Makeshift Command Room, Cimbrean Palace
“It’s getting harder to find decent targets,” Zripob reported. “A larger number of freighters are engaging the assistance of proper escorts, and that means we’ll need to start coming back with something a bit more threatening than what we’ve been going in with so far.”
The meeting had commenced shortly after Zripob had returned and regained his ground-legs, a process that had included a nap and a good meal. He had left his crew and the Gaoians to organise the unloading of the weapons and cargo he had obtained during the course of his trip.
In the time since he’d landed it seemed that the small storage room adjoining the central gallery had been repurposed into a chamber that offered the group privacy for candour away from their troops. In truth the transition had required only the removal of stored goods and the introduction of a decently sized table.
Doctor Grznk sniffed. “That’s because you’re scaring them all,” he said. “Although you’ll be pleased to learn that they are so terrified of you that prices for interstellar goods have increased by over three hundred percent since you began your work. The economic situation of the Celzi Alliance is no longer what you would call ‘robust’.”
“Ach,” Jen said thoughtfully, “do you think it would be possible to engineer an economic collapse?”
“An actual economic collapse would take considerable effort,” Grznk replied, “but it would not be impossible. You may need to get your hands dirtier than you’d like.”
“We’re not going to do anything to kill civilians,” Jen said flatly. “That’s not who we are!”
“And yet you are willing to ruin their economy and their lives?” Grznk asked in genuine surprise. “What do you imagine the outcome there will be?”
“Enough of that,” Zripob interrupted. “There is no point in arguing over something that is beyond our abilities. We need to talk about where to focus our forces, where our own supply lines need to run from, and what we intend to do to bolster the defenses of this pretty little building.”
“You brought all those weapons back,” Jen said, “couldn’t they-“
“They need to be properly set up,” Trycrur interrupted. “It’s possible, but it will take a while, and won’t offer a substantial solution against half-serious orbital invasions.”
“You’re saying that we need a battle station in orbit?” Chir asked. “How do you imagine that we’re going to get one of those?”
“A battle station would be perfect, but we don’t need perfect,” Trycrur replied. “A substantial number of vessels in geosynchronous orbit would serve just as well.”
Zripob nodded. “I know where there are a substantial number of empty Hunter vessels, if we don’t need them completely functional.”
The members of the meeting quietly shared thoughtful glances at that. They’d all been where Zripob was talking. Roughly one hundred Hunter vessels were adrift in that location, abandoned or otherwise emptied, and a number of those may even be semi-functional.
“That may work for us,” Trycrur agreed. “Getting them here will be a problem, though, since the one thing they all have in common is the lack of a functional FTL.”
“Then it doesn’t sound like that’s an option,” Jen decided. “Any other ideas?”
“Not unless you’re suggesting we steal every ship we come across,” Chir replied, and then fell silent.
“That would really interfere with trade,” Zripob said thoughtfully. “Taking a lot of Freighters out of circulation, and you know what you can do with those things if you fill them with fight rather than cargo.”
Sniffing in disdain, the Grznk made his own opinion known. “It is deeply informative that you imagine you could destroy an economy by ‘stealing all of the ships’.”
“Is that possible?” Trycrur asked, ignoring the Corti as usual. “Will you have enough men to split between vessels?”
“Normally a prize ship is crewed by a bare minimum of men,” Jen said, imparting another tidbit of information on Earthly conventions. “You’d want to bring it back right away, so that you wouldn’t be so weakened in numbers against any threat you might come up against.”
“It’s a good idea,” Zripob decided, looking to Chir for confirmation. “We’ll take it slowly, do it right. They won’t know where we are for a bit and by the time they do they’ll need a real army to shift us.”
“I don’t like the idea of being attacked by a ‘real’ army,” Jen said. “So let’s keep our escape options open. If we’re attacked by a serious threat, I want us ready to retreat while the defenses delay our attackers.”
“Good enough,” Zripob said. “I’ll let my men know what our new plans are. I’m sure they’ll like them.”
“Mercenaries like getting paid, Zripob,” Chir said disapprovingly. “That’s about it.”
“You wound me, Chir,” Zripob replied, feigning injury. “A man may be paid well and still have honour!”
