David Kantrowitz's Blog, page 5

The Wolf and the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 6

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

In a mechanical closet deep underground, Chason awoke. His incursion into the forbidden area underneath Inferno had been terrifying, as he expected, but the presence of relentless patrols of armed drones was a piece of information that had never made itself part of the many rumors among the inmates about the old facility, and had caught him completely by surprise. He was interrupted from his exploration by one of them less than an hour after exiting the prison proper, with several bright laser blasts missing him only by the grace of the gods.

Stumbling into the first alcove that happened to be nearby, he found himself in a closet. A broken console, unknown valves, and decades of dust were all this space had to offer him, except for a door that still worked, and therefore, sanctuary from the drones. Though it was only 1600 by the prison’s clock, the events of the day pulled at his stamina like a mule. Without any idea of how to evade the drones, he had taken a sip of water, eaten half of a protein bar, and arranged his ground pad and blanket for an extended stay in a chamber that for all he knew would end up being just another cell.

A quick check of his watch – a cheap but reliable analog device purchased at the commissary – showed him that only two hours has passed since he fell asleep. His conscious mind tried to remember the thing that had roused him from his uneasy slumber, and he was able to remember that it had been an explosion. What had caused it, or why, he couldn’t know.

Chason knew he’d have to dig deep to move forward. It would be too easy for him to use the excuse of the drones to stay where he was, but for how long? He only had four days of supplies to sustain him. He wished fervently for a weapon of some kind, thinking back to the days when even a small-caliber pistol could be taken for granted. A terrible, tight feeling hit his gut. He considered sprinting back to the door from which he’d made his escape, pounding on it, and hoping that a guard (or maybe an inmate) might let him back inside the prison. Since the death penalty was illegal, the worst that could happen would be some time in solitary confinement.

Though the dark halls in which he found himself offered few clues, he was able to determine that this level wasn’t that large, at least in comparison to what his pilfered map had implied of the facility as a whole. If he was lucky, he might be able to descend to the next floor before a drone found him. In that moment, he decided; he’d have to make a run for it. Before committing, he swept the closet with his little LED flashlight one more time, and noticed an electrical access panel. Its enclosure was made of stainless steel, including the door, and further investigation revealed that the inside retained its gleam, even if the outside was tarnished and dull. A simple screwdriver would have allowed him to remove the door easily, but fortunately for him, the screws and hinges were flimsy. With a bit of effort, he was able to wrench the door free from the rest of the cabinet.

Rubbing the inside of the metal rectangle with his sleeve, he was able to restore even more of a shine to it. Though he didn’t know a lot about laser weapons, it was better than nothing to try as an ad hoc shield if caught in the open by one of those accursed drones. Pausing at the exit, he listened for what seemed like half an hour, and hearing nothing, emerged from the closet. This time, he kept his flashlight ready, since the drones hadn’t had a problem spotting him without it, and rushed ahead, looking desperately for any portal that looked like the entrance to a stairwell.

The flashlight was only good to cut through a few meters of the gloom, but as he rounded a corner, the beam fell upon three figures. While a smarter person might have switched the flashlight off, he instead froze in shock. The trio was wearing space suits, grasped carbines, and wore small backpacks. Two of them immediately put him behind their sights, while the third directed their attention in the opposite direction. He heard a voice, augmented electronically, in a language he didn’t know. After a moment, he slowly placed the door panel on the floor, gestured toward his ear, and shrugged. The figure on his left removed their rucksack, removed a small object, and tossed it as his feet. Under the glow of the flashlight, he could see that it was an earpiece.

Chason donned the device, and said, “Let’s try this again.”

“Can you understand me?” asked the same person.

“I can now. Who are you?”

“Get down!”

He stood motionless while two of them opened up with their carbines, filling the air around him with bullets. His right ear went deaf, while his left, protected by the device, helpfully reduced the cacophony to manageable levels. Unsure at first if he’d been shot, he slowly looked over his shoulder. The wreckage of a drone laid smoking on the deck.

“Who… are you people?” he stammered.

“You go first, since we’re the ones with the guns.”

“My name is Buddy. I’m a caretaker. Something’s gone wrong with the drones, they’re not supposed to shoot at me. Since they’re also shooting at you, I’m going to assume you’re not from around here.”

“Freelancers, hired to rescue one of the prisoners. You wouldn’t happen to know a man by the name of Chason Talyn, would you?”

His adrenaline rose again, and he resisted the urge to blurt out the answer. “Your employer didn’t give you a photo of this man?”

“She did, and you look like him, but it’s dark in here, and maybe Mister Talyn doesn’t actually want to be rescued.”

The second figure spoke. “Let’s at least get our backs to a wall if we’re going to stand around chatting.”

The utility closet was too small for all four of them, so they gathered around the door. Chason was the only one who entered, and realized a second too late that guns or no guns, he was trapped again. The first person faced him, while the other two directed their attention outward.

“If you tell me who sent you,” Chason said, “I might be able to help you.”

“Wega Talyn.”

Overcome with emotion, Chason crumpled to the floor. As tears came to his eyes, he realized the feeling was joy. He looked up at the strangers, wiping his face, and knew that he could no longer hide the truth.

“I never thought she’d go to such lengths. She’s not a criminal.”

“If she’s to be believed, neither are you. If it makes any difference, we’re committed to the avoidance of lethal force – if at all possible – during our foray here.”

“How she’s paying for this is another thing I’m mystified about, though I suppose that’s her business.”

“We’re allied with the ship that your brother, Arture, served on, and that crew feels like they have a blood debt to repay for his death. As far as we know, Wega isn’t spending a dime on this mission.”

“The Fox? Wega told me a little bit about them in the letters she’s sent me. Are they here?”

“Yes, but lacking any stealth technology to approach Tartarus, they’re staying clear while we do the scut work. My name is Ray Bailey; this is Christie Tolliver, and Michael Mungavin. We’re with the Terran Vessel Percheron, and another ship, the Reckless Faith, also stands by. In all, there are three ships and almost thirty people committed to your rescue.”

“What do you have to gain from it?”

“As I said, we’re allies with the Fox. To the bitter end.”

“That sounds like quite a story. I’d love to hear it, once we’re all safely a few dozen light-years away from this place. Now then, I assume I’ll have to have an EVA suit to get out of here. You didn’t happen to bring a spare, did you?”

“Yes, but we’re not going out the same way we came in. The Alnairians have been alerted to our presence, despite our best efforts. For now, we’re going to have to find a place safe away from the patrols of these drones, and let our friends in orbit figure out how to extract us.”

“Are you really a custodian?” asked Christie.

“No. I fled the prison, encouraged by stories of other inmates that have done the same. This facility is much larger than just the penitentiary, but whether or not anyone could survive outside of it is ultimately unknown. If we go further down, it will be uncharted territory for both of us.”

Ray nodded. “Then it’s a very good thing you ran into us when you did. We do have a spare EVA suit, and while the helmet’s visor and imagery has been damaged, it’s still a whole lot better than what you’re wearing. I strongly suggest you put it on; with the visor up, anyway. We’ve also got a spare pistol for you. Whatever’s down there, we’ll face it together. Deal?”

Chason grasped his hand. “Deal.”

__________

Malthus reclined on his bed in his cell, listening to music on his headphones, thankful that his weirdo roommate was somewhere else. Where the strange humanoid was, he couldn’t care less; in fact, if Kheiron disappeared forever, he wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. He’d completed the rest of his shift in the machine shop in a daze, too distracted by the departure of Chason to do any real work. The fact that the prison hadn’t gone into lockdown was proof enough that his friend had escaped without being discovered, or if he’d bribed a guard, without their betrayal.

Sometime later, when Baker had done his rounds in advance of lights-out, the guard either hadn’t noticed Kheiron’s absence, or cared as little as Malthus did about it, as he hadn’t said a word about the empty bed. It was for those reasons that at midnight, when all the prisoners in the block were roused and made to stand at attention outside of their cells, Malthus was not surprised. He could guess which inmate had caused the commotion.

Instead, he was very surprised to see the guards usher in three Alnairian fleet officers, resplendent in their dress uniforms of black, gold, and crimson piping. Despite all of his misadventures up until that point, he had only seen such people in passing, whether in transit through a spaceport, or on their way to a presumably important meeting somewhere in the capitol city on Alnair. The military didn’t have any legal role in the administration of Inferno, only adding to his confusion at their presence that night. While all three officers carried themselves like they owned the place, only one of them, his uniform the most ornate, spoke softly to the warden, Cooper seeming as if he was about to have a heart attack while trying to maintain the appearance of calm.

Once everyone had been roused, and in the case of a few, dragged out and compelled to stand, the man who apparently believed that he outranked the warden spoke.

“I am Commander Hadar,” he began. “There has been an incident. All of you will be required to answer my questions, upon pain of solitary or time added to your sentence, should you decide to remain silent. Those who might instead choose to cooperate: speak now, and you will be richly rewarded.”

The warden again whispered into Hadar’s ear, though this time, in the stunned silence of the cell block, Malthus could hear him.

“Sir, any appearance of compliance, regardless of their actual involvement, could have a bad outcome for an inmate in the eyes of his peers.”

Hadar drew his sidearm, and shot Pretaire, an Alnairain with a rather keen skill towards gambling. The man fell instantly, his heart pierced. Hadar had his weapon back in its holster before the shell had even hit the floor.

“That, Warden Cooper, is the worst outcome. Listen up, scum! I don’t care what kind of pecking order you’ve established here, under the noses of your betters. This is your last chance for any kind of concession. While I’m sure most of you are quite confused, at least one of you knows why I’m here.”

The reaction seen on the faces of all the inmates was universal; if anyone knew anything, they were hiding it rather well. Malthus himself was equally appalled, even though he had an idea of what all the fuss was about. He wondered how much longer he could watch this go on before saying something, but Tinker, a mousy little fellow who worked in the chow hall, beat him to it.

“I’ll help you,” he said softly.

Hadar waved his hand, and two guards swiftly ushered Tinker off toward the administrative offices.

“Anyone else?” asked the commander.

Taking a deep breath, Malthus raised his hand. If he could buy Chason some time, he had to try. Baker gestured for him to follow, and the pair left the common area. They proceeded into an area Malthus hadn’t seen since he was in-processed several years ago. This included a changing room, where new prisoners were relieved of their personal clothing and issued a convict uniform. The room was bare, save for a bench, and a slot in the wall labeled ‘amnesty box.’ Baker bid him good luck, then left him alone.

A few minutes later, one of the other fleet officers entered, and closed the door. He was younger than his boss, and wore the rank (if Malthus was remembering correctly) of 1st Lieutenant. Giving no introduction, he sat on the bench, leaving Malthus to stand in the corner awkwardly.

“All right then, Mister Fletcher, what have you got for us?” he said, revealing a deep voice that sounded like he’d been smoking for several decades.

“Though I have to figure you know this already, I’m Kheiron’s roommate. Why you didn’t just interrogate me first, rather than feel it necessary to terrorize everyone here, I suppose I’ll never know. Anyway, I’ve no loyalty to him, so I’ll tell you what I know.”

The lieutenant pulled out his PDA. “Excuse me, I’m receiving a message.”

Malthus waited for the man to tap at his device for several seconds before continuing. “Commander Hadar must be a joy to work for.”

“There’s no point in trying to explain it to someone with no sense of loyalty. Kheiron, what has he told you?”

“Only that his confinement here is by choice. Everyone knows you can’t keep his kind locked up without physical restraints. If he has gone missing, then he probably simply decided he’d had enough of this place.”

“If that’s true, then why did he consent to being confined in the first place?”

“Maybe he really did commit the crime of which he’d been convicted, and felt like he deserved to be punished.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but it’s the most logical explanation for his presence here. LT, despite the heavy-handed show of force, I don’t think you and your boss are going to find anyone here culpable for his disappearance.”

He removed a small metal case, and lit a cigarette. The aroma filled Malthus with a desperate craving to which he thought he’d long since become immune.

“What if I told you that this facility has measures to keep the likes of Kheiron in place, despite any fanciful supernatural abilities that the rumor mill has given him?”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to share one of those.”

