The Hub Solar System
October 3, 2957“Engine Room reports Phase Drive at full capacity, Captain.”
Captain Douglas Merrill nodded absently, not even bothering to look towards the technician who’d given him the report. He downed the last of his lukewarm drink, grimacing at the bitter caffeine taste, but finished it anyway. Korfe* was always the first thing to run out on a starship on deep space missions. He’d be missing it soon enough, lukewarm or otherwise.
“Zabaiev, bring the Nikoshima online,” he ordered, putting the empty mug down on the back of a consul. He heard the familiar thrumming through the hull as the ship's powerful FTL drive powered up and watched on the monitor as the sun crested the horizon of Welksmund, sending rays of brilliant blue light shining into the viewport. He polarized the monitor, turning the brilliance into dull amber colors. The dockyards that had held the Repentant Sky the last nine months were already well behind them, still in the night-shadow of the planet.
“Confirmation of Flight-plan has been received,” Aleksiei Zabaiev said as he walked up behind Captain Merrill. He held out the message displayed on his hand-held. Merrill nodded, giving the device and the report on it a cursory glance. Their orders would be to take the Repentant Sky out to patrol the frontier, deep into the space between the Hub and their surrounding neighbors. The normal length of such a patrol was seven months; a long stretch even for a cruiser. But they were well provisioned and the overhaul the ship had gone under had seen significant upgrades to propulsion and auxiliary systems. They’d be able to go further out for this trip. High Command was likely getting paranoid about increased patrols by the Ithorian Dominion and the Yviiri Directorate in the old Avalon space. That’s what he suspected anyway. He wouldn’t know his orders until he opened them.
“You seem apprehensive, Captain,” Zabaiev observed, giving Merrill a worried look. “Something bothering you?”
Merrill met his executive officer’s gaze, trying to keep his pose appropriately stoic. “Seems strange,” he said, keeping his voice low so only his officer could hear. “Sending a warship to patrol the frontier without escort or fleet support.”
Zabaiev shrugged dismissively, but Merrill knew the younger man was also thinking the same thing. He’d been serving under Merrill for two years and was close to a command of his own. He was the closest thing that Merrill had to a friend, especially after his wife had passed. The two men had become surprisingly close and Merrill felt he could accurately guess what the XO was thinking. Today though, Zabaiev was keeping a well disciplined stoic disposition.
He wouldn’t push him to open up, not out here on the bridge. “Prepare to set a course to Navigation Marker UM-94,” he said. Zabaiev nodded and repeated the order as he stalked over to the navigation station, leaving the Captain to continue trying to puzzle out the purpose of this patrol.
The thrum of the reactor increased as the Nikoshima Drive drew more energy, nearing full power in preparation for a phase-jump. The ship's big engines slowed down as the Nikoshima drive neared capacity. The lights around the bridge dimmed for two seconds before the engines could compensate. As the lights brightened up, a series of dull clanking noises rattled up and down the hull. Merrill listened to them with half an ear, instead keeping himself busy with the power levels displayed next to his command chair. The sounds were the normal sounds of the ship’s hull being ionized in preparation for a phase-jump. The noises built up for a few seconds and then settled into a series of low clicks, the ship vibrating in synch, signaling the engine's readiness.
“Engineering reports the drive is ready,” Zabaiev reported. “Destination laid in.”
Merrill gave one last look over the display, making sure there were no warning lights flashing, before giving the order. “Activate phase-drive, Commander.”
There came a sickening feeling, a sensation deep in the gut like a thousand ants all running around together. The ship seemed to stretch out ahead of them, reality expanding the space between objects. For a second the Captain could see the twinkling of stars through the hull of the ship as the bonds between atoms were stretched. And then there was a bright flash of light and they were once again back in real space. He felt like his body was snapped forward a little. His equilibrium was off and his ears were plugged. He was an experienced officer and knew it would fade in a few minutes. This wasn’t his first phase-jump.
“All stations, report in,” he ordered. He yawned to pop his ears as his crew went about their tasks, checking their stations, giving him the okay one by one. Everything had gone perfectly, the phase-jump was a success.
“That shit makes me want to fucking puke every time,” came the voice of Commander Maximillian, who had just stepped onto the bridge. “How long before you get used to it?”
