Date Point 2 Years 7 Months After Vancouver
Private World of Cimbrean
Jennifer Delaney. Mid-twenties, space-babe pirate queen and interstellar adventurer. Currently experiencing nothing short of pure ecstasy mixed in with a hint of rapturous elation.
“Oh my god…” she moaned, her eyes rolling back in bliss as she slipped her body beneath the steaming water and began trailing her fingers back and forth through the heated liquid as though she needed to prove it was really there. “An actual bath!”
It had been so long since she’d been able to manage anything like it. Earth was the last time she’d been able to enjoy the feeling of submerging herself in hot water, and she had to admit she’d been thinking of Earth less and less as time went on. Jen had changed, and even if they lifted the barrier tomorrow she doubted she’d have returned. Earth wasn’t home anymore.
“We should really get one of these for the ship,” she said to herself, leaning back into the water. Never mind that there was nowhere to put a bath on the ship, or that the water supply would by no means adequate for successive bathing adventures, it was for the moment a fun dream to have, and in the currently bleak state of the galaxy those were hard to come by.
There was a knock on the door, and Jen eyed the kinetic gun that rested by the edge of the bath. “If you’re hoping to come in you better be female!” she called out. “Otherwise I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it.”
That was true as well, over the last four months they’d spent a couple short weeks at the colony Chir had recommended before being forced to move on, although at the time Jen had been eager to find out what had happened to Adrian. They’d gone to the coordinates that had been broadcast and found it a debris field of broken, drifting Hunter vessels, but no sign of the Zhadersil. With no trace of the whereabouts of the vessel they had quickly shelved the search in favour of finding somewhere new to lay low.
Laying low had transformed, somehow, into becoming the scourge of Celzi space, and now they were feared by traders and pirates alike. The former for their ruthless capability, and the latter for the brutal way in which they put down their inept competition. Celzi space had never had fewer pirates plying its trade lanes, and at the same time those trade routes had never been quite so thoroughly disrupted as they now were. Even the well-established and protected lanes had been subjected to the treatment, a situation that had shaken confidence throughout the Alliance.
Jen had proved surprisingly good at taking the lead for their operations, and with Trycrur’s assistance they’d fashioned her an appropriately dangerous combat suit. It was the first in the galaxy like it, as far as Trycrur was aware, but Jen had based the idea on several movies and popular comic books. When she’d suggested that everyone get one, however, Trycrur had disappointed her with a long explanation on why anyone else would be crushed by the weight of the suit itself. That would be, to quote Adrian, ‘far from ideal’.
The small side door to the bathing hall opened and Trycrur entered with the calm attitude of a Rauwryhr female who has just gotten enough sleep for the first time in weeks. “That is an interesting way to wash yourself.”
“It’s a sublime way to wash myself,” Jen replied ardently, withdrawing her hand from the gun and using it to free her hair instead. “Don’t you dare tell me we have to go!”
“Not at all,” Trycrur said, seating herself on the edge of the bathing basin without getting too close to the water. Jen had gathered that this was not a form of bathing with which Rauwryhr were comfortable, and that they were deeply phobic against any form of submersion.
“I thought you might like to know that the crew have finished securing the colony,” Trycrur said. “Or whatever it’s intended to be.”
“Given the accommodation,” Jen said, gesturing to the bathing room and its ludicrously ornate furnishings, “I would suggest it’s some sort of luxurious private mansion.”
“Whatever it is,” Trycrur said, “we haven’t found any of the former inhabitants, or any reason for the place to have been abandoned, except for…”
“Except for Hunters,” Jen finished, looking around her surroundings with a new level of discomfort. She’d learned to despise those creatures as much as the others seemed to fear them, although she did maintain a healthy level of caution as well. She wasn’t like Adrian, a gung-ho psychopath who spread death like marmite. She was a normal person… who was now in charge of the most talked-about group of criminals in the whole Celzi Alliance.
She decided that ‘normal’ was entirely relative out in the depths of space.
“So,” Jen said, “since there’s nobody around to claim it, perhaps we could extend our stay?”
“There’s no reason why we couldn’t,” Trycrur replied. “This is a very comfortable Class Four planet that hasn’t managed to create any other sentient life. For all intents and purposes it’s ours to do with as we please, especially as the Celzi Alliance has bigger things on their hands than ‘liberating’ the homes of rich people.”
“Then I think we’ll at least turn it into our base of operations,” Jen told her. “Make arrangements for that, Trix, I’m tired of spending weeks at a time aboard that smelly ship and living in squalor.”
Trycrur seemed pleased by this. “I could get certainly get used to this world. It’s hard out in space where there’s no room to flap your wings.”
“It will also give you the space to do things you haven’t had room for since we left the Zhadersil,” Jen said. “I know you’ve been wanting to get back into making things.”