“And your men have honour?” Chir asked dubiously.
Zripob laughed croakily. “Of course not! Honorable men would not be lurking around the trade lanes of the Celzi Alliance, but the good news is that honorable men are also the sort to throw themselves into the meatgrinder. What I have is practical men.”
“Are there any other points of business?” Jen asked impatiently. She tended to get that way when meetings dragged on past the actual business, something she blamed on enduring ‘a million useless meetings every week’ in what she’d called ‘I.T.’
Whatever ‘I.T.’ was.
“Well,” Zripob said, “I did have the opportunity to swing past the orbital factory to catch up on Dominion news.”
“And to trade off some valuables, I’m sure,” Chir interjected.
Zripob snorted. “Never before have I met such a self-righteous pirate! In any case, they have a statue of you-know-who now!”
“They gave him a statue?!” Trycrur asked in disbelieve.
Zripob was amused to see Jen completely gobsmacked by the information, and felt the need to continue. “They call him the ‘Savior of Irbzrk’, like saving that rotten place was something to be proud of.”
“Please tell me they didn’t write a song about him,” Jen said, which was something that Zripob found quite strange for her to say.
“Not that I was made aware of,” he replied. “The likeness of the statue, however, is greatly embellished. I am sure that Adrian would have loved it.”
“Is that all?” Jen asked coolly. She clearly wanted to move on.
“One other thing,” Zripob said. “I did hear a few local scientists talking about a ‘burst of cosmic radiation’. It was only later that I recalled that that was what the Zhadersil supposedly used.”
The meeting was silent, and all eyes, involuntarily or otherwise, had turned to look at Jen. She was as still as a statue, her skin paled and taking shallow breaths.
“Did they say anything more?” Trycrur asked, obviously careful not to show too much excitement or interest.
“It didn’t interest me at the time,” Zripob replied. “But it’s a lead, if you ever wanted to follow it.”
Chir grunted when nobody else answered. “We’ll think about it.”
Date Point 2 Years 8 months after Vancouver
Medical Bay, aboard the Infinite Convergence, Directorate Space
When Adrian Saunders awoke his first assessment of his situation was that he was in a hospital of some kind. This was not unexpected, or indeed unhoped for. The last few moments he could recall had included a Hunter tucking in on his left shoulder, a wound that still ached painfully enough for him to assume it far from healed.
The second assessment brought him to the rest of the details, namely that this was a Corti hospital on an unfamiliar spaceship and he was heavily restrained. That was not the best possible outcome; he had been hoping that it would be the others who brought him back from the brink of destruction. But this wasn’t all bad, since just by being here he’d achieved Objective Three.
Hooray for him.
His pity party was shortly interrupted by the arrival of a Corti in important looking clothing. A Corti in any clothes at all was a rare enough thing, but these were so clearly regal that Adrian knew that whoever it was held a little more power than a pair of salvage hunters or the ship master of a scout vessel.
“Who the fuck are you supposed to be then?” he as with as little respect as he could manage. The Corti were the ones who had put him into space – and thereby by extension all of the misery that he had found there – and he was damned if he was going to play nice with the guy in charge of the whole clusterfuck.
The Corti simply laughed in amusement at his response, not a sound that Adrian typically associated with Corti in general, and he was unable to keep the surprise from showing.
“My goodness,” the Corti exclaimed. “You are even more abrasive than I had imagined. You hear reports, but as your people say ‘seeing is believing’.”
“You took me out of my ship?” Adrian asked tersely.
“I recall that we rescued you from a radioactive tomb,” the Corti replied. “If it still worked, I imagine it might be considered to be a ship.”
Adrian gestured towards his shackles, metal restraints that did actually resemble literal shackles. They had the look of being recently made, so he thought they may have been tailored just for him. The snug fit definitely seemed to suggest as much.
“Do you normally chain up the people you rescue?” he asked the Corti.
“I am afraid that you are alone in having that privilege,” the Corti replied. “However, they are more for my protection than your imprisonment. I have managed to arrive at some importance in my life and being killed would inconvenience a great many people.”
“I can see why they’d find that unfortunate,” was Adrian’s snide response. “Is there anything else you lot have done to me? For your own protection?”