Merrill pivoted his chair just enough to see the Second Officer approaching. He was a pudgy, middle aged man, his hair thinning on the top. His uniform was perfectly ironed, its buttons and badges perfectly polished and trimmed. This was a man who’d spent very little time out in space. Merrill disliked him greatly. “You never get used to it,” he answered dryly, “you just learn to get on with your job until it passes.” He pivoted his chair back to face the forward displays.
Zabaiev returned to stand next to Merrill’s chair. “Jump completed,” he reported, “we hit our target destination within a point oh-oh-oh-one degree.”
“Within military guidelines,” Maximillian said. “Acceptable.”
“That’s well within guidelines,” Zabaiev stated. “It was a flawless jump.”
“Indeed. I shall put that in my report to command.”
Merrill and Zabaiev both knew what the true meaning of that statement was. He’d mention that Zabaiev had disrespected the company’s loyal propaganda officer. The captain decided it was best not to continue this conversation.
“Ensign Martin,” he called over to the comms station. “Plug us into the Star-Net**. Have Command relay the mission codes. Forward them to my office.”
He stood up and addressed his two most senior officers. “Shall we, gentlemen?”
Merrill’s office was two decks below the bridge, sitting snugly between the officer’s mess and galley. It wasn’t a large room, only big enough for his desk, two small couches, and a large cabinet on the wall. He’d personalized it somewhat with a handful of landscape paintings and a finely calligraphed poem.
Merrill opened the lower doors on the cabinet, revealing a safe with three separate dials on it. The mission codes hadn’t been relayed yet so he opened the top cabinet, took out a bottle of nine year-old hawq***, and poured three shots.
“To the motherworld,” he said, raising his glass.
“Here, here,” Zabaiev agreed.
“To the People’s Collective,” Maximilian added, showing off his zealous loyalty to the party. Then they drank. Merrill set his glass down and picked up the bottle and poured out about one shot onto the floor.
“For the ground that birthed us and earth that sustains us,” he said. He gave Maximilian a sheepish look. “A tradition on Heavensfall,” he said, apologetically. “An old one that I haven’t quite given up yet.”
Maximilian nodded. “I understand, commander. One cannot give up their folk superstitions easily.”
The codes were transmitted after they’d drank, which pleased Merrill. He wouldn’t have to figure out a topic of conversation that the propaganda officer would appreciate. Maximilian was an unimaginative man with a complete lack of personality. They each verified their codes independently, referencing their personal encryption books.
Merrill dialed his combination first, twisting the handle when he was done and heard a satisfying click. Zabaiev went next, taking the middle dial. Maximilian went last. He floundered at the dial, having to put it in three times. Merrill was expecting him to fail on the third attempt, locking the safe for six hours before they could try it again, but the handle clicked into place and Maximilian swung the safe open.
“They really need to replace these things with digital keypads,” he chuckled, standing up. “Would make this part easier.”
He was still smiling when Merrill made his move. Maximilian had stepped into the puddle of hawq on the floor and the captain swept the heavier man’s legs out from under him. Maximilian lost his balance and fell backwards, his head collided with the side of Merrill's desk with a sickening thud.
He fell to the floor, blood already flowing out of a deep wound on the back of his skull. Zabaiev pulled a hand towel out of the cabinet then kneeled down next to Maximilian. He placed the towel over the man's mouth and nose and held it there. Maximilian did not struggle. He’d been knocked out cold by his collision with the desk. Zabaiev held the towel over his face for a solid three minutes, to make sure.
Removing the towel Zabaiev checked for a pulse, and confirmed he was dead. In the meantime Merrill had checked the order-code they’d been transmitted, and pulled out the corresponding packet from the safe. He didn’t bother opening it. Instead he took another packet out of his desk, and then gingerly removed the label from the old packet and placed it on the new one. He put the new packet back in the safe and the old one he tossed in his document destroyer. He’d incinerate it later, but for now he made sure the hatch was secured.
Zabaiev confirmed Maximilian was dead. Merrill checked his watch. It had been less than five minutes since the codes were transmitted. He took a deep breath and then let it out in a sigh to soothe his nerves. He stepped to the comm panel on the wall and pressed the page button. “Doctor Feehan, report immediately to the captain’s office. Bring your medkit.”
