The Wolf and the Centaur (RFVIII), Chapter 16

Spoiler alert: This is the work-in-progress 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/

It had been a whirlwind of a full day for the crews of the Reckless Faith, the Percheron, and the Fox. They had accomplished a lot in the last 24 hours, not the least of which was learning how to communicate with the 250 surviving Thesprotians, and keeping them relatively calm while the prison could be cleaned up. Overcoming the language barrier had been easy once the version of Christie on the Percheron was reunited with her android body, and had access to her full computational powers. Explaining to the cold, wet, and grieving natives that they had to stay put for several hours was a little bit more of a challenge. Ultimately, they were able to supply the sudden refugees with a few basic survival items, such as food, water, and blankets, which mollified them for the time being.

It had taken a combined team from all three ships, ferried down by the Faith, seven hours to clear out the bodies of the slaughtered prisoners, guards, and staff. It had been decided to consolidate the corpses in the dining facility, not only because it was large enough to accommodate all of them, but also because the bulk of the victims were already there. Hardly a respectful way to inter the bodies, and certainly not a long-term solution, it would have otherwise taken several more hours to move them anywhere else. As for sustenance, the Faith had simply replicated hundreds of MREs and plastic water bottles, and the team staged them in the commissary.

Once that grim task was complete, the Thesprotians were allowed to occupy the prison. There were more than enough beds for all of them, and access to proper bathrooms, showers, and a medical bay. Christie, after speaking with the few natives that had something resembling a leadership role, had learned that Kheiron had been helping them for as long as anyone could remember, and while he wasn’t seen as a god in the strictest sense, they revered him as one. He had promised to free them someday, but made it clear that the surface of Tartarus would never be habitable again. Though so far they seemed amenable to being evacuated to another planet, Christie could tell they didn’t really understand what a spaceship was, or how far away they might have to go. The allies could only hope that they didn’t freak out when the time came.

The three marine survivors had been transferred to the Percheron. Master Sergeant Scrivener had been stabilized, and Doctor Sakura believed he would eventually make a full recovery. It was fortunate for him that the Percheron had adequate medical facilities, as it was unknown when, if at all, he and his men would be able to return to Alnair. The mystery ship, which had transported the Tenchiik to the planet, had disappeared soon after the cavern was flooded. If any of the Kau’Rii assassins had made it out alive, the allies would probably never know. That left the Faith with unimpeded access to the surface, but everyone was keenly aware that the Bidelman might return at any moment, likely with serious backup next time. When asked about the possibility of reconciliation, or even resettling the Thesprotians on Alnair, Secretary Tailor had expressed very little confidence that either of those things would ever happen. That left the allies with only one clear course of action. Though most of them were exhausted, one last order of business needed to be discussed that day.

The commanders of all three ships had gathered in the conference room on the Percheron. Sergeant Clerk had been invited to attend in lieu of Scrivener, and he sat somberly in the corner of the room, nursing a cup of tea. He, like everyone else, had showered and changed into more comfortable clothing.

“I’m sure we’d all rather be getting some shut-eye,” began John. “First, we need to figure out which of our allies in this region would be the most willing to accept two hundred and fifty refugees. My suggestion is Eniph, I feel like they owe us the greatest favor.”

“I agree,” said Cynthia.

“Isn’t there a problem with the distance?” asked Vecky, looking at her PDA. “It’s 921 light-years from here. Eniph’s fastest ship could get here in four months, tops.”

Christie’s voice could be heard over the intercom. “She’s right. The fastest any of Eniph’s ships can muster is 2500 c.”

John said, “Christie, weren’t you going to go offline for a while?”

“I’ve been reviewing the files we were able to salvage from the labs underneath Inferno. I’ve made a breakthrough there. Not to bury the lede here, but Kheiron was a filthy liar.”

“Kheiron,” muttered Clerk. “Whatever happened to that fucker?”

“Presumed dead,” replied John. “He was last seen struggling to climb up a rope ladder during the flood of the cavern. Adeler is confident that he drowned there.”

“Too bad.”

“Christie, what you said is super interesting, and we’ll circle back to it, but for now, let’s stick to the topic at hand. So, we’ve already discussed the possibility of the Faith ferrying the Thesprotians to the nearest willing planet, just as we did with the human abductees from the Swan. Assuming Eniph, and a maximum load of fifty refugees, that’s what?”

“Five trips, ten hours round-trip,” said Christie. “Not including dilation effects, and the time it will take to load up and drop off.”

