos that whorled around his eyes. Leskin nodded once and rose to his feet in tandem with his captain, while Ocheron turned back to Hoff with a scowl. “I had thought we’d learned to trust one another, Admiral. Apparently I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Captain.” Hoff watched Ocheron and Leskin leave the operations center, leaving him alone with his bodyguards and Tova. Turning to the alien, he raised his grizzled eyebrows. “Are you going to storm out of here, too, Tova?”
“Be thankful I am not the one you leave out of your meetings.”
Hoff regarded Tova quietly for a moment. “Is that a threat?”
“No,” she said, rising from the table. “It is wisdom.”
Hoff nodded slowly and regarded her with a small smile.
Tova stepped up to the doors. The pair of bodyguards standing there eyed her for a moment, looking nervously between themselves, and then to Hoff. He nodded, and they opened the doors for her. She stooped to get through the doorway. The doors swished shut behind her, leaving Hoff alone with his thoughts. He wondered about the uneasy alliance he’d constructed.
Criminals, ISSF, and Gors—all forced to work together for the common good.
It was a recipe for disaster, but none of them had a choice. They had to stand together if they wanted to have even a scant hope against the Sythians.
And soon we’ll be adding Immortals to that alliance.
. . .
Hoff’s thoughts were interrupted as his comm piece trilled insistently in his ear.
Incoming call from Councilor Destra Heston,
the comm piece declared. Hoff was grateful for the distraction. After the tension-filled meeting he’d just had, it would be nice to hear his wife’s voice.
“Hello, darling,” he said.
“Hoff, we have a situation developing.”
“What kind of situation?”
“The kind where the council just declared an emergency session. We have riots on Karpathia, Etaris, Forliss . . . basically everywhere, and almost all of the guilds are on strike. The entire economy just ground to a halt.”
“What?” Hoff sat suddenly straighter in his chair. “Why? What happened?”
“They know about the Sythian Fleet.”
“Ah . . . that does explain things. How did they find out?”
“Someone leaked recon data to the commnet. It’s everywhere, on all the news nets.”
Hoff frowned. It had been inevitable that people find out about the Sythians, since the whole fleet knew about them, but what was harder to imagine was how highly classified recon data had been leaked to the commnet. His thoughts went straight to Captain Ocheron and the rest of the outlaws. “This is the price we pay for bringing a gang of ex-cons into the fleet. The press probably bribed one of them to leak the data.”
“Well, whoever’s responsible, they’ve forced our hand. We need to make a formal statement about this crisis, and you need to give the people a reason not to be afraid.”
“Yes, you’re right. Get a holo conference together with the press. I’ll start preparing a statement. Let me know when my audience is ready.”
“I will. . . . and Hoff?”
“Yes?”
“
Should
we be afraid?”
He was about to dismiss his wife’s concerns with an empty platitude, but the worried tone in her voice gave him pause. She was worried, not just as a councilor, responsible to millions of citizens on the planet she represented, but also as a mother and a wife, and she deserved to know the truth. Hoff’s eyes went to his bodyguards, who were watching him discreetly from the doorway. “Fear is wasteful, Des. What we need right now is hope. I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll be waiting in the press briefing room.”
Hoff nodded and ended the comm call. As he left the operations center, his bodyguards took positions flanking him. He stalked down the corridor, heading for the nearest rail car tunnel, his mind twisting and turning over recent events. He considered what he was going to say to the press, briefly toying with the idea of telling them the truth, but that only led to visions of even greater unrest as the people demanded he lead them to safety in Avilon. Hoff shook his head.
No, the time hadn’t yet come for something as dangerous as the truth.
* * *
Ethan and Alara waded into a heated infinity pool, passing through gauzy white curtains of steam which rose perpetually from the surface of the water and into the chilly air. This was the Vermillion Palace on Karpathia, a ski resort built high on the near-vertical cliffs of White Cap Mountain. Guests staying at the Vermillion had the best of both winter and summer activities. While staying on the mountain they could enjoy gravboarding, ice skating, and skiing, while just a short gondola ride away was the small seaside town of Ostin where guests could make their way to the waterfront to enjoy sun, sand, and surf, along with fresh seafood. There was something for everyone at the Vermillion. They’d arrived on Karpathia and checked in to the honeymoon suite just a few hours ago, and now—finally—Ethan could relax. No more Kurlin Vastra, and no more wedding plans—just him and Alara in paradise.
“What do you think?” Ethan asked as they walked up to the edge of the pool. Upon reaching it Ethan slipped his arms around Alara’s waist and propped his chin on her shoulder. Alara gasped as they took in the view together. Between the infinity pool, which seemed to run endlessly into the abyss, and their high, cliffside vantage point, they had the illusion that they were at the top of a waterfall, about to plunge three kilometers straight down. Far below, the bright turquoise waters of the Argyle Sea sparkled in the sun beneath a clear indigo sky. Islands overgrown with opalescent vegetation peppered the middle distance between them and the pale white line of the horizon.