Trycrur sighed. “Yes, but there’s not really a proper machining lab here, just a basic workshop for keeping spacecraft working.”
“Maybe we could steal the equipment next?” Jen suggested, and was glad to see Trycrur laugh. It had been a trying few months since their escape from the Zhadersil, and they’d had hardly any chance to let off steam.
Jen really thought this place was going to be good for them. She was feeling better already.
The Black Star, inbound to Cimbrean
It had been only (three months) since Zripob had rejoined the crew of the Zhadersil, drawn to the name that had only just qualified for a footnote in the Dominion news networks. It had appeared that the Dominion had been keeping something quiet, but the fact that it had attained any publicity at all had been cause for his great interest.
(Four months) ago he had gone looking for the Zhadersil where he had last known it to be, the orbital factory in Irbzrk, and had discovered a populace filled with equal parts relief and terror. The Zhadersil was gone, taken by Adrian Saunders to lure away the Swarm of Swarms, a tactic that had been entirely successful. They had been less informative on the subject of the other crew members, and it had only been through the most enthusiastic investigation methods that he had discovered the details of what had happened to them.
Zripob had followed, and after nearly a full (month) of giving chase, he had finally caught up to them during a raid on a Celzi industrial materials station. Amongst all of the weapons-fire it had been quite the reunion, and it brought a smile to his face even now.
Today he was set to make rendezvous with their newest acquisition, a luxurious household on a private world. It had been picked clean of occupants by Hunters – that was how they made all of their easiest acquisitions these days, ever since Jen had figured out how to locate them through their own equipment – and it would be up to Zripob to set up whatever was required to defend it. To that end he and the crew of the Black Star had been ‘shopping’ out on the richer trade routes for vessels that could hold their own in a fight. They’d stripped the weapons and materials from about five freighter vessels before they’d been driven off by a Celzi cruiser that had gotten too interested.
That would still be more than enough to defend a single household, although Zripob was not a strong believer in the possibility of ever having too many weapons; a limit on weapons was a limit on options.
He called in his position as he slipped into an entry vector, making sure his men were all strapped in and ready for the bumpy bit. Class Four planets were comfortable – very comfortable, as far as he was concerned, his race, the ‘Chehnasho’, had arisen on a Class Seven world – but that didn’t mean their upper atmospheres were always a smooth ride.
“You’re back soon,” Chir commented over the communications link as the Black Star made its descent. “Did everything go well?”
“We work fast,” Zripob replied. “The Chehnasho have little time for inefficiency, you know?”
“You hit trouble,” Chir interpreted in good humour.
“Celzi Cruiser came looking where it wasn’t wanted,” Zripob told him with a croaky chuckle. “We gave it one of Trycrur’s farewell gifts to give them something to think about while we embraced the wiser option.”
“And what about the Hunters?” Chir asked. “Any success stories?”
“Tell Jen her software takes all the fun out of killing those bastards,” Zripob replied. “They get all confused when their communication implants start playing pro-human propaganda. By the time they figure out they need to actually talk to one another they’re normally ‘neck deep in the shit’.”
Chir hummed thoughtfully. “And what of people? Did you save any?”
Zripob laughed his croaky laugh again. “We did! They were very surprised when we turned around and robbed them afterwards, but since they got out of it with their lives I think they weren’t too sad about it!”
“So should I be expecting to see the name of ‘Zhadersil’ on their news networks any time soon?”
Croaking out a sigh, Zripob didn’t feel like that was very likely. “I tell them every time, but you know how hard their government is cracking down on that sort of news. Only one of the traders I hit even knew about us, so while news is spreading, it’s spreading slowly.”
“That’ll have to do,” Chir said, “unless we can manage to do something they can’t hide.”
“If Adrian was here, the name of ‘Zhadersil’ would be known across the Alliance,” Zripob mused. “That crazy bastard would have them shitting themselves over what he’d do next!”
A humorless chuckle was Chir’s reply. They both knew that wherever Adrian was, he was unlikely to be in a state where he’d be able to do anything, let alone lead some kind of campaign of terror, and given the options when it came to Hunters they’d all hoped he’d managed to give them something to think about before dying.
The other option was too awful to consider.
“I’ve readied a meadow for you,” Chir finally said as the Black Star passed under the thousand klick mark. “Coordinates should be on your screen now. Put down there, and I’ll have some men ready to start moving your cargo.”
“Right you are,” Zripob replied, dropping the coordinates into the auto-nav system. “I’ll see you ground-side, Chir.”
The Gaoian male only grunted his reply.
Infinite Convergence, Corti Directorate Mobile Research Station
“This is foolishness,” Irdin told his superior, the esteemed Dominion Councilor Hrbrd. “The effort we have already expended upon this enterprise has already exceeded estimates!”
