Shadow of the Chimera (Reckless Faith VII), Chapter 13
Spoiler alert: This is a new entry for the 7th book in the Reckless Faith series. The prologue may be found here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2022/12/15/reckless-faith-vii-prologue/
John had never been aboard an Umberian Mark XVII. Though he was familiar with the external appearance of one, thanks to Aldebaran being the former captain of one, that ship was destroyed before he had a chance to see the inside. It was a shame what happened to that unnamed vessel, even though it had met its demise at Aldebaran’s own hand.
Under a temporary truce, Captain Lesath had invited John and Vecky aboard the Antares, while Penrose and Christie were making every effort to save her first mate. Penrose hadn’t even finished stitching up Cane when Sargas was brought to his operating table, and the stalwart surgeon had to slap a bandage on Cane’s arm and quickly move on to the more dire patient. Sargas had been hit several times by the rounds fired by Penrose, and all but two had been stopped by his body armor. The other pair of copper-jacketed lead bullets had hit him in the neck and face, rendering him unconscious, and perilously close to bleeding out. Penrose hadn’t offered his opinion on whether or not Sargas could be saved.
Lesath had refused treatment for her facial laceration, and even though she was clearly quite upset at the state of her friend, she had made the offer to the other two captains to visit her ship. John was initially confused at the suggestion, especially since Lesath hadn’t objected to her guests holding onto their pistols, and he had to speculate that she was trying to distract herself with something else. She was also acting fairly reckless, from a security standpoint, and John had to wonder if the state of Sargas had made her lose her nerve for her line of work.
Whatever her true motivation, John was glad to have the opportunity for a tour of the Antares. If Seth’s memory hadn’t been so badly fragged when he arrived on Earth, this is what the Reckless Faith would look like. While only three decks in height, it was much longer than his own ship, with more of an eye toward aesthetics than his own design. Its sweeping, graceful lines from the bow to the stern also resulted in a wider beam, further increasing the interior space. The stardrive and engines were roughly in the same place, but unlike the Faith, the latter were placed in nacelles outside of the hull proper. The nacelles jutted out from port and starboard like a pair of stubby wings, though they obviously provided no aerodynamic benefit during atmospheric flight.
The most radical difference between the vessels was that the bridge of the Antares was placed amidships, about thirty meters back from the bow, on the top deck. Other than windows set in the ceiling, the crew was totally reliant on screens and external cameras for visibility. The advantage to such an arrangement was that the bridge was better protected against damage. It also had seven stations, in addition to a command chair and a pilot chair.
John didn’t ask about any weaponry during the tour, and Lesath didn’t volunteer that information, but the two ventral and two dorsal plasma turrets were easy to spot from the exterior. Unless the ship had been modified or retrofitted since its construction, there would also be fore and aft plasma cannons, and port and starboard laser banks. Even if Seth had been capable of providing this design, those weapons wouldn’t have been available to the crew of the Faith at the time they built it, since they only had enough neptunium for the stardrive. Still, there was plenty about the Antares for John to be envious of it. It also had a full kitchen, rather than just a galley, and it was there that Lesath, Vecky, and John gathered to continue their conversation.
They were accompanied by Fuchner, another Umberian, who had introduced himself as the ship’s engineer. He and John were eager to talk at length about each other’s ships, but they weren’t at that level of trust yet. There were also more pressing matters to discuss. John had already given Lesath a summary of the liberation of Umber, and of their experience with the Chimeras, as they toured the ship. She offered her guests a cup of yutha, and the three sat down at a table.
“The Chimeras remind me of ghost stories I’ve heard over the years” Lesath began, “you know, the type that end with ‘and no one lived to tell the tale.’ Which makes you wonder; how did the story get out? Anyway, Commander Scherer, I can’t tell you anything else about them. You’ve got quite the problem, should anything be left of Sadal Biham or Vastus by the time you get back there.”
John nodded. “That’s why we’re sticking around to gather information. What about the Sortarii?”
“Catch them while they’re sleeping, or don’t catch them at all.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“The Order of the Sortarii wield technology so advanced that it appears to be magical. While they sometimes imbue objects to facilitate a function more easily, they can also draw power from the world around them, and some say the universe itself. Individually, you might stand a chance against one, if you hit them with a rail gun from half a parsec away. Despite that, some military powers like Anachronia have allegedly found ways to defeat them, and the Order has all but gone into hiding. At least, that’s the rumor; I’ve never encountered a Sortarius.”
“Might we be able to convince them to help us?”
“I have no way of answering that, except that as recently as my father’s first arrival in this sector, they were seen as a force for good. Lawmen, peacekeepers, et cetera. I can only speculate that some more xenophobic or statist types took exception to their power, or their meddling in their affairs, for better or for worse.”
Vecky asked, “Did they have a home world, or a base of operation at one time?”
“I don’t know that either. All I can tell you is that there are rumors of a Sortarii living somewhere on Far Reach, ‘up in the mountains,’ who can heal diseases or impart wisdom to a pilgrim. And no, I don’t know which continent.”
“Even if such a person is there,” began John, “they could be a charlatan or a lunatic.”
“Exactly. If you ask me, you’d be wasting your time looking for them.”
“What do you know about any technologies that have been used against them?”
Lesath sipped from her mug. “Nothing, such things are closely-guarded secrets by the governments that invented them. Believe me, I’d love to kit out the Antares with something like that. Look, if there’s nothing else, I should really get this wound treated. Since I know you and Fuchner are champing at the bit to talk about our ships, you’re welcome to stay a bit longer. Fuchner, you’re authorized to tell them anything about the original configuration of the Antares. You catch my drift?”
“I do,” the man replied.