“Five hours?” asked Clerk. “You must be joking.”

“The Faith’s top speed is 1.56 million c,” said John. “No joke. Christie, what about time dilation?”

Christie said, “Assuming you’re coming back here after your last trip to Eniph, ninety days would pass here in the Alnair system.”

“I take it dilations effects are more pronounced the faster you go?”

“Correct. At our top speed, the ratio is a little more than forty-three to one.”

“So the shuttle method saves us about a month,” began John. “I still don’t like it; that’s a lot of time for just the Percheron and the Fox to be standing guard against the whole Alnairian fleet.”

“If the Antares ever shows up, they can also accommodate fifty passengers. That would cut the total time back and forth to Eniph by forty percent,” said Cynthia.

“That’s true, the Antares is as fast as the Faith. Christie, reach out to them again. But even with their help, that’s fifty-four days with your asses hanging out in the breeze. Anything can happen while the Faith is gone. I think we should consider forcing Alnair to accept the refugees. We could hijack one or more of their communication satellites, and blast out the truth about Inferno to the whole planet. If the government can’t keep that secret anymore, they’ll have no choice but to accept and care for the Thesprotians. Sergeant Clerk, am I right?”

Clerk shrugged. “Maybe? I’m not sure. A conspiracy like this is unprecedented on our planet. The government is well-liked and trusted. If they choose to deny it, most citizens will very probably side with them. Then the same people that ordered Admiral Butcher to abandon us below will order the fleet to shoot down any of your vessels that attempt to land.”

“What if we were able to sneak them down?” asked Vecky. “One thing that I noticed after a few visits to your planet was that there are huge wilderness preserves on most continents. Some of them have geographical centers that are so far from the nearest settlement that two hundred and fifty people could easily disappear there. They’d have to eschew any form of technology that could be detected from the air, but subsistence living would be possible.”

“That might work for a short time. A few years, even. But we’d have to assume that they’d be detected eventually. Then what?”

“You tell us,” said Cynthia. “If the Gray Men have as much power as you presume, I’m sure they could arrange to have the entire settlement destroyed without the civil authority finding out.”

“That was kind of my point.”

“What percentage of the Alnairian fleet would have to be involved to pull off a coup?”

Clerk was shocked. “All of them! All the percentages! That’s insane. If even one of the battleships or a few of the heavy cruisers didn’t fall in line, you’d be looking at a catastrophic civil war. It might help if every fleet officer was convinced of the truth about Inferno, but even then, careful planning would be needed. It would take years.”

“I had to ask. So it looks like we’re back to Plan A. Let’s sleep on it and talk to our crews in eight hours. Now then, Christie, you mentioned that Kheiron was less than forthcoming with his version of events.”

“Oh my, yes,” Christie replied. “He told Malthus Brewer that the main purpose of the research facility under Inferno was to alter the planet’s orbit in order to aid in a slingshot method for their nascent FTL ships. As I’m sure most of you could have guessed, that reeks of utter bullshit. The truth is much more sinister, and even though I had to piece together dozens of badly fragmented files to find it, I’m completely sure I know what was really going on here.”

“You have our attention. Go on.”

“Kheiron had arrived on Alnair long before the surface of Tartarus had been touched by outside hands. I’m not sure how long ago, but it was at least sixty years. Though my records aren’t definitive, it’s possible that Kheiron was Alnair’s first contact with an extraterrestrial. It would be interesting to learn that he was in some part, if not directly, responsible for their FTL technology, but that’s irrelevant at the moment. At some point, Kheiron offered to help them access the plane of existence that so far has been limited to the Kira’To and the Chimeras. The facility on Tartarus was constructed toward that end.”

“Holy shit,” muttered Cynthia.

“Why?” asked John. “We know that individual Kira’To have strayed from the role that the rest of them would prefer they have in our universe, but this is something else.”

“I can’t answer that,” replied Christie. “We do know that they’ve mistreated their own kind, as we saw with the Stymphalian Raptors. Kheiron may have had a similar axe to grind. Anyway, the information I have gets awfully sketchy from there. I’m not sure exactly what the facility below was meant to do, but it definitely involved neutrinos and is also definitely what caused the cascading greenhouse effect that scorched the atmosphere.”

“So at least part of what he said was true,” said Vecky.

“A lie wrapped in a truth is easier to believe,” said John.

“Then I hope he did drown yesterday. And I hope it hurt the whole time he was dying.”

“Is there anything else you found that could be useful to us?”