Councilor Hrbrd sat patiently in his office chair, waiting while his subordinate finished his tirade. This office, like every one he made his own these days, had been speedily reconfigured to match that of the one he kept on the Corti homeworld, the office he considered to be his ‘home’. They were supposed to be an identical facsimile, but it had always seemed to Hrbrd that there was a way to tell, be it in the texture of the metal of his desk, the details on the abstract art formations that decorated his walls, or in the projection of a sunset from a famous balcony that had once existed on his homeworld. There was always something, and in this one it was the projection. Too much green. It was distracting.
“Estimates are made to be exceeded, Irdin,” Hrbrd said with some disdain. “I have said no, and my answer will remain that way. You have no knowledge of humans whatsoever, and yet you presume to give me advice?”
“I am your advisor, Councilor,” Irdin protested, “therefore I will advise, and I will tell you that you are being a fool when you are being a fool!”
“This is not foolishness, Advisor,” Hrbrd informed him, his voice remaining calm and factual while his Advisor grew ever increasingly frustrated. “This is a strategy intended to deal with a human. A very… difficult human who has already been responsible for the deaths of a number of Corti sent by the Directorate, do you understand?”
“Then it should be obvious that he needs to be controlled!” Irdin replied. “A cerebral detonator-“
“Was already installed at a previous time,” Hrbrd interrupted. “This is substantiated by Salvage Master Treoffa’s own personal records. We recovered those along with the pod, and a number of fascinating records and messages. Did you know that the vessel’s energy dissipation field can also be used in conjunction with its main weapon as a sort of suicide weapon? The Hunters did not, and they paid the price. They thought they were dealing with a starship constructed by a sane species. Do you understand?”
Irdin nodded with some hesitation. “So there was another race of insane-“
“It was an allegory, fool!” Hrbrd interrupted once again, far more irritably this time. “Albeit a factual one. The human is like the starship, you cannot attempt your standard methods of coercion, or they’re likely to lead to your own death. Would you enjoy being beaten to death with your own arms, Advisor? I most certainly would not.”
“So how do you intend to control the human, Councilor?” Irdin asked, thoroughly abashed by the chastisement.
Hrbrd snorted, always surprised at how unusually stupid members of the race that thought themselves so superior could be. It so often led to overthinking the situation, to forming inaccurate expectations in the abilities of others, and to the pride that – where humans were involved at least – always preceded a downfall.
“I intend to talk to him,” Hrbrd said simply. “He is not a beast, and I believe he may be reasoned with. He is far more intelligent than you give him credit for, as the field of destruction he leaves behind him will show you.”
Irdin seemed unsatisfied by that, not surprising if you considered what a routinely average Corti he was. “What if he becomes violent?”
“Then I suspect I shall be killed,” Hrbrd replied flatly. “An event I shall no doubt find most unfortunate. Should that happen you may feel free to gloat over the correctness of your own assessment for exactly as long as it will take the human to hunt you down as well.”
Irdin at least seemed to accept this for an answer, although it wasn’t one he was pleased by. The prospect of being ripped apart by a crazed Deathworlder was unlikely to delight anyone.
“Now,” Hrbrd said, once he had determined that Irdin was not going to push his point any further, “how is the reclamation of the Human going?”
“De-ionization of the pod will be completed today,” Irdin reported. “If left to its own devices it would have remained lethally radioactive for ten thousand years. You have yet to advise whether the ship is to receive similar treatment, Councilor.”
“I have yet to decide whether it will receive similar treatment,” Hrbrd replied icily. “The human comes first. Continue.”
Obediently, Irdin continued. “Scans have determined the human is in an injured state. The Doctors have advised that the injury is severe but not lethal, and appears to be the bite of a Hunter.”
“Somebody got a taste of our friend, then,” Hrbrd mused. “Presumably the last thing it ever tasted.”
“Presumably,” Irdin agreed. “The Human’s body shows escalated levels of the ‘adrenaline drug’ – records show that it produces this naturally – as well as a complete suffusion of Cruezzir! With that taken into account the Doctors estimate a natural recovery time of (days), not (weeks) or (months)!”
“That is useful,” Hrbrd said. “It will be good to be able to utilise him with little delay.”
“Councilor,” Irdin asked hesitantly, “why is its body full of Cruezzir? As I remember it that is a short-lived regenerative treatment.”
“Continue with your ignorance, Irdin,” Hrbrd replied. “And inform the Doctors to do likewise. That particular detail is to be removed from any reports.”
“Yes, Councilor,” Irdin said deflatedly.
“And Irdin?” Hrbrd continued. “I’m sure I do not need to remind you that all of this is to go unreported to the Directorate for the time being. We still do not know who we can trust.”
“Of course, Councilor.”