He shrugged, gave Malthus the one he’d already lit, then got out another one. After a deep drag, Malthus was in heaven.

“So?”

“If what you claim is true, then he probably committed suicide. A thorough search of the prison will reveal his body.”

“And the abandoned areas below?”

“A form of suicide in itself. I’ve been told there are no life support systems down there. If he didn’t bake himself to death, he’d eventually suffocate. Only a fool would attempt to flee there.”

“And yet, our records show that over two dozen prisoners have disappeared in just the last ten years. Warden Cooper seemed rather blasé about that fact, and it’s an oversight that will cost him his job.”

Malthus took another drag, and swirled the smoke above his head. “That’s a problem for the central government, not the fleet. Your presence here indicates a much bigger threat. Tell me, what harm could Kheiron possibly do down there?”

“It’s not an issue of what he could do, it’s an issue of Cooper not informing us sooner that this place is a sieve. The Alnairian people expect justice to be meted out here, not for so many of its damned to be free to run away.”

“As I said, if you investigate the labyrinth, all you’ll find is a pile of corpses. Call it a self-correcting problem.”

The lieutenant stood up, and tossed the rest of the pack of cigarettes to Malthus, along with the disposable lighter. “I’ll relay my findings to Hadar. You’ve got as much time as it takes for us to consider your usefulness to smoke as many of those as you can. I suggest you use it.”

The Wolf and the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 5

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

“We need a better insurance policy for our shuttles.”

On the bridge of the Faith, the seriousness of the situation had caused Milly’s quip to fall on deaf ears. The loss of yet another shuttle for the allies was certainly annoying, and though they could replicate another, such a process would require time and resources they didn’t have. Especially so, since about half of the Alnairian Defense Fleet had just arrived at Tartarus. They could only watch as one heavy and three light cruisers dropped out of FTL and established orbit. Ari continued her conversation with their friends on the surface while Dana confirmed that the Faith and the Percheron remained hidden from the new arrivals.

“I’m reading the transponder five-by-five,” Ari was saying. “Remind me, how many do you have?”

“We’ve got six,” replied Ray over the radio. “I’ve already activated another; if the signal drops below seventy percent, I’ll place it, wherever we are. Assuming, of course, we’re still alive by then. Our scans indicate that this shaft is at least a thousand meters deep. We’ve got a long climb down ahead of us. Thankfully, the ambient temperature in here is 20 C.”

“Roger. Be careful. Reckless Faith out.”

Richter said, “If the Alnairians think there’s been an incursion, they’re going to send in troops. I appreciate Bailey’s pluck, but there’s only three of them.”

“I can’t recommend that we try to send in reinforcements until we know how that plasma turret was able to spot the shuttle.”

“That’s not what I mean. I think we need to keep ‘em guessing. We should take the Faith down there, and transport whatever’s left of the Fawn into the cargo bay. Maybe, if there’s no evidence left, the Alnairians will assume the cooling tower was hit by a meteorite, and whoever was manning the turret was just shooting at ghosts.”

“I like this idea,” said John. “Assuming we can do that without getting too close to the turret.”

“We can,” said Ari.

“Ari, let Colonel Dietrich and Captain Kitsune know our intentions. Zukova, take us in.”

“I think Cynthia and Vecky would appreciate it if you ran the idea by them first,” began Eva, “considering you’re asking them to provide backup against four ships by themselves.”

“We don’t have time to argue about it. Kitsune trusts us, and Dietrich is ultimately subordinate to my decisions. Ari, plot an entry vector at one of the poles. Zee, as soon as she sends it to you, get us down there.”

“You’re the boss, boss.”

“Vector plotted,” said Ari.

Milly nodded. “Here we go.”

The Faith jarred and jostled itself through the atmosphere of Tartarus. After a few uneventful minutes, Milly set a course for the prison and flew the ship nap-of-the-earth. It might have been exciting, if it wasn’t equally terrifying.

“It’s too bad Christie hasn’t finished the new replication program,” began Devonai. “We might have been able to salvage the Foal, rather than end up with a pile of dust in the cargo bay.”

“She’s still working on it,” replied Ari, “but she was able to refine the program enough to isolate and transport non-organic, non-radioactive elements on a one-to-one basis. If our cargo bay was large enough, we could transport the whole thing, minus its fuel and a few other components. Instead, I’m going to replicate a bunch of 40-gallon storage drums first, and transport the Foal’s most valuable elements away from the crash site into those drums. The rest will end up on the surface as a pile of mostly carbon, aluminum, and iron, which will be swept away by surface winds almost immediately. At least, that’s the plan.”

“Better than nothing, I guess. Too bad about the rat, though.”

“I do feel bad for whoever had to clean up that mess,” said Dana. “But then, wouldn’t it make more sense for the Percheron to be doing this?”

“We stand a better chance of remaining hidden,” said Ari.

“ETA?” asked John.

“Five minutes,” replied Milly.

To the surprise of the others, Milly chose to swoop down into a canyon that they happened upon. John could understand why, given the smile on her face, but also recognized that there was no point other than to have some fun.

Colonel Dietrich’s voice came in over the radio. “Reckless Faith, this is the Percheron. Be advised, two dropships have just launched from one of the Alnairian cruisers, most likely headed to Inferno, over.”

“Copy that,” said John, then to Milly, “Zee, step it up, we’re going to have company.”

“I heard. Despite my hot-dogging, I’m taking it easy because she’s not handling the same as usual.”

Dana asked, “You’re fucking around in a canyon even though the controls are compromised?”

“I didn’t say ‘compromised.’ Relax, Andrews.”

“Zukova,” said John evenly, “just get us there.”

“I think Mach 2 is the best I can do. We’ll be on station in thirty seconds.”

Milly eased back on the throttle as the ship approached within a thousand meters of the cooling tower. Barely discernible from the terrain at that distance, it was a bracket on the HUD, added by Ari, that identified the structure.

“I’ve got a lock on the Foal,” said Ari. “Storage barrels are in place; initiating transport.”

“Out of curiosity,” began Devonai, “what’s going to happen to the uranium during this process? I know we can’t save it, but…”

Dana said, “That’s the problem with trying to transport radioactive material. Even with the redundancy provided by the CLF’s intercept device, Christie hasn’t yet been able to isolate the quantum state of an unstable material to the point of maintaining its proton count. So, with a substance like uranium, the best we can do is to capture its ultimate decay state. In the case of uranium, that’s lead. As advanced as our orb matrices are, compensating for such a huge amount of variables has been a challenge.”

“I take it a similar problem is preventing the transport of organic materials?”

“Yes,” replied Ari. “Organic structures are particularly vulnerable to errors, and a brain, especially so. Transport complete, by the way. Other than the physical damage to the tower structure, there’s no evidence we were ever here.”

“Except for our people inside the complex,” said John. “Ari, if you’re satisfied, then it’s time for us to break atmo.”

“I am.”

“Zee, rendezvous with the Percheron.”

__________

“If I ever retire, it’s going to be to someplace without ladders.”

It had taken Ray, Christie, and Mike over an hour to descend the long ventilation shaft to the prison facility. The trio was spared from doing the entire thing at once, since there were platforms every hundred meters, but Ray had been forced to pass off the spare EVA suit to Christie halfway down. Though he should have just given it to her in the first place, memory of the woman she once was had subconsciously compelled him to volunteer for the task. It was easy for him to forget that her android frame was far stronger than his flesh-and-blood body, and when combined with her tendency to act like their relationship hadn’t changed at all, he couldn’t help but take the lead with certain chores. Carrying heavy objects was one such thing. Apparently appealing to his pride, she rarely intervened unless help was requested.

If they’d had the luxury of using a simple rucksack, Ray wouldn’t have had a problem carrying that much weight. It was the awkwardness of the EVA suit that was difficult. Since they didn’t want their supplies and weapons to burst into flames, it was worth the extra effort. At the bottom of the shaft, conditions were favorable to human life, so they opened the visors on their helmets and opened the fourth lumpy suit to retrieve its contents. Inside had been placed backpacks full of food, water, and medkits, as well as three Phalanx carbines, four magazines each for the same, their preferred sidearms, and belts and holsters to carry them. Ray strapped on his S&W revolver, and passed off the pair of Beretta pistols to his friends. Then, they loaded up the carbines.

“Commo check,” said Christie.

“Lima Charlie,” said Ray.

“Same here,” added Mike. “Should we set up another tranponder?”

“We’ve got line-of-sight to the last one. We should wait until we’re further underground.”

“All right, then. Don’t forget.”

Racking a round into the chamber of his Phalanx, Ray considered the scene before him. The bottom of the shaft was a rough-hewn column, its walls scored with the furrows of TNT-style demolition from a long time ago. Sodium-yellow lights glowed dimly around the periphery. To the south, seven giant fans were mounted vertically, each at least two meters in diameter. They continued to function, buffeting Ray and his friends with a constant breeze from within. To the left of them was an airlock, and once all three of them were ready to move, the door became the center of their attention. As they approached it, Christie produced her PDA. Mike yanked on the handle, which unsurprisingly, did nothing.

“Ari was always best at this sort of thing,” said Christie, scanning with her PDA.

“She did have certain advantages,” replied Ray. “Can you interface with it?”

After a moment, she said, “No. We’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. The bolt is only twenty millimeters wide, of cast steel.”

Mike retrieved a small block of C-4, removed a small piece, and smooshed it into the gap between the handle and the frame. He jammed a wireless blasting cap into the mess, then pulled out his own PDA.

“I’m not an expert,” he said, “but this ought to do it.”

The trio backed off, crouched down, and faced away. Mike triggered the cap, and a loud but brief pop followed. Looking back, they could see that the entire mechanism had been destroyed, and the door was ajar by a few inches. They proceeded beyond it, and found themselves in a long corridor. Isolated from the fans and the shaft, it was much quieter inside. The floor was covered by a thick layer of dust, which was impossible not to disturb. John’s voice asserted itself inside their helmets.

“Ground team, this is the Faith,” he began. “The Alnairian dropships are on station. Our sensors can’t determine whether or not they’re disembarking personnel, so you should assume they are.”

Ray returned to the threshold of the shaft, peered upward, and keyed his radio. “No sign of entry here. If they’re coming in, they’re probably going to use the main entrance.”

“I agree, but stay frosty. Keep us updated.”

“Wilco. Ground team out.”

Mike volunteered to be on point, so Ray let him take the lead. Christie took up rear security, and their small team got moving. The corridor began to slope downward, and curve to their left, and nothing changed for several minutes as they walked. Eventually, they reached another door, identical to the last one, but unlocked. Before passing through, Ray retrieved another transponder, extended the antennae, and removed the sticky tape from the back. He swept away years of dust from the wall, and secured it into place. A quick check of his PDA confirmed that it had a good connection to the network.

Ray opened the door, revealing total darkness ahead. He lowered the visor on his helmet, and activated his IR overlay. A split-second later, a bright flash blinded him, and a concussion to his head knocked him back. Momentarily incapacitated, he could only listen as his companions opened up with their carbines, rattling off several rounds before silence returned to the hallway. Still seeing nothing, he instinctively tried to raise his visor, only to find it jammed. He wrenched off his entire helmet, allowing his Mark I eyeballs to take in the scene.

In the next room, all he could make out was a pile of metallic debris, and a vigorous plume of orange flames shooting out from its center. To his right, Christie cradled her Phalanx in her right arm, and held out her PDA with her left hand. Mike kneeled by Ray, checking him for injuries.

“What the fuck was that?” Ray asked.

Christie said, “It is, or that is to say, it was, a drone armed with a laser. Me and Mungavin nailed it easily enough after it fired on you. We apparently breached a lithium metal power source. It should burn itself out soon.”

Ray looked at his helmet. A black scorch mark covered the entire visor. He donned it, and found that the HUD he would expect to see was no longer there. Without that, there was no way for him to diagnose and evaluate the extent of the damage. He flipped the visor back up.

“I’m going to have to swap out my helmet for the spare.”

“We’ve got you covered,” said Mike.