“Not yet,” said Christie. “I’d love to be able to find out what abilities Kheiron claimed to be able to impart on the Alnairians, and how we might make use of it, but I strongly suspect that possibility died with him. I’ll keep at it, though.”

“Fair enough. Don’t try too hard. We’ve got enough to worry about as it is.”

Cynthia said, “It’s possible Kheiron had his own agenda. If he was a pariah, being punished for some reason like Aquila and Cygnus, he may have needed the resources of the Alnairians to exact his revenge.”

“Again, a fair point, but it doesn’t change our current problem.”

“I didn’t say it did, just that it’s a possible explanation. Christie, if there’s nothing else, I’d love to call it a day and spend several hours unconscious.”

“Colonel Dietrich is right. We’ve seen enough blood and suffering for one day. Let’s start it all over again tomorrow.”

__________

Alpha Lupi, also known to some as the South Gate, was the host of an arid desert world, a planet second in orbit from the star. Unusual in the fact that there was no intelligent life native to the planet, while still offering a breathable atmosphere and several fecund oases on the shores of its oceans, it was an attractive hideout for people like Wega Talyn.

Wega’s recent dealings in the sector hadn’t exactly made her a persona non grata elsewhere, but were risky enough to compel her to return to her preferred base of operations to bide her time until she thought it was safe to resume her normal way of life. Such a self-imposed exile might have been intolerable if not for the luxuries she had ensured were available at her ersatz redoubt. She and the crew of her ship both wanted for nothing at the camp she had situated within a grove of palm trees, an attractive site that overlooked an expansive river delta on the western shore of the planet’s northern continent.

In addition to being able to use her ship’s galley and sanitary facilities, the location also offered cabanas, hammocks, fresh water springs, edible fruits, and an endless supply of sea life for those willing to kill and prepare it. Anyone pursuing the goal of solitary retirement would find it an excellent choice as a permanent home, but Wega and her crew were far from that point in their careers. Since free communication among her people was always something she encouraged, there was no ignoring the fact that the deal that forced them to hide on Lupus was intensely unpopular. Despite her reassurances, their stay in that paradise was fated to end long earlier than she would have preferred.

The portend of that fate appeared as a brief message that arrived on her PDA in the afternoon, as she swayed lazily in a hammock under a canvas awning, her hands clasping a strong drink made from fermented cane sugar. She tried to dig her PDA out from a side pocket without spilling her glass or upending the hammock, which was more challenging than she would have guessed. Successful, she looked at the text message on the screen, and her jaw dropped.

“I’m free,” it read.

Though there was no name assigned to the SRC frequency that carried the message to her, the fact that it had four decimal points as opposed to the usual one indicated that it was an ultra-long range channel, used by only a handful of people that she knew. This time, it could only be one person.

“Chason,” she whispered to herself.

Wega’s intention was to carefully place her glass on the sandy ground, and gracefully flip her legs over the side of the woven hammock. Instead, her drink cast itself in a slow parabola on its way to the ground, and her body met the dirt face-first as the hammock rebounded toward the sky. Improbably, the glass hit her in the back of her head. Smelling equally of a dive bar and sunscreen lotion, she scrambled to her feet, futilely trying to brush the sticky liquid from the fur on her shoulders, and headed toward the near side of the delta where her ship, the Tigress, was parked. On her way down the idyllic hillside, she scanned the other cabanas to see if she could spot anyone else from her crew. They were all vacant.

The Tigress was a Matesian light cruiser, purchased for a song after the fleet had deemed it to be obsolescent. Four decks, and a hundred meters long, it rested over the west branch of the river like a monolithic cliff, blocking out any view of the opposite side. When Wega had first purchased it, the Tigress had been stripped of all weaponry, necessitating a spending spree at Vastus and a couple of other systems in order to outfit it properly for the purpose of self-defense. Even though the high-yield lasers and HVAP projectile cannons and turrets it sported were poorly-suited for offensive operations, such a thing was beyond the scope of what a single ship could accomplish anyway.

Equal parts Matesian fleet veterans, Secundian ne’er-do-wells, and Eaglite malcontents, altogether the crew of thirteen was just barely adequate to man a craft of that size, but under Wega’s command, they made it work. The sight of her ship always filled her with pride, and that afternoon, she almost forgot about the rum and sand that desperately needed to be washed from her body. Sleek and streamlined in appearance, with gray and blue livery, the Tigress managed to be both attractive and unassuming at the same time, traits that often worked in Wega’s favor. As the vessel loomed in her field of vision, she activated the radio app on her PDA.