The Corti sighed. “No,” he said patiently, “your restoration was delayed due to certain unrelated factors, but you’ll find no surprise implants, no cerebral detonators, and no interesting illustrations on your epidermis in hard to reach places. I do not want you as my prisoner, Captain Saunders, I want you as my employee.”
That was definitely a new one, and Adrian couldn’t help but raise a doubting eyebrow. His experience with Corti thus far had not been what he’d have called cordial, and even those that had done as he’d told them hadn’t been volunteering. If he had to find a word for it, he’d call the relationship ‘strained’.
“I am being serious, Captain,” the Corti assured him. “I have put tremendous effort into recovering you from your case of terminal stupidity, and against the better judgement of my subordinates I want you to work for me.”
“It sounds like you’ve already spent some time looking into my past,” Adrian replied. It hadn’t seem like the Corti was addressing him as the Shiplord of the Zhadersil, but by his old rank from Earth. That meant there was a lot more to the Corti than met the eye, and Adrian couldn’t help but wonder what else he knew. “Should I be flattered?”
“Be as flattered as you like,” the Corti said. “But I’m not looking to copulate with you, Captain. I need your help, and I’m willing to be generous to get it.”
“And if I say no?” Adrian asked.
“I will need to deposit you somewhere safe,” the Corti said flatly, “for the rest of your life if need be. You’ve done quite enough to upset the galaxy already, and we don’t need you giving the Hunters any more ideas for deadly weaponry. How long before we start seeing Hunter missiles? Hm? Or Hunter minefields? You, Captain, may have succeeded in ruining space travel for everybody!”
Adrian hesitated, considering those possibilities, and finding he didn’t much like where they led him. “Has that happened?”
“It is only a matter of time,” the Corti replied grimly. “Fortunately the Directorate is ready to develop counter-measures, also based on the concepts of your homeworld. It is honestly remarkable that one bad-tempered individual could so drastically alter the galactic situation.”
Adrian exhaled slowly, his decision already made but finding it difficult to acknowledge the fact. “I think in that case you better start telling me about this job.”
Cavaras, Corti Directorate Core World
Most days it was good to be Cameron White. He was richer and more successful than he ever could have been back in England, and xeno freakshows, for the most part, would leave him alone. His lifestyle, extravagant even by Galactic standards, was paid for by Iridis Industries, a weapons manufacturer amongst other things such as medicine and childrens’ toys, and one of the larger corporations that sprawled its way throughout the galaxy.
Most days it was a good job, simply requiring him to be the present ‘dangerous creature’ for less-than-legal meetings, and very occasionally an unstoppable killing machine that could go where it wanted and take what it wanted. He’d never got over the sense of pure joy in rampaging like an enraged beast, not stopping until everything that could die had done so at his feet.
You had to get your kicks somehow.
The last few months, however, had been markedly less enjoyable. Aside from the markedly increased numbers of xenos who’d needed to be ‘disappeared’ for getting too interested in Iridis’ business, the Hunters and their ‘Great Hunt’ had forced Cameron to keeping to himself as much as possible, hiding away in his luxury penthouse like a camera-shy superstar, and only going out in disguise.
Being a human had become as much of a burden as it was freedom; from what he had heard it had mainly been a single human responsible for the entire mess. Cameron would have liked to punch that man in the nose – repeatedly until eventually satisfied – for all the difficulty he had caused him, but of course it now seemed that that man was dead and forever beyond his reach for a royal arse-kicking.
Sometimes there was just no justice in life. No justice at all.
Today’s phonecall didn’t help. Or communications link. Or whatever. Fucking xenos couldn’t give anything a normal name.
“Now, Handles, why don’t you follow that up,” he said to his handler with his usual flat monotone, “by telling me exactly why a group of pirates running around Alliance space has become my concern?”
He wasn’t aware of his handler’s actual name, the Corti had not been interested in telling him, and Cameron wasn’t interested in asking. Theirs was a business arrangement, and names were optional as far as they were both concerned, but the need to call the Corti something had somehow resulted in the least imaginative pseudonym possible.