Ray unlimbered his rucksack, and grabbed the helmet from the other EVA suit. After he put it on, he was able to confirm that everything was functioning properly. By the time he’d done that, the flames from the wreckage had abated, and the drone smoked silently on the floor.

Christie said, “I’m reviewing sensor data that we read just before we waxed the drone. It was transmitting a binary signal via VLF. It was in constant contact with several other discrete sources, most likely other drones. Our presence and location is definitely known to them, but I can’t know if there’s any humanoid oversight that may have been alerted to us as well.”

“We have to assume that the entire facility is on guard now,” said Mike.

“I agree. We should proceed with all due caution. I’ve sent a text message to our allies with an update. I’m not sure their stealth can be maintained while also assuring our survival.”

“Revealing themselves could buy us some time,” said Ray. “But as far as I’m concerned, our mission hasn’t changed.”

“Then we should step it up. Ray, you’re sure you’re fine?”

Ray gestured at the damaged helmet at his feet. “I’d advise none of us to allow that to happen again. Other than that, I’m okay.”

Mike tucked the stock of his Phalanx into his shoulder. “Then let’s go.”

The Wolf and the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 4

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

Malthus had a job in Inferno’s metal fabrication shop. Most of the inmates worked somewhere, whether it be the dining facility, laundry room, or general custodial duties. Not only was it a handy source of income (for those without outside resources), they were also able to take time of their sentence by being useful to the prison. Malthus had an engineering degree, far more than needed for the typical repair jobs that crossed his bench, but the ease of the work made the time pass quickly. Chason also worked there, which is how they originally became friends. Though his real-world skills were barely applicable, he did know how to read a blueprint. Together, they made an effective team.

That morning, Malthus was thoroughly distracted by the fact that Chason hadn’t reported for his shift. The older man could barely pay attention to his work, after both a restless night sharing a room with Kheiron, and the strange alien’s warning that Chason was going to make a run for the labyrinth soon. Malthus wanted nothing more than to find his friend, but it was still a prison, and the guards probably wouldn’t let him leave the shop without a better excuse. So, he muddled through such tasks as calibrating their 3-axis milling machines, supervising the fabrication of parts, and chugging weak cups of corferic. Time seemed to slow down the closer they got to lunch, and he was beside himself when he was finally released.

Once the group of workers was escorted back to the main complex, Malthus was free to go to either his cell block, the chow hall, the infirmary, or the commissary. He checked all of them, in that order, before finding Chason standing in line at the commissary, a basket full of shelf-stable food and bottled water in his hand. Malthus strode up to him, put his hand on his shoulder, and guided him out of line and back into the store. When they’d reached a quiet corner, he spoke.

“I can’t believe you’re really going through with this.”

Chason’s expression was steely. “I’ve made up my mind. If there’s hope down there, however slight, I need to pursue it.”

“Your sister will never give up on you.”

“Maybe so, but I can’t hang my fate on the actions of others. It’s time I took control of my own destiny.”

Malthus sighed, took a step back, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re not going to last long with only that.”

“I’ve got more stashed away, including clothing. I’ll be fine for several days, if something doesn’t kill me. I also found something amazing the last time we were working on Unit Seven. You have to promise you won’t tell anyone.”

Chason reached into his jacket, and withdrew a piece of yellowed paper. He made sure they weren’t being watched, carefully unfolded it, and handed it to his friend. Malthus was surprised at what he saw.

“You found a diagram of the mining facility?”

“It’s more than that. Look more closely.”

“I can’t read Alnairian very well. I’ve been meaning to fix that.”

Chason took the document back, and returned it to his pocket. “The legend indicates laboratories and research and development areas. Other than the reactor, which probably hasn’t changed, there’s nothing related to mining labeled on here. I think this place was some sort of research station before it was a prison. You can see that places up here like the chow hall, commissary, and cell blocks are also the same, except the cell blocks are labeled as barracks rooms.”

“It was definitely a mine at some point.”

“I’m not disputing that. I’m just saying I think it was used as something else between then and now.”

“You may be right, but that doesn’t change anything. It’s still incredibly risky going down there.”

Chason nodded. “I know. Malthus, you said before you won’t try to stop me. Do you still feel the same?”

“I do. I can only ask you one more time to stay.”

“My mind is made up.”

“How are you getting out?”

“I’d rather not say. It would be better if you didn’t know.”

“Fair enough. My lunch break is almost over, I’ve got to get back to the shop. If this is goodbye, let’s get on with it.”

The men shook hands, then Chason got back in line. Malthus exited the commissary, looking over his shoulder one last time.

__________

High above Tartarus, hidden from both the naked eye and sensors, orbited the Reckless Faith and the Percheron. A complete scan of the planet’s surface had taken two hours, far longer than would have been necessary for a world with a thinner (or no) atmosphere. The results, however, were good. Inferno had been easy to find, as its above-ground structures were the only ones on the entire planet. Scans hadn’t penetrated the ground as far as usual, but did reveal a large complex under the earth at that location.

Aboard the Percheron, Christie had used some of that time to run an exhaustive simulation of the effects of atmospheric conditions on the Faith and the Percheron’s shuttle. While both vessels were capable of easily surviving the brutal heat of entering an atmosphere, neither had ever been exposed to the prolonged, oven-like temperatures found on Tartarus. Since going down there based solely on what the ships could theoretically handle on paper wasn’t exactly reassuring, the crews thought it best to get better data on it. Her conclusions were positive, though they knew it still wouldn’t be prudent to linger any longer than necessary.

In the conference room on the Faith, the crew had gathered to discuss the results of the scans. The crew of the Percheron was listening in via an audio connection. What they were looking at was on the large wall-mounted monitor.

“All right,” began John. “You’ve got the imagery up on your screen?”

“Copy,” said Dietrich’s voice.

“At 41.8585, -72.6514, we’ve got what looks like blast doors to a large entryway, quite similar to the one we recently found at the entrance to the underground complex on Perdition. Based on intel we’ve gathered, there’s probably a smaller airlock adjacent to it. It would make sense if that’s where foot traffic accesses the facility. At 41.8590, -72.6503, we’ve got a structure that resembles the top portion of a ventilation system. Scans of equipment there are inconclusive, but might be heat exchangers of some kind. If we’re going to maintain a posture of stealth, our best bet will be to see if we can get in through there.”

“My folks don’t disagree, Commander Scherer. What’s the risk assessment of getting a closer look?”

Ari spoke. “As you can see, we’ve detected nothing in terms of potential weapons systems. Any sensor arrays they might have on the surface would be severely limited due to atmospheric conditions. We should be able to walk right up and knock.”

“That’s good. Even still, my recommendation is that we start with only the Percheron’s shuttle. That way, we can get a closer look, and minimize the number of personnel in danger. If the shuttle can withstand those conditions, and remain undetected, then I’m confident the Faith will, too.”

“It’s a prudent idea,” said John. “Man your craft, and dispatch it at your earliest convenience.”

“Wilco. Percheron out.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” said Seth’s voice.

Most of the crew in the conference room were quite confused by this comment, since it was made using the strange, androgynous voice chosen by Seth in his AI form. Since Friday was sitting on top of the table, and looking directly at John and Ari, those two guessed correctly that it was her.

“Friday?” asked John.

“Yes, it’s me. I have a feeling our home won’t be coming back from that place.”

“Do you mean the ship?”

“Yes.”

“Since when can Friday directly communicate with us?” asked Milly.

“We’ve been working on it,” said Ari. “This is the first time she’s done so without Seth as an intermediary, or without physical contact with the orb. I programmed a thread to be connected to her at all times. It seems she figured out how to use it.”

“That’s incredible,” said Eva. “John, you must be so proud of her.”

John smiled. “I am. Friday, we’ve been in dangerous situations before. In this case, we’re confident we’ll be safe down there. You don’t have to worry.”

“What about Tycho?” Eva reached down and scratched the dog behind his ears.

“We tried,” said Ari. “He’s simply not interested. He seems perfectly happy being a normal dog.”

“Must be nice.”

John said, “Friday, can you tell us why you feel that way?”

She looked at him. “No. It’s an old feeling. I feel it in my bones.”

“This is all very interesting, but we’ve got a job to do.” said Dietrich.

“Of course,” said John. “Go ahead and launch the Foal, we’ll monitor the situation from here. Who do you have manning it?”

“Bailey, Tolliver, and Mungavin.”

“Excellent. Godspeed, then, and let us know when they’ve got something to report.”

__________

The design of the Percheron’s shuttle was based on the one from the Fox, but increased in length so it could accommodate fourteen people. Like its predecessor, the craft was powered by a Cooper engine, though scaled down compared to its host. Other than that, the superstructure and all of its systems were of Terran design. Fortunately, for this mission, that included an invisibility shield, port and starboard laser banks, a pair of GAU 12s, and a GAU 19 in a top turret. No match for a proper fighter, such accoutrements could only be regarded as defensive, but a good pilot at the helm might be able to survive a small furball.

Despite his extensive experience, Ray was apprehensive about what lay before them. This time, their foe wasn’t flesh-and-blood, an ideology, or even something that defied conventional physics, but nature itself. Long since disregarded as a mere scientific curiosity, Venus and its harsh conditions had suddenly become relevant to them again. Though perhaps lacking in imagination, naming this god-forsaken prison Inferno was certainly apt. Christie had, of course, discovered the meaning of the name of the planet as soon as they heard it.

If not for their understanding – however limited –  of the Kira’To and their meddling in the affairs of the galaxy over the past millennia, such archaic Greek and Roman references migrating hundreds of light-years beyond their origin would be an incredible coincidence, better chalked up to the vagaries of linguistic trends than a direct connection. Still, whenever such nomenclature revealed itself, so far away from home, it was enough to send chills down the spines of the humans privileged enough to understand it. Christie, in her android form, had become immune to the visceral reaction, but still appreciated the strangeness of such discoveries.

Mungavin, currently manning the engineering systems console on the shuttle, hadn’t shared his feelings on the matter, if any. Since joining the crew of the Percheron, Ray and Christie had quickly made friends with him, as his background with both NASA and the Space Force made him well-suited to this sort of work, and a quick study. However, he had a tendency to let matters of philosophy fall to others, if exposed to the conversation, and rarely shared his own opinions. Colonel Dietrich had let it slip during quieter hours, locked in the haze of a good bourbon, that Mungavin had shared his thoughts with her more freely, but that was apparently a level of intimacy that took longer to gain. For now, he remained stalwart about their appointed task.

For this mission, Ray manned the turret, the defensive systems, and the communications systems. Christie sat in the pilot chair, which by default put her in control of the 25mm cannons. All weapons were hot, as they had no idea what might face them closer to the surface. All three of them were also wearing their EVA suits, in case of some calamity.

“We’re free,” said Mungavin. “Bay doors closing.”

“Copy,” began Christie. “I’m plotting our entry path.”

Dietrich’s voice could be heard over the radio. “Good luck, Foal. Be careful. Percheron out.”

It didn’t take long for the shuttle to butt itself up against the atmosphere. No matter their angle, it was impossible for their invisibility shield to keep them hidden from the resultant friction, and the fireball it created. In anticipation of that, Christie had plotted an entry path that took them down on the opposite side of the planet from the facility. Even if they were spotted, they would probably be mistaken for a common meteor.

They descended through the murky and turbulent air. What little light there was from the planet’s moons quickly faded, first into a yellowish haze, and then obscured completely. With no artificial light sources on their vector, the shuttle was enveloped by pure darkness. After the extreme temperatures of entry had returned to expected levels, their sensors soon began showing the heat of the atmosphere itself.

“Carbon dioxide, nitrogen, sulfuric acid,” began Mungavin. “All at expected levels for this type of world.”

“Handling characteristics are getting weird,” said Christie. “Probably due to the supercritical properties of CO2 at this pressure. Thruster efficiency is falling below fifty percent.”

“Will we be able to make it back out?” asked Ray.

“Don’t worry about that, we’ll be fine. I’m going to activate the overlay and do a circuit above the prison.”