“It’s amazing,” Alara breathed, sounding short of breath. Whether that was from the altitude or a touch of vertigo, Ethan wasn’t sure. The air was much thinner at the palace than it was on Forliss where they’d been staying with her family. Here they were over three kilometers above sea level. Altitabs were offered to all the guests upon arrival as a courtesy of the resort. Ethan and Alara had taken theirs as soon as they’d checked in, but it would take a few more hours before those pills boosted their blood counts enough for their lungs to get more out of the thin air.
“Excuse me,” a gender-neutral voice asked. Ethan turned from the view to see a hovering metallic sphere with a quartet of articulated arms. “Would either of you like a hot beverage?”
“Hmmm . . .” Ethan pursed his lips, focusing on the bright blue iris of the bot’s photoreceptor. “How much?”
“It’s free, sir. My records indicate that your package gives you unlimited access to our facilities, which includes your fill of food and drink.”
“Well, it seems like your old man spared no expense,” Ethan said, sending Alara a sidelong glance.
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“I’m not sure, maybe because a part of me is still expecting someone to hand me the bill.”
“You’re not very good at accepting gifts, are you?” Alara whispered. Turning to the hovering server bot, she smiled and said, “I’ll have a cup of hot chocolate.”
“And for you, sir?”
“What do you recommend?”
“The palace is famous for its selection of vermillion ice wines. The wine is fermented from fresh snow berries, and it comes highly recommended if you’re in the mood for a cold beverage.”
Ethan took a moment to feel the chill around his ears and weigh that against the steamy heat of the pool. If anything he was too warm, rather than cold, so he decided to risk it. “Bring me a glass of that, then.”
“Very well, sir,” the bot said. Ethan watched it buzz away, skimming low over the surface of the pool. It stopped to take orders from another couple just now entering the shallow end of the pool.
“You know,” Alara began, while Ethan absently studied that couple. “You don’t have to be so defensive. Just because my father’s paying doesn’t mean he expects something in return.”
Ethan was about to reply to that when a flash of light drew his attention to a holoscreen floating above the bar. It was a local news channel, showing scenes of fires burning, stores and marketplaces being looted . . . and the most frightening thing of all, Gors in shiny black armor being dispatched right alongside ISSF sentinels to deal with the riots. In one particularly disturbing scene a Gor was shown hefting a man over his head. A mob of angry citizens had backed the alien into a corner with makeshift clubs. As Ethan watched, one or two citizens opened fire with handheld ripper weapons, but the shells bounced harmlessly off the Gor’s armor. Then the Gor threw the man he was holding and promptly disappeared, cloaking to get away from the crowd.
“What the . . .”
“My father’s generosity doesn’t make you any less of a man.” Ethan ignored her and went on gaping at the holoscreen. “Are you listening to me, Ethan?”
“Hold on a second . . .” he said, and with that, he swam across the pool to get a better look at the holoscreen. When he got close enough to focus on the news ticker, he read:
Riots storm across Dark Space as Sythian threat looms. 59 dead, 420 injured.
“Frek . . .” Ethan whispered.
“What’s going on?” Alara asked, swimming up behind him.
He turned to her and shook his head, his face ashen. “They’re back.”
“Who?”
Ethan left that question unanswered as he watched the screen. Now it switched to a different scene. There was a podium with a lectern, and behind that, the golden emblem of the Imperium emblazoned on a shiny black wall—six stars surrounding a clenched fist. As Ethan watched, none other than Admiral Hoff Heston stepped up to the lectern, wearing the trademark white uniform of the supreme overlord. Ethan called out to a nearby bartender who stood watching the news with them. “Could you raise the volume, please?”
The man turned to them with a vacant look. A second later his brain seemed to process what was being asked of him, and he waved his hands at the screen to raise the volume.
Ethan heard, “. . . the people of Dark Space need to understand that this civil unrest is more threatening to our security than any Sythian Fleet. If we are to mount a proper defense, and indeed repel the invaders as we have recently proven we can, then we need you, all of you, to keep doing your jobs. Don’t stop living your lives just because the Sythians have returned. The very fact that they’ve already been here for more than 24 hours without making a move to attack us is a sign that they know we can beat them if they do. Rest assured we are preparing for an attack, and our defenses are stronger than ever before. This is not a time to give in to despair; it is a time to fight on, and to remind ourselves of the real reason the Sythians are here: they’re here because
they
are afraid of
us.
That is why they have worked so hard to exterminate us, and we have proven that they are right to be afraid, because they have thrown their best at us and we are still here. Trust us to protect you. We will not fail in our duty to humanity.”