“Captain Talyn to all hands,” she began, “if you’re not already on board, get there. Meet in the conference room in twenty; we’re touching off in thirty, out.”

Keyed into a passive signal from her PDA, the forward port-side ramp began to lower upon her arrival to the ship. Entering a small airlock, she turned toward a wall-mounted console, and checked the current manifest. Everyone else was already on board. With her status automatically marked to show the same, Wega was free to take a lift to the top deck to her quarters, where she took a quick shower. That done, she dried off with a hand-held air dryer, groomed her body with an electro-brush, and donned her duty vestments. The drab green flight suit wasn’t fancy, but it was all she needed on board.

She arrived at the conference room with one minute to spare. The rest of her crew was waiting for her, all seated around a large table. All of them were ready to go, except for Pictner, her Matesian chief engineer. He was still wearing a damp pair of swim trunks, and sported a rather obvious sunburn on the front of his body. Normally, Wega would have inquired upon his well-being with such an injury, but she was far too eager to share her news.

“The Fox came through for us,” she began. “Chason sent me a text message. He’s free from that accursed prison.”

Vesther, her Secundian first officer, leapt up from her chair and embraced her captain, an awkward pose considering Wega was still seated. She returned the hug, best she could from that angle, and smiled.

“What about our payment?” asked Harrey, her Eaglite head of security.

“Always the pragmatist,” replied Wega. “No word about the second part of Alnair’s blood money. I’ve already told all of you we shouldn’t expect them to come across with it.”

“I’m sure his freedom is payment enough,” said Vesther.

“Assuming Captain Talyn puts him to work for us,” said Harrey, shifting his massive frame in his seat.

Wega shook her head. “That’s up to him. No one can force him to join our crew. Anyway, we’ll figure it out soon enough. Our next move is to contact Captain Kitsune and confirm that the text is legitimate. Since I’m quite sure it is, we’ll be making our best speed to Zeta Centauri immediately. If the Fox wants to meet us halfway, that would be fine, too.”

“What about the Kira’To?”

“Who cares? The only thing that matters is that Alnair was stupid enough to buy into the recent galactic panic over the alleged threat, and paid us to help them get to him. Don’t overthink an easy paycheck.”

“Captain, a word?” asked Vesther.

“Of course. Everyone else, man your stations. We touch off in five minutes.”

The rest of the crew stood up and exited the conference room. Wega crossed to the pot of yutha on a small table in the corner, and evaluated its freshness.

“I’ve been waiting to ask you this question,” began Vesther. “Now that Chason is safe, I want to know how much you really care for him. Many of us have the same concern I do.”

She grabbed a mostly clean mug, and filled it with the cold, black liquid from the decanter. “That I would use my own brother as a pawn in a business dealing.”

“Yes.”

The yutha was barely palatable. “Of course I care for him, Vesther. My concern for his situation was real; there was never any doubt in my mind that he was innocent of the crime for which he was convicted, even if ultimately it had been several years since we were last together. It’s not in his nature to murder. Anyway, Alnair being suckered into believing that all Kira’To were an existential threat, based on nothing more than second-hand reports, and their subsequent bounty on Kheiron, was pure kismet. The Fox and their friends accomplished something that the Tigress never could, and were Chason’s best hope for freedom.”

Vesther leaned against the bulkhead. “It just seems like if all of that were true, you would have been at Tartarus, backing up the Fox, rather than all of us biding our time here soaking up sunlight and drunk half the time.”

“That’s fair, Commander, but you don’t know everything. One of the conditions for me hiring the Fox was Kitsune sharing a reasonable amount about the abilities of their allied ships. She told me the Fox was working with a ship that had Umberian invisibility shields, and they would be working on the actual extraction of Chason from Inferno.”

“The Reckless Faith? Why didn’t you just say so? That might have prevented some of Harrey and the other Eaglite’s griping all this time if they had known.”

Wega grimaced as she gulped down another brackish mouthful of ancient yutha. “Bleh. Because I don’t monitor the personal correspondence of my crew, you know that. This operation was sensitive enough that I couldn’t risk one of our Eaglite friends blabbing about the involvement of the Reckless Faith. It’s not that I don’t trust them, just that even an inadvertent slip could have spelled disaster.”

Vesther crossed her arms. “I don’t like finding out about things like this after-the-fact, Captain.”

“I know. I hope you’ll understand in time. For now, let’s get to the bridge. Despite all of this, I am quite eager to see my brother.”