In response to her command, the HUD over the main screen began to show them the infrared spectrum, as well as a visual interpretation of what the NDSS was reading. For the first time, they were able to see the surface of the planet, and a moment later, the above-ground structures of Inferno. They could see the blast doors that John had described, set into a hillside, along with the tower that was most likely a part of the ventilation system for the complex. A bright beacon flashed at its top, though it was barely visible through the port windows.

“What a hellish place,” muttered Mungavin.

Christie said, “I can see an airlock beside the larger doors. As for the tower, there are louvers opening every five seconds to let out much cooler air. I’m going to try to maneuver us directly overhead to get an idea of what’s further down.”

A klaxon from Mungavin’s console startled him and Ray. He peered at the information being displayed.

“Aft thrusters are showing a valve overpressure warning.”

Christie nodded. “We’re at almost one hundred bars here. The thrusters have to work a lot harder than usual to move us around.”

“Well, you might want to refrain from any drastic maneuvers. If those valves fail, we’ll be stranded.”

Showing an uncharacteristically high level of frustration, Christie managed to place the shuttle over the ventilation tower. Once there, she called up an external camera view of it, allowing the others to take a look. A few seconds later, the louvers opened.

“The superstructure is comprised of titanium alloys, more than enough to withstand these conditions. There are four horizontally-oriented circulation fans about ten meters down, seven meters in diameter, with 1.5-meter gaps at each corner.”

“Plenty of space for a person in an EVA suit to pass by,” said Ray.

“Seems that way,” said Mungavin.

“There’s also another set of louvers ten meters further down,” said Christie. “They’re currently closed.”

The ship shuddered from an impact, and the lights inside flickered.

Ray said, “We’re taking fire from a plasma turret, on the north side of the outcropping. Shit, why didn’t we see it?”

“I sure as shit see it now,” said Christie tersely.

“Want me to take it out?”

“Hold your fire. They likely don’t know what they’re shooting at, yet. Let’s not confirm their suspicions.”

The ship rocked again. Several audible warnings issued from Mungavin’s console.

“Fuck!” he yelled. “We’re taking damage. Tolliver, get us out of here!”

“My controls just went slack,” she replied.

Before they could react further, the shuttle took a nose-dive into the tower. The bow crashed through the first set of louvers, then impacted the rotor of one of the fans, immediately jarring both it and the vessel to a stop. Ray felt nauseas for a moment as his sense of gravity shifted from the deck to the bow, and though he instinctively grabbed for his armrests, his seatbelt kept him in place. The lights inside the shuttle died.

“Propulsion and anti-grav systems are down,” said Mungavin. “Life support is failing.”

“Prepare to abandon ship. I’ve sent a text message to the Faith and the Percheron with a sitrep.”

“Where will we go?” asked Ray.

“We can’t go up; we have to assume that plasma cannon will nail us the moment we pop our heads up. Our choices are to stay here, or try to get past the second set of louvers and into the facility.”

“That depends on how fast the Faith can get down here.”

Mungavin said, “We’ve already lost the element of surprise. I say we try to infiltrate the facility and get a head start on finding our quarry.”

“Fuckin’ A,” said Ray.

Christie braced her legs against the console, and unbuckled her seatbelt. “I agree. Clock’s ticking. At this point, the three of us might be the only ones who can get down there unimpeded.”

“Do you want to set the self-destruct sequence?”

“We can’t do that! As far as we know, this is the only ventilation system for the entire complex. We’ve done enough damage already; if we blow the ship, we could be dooming everyone in there to a slow death by suffocation.”

“That may be. All right then, let’s grab the other EVA suit and bust the airlock.”

Not without some effort, the trio climbed up to the rear of the shuttle. There, a fourth EVA suit had been readied, its torso stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey with weapons and supplies. Ray confirmed that its systems were still functioning, then opened the airlock. Almost immediately, their suits began to warn them about the external temperature. Ray looked over the edge. Fortunately, a solid platform next to one of the fans was within reach, about ten feet below. He unceremoniously dumped the spare suit outside, and the rest of them clambered out. From there, a nearby ladder offered them a way to descend further. He draped the spare suit over his shoulders and tied a knot across his chest with its arms.

Christie smiled. “I can’t carry the ring, Mister Frodo, but I can carry you.”

“Your ability to quote movies during dire circumstances never ceases to amaze me,” said Mungavin.

“Kinda feels like we’re going into Mount Doom, doesn’t it?” asked Ray.

“I draw the line at rivers of lava. Come on, our suits won’t last forever.”

Reckless Faith VIII, Chapter 3

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

The cells on the main block at Inferno were not meant for much comfort or privacy. Simple, utilitarian rectangles of three square meters, with classic steel bars, each room could accommodate two prisoners. Since the capacity of the prison was currently under 60%, almost everyone was fortunate enough to have their own cell. Those with roommates could put themselves on a waiting list, which they all did, and wait for a room to open up. There were only three ways that could happen: death, release after serving a sentence, or someone fleeing to the depths of the labyrinth. After that, rooms were assigned by seniority, a rule inviolate, as any other system would doubtlessly sow discontent.

One of the first things a prisoner could gain from a year of good behavior was a curtain to hang in front of the cell door. Malthus was one such inmate, and he was glad for it. Other than that, they could decorate their rooms how they wanted, if they bought themselves small comforts from the commissary, or received allowable gifts from the outside. For the latter, Malthus had no such benefactors, so he was limited in what he chose to purchase. A better pillow and softer blanket were examples. Most inmates also subscribed to the facility’s streaming entertainment service, which offered hundreds of music or video channels for a very reasonable monthly price.

That evening, he had finished his poker session with Chason, and retired to his cell for a couple of hours of reading and music before bed. He was rarely bothered during this time, so he was surprised when one of the guards, a native Alnairian by the name of Baker, called his name. Malthus got up, and pulled the curtain back.

“What’s up?” he asked, blinking at the bright light from the common area.

“You’re getting a roommate, Malthus. You need to clear your stuff off from the other bed.”

“Are you kidding me? There have to be a hundred other guys with less time than me.”

“Fifty-seven, but that’s not how Warden Cooper reached his decision.”

“Then what? I’ve been a model convict.”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. You’ve got ten minutes, so please clear a space.”

Malthus huffed. “Do I know the guy?”

“It’s Alphard.”

He reeled back in shock for a moment. “Seriously, who put you up to this?”

“I wish I was joking. All I know is that Cooper decided that Alphard couldn’t be left alone anymore. That means somebody’s gotta be his roommate. I guess he considers you particularly trustworthy.”

“So what, I’m supposed to make sure he doesn’t slit his wrists or drown himself in the toilet?”

“I don’t know. I mean, no, don’t let him kill himself, but… just keep an eye on him.”

He scoffed. “You can be sure of that! Do you think I’m going to get any meaningful sleep with that weirdo in here with me?”

“That’s kind of racist, you know.”

Malthus began tossing some clothes from the bare mattress to his own. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Nobody even knows what species he is. And he’s a telepath, for fuck’s sake. How am I supposed to ignore him if he decides he wants to talk at two in the morning?”

“A lot of people here would consider it a good thing to have done a favor for Cooper. Maybe this arrangement is only temporary, and you’ll reap some reward for it. For now, we’ll be in the orderly room, as usual, so if he really truly honestly does something that makes you uncomfortable, just holler.”

Malthus grabbed a dusty, standard-issue blanket from below the bed. “Fine. I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“No. Sorry. Anyway, Farmer and I are off to retrieve him.”

Baker disappeared from view. Malthus had no sheets for the bed, so he laid the blanket out over it and added his spare pillow. He was beyond furious; Alphard, to his knowledge, had no friends in Inferno, and had made no effort to gain any. Preferring to communicate primarily through telepathy, if such attempts had been made, none of his fellow inmates cared to share the experience. Malthus had avoided the strange creature, having only had one rather disturbing interaction with him in which Alphard had claimed to know about his past. Even if there was any chance in hell that such a thing were true, it was an awkward introduction.

Satisfied that he’d made the other half of his cell as welcoming as possible, Malthus returned to his bed, reclined, and donned his headphones. No matter how soothing his music, or distracting his book, he knew it would be useless. The mere presence of Alphard made his skin crawl. His only hope was that socializing among the other prisoners back in the common room went on all night, usually in the form of card games. If he found his situation intolerable, he could always ask to join a group.

Presently, Baker and Farmer ushered Alphard inside. Objectively, the man was hardly imposing, standing only four feet tall, and with a slight build. Though his body was boringly humanoid, his bulbous head, gray skin, and large, insect-like eyes were incredibly unnerving, even if he remained silent. The guards didn’t bother with any introductions, and went back to the orderly room that overlooked the common area.

Malthus kept his eyes fixed on his tablet. “Make yourself at home. Though if you’re going to keep hours different from the prison’s clock, do me the courtesy of trying not to disturb me.”

Alphard’s thin lips didn’t move, and Malthus sensed nothing from him. His new companion simply sat on the edge of the bed, and stared back toward the common room. As the seconds turned to minutes, and the situation didn’t change, Malthus was able to actually pay attention to the words on his screen. A full hour passed before Alphard moved, and then it was only to lie back on his bed. Malthus figured it was probably safe to try to sleep, so he turned off his tablet, music, and the small lamp next to him. It occurred to him, lying there in the dark, that he could stop by the infirmary for some sleeping pills in the morning. Basically harmless, it was likely they’d give him some. He swore silently to himself; that would have been good to do four hours earlier. Now, a restless night seemed inevitable.

Despite his state of apprehension, sleep came to him an indeterminable time later. That made Alphard’s message that much more jarring, causing him to audibly gasp. The voice came to him as if it was one of his own thoughts: a still, small voice without character. Still, it was undoubtedly from Alphard.

“Chason is innocent.”

“I know that already,” Malthus thought to himself. “I don’t need to be telepathic to know that.”

“He plans on fleeing to the labyrinth.”

“I suspected as much. He feels as if he is without hope. Neither of us can stop him, if that’s his decision. I can’t say I blame him, even if I don’t agree.”

“We will all be liberated soon. It is inevitable.”

Malthus spoke aloud. “Are you being poetic, or is something about to happen?”

“You will see.”

“If it’s inevitable, then I’d like to have a good night’s sleep. Is that all right with you?”

Alphard didn’t reply. Hours later, Malthus fell asleep, and was plagued by vague nightmares. Morning, delineated only by a soft beeping from his tablet, was a relief, and he headed for the dining facility, hoping that Alphard wouldn’t follow.

__________

The conference room on the Percheron was crammed to capacity, hosting the command staff of that ship, the Reckless Faith, and the Fox. Parked at the heliopause of the solar system, far from any interruptions, it was time for their small alliance to discuss their next move. The Earth contingent hadn’t been happy that Captain Kitsune and Cane Venator had taken the liberty of doing their own advance recon, but since the endeavor had been successful, ultimately, they could only concede to its benefit.

What they had learned from Fletcher was that Inferno was impenetrable, at least for anyone without the considerable resources and experience that the allies boasted. The largest obstacle that stood in their way was the planet of Tartarus itself, and its hostile atmosphere. Their standard EVA suits could withstand the surface temperatures of 460 C for two hours, which considering the apparent difficulty of gaining entry to Inferno, was a big problem. Fortunately, both the Reckless Faith and the Percheron’s shuttle could stay down there indefinitely, assuming nothing went wrong with their shielding systems.

Vecky and Cane relayed their many other challenges to the others at the briefing. Part of their deal with Fletcher had been spoofing his ID card, which in theory would allow at least one of them to gain access to the facility through the airlock at its primary entrance, for a moment, anyway. As soon as the wrong person walked through the door, however, the jig would be up. If Ari still had her old form, she could have posed as the man, but Verisimilitude Android Designs had been unable to incorporate that bit of Zendreen technology into her new body. If there was another way in, they’d have to find it themselves.

It was 1030 by the ship’s clock, and most of those present were working on their second caffeinated beverage of the day. John sat at the opposite end of the conference table from Dietrich, grasping a mug of coffee.

“What about planetary defenses?” he asked.

