Greenshift

A TALE FROM THE AMBASADORA-VERSE:

By

Heidi Ruby Miller

Greenshift

Heidi Ruby Miller

Copyright Heidi Ruby Miller 2012

Published by Union City Publishing

Cover image and typography Copyright Byron Winton 2012

For Jason—You know I see an Armadan when I look at you,
right?

Thank you to Jennifer Barnes, Michael Duff, Scott Krofcheck,
Jason Jack Miller, and Sharon Ruby—you helped me to give this latest tale in
the Ambasadora-verse life.

Thank you to Byron Winton for another beautiful cover!

I’m giving you one more chance
.

“Unidentified transport
vessel, this is Captain David Anlow of the
Argo Protector
. You have entered
forbidden space above an embargoed planet. Disengage your weapons or we will
take this as a sign of aggression and release gunships. Do you
acknowledge?”

The UTV’s silence mimicked their
response to the first two hails.

David’s gunship crews were
standing by for launch. Normally he would simply fire a warning shot across the
UTV’s bow. The sight of a blue-white plasma ball rapidly filling the viewscreen
was enough to force even the most powerfully equipped ships to surrender. And this
mid-sized transport vessel facing off with them now only had low grade weaponry
that would simply vaporize as it glanced off the
Protector’s
massive
shields.

But David couldn’t risk a warning
shot here without the plasma punching through the atmosphere of Tampa One and
hitting the planet. The sharp silhouette of the oblong UTV was black against
the green and white haze of Tampa One. He hadn’t been on the pristine planet in
decades—few had since Sovereign Prollixer and the Quorum of Archivists designated
it an eco sanctuary. That meant no new settlements, no harvesting or mining,
only tourists who could pay the exorbitant prices that the Embassy-sanctioned
outfitters demanded.

“Third hail,” Commander
Lyra Simpra said, her cinnamon breath reminding David of his unfinished cup of
chai from this morning. “Gunships are a go, Captain.”

Lyra had never been a patient
woman.

His patience wore thin, too. “Launch
gunships two and four.”

Still….

The situation
felt wrong
to David. He had been captaining the
Protector
for ten years and had
moved through fleet ranks since enlisting as a teenager. In all that time he
learned to hone his instincts. Right now they told him there was something he
was missing.

To the gunships he instructed, “Close
half the distance. Wait for my order to engage.” Then so that only his
commander could hear, “Lyra, something feels off about this ship.”

“Aside from their outdated
registration, non-existent transponder codes, and unwillingness to answer
us?” the blonde Armadan asked. “Oh, and there’s the bit about their
weapons being online.”

Only Lyra could get away with
talking to him like that, and not just because of how they spent their time
together off the bridge. He valued her opinion—she never let emotion cloud her
judgment, even when it came to him.

“Do you really think it’s a
coincidence that the day the Embassy sends down the quorum to reconsider the
Archenzon embargo, this UTV shows up?” she asked.

“Why would they do this?”
David asked. “They had to know they’d be hopelessly outgunned.”

“Desperation. To make a
statement.” Lyra didn’t sound like she cared about motive. Her mood had been
irascible since she returned from a meeting at fleet headquarters last week.
She’d never told David what that meeting was about, and he never asked because
there would always be parts of their relationship they didn’t discuss—because
their positions as officers wouldn’t allow it.

Considering their conversation
before she attended that meeting, David suspected Lyra had requested a transfer.
He shouldn’t have brought up marriage again.

The comm officer interrupted his
thoughts. “They’re responding, Sir.”

“
Argo Protector
we
have families on board traveling from Tampa Three. We’re requesting an
emergency landing. Don’t fire.”

“Convenient,” Lyra
said.

David agreed. “Why are your
weapons online?”

“That can’t be. Our ship
isn’t armed.”
The man’s voice sounded nervous, not necessarily like he
was lying, more like the pronouncement caught him unawares.

David looked to his petty officer
for confirmation.

“Still reading as online,
Sir.”

“Our sensors report your
weapons
are
online. Disengage and we can discuss your emergency
situation,” David said.

To his comm officer he said,
“Relay this information, including the request for an emergency landing,
to HQ.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’m telling you we don’t
have any weapons, online or otherwise.”
Panic infused the man’s voice.

“We’re assessing your
situation now,” David said.

“Response coming in from
fleet HQ, Captain,” the comm officer said.

“Put it through.”

“Why hasn’t that ship been
dealt with?”
To David’s surprise, he recognized the voice as Rear
Admiral Quartis. He expected a comm officer to relay the message. The Embassy
must really be concerned with the security for the quorum’s little foray
on-planet. Most likely the escalating terrorist attacks by the fragger
organization this past week.

“Sir, there may be civilian
families on board—”

“Squatters, you mean. Trying
to stake a claim to land on Tampa One before the embargo lifts.”

David had considered that.
Accounts and debates had been all over the Media as this vote was coming to a
head that those citizens already living on the surface could remain, but no new
immigrants would be tolerated. If these were Lower Caste citizens from the
ill-formed world of Tampa Three, he could understand their desire to live in
paradise. They could never be allowed, of course, because their actions were
illegal.