“Usually I don’t ask,” Handles told him, his voice as smooth and cool as any Corti could hope to have, “but this was an unusual case. The pirates in question are upsetting a lot of traders, and they’ve taken to stealing the ships themselves while leaving the crews alive.”
“That’s… rare,” Cameron replied. He knew the inept piracy patterns of alien pirates, and that didn’t fit. Alien pirates were dumb predators, attacking ships and killing everyone on board before stealing their cargo. They didn’t think of the traders like cows that could be milked repeatedly.
“They have a human on board,” Handles said, as though that was enough explanation. “We don’t know what they intend to do with all those ships yet, and we don’t know where they’re taking them.”
“You want me to do a little investigating?” Cameron concluded.
“We want you to put an end to their whole operation,” Handles corrected him. “Their success is disrupting the Alliance economy. The war has been good for us – good for you as well, White – and if this persists the Alliance may be forced to make concessions.”
Cameron nodded slowly and deeply, the movement intended to fully convey his understanding and commitment to the job ahead. “It has been good for me,” he said. “And I see no reason to let a good thing end.”
+++++
Administration office aboard the Infinite Convergence, Directorate Space
The more that Adrian learned about galactic civilisation, the more completely fucked up it seemed. Prior to today he had been in blissful ignorance about the political framework of the galaxy. The Dominion and the Celzi had been too big to think about, the Corti Directorate had been a pack of arseholes, and the Hunters had been the bad guys.
That had been comfortably simple, he hadn’t had any issues comprehending it and every action he took only had the most direct consequences.
An hour with Councilor Hrbrd had thoroughly disabused him of any notion of simplicity. He had learned that the Directorate had been the first major government, and that it had pressed for the creation of the Dominion, a multi-planetary organisation that served much the same purpose as the United Nations. Where it differed, however, is that it had effectively laid claim to all uninhabited parts of the galaxy and it was this that had provided the catalyst for the Celzi Alliance to break away and challenge the established order.
This sort of thing was why Adrian hated politics.
It hadn’t stopped there, though. Hrbrd had taken pains to emphasise the role that corporations were playing in the conflict. What had been slowly growing entities before the war had quickly taken the advantages offered by it and grown fat on its fortunes. There were enough of them selling to both sides of the conflict that they had every incentive to prevent its end.
Adrian hadn’t been at all surprised when Hrbrd got to the part where they were doing just that, nor to the part where the Corti Councilor revealed corporate involvement in government decisions. It wasn’t any different than it was on Earth, except generally involving markedly more obviously shady decisions and markedly less competence in carrying them out.
“It seems to me that you have a pretty good idea who the bad guys are,” he said, once the Corti had finished explaining. “Why do you need me?”
“Corruption and power have gone hand in hand for as long as history has been recorded,” Hrbrd replied. “I am not going to be the one who separates them, but I do intend to be the one to ensure these interests do not interfere with the war.”
“A man of peace, then?” Adrian asked, although he doubted very much that was the case. THe Corti were a practical people who did not pay too much heed to things such as ‘ethics’. They were more motivated by self-interest.
“A man who understands that the situation has changed,” Hrbrd replied. “There was less of an issue before somebody compelled the Hunters to begin their ‘Great Hunt’, and before somebody showed them how to create area denial weapons and warheads.”
Adrian grunted, but his ears burned like they had when his schoolteachers had berated him as a boy. “So it’s my fault. Good to fucking know, so tell me what I’m supposed to be doing about it.”
“Very well then,” Hrbrd replied, clearly pleased that his side of the discussion was going so well. “Let me start by saying that you won’t be the first person I’m putting into action on this. I already have a successful concern operating within Celzi space, and until recently my operatives in the Dominion were making good progress until they met with an unfortunate conclusion.”
“An ‘unfortunate conclusion’ of what kind?”
Hrbrd frowned. “Of the mysterious kind. That will be your first subject for investigation. I have already organised a support group to assist you, but allow me to be candid: I am bringing you on board because you are both the most capable and the most expendable individual for this job.”
“Thank you for your candour,” Adrian replied dryly. “Am I to assume, then, that you’ll be dropping me off with some friends?”
“A handler and some techs,” Hrbrd confirmed. “But before that we have to deal with your appearance.”
Adrian frowned. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Everything.”