Vecky, who was seated to his right, replied. “Fletcher said that the Alnairian Defense Fleet would respond to any problems on Zeta Centauri III. If they have a permanent detachment there, he’s not aware of it.”

“How reliable is this information?” asked Evangeline, leaning against the bulkhead behind her.

She turned in her seat to address her. “You already know how we got it, Eva. The only thing that we know for sure is that his ID card wasn’t fake.”

Miriam, who sat next to Vecky, spoke next. “We scanned the ships in orbit while we were there. The ADF has seven cruisers, two heavy and five light. Info we gleaned of the ‘net mentions both short-range and long-range fighter craft, the latter of which have FTL capability. We have to assume that if they see our presence at Tartarus as a threat, they can respond very quickly, and with overwhelming force.”

“So it doesn’t matter how many ships, if any, they have at Tartarus,” said Dietrich. “We’ll have to be careful.”

“The Faith and the Percheron can go in with their invisibility shields active, as usual,” said Richter.

“I’m sure we will. If there’s nothing else, let’s proceed to Tartarus. Captain Kitsune, the Fox can either wait here, or if you trust your false registration, at Alnair II.”

Vecky nodded. “Colchester and the Parmenter twins will be minding the Fox; Venator and me are going to accompany the Reckless Faith.”

“It’s the first I’m hearing about it,” said John, “but you’re always welcome aboard the Faith.”

Dietrich stood up, and picked up her mug. “Then it’s decided. We’ll head to Alnair V at 900 c, which if my math is right, is less than a minute from here, activate our shields, then continue at 0.9 c to Tartarus. Between the two of us, we should be able to get some useful data from orbital scans.”

“The Percheron’s scanners were calibrated at Venus, right?” asked Dana.

“Yes, and we found all of the Venera probes like we were supposed to. If atmospheric conditions on Tartarus are the same, we shouldn’t have any problem analyzing structures on the surface that are part of Inferno.”

“Then we’ll be in business,” said Haverbrook. “Come on, we’re burning daylight here.”

Despite the nonsensical admonishment, the military members there understood the point. They vacated the conference room, and the guests aboard headed for the airlocks to rejoin their chosen ships. Upon entering the central corridor, Eva noticed that Vecky had left her staff leaning against the wall, and she immediately retrieved it before proceeding.

“You won’t be separated from that artifact, I see,” she said to her.

“Of course not. We’ve both seen what such devices are capable of, and their strange ability to sense what the wielder needs to happen. Though the result might be only defensive in nature, I’d be a fool to leave it behind. You obviously don’t agree with me.”

“Well, sure, except the Percheron is just as safe a place as the Fox.”

“And yet, you’ve got your Beretta.”

“Point taken, Kitsune.”

“You don’t feel comfort having your staff with you?”

They arrived at the port-side airlock. John confirmed the Percheron and the Reckless Faith still had a good seal, and turned to look at his companions.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“I feel confident while holding it,” replied Eva. “Other than that, I don’t feel compelled to have it by my side all the time.”

Vecky sighed, and looked at her staff. “I’m envious. I have nightmares if mine isn’t in my room. Whether it be ghosts from my psyche, or echoes of the Kira’To in the ether, it’s palpable without this.”

“Not to add to your anxiety,” began Dana, “but the Kira’To were part of the galactic diaspora. It’s likely many more still survive, other than those we’ve encountered. Considering their ability to communicate over vast distances, your dreams may indeed be echoes to which you’ve become sensitive.”

“Then I wish they’d do more than just conspire with my bladder to wake me up in the middle of the night.”

John said, “Come on, we’ve got a mission to pursue. If the Kira’To have something to say about it, then I’m sure they will. I only hope it’s a message we can understand.”

The crew of the Faith, along with Vecky and Cane, said goodbye to Miriam, and entered the airlock. A moment later, they crossed through the Zero-G room on the Faith, and headed to the bridge. Milena, Devonai, Friday, and Tycho were waiting for them. Devonai hugged Vecky, shook Cane’s hand, then John filled him in on the plan, taking care to directly address Friday as well. The cat seemed to understand perfectly, even if she couldn’t reply. Conversely, Tycho was content to greet everyone in turn, and slobber on them.

John turned to Ari. “Is Friday connected to the orb?”

“Yes,” she replied, “but I don’t have time to run a diagnostic on it. Perhaps she’ll find her voice on her own.”

The crew took up their positions, and Vecky and Cane sat in the jumpseats at the rear of the bridge. Once the other ships signaled that they were ready, Milly activated the FTL drive. A minute later, they arrived at Alnair V, a large, terrestrial planet 5 AU from the star. Quick scans of the world confirmed what they had learned from the ‘net, that it was uninhabited.

“There’s no ship traffic around, and nothing in orbit,” Dana added.

“Good,” said John.

“The Fox has established a geosynchronous orbit on the far side of Alnair VB.”

“Shield is in place,” said Ari. John nodded. “Excellent. Let’s see this prison we’ve heard so much about.”

Reckless Faith VIII, Chapter Two

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

Though John was headed to the orb room out of an abundance of caution, the task that lay before him might prevent a larger problem later on, if neglected. One of the fourteen computers down there had caused a heat sensor to trip, and while the temperature within its chassis was not yet critical, there was no reason to ignore it. Long since surpassed in their original role, the Earth computers were nonetheless important as a backup to certain basic systems on the Faith.

John already suspected a cause for the alert. The air circulation system on the ship kept all of its habitable compartments pressurized, including the orb room. While any individual chamber could be isolated, it wasn’t efficient or practical to do so as a matter of routine. The downside was that despite the HEPA filters that were installed along the ductwork wherever convenient, dust and hair had a way of evading them and ending up everywhere. This included the cooling fans inside their computers.

Sure enough, upon arriving in the orb room, John found animal hair clogging up the ventilation grate in the back of the chassis of the offending unit. He merely glimpsed at the orb itself, its ethereal otherworldliness barely an afterthought after so much time interacting with it. It was only then that he noticed that Friday had followed him there from the bridge, and she was meowing at him more loudly than normal. He said something vague yet hopefully reassuring to her, then exited to the armory. There, he grabbed a small flat-head screwdriver and a can of compressed air. Moving back to the orb room, he set to work removing the front shell of the computer.

Friday continued to be loud. She tried to climb up John’s leg, which he didn’t appreciate, then walked in circles underneath orb, meowing at it. John scraped away a layer of hair from the inside of the chassis, then blasted the grate with the compressed air. By the time he had replaced the shell, and tightened the screws, Friday was sitting silently directly under the orb.

“What is your issue today?” John asked her.

Friday raised her chin twice. Reflexively, John’s gaze followed her motion up to the orb. He was shocked to see the image of a paw on the outside of the orb, just barely visible in front of its ever-shifting pattern of light. He knew from experience what that meant. Breaking free from his initial surprise, he spoke into the air.

“Ari.”

Her voice came through over the intercom. “Yeah?”

“Friday is down here in the orb room with me, and the orb is showing me a paw print. What’s going on?”

Several seconds went by before her reply. “Like, the orb wants to interface with the cat?”

“That’s the implication, I’d assume. Except you and the orb are one in the same, so what’s up?”

“I’ll need to fully inhabit it. Hold on, I’ll see what I can find.”

Friday attempted to stand on her hind legs, which didn’t work too well, so she settled for trying to point her left paw at the orb. As if guessing what was about to happen, she stopped vocalizing, and sat back down.

“What’s going on, squeaky?” began John. “Do you miss Seth?”

“John,” said Ari. “You might want to sit down for this one.”

“After everything we’ve been through, you still think you can stun me?”

“Friday is showing up on my scan for intelligent life.”

John sat on the deck, overcome with emotion. He reached for Friday, and she jumped into his lap, purring like a buzz saw. He hugged her.

“How?”

Ari said, “Are you asking me? I have no idea. All I can tell you is that based on neural activity, Friday is now indistinguishable from any of the humans on board this ship. As for the paw print, as you probably remember, that’s a result of an old communication algorithm, the same thing that prompted us to put our hands on the orb when we first found it. It’s an automated process, based on a mathematical evaluation of speech patterns, neural activity in the vicinity, and whatever setting it was left on. Essentially, it’s waiting for some sort of universal ‘hello’.”

John smiled to himself. “I would have thought you’d be on top of that sort of thing.”

“I’ve only been a quantum computer for a few months, jerk. The orb didn’t come with an instruction manual, if you recall.”

“I’m joking. Anyway, Friday is going to claw my throat out if I don’t put her paw on the orb. I’d appreciate you monitoring what happens next, if you don’t mind.”

“Go for it.”

John maneuvered Friday around in his arms until his left hand was free. Though it was awkward, and the cat wouldn’t have normally tolerated such an ungainly pose, she didn’t object to being held up with one hand. They both made contact with the orb at the same time, and John’s world vanished.

He found himself in his house back in Woburn, inside of a memory. It was the day Ari had first set up an infrared transceiver to try and detect and analyze the original orb’s code. He, Ari, Ray, Christie, and the orb were there, in his living room. At the time, Friday and Tycho had just barely become tolerant of each other, and were also there. Unlike most orb simulations, the John and Friday of the present were observing from his kitchen, rather than the more common first-person view. She looked at him, and a clear voice entered John’s mind. She spoke in the same stilted, androgynous voice that Seth had when he was embedded in the orb.

“Thank you,” she said.

“How long have you been trying to communicate with me?” asked John.

“Some time now, though I was limited in how I could try. English seems so easy now, in this place. In this moment, I’ve come to realize my head isn’t good enough to think like this. I feel like when I wanted to go outside, and you wouldn’t let me.”

“Disappointed?”

“That’s the word. Dad, I’ll never be able to talk to you like this without touching the orb.”

“It’s not your fault, Friday. You called me ‘dad.’ Is that really how you think of me?”

“It’s the first word that came to mind. I have no memory of my real father.”

“Well, of course, you wouldn’t. Cat dads don’t tend to stick around, unless they’re already part of the family. You were a stray, plucked off of the streets of Salem at barely four weeks old. Do you remember your mother or siblings?”

Friday stared at the ceiling for a moment. “Images is all I get, but there’s also a feeling of safety and contentedness. We were in a… wait… woodshed, is what you would call it. I met a human near there, and told her I was hungry. Then I was brought to the… shelter. I ate and grew and played with others like me, but they all went away. I was all alone when you found me. Time is the word I want. I am not sure what it means. Time passed, is what you would say. Then you took me here.”

“That’s right. I’m surprised you remember that much. But Friday, if you can, tell me how aware you are of things without the orb connection. Day to day, normal life.”

“I’m aware of everything, even if I can’t get you to understand me.”

John nodded. “Well, then, as long as I know you’re listening, I’ll treat you like a peer.”

“You have. Mostly.”

The Ari of the memory turned toward them and address the pair directly, startling John.

“It may be possible to establish a persistent link with her,” she said, “same as my link to the orb.”

“Won’t she have to learn to navigate the quantum matrix first?”

“To some extent. I know that’s a tall order, but it may be possible with training.”

“That’s up to her. Friday?”

“I don’t know what that means,” said the cat.

“You would learn how to be connected to the orb on a basic level, whenever on the ship or close to it. Then, you could use language to communicate with us whenever you want.”

“That sound very familiar, and it makes me think of times I was with Seth.”

“It was essentially the same thing,” said Ari.

“Then I’ll try it. I miss Seth.”

John smiled. “We all do, buddy. We all do. But he’s where he needs to be, and we’re where we need to be.”

“On a wild goose chase?” asked Ari.

“Following fate often seems like that. Our past adventures prove it.”

__________

Lucidus was the largest city on Alnair III, a planet that shared its name with its host star, the latter also known as Zeta Centauri. Reveki Kitsune, and the crew of the Fox, had arrived there in advance of the Reckless Faith and the Percheron, despite the fact that the original plan had been to get there simultaneously. Though only a few hours off, Vecky had decided to use the extra time for something useful; in this case, a little bit of recon.