He nodded to Zabaiev. “Put on your game face.”
The first officer nodded, checking the body of the second officer one last time. He tucked the towel into the dead man’s hand, as if the man had been grabbing for it as he fell.
The doctor knocked on the door and the captain let him in. A handful of crewmen were standing in the hallway, likely curious as to what was going on, so the captain made sure not to secure the door after letting the doctor in. He needed as many witnesses now as possible.
“By the Angel!,” the Doctor said, seeing Maximilian and the blood. “What happened?”
“The commander spilled some hawq on the floor, and as he was getting a towel to wipe it up he slipped and hit his head on the desk.”
The doctor kneeled down and checked for a pulse. His brow furrowed and he scowled. He got out a stethoscope and listened at the heart. He stood up and leaned in close to the captain. “I’m afraid he’s dead.”
“Is there nothing you can do?”
“I can’t reverse death, so no.”
Merrill put his hand on the bulkhead. It was important to appear distraught. He made sure the curious crewmen in the hall saw the grief and shock on his face. “This is a catastrophe, doctor. Especially at the onset of our mission. And I’m sorry, this means as a third senior officer present I have to convey onto you the duties of the second officer.”
“Oh, fuck me,” the doctor said. “You’ve got to be kidding?”
“We had just received our orders but haven’t opened them yet.”
Doctor Feehan didn’t respond but called for a stretcher. They’d need to move the body down to the medical bay in preparation for an autopsy. He refused to do anything else until that task was out of the way. Merrill gave the doctor the go ahead. Once the body had been removed the captain secured the door to his office and had the doctor verify the code sent by command and retrieve the correct packet of orders from the safe.
Feehan opened the packet as Merrill closed the safe. The doctor didn’t even bother reading the orders, he just passed them to the captain and then leaned against the door, staring at the drying blood on the floor.
Merrill didn’t need to read the orders. He’d written what was in them, but he pretended to anyway. It was a single sheet with the red stamp of the fleet directorate on it, and the signature of the First Consul. They wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny, but the forged seals would pass as accurate to anyone not familiar with orders direct from high command. Such as the ship’s doctor.
He passed the orders to Zabaiev who read them. The first officer also pretended to be dumbfounded by the contents. “Is this real?” he asked in convincing shock. “This has to be a joke.”
“What?” the doctor asked. Zabaiev handed him the orders. The doctor read it and his shock was truly genuine. “By the first tree! Has command lost their minds? They want us to go into the Dead Zone? This is insane!”
Merrill took the orders back, looking over them one last time. “Those are our orders,” he said firmly. He tossed the orders and the packet they came in into his document destroyer, and then turned the machine on, incinerating the false orders, and the real orders as well.
“Return to your duties doctor, and say nothing of this to anyone,” Merrill said. Feehan just shook his head, giving the captain a look between bewilderment and fear.
“We can still call this off,” Zabaiev stated after the doctor had left.
“It’s too late for that,” Merrill replied. “I sent command a letter right before we left. So I couldn’t change my mind at the last minute. Our course is set.”
To his credit, the XO didn’t seem surprised by the captain’s admission. “I wonder what our real orders were,” he said looking at the closed hatch of the incinerator.
“Doesn’t matter,” Merrill said. He poured himself one last glass of hawq. “Prepare the crew. Set course for the Star-Net closest to Dead Space. And once our capacitors have refilled, I want you to plot the furthest phase jump possible. We need to get as much distance as we can before they send pursuers after us.”
Zabaiev saluted and left to fulfill the captain’s orders. Merrill took a long look at the now dried blood of the propaganda officer. He then took a drink of his Hawq before calling for someone to come clean up the floor.
Trouble -Adam Agin
*Korfe: a hot coffee-like drink made from the roasted and ground seeds of a temperate shrub. The word korfe may actually have an etymological root back to the word coffee, but the plant is not related to the earth coffee plant.
**Star-Net: a network of satellite buoys arranged around the Hub system in a net pattern that allows up-to-date navigation and instant communication across the system.
***Hawq: an alcoholic spirit distilled from malted grain, similar to whisky or gin.
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