“I’ll have troopers from one
of the gunships board them, access the situation from that end, then take them
on board if there’s no threat to the ship,” David said. “Relay that
order to gunship two,” he told the comm officer.

“If that ship doesn’t
comply with boarding, engage and destroy. The
Enforcer
is on its way to
back you up.”

David bristled. “I think one
battleship can handle a UTV, Sir.”

“Don’t forget who you’re
talking to, Captain Anlow.”

“You might want to hold your
tongue, Captain, before you make us all look bad,” Lyra spit out through
gritted teeth.

“And, you might want to hold
yours, Commander.” He didn’t need Lyra’s pissy attitude right now.

“The UTV’s weapons went
offline,” the petty officer said. “Sir, it’s making a break for Tampa
One’s atmosphere.”

“Tell gunships to follow. Do
not engage yet,” David said. “Try to hail the UTV again.”

“That goes against direct
orders, Sir,” Lyra said.

“It isn’t protocol to shoot
down a civilian ship,” David said.

Every trooper on the bridge
remained still, listening to the stand-off between the officers.

“Rear Admiral Quartis’
direct order overrides fleet protocol according to Section 4.30-74 of the
Aramadan—”

David cut Lyra off. “I’m not
blasting a passenger transport out of the sky without true proof of threat. You
may return to your quarters, Commander Simpra.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,
David.”

His head snapped around at the
use of his given name. That should have been the biggest surprise, but it paled
in comparison to the shock of seeing her pointing a cender between his eyes.
“This isn’t personal.”

“Gunships standing by—Sir,
gunships from the
Enforcer
just fired on the UTV.”

David watched the wall-sized
viewscreen as the UTV broke apart into hundreds of red-orange fireballs
plunging through Tampa One’s atmosphere. They’d never know the truth now.

The sub-orbital ship’s gangway
dropped slowly, first revealing stark white clouds mushrooming into a deep blue
sky then the undulating surface of a brilliant turquoise sea on Tampa Deux.
Wren had never seen anything like this back on Deleine, even along the coast of
the Chac Territory where the ocean wasn’t quite as polluted as the rest of the
planet. And it smelled just as she had imagined, like a thousand air purifiers
were working at once.

She could never leave this
beautiful place…because she was probably going to die here.

Terror seized her again, freezing
her feet to the dock. Wren’s heart pounded so hard and the blood pushed through
her veins with such force that she thought she might pass out.

“Please don’t do this,”
she begged Carlos, the tall blonde Armadan who pulled her along the private
dock. His large hand completely wrapped around her bicep, ensuring she went
only where he intended—straight to the man who had bought her.

“Please.” She tried to
implore again, but Carlos remained silent. He was only hired muscle anyway, not
like he had the authority to do anything except for what Dale told him to.

Dale Zapona, the wealthy business
mogul who was going to show her the system. She didn’t even know if that was
his real name. Everything else had been a lie, including what lay at the end of
this trip. Certainly not the adventure he had promised her as she sat at her
desk in the mining consortium headquarters, mooning over the man who was planning
all along to abduct her and sell her.

She still wouldn’t have known her
fate had Carlos not become bored during the journey and decided to make her his
entertainment. He couldn’t seem to get it up until he saw her fear. Telling her
Dale had already made a deal with some psychopath for her enslavement was
enough to do it.

They crossed the synthstone dock
over the sea as it became a boardwalk spanning a high dune. Her shoulder length
hair curled up and stuck to her neck, and the humid air invited biting insects.
Wren swatted at the winged attackers, but they were fast and raised red welts
on the fair skin of her exposed arms and legs and where her sleeveless sheath
had ripped during her struggle with Carlos back on board the freighter. Her
bulging lower lip also bore the mark of that one and only escape attempt when
she had gone mad with the thought of him touching her again.

Carlos promised Liu Stavros would
be worse, but the the man waiting for them on the exquisite white patio was
unexpected.

He was in his early twenties, she
guessed, not much older than she was. And very good-looking, reminding her of the
guys she and her friends drooled over on the Media feeds from clubs at the Hub
and the few exclusive franchises on Deleine.

When he saw them, he spread his
arms and asked, “What the hell is this?”

The pink shirt he wore billowed
open where he hadn’t bothered to button it in the front, revealing a thin, but
toned chest and abdomen. She couldn’t see any tan lines where the bronze skin
disappeared beneath the waistband of his beige linen pants.

He flipped his dark shades up
from his boyish button nose to look Wren up and down with light brown eyes.
They were how her eyes used to look before the vaccine turned them
golden-orange.

“Where’s the blonde?” he
asked. “And what’s up with the busted lip? You know I won’t pay full price
for damaged goods.”

“She had a little
fall,” Dale said, though he gave Carlos a look which said the difference
in price was coming out of his cut.

“In fact, you’re lucky if I
pay half because I already have one with chestnut hair in there.” Liu
Stavros hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the double glass patio doors.

If Wren wasn’t what he wanted,
maybe they’d let her go. A small hope swam to the top of her fear.