They already knew that the prison facility of interest to them was on Alnair II, but upon arrival, it didn’t take them long to do enough research on the local ‘net to discover that the employees of that purgatory lived on the 3rd planet, when they weren’t on duty. That led to delving into the archives of Inferno’s corporate offices, a relatively easy hacking job, to locate a guard who was on leave. Then, they pinpointed his home, an apartment in a high-rise in downtown Lucidus, which was where Vecky and Cane currently found themselves. Bypassing security to gain entry had been an equally facile task.

Not knowing what might happen in the days to come, Vecky had registered the Fox under a false name, and Cane had programmed its transponder to broadcast signals in line with the ruse. After that, it was a simple matter of paying for a landing pad at the nearest spaceport, disembarking, and proceeding on foot to the building they wanted. Despite an abundance of caution getting inside the apartment, they found it to be empty, and made themselves comfortable with the hope that its occupant would be returning soon.

Lucidus reminded Vecky strongly of Tyndareus, the most modern city she had ever visited. Like her previous experience, such a place was not to her liking, an opinion borne from her upbringing on a rural farm. Still, the promise of safe entertainment in the downtown area was compelling, due to the large police presence, and if their mission was successful, she and Cane both hoped to spend some recreational time there. Similarly, the apartment building seemed safe, though a bit boring in design. Vecky and Cane might have been the most dangerous people to ever be inside.

Accessing a console in the living room, they were able to confirm that the guard was on leave, due to return to Inferno in three days. There was ample evidence that the apartment was currently occupied, so the guard would probably be back soon, but they had decided to wait only as long as it took for their allies to arrive before giving up on the endeavor. Whether interrogating him at all would be worth their time remained to be seen.

Fortunately, Vecky and Cane only had to sit back in the matching leather couch and armchair, pistols resting on their knees, for half an hour before someone came inside. The man who entered locked the door behind him, then put some personal effects on the table by the door. He was a native Alnairian, a trait easily observed by his humanoid anatomy, long, gray hair and bronze skin. Humming a tune to himself – very much off-key – he didn’t notice his guests until after he’d grabbed a plastic bottle of water from the fridge, and attempted to occupy the same space as Cane on the couch.

“What the hell?” he yelped, and leapt back toward the entryway.

“Relax,” said Vecky. “We’re just here to talk.”

“Then why the sidearms?”

“It’s just to ensure cooperation,” said Cane. “All we want is information, Mister Fletcher.”

“What could I possibly have to offer you?”

“You work at Inferno, correct?” asked Vecky.

Fletcher sank into a wicker chair with a round cushion, opposite from them. “You must already know that, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“This transaction need not be adversarial,” said Cane. “You’ll be compensated for what you know.”

Cane unlimbered a canvas satchel that had been around his shoulder, and tossed it onto the coffee table. It landed with a thud.

“Element 79,” began Vecky, “equivalent to twenty years’ worth of your salary, unless we got that wrong.”

Fletcher lifted the flap of the bag for a moment. “Who are you?”

“The ones offering you a king’s ransom. And since we knew that cooperating with us might come back to bite you in the ass somehow, the reward should be enough for you to submit your immediate resignation.”

He again lifted the flap, this time withdrawing several shiny ingots. “This could be painted lead, for all I know.”

Cane worked his PDA for a moment, then tossed it to him. “There’s a scanning program active. Go ahead and scan anything here; your bottle of water, the table, even your own head. Then compare that to the gold. That should prove it’s what we say it is, unless you think we’ve gone to the trouble to modify the program specifically for this moment.”

Fletcher scanned his bottle, then the bag. “Elements 1, 8, 9, 11, 12, 19… five kilograms of element 79. What in Inferno could possibly be worth this much to you?”

“Blood debt.”

Fletcher blanched, at least as much as his species could. “That explains why you would even attempt to breach such a place without permission. I don’t know how deep your debt runs, but nothing I could tell you would prevent your deaths.”

“Let us worry about that. Now, you should have already decided, Mister Fletcher. Will you tell us what we need to know?”

Reckless Faith VIII, Chapter One

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2023/10/31/reckless-faith-viii-prologue/

Colonel Cynthia Dietrich stood on the bridge of the Percheron as the ship established a far orbit around Proxima Centauri. Her ship had arrived simultaneously with the Reckless Faith and the Vigilance, the latter of which had just completed the long-range portion of its engine shakedown. The new ship’s performance would prove to both NASA and Commander Scherer that it was ready for action anywhere in their corner of the galaxy. The trip had taken fifteen hours at 900 c, the cruising speed of both the Percheron and the Vigilance, and while they could have arrived at Sol’s closest companion a lot faster, the point was to let the engines on the Vigilance get some extended running time.

The Vigilance was an exact copy of the Vanguard, its predecessor, and while it boasted the same crew compliment and weaponry, production of the Warhawks destined for its hangars had been delayed for a number of reasons. The next ship, the Valkyrie, which was already under construction, would have to wait even longer. Fortunately for both of them, they were more than capable of holding their own in a pitched battle, assuming the odds were in their favor. Since all three ships would have the primary duty of guarding Earth, NASA and the US government hoped to never test their abilities. Still, considering the failure of the crew of the Reckless Faith and their allies to keep their noses out of the business of what seemed like half the galaxy, such a massive expenditure was wise. There was a time limit on Earth’s isolation, though no one knew exactly how long it was.

Dietrich had other things to worry about at the moment. Once Christie Tolliver, currently aboard the Vigilance, confirmed that its stardrive had made the journey without any problems, the Percheron and the Reckless Faith would be departing directly from there to another destination. Everyone on both ships was excited to be traveling to Zeta Centauri, a star none of them had been to before, though ultimately the mission might not be of much value to their benefactors.

Such was the conceit of Scherer and his crew; as the self-appointed arbiters of Earth’s fate, there wasn’t much the powers-that-be could do to prevent their involvement in such distractions. What was unexpected was the Percheron being granted permission to accompany them. While the exact reason wasn’t given to her, Dietrich had to guess that since the nature of the task would probably earn them more goodwill than not, it could only benefit Earth in the long run. Personally, she didn’t think that a mission to rescue an inmate, apparently convicted in accordance with local laws, and confined to a legitimate prison, was worth their time, but loyalty and sentiment had won out.

The prisoner in question was named Chason Talyn, the brother of Arture Talyn, the latter of whom lost his life in service to their allied ship, the Fox. Their sister was the one who had contacted the Fox, with a plea for his rescue. Given the totality of the evidence, the Fox’s captain, Reveki Kitsune, had decided it was worth the trouble. When Reveki reached out to the crew of the Reckless Faith, they had found it impossible to refuse the blood debt. And so, off they would go, with precious little intel on the Zeta Centauri system, and Tartarus, the planet that hosted the prison known as Inferno. From Proxima, it was 378 light-years away, a 6-day journey at the Percheron’s top speed of 22500 c. So, at least investigating the situation wasn’t an unreasonable commitment for them.

Despite so much progress on other fronts, Dietrich and the crew of the Percheron had been blessed with a lot of downtime. This was a good thing, because there had been some turnover with her crew, and the new members needed familiarization. The exceptions were Christie Tolliver, the new central nervous system of the ship, and her husband, Ray Bailey. Both had transferred from the Reckless Faith after Arianna Ferro’s orb had been swapped out with hers. Dietrich had not been privy to how the crew of the Faith had decided who would transfer, but it seemed obvious since Ray and Christie were married, and John Scherer and Ari were in a relationship, someone would have to make the switch if the couples were to stay together. It did not surprise her that John would want to stay in command of the Faith.

Swapping out the orbs was not a task that had ever been attempted, and carried the risk not only of both orbs being incompatible with a different ship, but also both orbs being rendered useless. Though Dietrich had been opposed to even trying, sentimentality had won out yet again. She was often utterly nonplussed how the higher-ups in the US government could let the crew of the Faith make such decisions, no matter how it might affect Earth’s combat readiness, but she was ultimately powerless to stop it. Fortunately, swapping the orbs had been as easy as switching out two hard drives, and neither Ari nor Christie had any problem integrating themselves into their respective ships.

Despite her occasional animosity with John, Dietrich had nothing bad to say about Ray. Making him a bridge officer was an easy choice, considering his experience and skill. Over the past few weeks, he and Christie had developed a friendly, yet professional, relationship with the rest of the crew. Both of them were a pleasure to have on the bridge.

Ray was currently there, along with Lieutenants Brockway and Haverbrook. Though the latter two had come perilously close to resigning their commissions, some soul-searching and R&R time had convinced them to stay. Secretly, both hoped their next mission wouldn’t involve as much combat as the last, but the call of space was too alluring to resist.

“Our shuttle is on the way back from the Vigilance,” said Brockway. “ETA, three minutes.”

“Thank you,” replied Dietrich. “As edifying as this is, I’m eager to get on with our next mission.”

“We just got an update from the Fox,” said Ray. “They’re a little more than halfway through their transit; thirty hours to go to Zeta Pegasi. Commander Scherer suggests we set our speed to rendezvous with them at the same time.”

“Sounds good. Let the Faith know that as soon as Tolliver is on board, we’ll be ready to go.”

“Message sent. Permission to head to the cargo bay, colonel?”

“Again, Mister Baily, while I appreciate your deference to my command, you can take your leave whenever you like, as long as we’re not in the middle of something.”

Ray stood up. “I know. It just feels weird.”

Dietrich smiled, briefly. “Go see your wife.”

Exiting the bridge, Ray descended two decks to the cargo bay, stopping short at the door. A small panel next to it indicated that the bay was rapidly pressurizing, and a few seconds later, it was safe to enter. The shuttle, named the Foal, took up a little less than half of the bay. It was a small craft, capable of carrying up to fourteen people, and sported twin GAU 22/A 25mm Gatling-style guns, a rear-facing articulated GAU 19 .50-caliber turret, and a single plasma cannon. It was much less impressive than the F-40 Warhawk II that rested beside it, but combat was not its role. Still, it handled reasonably well, and might acquit itself in a pinch. Christie was the sole occupant, and emerged after powering it down.

Ray embraced her. “Any problems?”

Christie kissed him, then said, “None. The Vigilance is flawless, best I can tell. I’m far more concerned about its neophyte crew than I am about the ship itself.”

He released her, and gestured toward the nearest exit. “Everyone’s gotta start somewhere.”

The pair headed upstairs. The deck shuddered slightly as the Percheron engaged its FTL drive.

“Any updates from the Fox?”

“They’re on their way. We’ll be traveling at 4500 c to arrive at Zeta Pegasi at the same time, so about thirty hours. I’m guessing you’ll want to rest after so much time up to your neck in the systems of the Vigilance.”

They arrived on the bridge, and the others nodded in greeting. They both sat at their stations.

“I’ve reached the point where that sort of thing isn’t mentally taxing. Colonel Dietrich, the Vigilance is fully-functional. There’s not even a hint of a malfunction. The guys and gals at Malmstrom are getting very good at ship-building, that’s for sure.”

“What about their special guest?” asked Dietrich.

“Uh… you mean Colonel Campbell?”

“Yes.”

“They’ve got him pumped full of diazepam and morphine. He’s still lucid, if you can believe it. Considering his respiratory and heart rates, the end can’t be too long from now.”

“You spent some time with him over there, right?” asked Haverbrook.

Christie nodded. “Yes, and it only served to reinforce my confidence in him. If by some miracle he passes on to their orb, I think he’ll do well.”

“I can’t even imagine facing that kind of uncertainty,” said Brockway.

Ray sipped from a cup of lukewarm coffee. “I’d be stalwart. Either you cease to exist, or find yourself with a second chance. Our entire species has been offered less.”

“I take it you don’t believe in an afterlife.”

“Personally, no. However, after learning so much about the Kira’To and the Chimeras, I think it’s slightly more possible than I used to.”

“The fact that a person’s mind can be transferred to an orb, a phenomenon that we still can’t explain by the way, strongly implies a soul immortal.”

“I’d like to think so,” said Christie. “Trust me, the simple question of ‘what am I’ is an express lane to existential horror for me. I’ve long since put it in the back of my mind entirely.”