Lesath stood up. “Then I’ll leave you to it. Please let me know the instant you hear about Sargas.”
“Of course, I will,” replied John.
Lesath took one more draught from her cup, and exited into the corridor. Fuchner moved the cup to his side of the table.
“You’re lucky she’s so distracted by the state of our friend,” he said. “She’s not usually in such a forgiving mood. Is it true that Sargas is being treated by the same person who shot him?”
“Yes,” said Vecky. “Don’t worry, he’s a very skilled surgeon.”
“In more ways than one, it sounds. So, Commander Scherer, tell me about the Reckless Faith.”
__________
Shang Fuyue sat in the cockpit of his single-seat fighter, in a high orbit around Anachronia VI. Though his eyes were closed, he could see things no normal man could. A thousand threads of energy emanated from the shipyard, in every direction, each as clear as beacon, but only one concerned him. Based on what he wanted, it glowed brighter than the others, though its terminus remained unclear at first. Drawing into his reserve of effort, he coaxed the thread to point in a direction he could understand. Then came the hard part.
Holding onto that image, he opened his eyes. Like the after image of a brilliant light, the thread immediately began to fade, and he worked frantically with his computer to correlate a vector with it. The difficulty of doing so was magnified by the fact that the path wasn’t straight; whoever had taken the staff away from this place had done so by first moving away from the barycenter of the system, then out of it completely. The image was almost gone before he was able to determine its ultimate direction. The ship that hosted the staff had gone toward Far Reach.
Satisfied, but already feeling like he needed a nap, he punched the familiar coordinates into his navigation system, then powered up his FTL drive, only to receive an error message. A fuel regulator valve was out of alignment, and while he could override and initiate the fold anyway, such a choice was incredibly dangerous, and should be reserved only for the direst emergency. He cursed the core for such stupid luck, and considered whether to request permission to dock with the shipyard again, or get out of Anachronian space and attempt to fix it on his own. Either way, he was glad he was able to get a vector before the distraction became known to him.
His course of action was chosen for him by the approach of an Anachronian heavy cruiser, and an incoming transmission.
“Pulse Zero,” the voice began, using the call sign he had registered with the station, “you are hereby ordered to stand down and submit to inspection, as authorized by Anachronian law, over.”
Fuyue had no intention of doing that, instead pushing forward on the throttle lever and heading toward open space. His mind raced, trying to think of how they could have become suspicious of him – a quick glance at his console confirmed that his countermeasures were working just fine – before checking his weapons and defensive systems. Was it the watch-maker that reported him? He sensed no prevarication from her; the comment about being a Sortarius was purely in jest. There must have been something else, perhaps a type of scan his Order hadn’t yet become aware of. At the moment, none of that mattered.
The cruiser pursued, and launched fighters in response to his flight. As a long-time resident of Far Reach, he was well-aware of their capabilities, and they were not to be taken lightly. Fortunately, his ship-board weapons would be effective against them, and after so much time of being isolated, he found himself reveling in what was about to happen. For the sheer amusement of messing with them, he steered his fighter toward Anachronia Prime, and ignored the bright blue plasma shots that streaked past him. He nudged his control column, juking just enough to give them a targeting challenge. When it became evident that his opponents couldn’t hit the long side of a silo, he decided to engage them.
There were seven fighters opposing him. Once he’d pulled a 180, they broke off in a predictable pattern, with four taking a sharp turn at an acute angle, and the remaining three trying to stay on his six. He pulled up, went inverted relative to them, and got a firing solution on one of the trio. His 27mm cannons barked, the tracers showing him a path straight to the cockpit of one of the ovoid ships, piercing it from stem to stern.
He pushed down on the stick, and reached out with his mind rather than look at his screen. The enemy fighters had gathered at his rear easily enough, and plasma bolts lit up his field of view, with a few impacting his ship with disconcerting vibrato. He stomped on his rudder pedals and pulled back on the throttle, causing the four in pursuit to overshoot him. Again, he made his course toward their home planet.
“Fuck it,” he uttered, and overrode the valve.
One of the fighters went light for a microsecond, and appeared directly in front of him. At the same moment, he initiated his own FTL. He squeezed the trigger, but his ship was already outpacing the rounds. He saw a series of images in a moment; the tracers impacting the fighter, the steely expression of the pilot, the back of his seat, and the guts of the engines from the inside, all curiously elongated as he appeared to pass through them. Fortunately, that was just an illusion, and if the other guy’s ship survived his fusillade, he would be fine. Still, it was the first time Fuyue had ever done that, and it wasn’t a maneuver he’d ever care to repeat.
The fuel regulator valve continued regulating, and there were no other warning indicators on his console, so he figured there was a problem with the sensor and not the valve itself. If he was wrong, his atoms would end up scattered across a wide swath of space in an instant. A fitting end, he thought, for a Sortarius.
Some hours later, he arrived at Far Reach, and established a high orbit. The trail had run cold, which didn’t surprise him. He had to hope that whoever had custody of the staff was still around. His luck may have run out, however, and doubly-so since his efforts to track the object this far had left him physically exhausted. He was in no shape for a fight, at least one in which he could take advantage of his special skills. He allowed himself one more mental exertion – an attempt to get a sense if he was in any direct danger from anyone – and feeling nothing, decided on his next destination.
He guided his ship into the atmosphere, and headed to Valley Crest. He set his transponder to the frequency he wanted, which would guarantee uninterrupted passage into the city, and came down for a landing on a pad near the building he wanted. He had a well-appointed apartment there, and not sensing that he had the need for any of his actual hiding spots, he was looking forward to taking advantage of its luxuries. He powered-down and secured his ship, and headed inside. The suspect valve could wait until tomorrow, and he was in need of a hot shower and a soft bed.