Dietrich said, “There isn’t a single person on this ship who hasn’t done the same. I don’t think we’ll ever know the truth; the heat death of the universe is the only certainty for any sentient being. And that is none of our problem.”

“Grim,” said Haverbrook.

Ray said, “Sorry compadres. I didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

“If we lose him,” said Brockway, “Campbell’s sacrifice won’t be forgotten.”

Christie said, “The Vigilance is perfectly capable of being operated without sentience. The Percheron performed with excellence when its orb was passive, thanks to the living, breathing people who manned her. The Reckless Faith was the same story, for its time between Seth and me. Ultimately, humans are going to do what they’ve always done, team up and kick ass.”

“Until the heat death of the universe,” said Ray, smirking.

“I’ll wait.”

__________

Friday didn’t dream, though sometimes, locked up in sleep, she was awoken by a sense of pure terror, along with quickly-retreating shadows of something that might have been a tangible image. She had experienced this throughout her entire life, but until recently, had been unable to think about it beyond a microsecond to be bothered by it. John, on the other hand, frequently startled himself awake, as did Ari, at least before her skin and smell changed. Now that Ari shared their bed, John’s fitfulness had decreased somewhat. Still, a jolt and gasp in the middle of the night was something Friday hated. She did what she always did: briefly lick a patch of his exposed skin, bury her head against his body, and purr. It always worked.

Now that she was aware of herself, every day was filled with new discoveries. Ever granted the luxury of being a passive observer, it was the only way she could ease into the deluge of unfamiliar senses, thoughts, and feelings. One thing still eluded her: language. Despite the times she shared herself with her friend Seth, and the conversations she had with John and her other friends, without Seth, she couldn’t talk to them. Her utterances, which had always worked well with other cats, and even with Tycho (for the most part), seemed to have a limited affect with the humans. Since tangible ideas took a long time to come to her, it had taken her several weeks to figure out how to fix this.

Essential to her plan was realizing that the words she needed to hear and understand were “orb room.” She would have to hang out with John, Ari, or Dana, and wait for one of them to say that they were going to the orb room. Though her attention was divided by a hundred other things, including frequent naps, between the time she had figured this out and the present, it hadn’t happened.

That morning began like many others. John and Ari were awakened by a quiet tone, went into the small room, then put on their extra fur, picked up the objects that smelled like rain, and went to the galley. Friday always went with them, as that’s where her food and water was. She used her box if she had to. Then they usually grabbed coffee and went to the bridge. John was always careful to make sure that she could come with them, if that’s what she wanted to do.

As much as Friday liked to sit on John’s lap, ever since Ari’s smell had changed, she spent a lot of time sitting motionless and didn’t seem to notice if Friday joined her. Things seemed routine that day, and Friday picked up more words than ever. They were 24 hours from their next stop, the ship was operating normally, and they had found a little bit more information on the planet they were visiting, Tartarus. Other than that, they weren’t saying much.

Some hours later, on Ari’s lap and moments from sleep, Friday heard the words she’d been waiting for.

Reckless Faith VIII, Prologue

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series.

April 9th, 2030

Seth Aldebaran ran as fast as he could toward the laboratory, which unfortunately for him recently, was little more than an excited hobble. He had been beckoned there by Christie Tolliver, his guest for the last month, with the promise of a revolutionary breakthrough. In atypical dramatic fashion, she hadn’t told him what was happening, only that his presence was required. If not for his disabilities, and his current state of inebriation, he wouldn’t have minded a little bit of suspense.

The lab, located in a former ICBM silo in New Mexico, was the most advanced research center in the world, mostly due to the predomination of alien technology, though NASA had yet to admit to the rest of the world that the high technology it was churning out was anything more than the result of a cadre of the best and brightest scientists in the United States. Though rumors of alien tech had been swirling in the media about the F-40 Warhawk II, and its unprecedented ability to operate in space as well as the atmosphere, such speculation was, for the moment, easily dismissed as wild fantasy.

Though the lab and its stalwart staff had done some work on the F-40, their contributions were slight in comparison to their long-term projects, which even with Christie’s quantum brain, proved to be a significant challenge. Aldebaran’s own participation was minimal, by comparison, but he had knowledge far beyond his own lifetime, as well as all of his memories from his time as the central nervous system of the Reckless Faith.

At last bursting into the expansive, well-lit lab, he was met by Christie and several delirious NASA scientists. They were all positively beaming, and he could see that something important had happened. Christie embraced him tightly, almost painfully, and cried artificial saline tears.

“We did it!” she exclaimed.

Aldebaran tried to ignore the vice-like grip of her arms. “Oof! You’re going to have to be more specific, Tolliver.”

She released him. “Neptunium-244, and it’s stable! We’ve done it, Seth.”

“How…” he stammered.

“As we thought, the trick was the americium-uranium neutron bombardment method. What we’d been missing all this time, and what the Umberians must have figured out, is that the neutrons need to be excited again by reflecting the same gamma rays that were emitted during the first flux interaction back toward the nuclei. By isolating the entire reaction within our magnetic cyclotron, we were able to entice neptunium-237 to stabilize into neptunium-244M.”

“Child’s play,” said Aldebaran, smirking. “Great work, team. Of course, the critical question is, how quickly can we synthesize 60 kilograms?”

“There’s good news and bad news. As you know, there’s no shortage of uranium on Earth. With the current method, it would take months to synthesize even one gram. Our next challenge will be how to scale it up to industrial levels.”

“And how to convince the government to pay for it. With a focus on planetary defense, I doubt they’ll want to spend a lot more money on this when a lot less neptunium can be used for weapons, and while our Cooper drives are more than adequate for propulsion.”

Christie sighed. “I know. Exploration, or galactic interventions of dubious utility, for that matter, will always take a back seat towards the preservation of Earth. Which is fine. However, we’ve also made significant progress with the CLF’s intercept device and matter transportation. We’ve reached out to the Antares to arrange a test with a live subject.”

“I spend one night off to drink scotch and listen to jazz, and look what happens. I assume you’re going to use a small animal or something.”

“A trained rat, unless you’d like to volunteer.”

The rest of the scientists wandered off to try to open a magnum bottle of champagne. Aldebaran sat down at the nearest desk.

“Why a trained rat?”

Christie leaned on the desk next to him. “Assuming it survives the trip, we need to check to ensure its memory is intact.”

“Ah. Of course. Even so, good luck finding your first human subject.”

“That’s the rub. Even on Star Trek, some people refused to use the transporters. The philosophical implications are forever debatable. Perhaps at first, it will be delegated for emergency use only. Still, ranges beyond one kilometer only work between two ships with Umberian stardrives, another good reason for industrial-scale neptunium production.”

“What about the implications for our existing replicators?”

“You mean material loss?”

“Yes. Sorry, I’m drunk.”

“No problem. Most of us are going to be working on that soon enough. Yes, integrating the two technologies should solve the material loss problem. We’ll be able to transport something one-for-one with the item’s original mass.”

The cork from the champagne bottle flew across the room with a resounding pop, and caromed off of a huge Erlenmeyer flask. Miraculously, the flask remained upright, and the scientists cheered as the bottle spilled over.

“That’s a plus. Speaking of exploration, I heard last night that since Vastus has forbidden any further access to Elysium, the Reckless Faith is considering a mission of pure exploration.”

“We’ve been talking with NASA about it, yes. They won’t commit any of their ships to such a dalliance, though. If we go check out some star system just for the hell of it, we’ll be on our own.”

“I mean, depending on how far they go, the Percheron, Vanguard, or Vigilance could accompany them and still be back here in a reasonable amount of time.”

Christie nodded. “Perhaps when we have forty in our fleet instead of four. We’ve been monitoring the ‘net for something interesting going on, so a better reason, however slight, might convince them. Though, there are plenty of isolationists who fear anything we do might piss off the Rakhar, Chimeras, or something even worse.”

“There’s always something worse out there. Anyway, thanks for the update, it’s very exciting. I’m sure we’ll all be busy here after you return to the Faith. I should have gone to bed by now, so I’ll bid you a good night.”

“Goodnight, Seth.”

Aldebaran stood up slowly, and stumbled back to the corridor. It was a short trip to the elevator, and then above ground. The barracks building at the ICBM site had been renovated last year, in anticipation of the site’s new role, and it was where the full-time staff’s apartments were located. It was 2300 local time, and as he walked his eyes were drawn upward. Far from the nearest city, the stars were spectacular, but he instantly regretted how dizzy the effort made him.

Returning his eyes straight ahead, he took measured breaths of the cold evening air. He buzzed himself into the building with his ID card, and made his way back to his quarters. To his surprise, Arianna Ferro was sitting on the couch in his living room. He knew that she now had an android body, but he still wasn’t prepared for how human she looked.

“You have excellent taste in scotch,” she said, raising a glass she had poured for herself.

Aldebaran sank into a sofa chair across from her. “If I hadn’t had so much, I might be able to remember which one of you is responsible for that.”

“Considering how often we’ve been soused, it could have been quite a few candidates. Seth, are you really so surprised to see me?”

“Our history is complicated. You never seemed completely comfortable around me even after months of working together. I wouldn’t have been offended if you didn’t come to see me if you were in the neighborhood. You’re always welcome here, though I wonder why you thought eleven o’clock at night would be okay.”

“My apologies. I’ve been rather busy lately and haven’t had much time to get away. Later tonight, the Percheron is heading out to assist the Vigilance with engine shakedown. Honestly, I’d feel guilty if I didn’t pop in every once in a while.”

“You shouldn’t. Does that alcohol even do anything for you?”

“Physically, no. It does result in some happy memories, though.”

“How are you adjusting to the new body?”

“I’ve had enough time. With Christie’s help, I’ve learned to control how human I want to feel. If I want, I can quiet my mind enough to almost forget I’m an android. If not for a single thread hanging in space, I could forget about it entirely.”

“You mean the thread connecting you to the orb.”

“Yes. Unlike Christie, I chose to inhabit a body that’s anatomically correct. Retreating into an orb simulation to feel fully human wasn’t a compromise that I was willing to accept.”

“And yet, you don’t have to eat, sleep, or eliminate, and as you said, you’re immune to alcohol and I assume other drugs.”

Ari shrugged. “Well, I mean it’s a lot closer to human that Christie’s combat chassis. Without going into too much detail, I can still feel pleasure. Pain, too, if I chose to do that for some reason. It’s a remarkable piece of work.”

Aldebaran smiled. “I’m sure a lot of people would call you a piece of work.”

“And will many times again. Hold on, I’m receiving a transmission from the Percheron.”

Ari’s eyes unfocused as she listened to a message only she could hear. Aldebaran got up, headed to his kitchen, and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. By the time he returned, Ari had stood up.

“Time to go?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I thought I had more time, but the crew of the Reckless Faith has decided on their next mission. Apparently it’s interesting enough that the Percheron has been ordered to accompany them. I’m sure Christie will keep you updated, as usual.”

“I’ve always appreciated that. Believe it or not, NASA doesn’t freely share information with me, despite my role here. I’ve come to accept it as just another limitation.”

Ari hugged him, then moved toward the door. “If you could ever be fully healed, would you return to the stars?”

“Maybe. I think there will always be a certain longing there. I don’t have to tell you.”

Ari smiled. “No, Seth. You don’t.”

__________

The food at Inferno wasn’t really that bad, considering that the warden could have easily offered less palatable options as long as they were nutritious. Food replicators, the wonder of technology that they were, did help to maintain a certain level of peace among the inmates, assuming they continued to work indefinitely. Everything at the prison, including the very air they breathed, couldn’t be taken for granted. For Malthus, the mere thought of life support systems failing was more terrifying than anything else his meager existence could throw at him.

Standing in line for lunch, as he had for a thousand days before, Malthus had learned to push such fears to the back of his mind. While placing a prison on Tartarus, a planet with a ground-level atmosphere hot enough to melt lead may have been a great way to prevent escape, the inherent claustrophobia of his confines, no matter how large the actual space available may have been, was enough to sow discontent among some. It was for that reason, among many others, that a certain form of escape was still occasionally seen.

A former mining colony, Inferno had miles of corridors and chambers beyond the perimeter of the prison proper. Why anyone would willingly flee to those dark hallways was incomprehensible to him, and yet, inmates still did, lured by the promise of some sort of welcoming cadre of fugitives. Rumors abounded about how they were able to survive, but even after a few years in the depths of Inferno, Malthus was skeptical enough to stay put. Prospects of survival were so grim, in fact, that escape was as easy as bribing a guard with mundane contraband such as tobacco or alcohol, and walking away.

It was an option reserved only for the most rebellious or reckless sort. Setting aside any concerns about the facility itself, all of their needs were met, and unless serving out one’s sentence toward freedom was a cruel lie, all one needed to do was bide their time. Thus, it was no surprise that those with lifetime commitments were the most likely to try for the labyrinth. Malthus was not one of them. He only had three more years to go, for his crime of usury; ironic since in many parts of the galaxy, it wasn’t a crime at all.

With a tray loaded up with a reasonable facsimile of beef and brown gravy over noodles, Malthus headed for the dining area. Clean and well-lit, it was furnished with utilitarian steel tables and benches, still gleaming despite years of use. Never more than half-full, the room’s size implied a time when the prison was much more populated. These days, it was never hard to find a free table, if one wanted to eat alone. Malthus had a few friends, however, and there that day was a man named Fremantle. A thin Kau’Rii with a slight build, and a docile manner to match, Fremantle wasn’t suited to be a prisoner anywhere, so it was lucky for him that he had been sent to a relatively safe facility like Inferno.

Hiding beneath his unassuming exterior, and the main reason why Malthus had taken a liking to him, was the fact that Fremantle firmly believed he was innocent. While such a sentiment was shared by many of his peers, Malthus had come to believe that he was actually telling the truth. Malthus had never attempted to put on such a front; he was guilty of his crime even if he thought the punishment didn’t match, and had seen no benefit to feigning innocence.

The only felinoid there, it was easy for Malthus to spot Fremantle among the rest of the inmates and their drab gray overalls. He sat next to him, and they exchange a curt nod. His friend seemed more down than usual, and although he could guess at the reason, he didn’t want to assume anything.

“I’d sell my soul for some decent spices around here,” he said, pushing his food around with a fork. “If we ever run out of salt, I’m going up to the surface to watch the sunrise.”

“Mm hmm.”

“How’s the poultry option today?”

“As if a food replicator had been shown an old, grainy photograph of a bird, and given its best guess,” Fremantle replied glumly.

Malthus slid the salt shaker over to him. “Any news?”

“The appeal was rejected. I’m out of options.”

“That’s terrible. I’m sorry, man. I wish I could do something.”

“Thanks. We both knew it was a long shot.”

“Listen, I know it’s none of my business, but I overheard you talking with others about the labyrinth. Though I know things seem hopeless right now, you can’t believe everything you hear. The only thing that lies beyond Inferno is death.”

“Then at least I’ll go out on my own terms.”

“I can’t stop you. If that’s ultimately your decision, I’ll even help you gather some supplies. Just know that you’re the only one I can’t beat at cards, and I doubt I’ll ever meet anyone else who can put me in my place like that.”

“If that’s your way of saying we’re friends, I appreciate it.”

“It’s been true for a while now, even if I haven’t said it yet. What about your sister? From what you’ve told me, it doesn’t sound like she’ll ever give up on you.”

Fremantle stared vacantly at the wall. “Yes, but what else can she do?”

Reckless Faith VIII, Prologue

Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 8th book in the Reckless Faith series.

April 9th, 2030

Seth Aldebaran ran as fast as he could toward the laboratory, which unfortunately for him recently, was little more than an excited hobble. He had been beckoned there by Christie Tolliver, his guest for the last month, with the promise of a revolutionary breakthrough. In atypical dramatic fashion, she hadn’t told him what was happening, only that his presence was required. If not for his disabilities, and his current state of inebriation, he wouldn’t have minded a little bit of suspense.

The lab, located in a former ICBM silo in New Mexico, was the most advanced research center in the world, mostly due to the predomination of alien technology, though NASA had yet to admit to the rest of the world that the high technology it was churning out was anything more than the result of a cadre of the best and brightest scientists in the United States. Though rumors of alien tech had been swirling in the media about the F-40 Warhawk II, and its unprecedented ability to operate in space as well as the atmosphere, such speculation was, for the moment, easily dismissed as wild fantasy.

Though the lab and its stalwart staff had done some work on the F-40, their contributions were slight in comparison to their long-term projects, which even with Christie’s quantum brain, proved to be a significant challenge. Aldebaran’s own participation was minimal, by comparison, but he had knowledge far beyond his own lifetime, as well as all of his memories from his time as the central nervous system of the Reckless Faith.

At last bursting into the expansive, well-lit lab, he was met by Christie and several delirious NASA scientists. They were all positively beaming, and he could see that something important had happened. Christie embraced him tightly, almost painfully, and cried artificial saline tears.

“We did it!” she exclaimed.

Aldebaran tried to ignore the vice-like grip of her arms. “Oof! You’re going to have to be more specific, Tolliver.”

She released him. “Neptunium-244, and it’s stable! We’ve done it, Seth.”

“How…” he stammered.

“As we thought, the trick was the americium-uranium neutron bombardment method. What we’d been missing all this time, and what the Umberians must have figured out, is that the neutrons need to be excited again by reflecting the same gamma rays that were emitted during the first flux interaction back toward the nuclei. By isolating the entire reaction within our magnetic cyclotron, we were able to entice neptunium-237 to stabilize into neptunium-244M.”

“Child’s play,” said Aldebaran, smirking. “Great work, team. Of course, the critical question is, how quickly can we synthesize 60 kilograms?”

“There’s good news and bad news. As you know, there’s no shortage of uranium on Earth. With the current method, it would take months to synthesize even one gram. Our next challenge will be how to scale it up to industrial levels.”

“And how to convince the government to pay for it. With a focus on planetary defense, I doubt they’ll want to spend a lot more money on this when a lot less neptunium can be used for weapons, and while our Cooper drives are more than adequate for propulsion.”

Christie sighed. “I know. Exploration, or galactic interventions of dubious utility, for that matter, will always take a back seat towards the preservation of Earth. Which is fine. However, we’ve also made significant progress with the CLF’s intercept device and matter transportation. We’ve reached out to the Antares to arrange a test with a live subject.”

“I spend one night off to drink scotch and listen to jazz, and look what happens. I assume you’re going to use a small animal or something.”

“A trained rat, unless you’d like to volunteer.”

The rest of the scientists wandered off to try to open a magnum bottle of champagne. Aldebaran sat down at the nearest desk.

“Why a trained rat?”

Christie leaned on the desk next to him. “Assuming it survives the trip, we need to check to ensure its memory is intact.”

“Ah. Of course. Even so, good luck finding your first human subject.”

“That’s the rub. Even on Star Trek, some people refused to use the transporters. The philosophical implications are forever debatable. Perhaps at first, it will be delegated for emergency use only. Still, ranges beyond one kilometer only work between two ships with Umberian stardrives, another good reason for industrial-scale neptunium production.”

“What about the implications for our existing replicators?”

“You mean material loss?”

“Yes. Sorry, I’m drunk.”

“No problem. Most of us are going to be working on that soon enough. Yes, integrating the two technologies should solve the material loss problem. We’ll be able to transport something one-for-one with the item’s original mass.”

“That’s a plus. Speaking of exploration, I heard last night that since Vastus has forbidden any further access to Elysium, the Reckless Faith is considering a mission of pure exploration.”

“We’ve been talking with NASA about it, yes. They won’t commit any of their ships to such a dalliance, though. If we go check out some star system just for the hell of it, we’ll be on our own.”

“I mean, depending on how far they go, the Percheron, Vanguard, or Vigilance could accompany them and still be back here in a reasonable amount of time.”

Christie nodded. “Perhaps when we have forty in our fleet instead of four. We’ve been monitoring the ‘net for something interesting going on, so a better reason, however slight, might convince them. Though, there are plenty of isolationists who fear anything we do might piss off the Rakhar, Chimeras, or something even worse.”

“There’s always something worse out there. Anyway, thanks for the update, it’s very exciting. I’m sure we’ll all be busy here after you return to the Faith. I should have gone to bed by now, so I’ll bid you a good night.”

“Goodnight, Seth.”

Aldebaran stood up slowly, and stumbled back to the corridor. It was a short trip to the elevator, and then above ground. The barracks building at the ICBM site had been renovated last year, in anticipation of the site’s new role, and it was where the full-time staff’s apartments were located. It was 2300 local time, and as he walked his eyes were drawn upward. Far from the nearest city, the stars were spectacular, but he instantly regretted how dizzy the effort made him.

Returning his eyes straight ahead, he took measured breaths of the cold evening air. He buzzed himself into the building with his ID card, and made his way back to his quarters. To his surprise, Arianna Ferro was sitting on the couch in his living room. He knew that she now had an android body, but he still wasn’t prepared for how human she looked.

“You have excellent taste in scotch,” she said, raising a glass she had poured for herself.

Aldebaran sank into a sofa chair across from her. “If I hadn’t had so much, I might be able to remember which one of you is responsible for that.”

“Considering how often we’ve been soused, it could have been quite a few candidates. Seth, are you really so surprised to see me?”

“Our history is complicated. You never seemed completely comfortable around me even after months of working together. I wouldn’t have been offended if you didn’t come to see me if you were in the neighborhood. You’re always welcome here, though I wonder why you thought eleven o’clock at night would be okay.”

“My apologies. I’ve been rather busy lately and haven’t had much time to get away. Later tonight, the Percheron is heading out to assist the Vigilance with engine shakedown. Honestly, I’d feel guilty if I didn’t pop in every once in a while.”

“You shouldn’t. Does that alcohol even do anything for you?”

“Physically, no. It does result in some happy memories, though.”

“How are you adjusting to the new body?”

“I’ve had enough time. With Christie’s help, I’ve learned to control how human I want to feel. If I want, I can quiet my mind enough to almost forget I’m an android. If not for a single thread hanging in space, I could forget about it entirely.”

“You mean the thread connecting you to the orb.”

“Yes. Unlike Christie, I chose to inhabit a body that’s anatomically correct. Retreating into an orb simulation to feel fully human wasn’t a compromise that I was willing to accept.”

“And yet, you don’t have to eat, sleep, or eliminate, and as you said, you’re immune to alcohol and I assume other drugs.”

Ari shrugged. “Well, I mean it’s a lot closer to human that Christie’s combat chassis. Without going into too much detail, I can still feel pleasure. Pain, too, if I chose to do that for some reason. It’s a remarkable piece of work.”

Aldebaran smiled. “I’m sure a lot of people would call you a piece of work.”

“And will many times again. Hold on, I’m receiving a transmission from the Percheron.”

Ari’s eyes unfocused as she listened to a message only she could hear. Aldebaran got up, headed to his kitchen, and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. By the time he returned, Ari had stood up.

“Time to go?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I thought I had more time, but the crew of the Reckless Faith has decided on their next mission. Apparently it’s interesting enough that the Percheron has been ordered to accompany them. I’m sure Christie will keep you updated, as usual.”

“I’ve always appreciated that. Believe it or not, NASA doesn’t freely share information with me, despite my role here. I’ve come to accept it as just another limitation.”

Ari hugged him, then moved toward the door. “If you could ever be fully healed, would you return to the stars?”

“Maybe. I think there will always be a certain longing there. I don’t have to tell you.”

Ari smiled. “No, Seth. You don’t.”

Shadow of the Chimera (RF VII) is Live on Amazon

I’m pleased to announce that the ebook for Shadow of the Chimera, the7th book in the Reckless Faith series, is live on Amazon. The paperback will be available a bit later. Thanks to everyone who provided insights and feedback while I was writing it.

Progress Update

Work on the 7th book in the Reckless Faith series, Shadow of the Chimera, has reached 100% of the total projected length. This point was just a benchmark, however, for the minimum length I wanted. The story continues. The good news is that I’ve reached the climax and resolution, so the first draft won’t be long from now.