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Chapter [1]
"All were
tossed as leaves upon a storm."
A
Common History of Se'tlan.
Olf Stend.
Peering
through the acrid grey smoke swirling around the command deck of the Topaz,
Karla knew that if this were a simulation it was one of those times when the
manual ran out of options. Things had to be bad if even the warning alarms
had failed.
As ship’s pilot she sat in the centre of a
group of three padded acceleration couches—to her right was the navigator,
Rafe, and on her left the captain, Edan Evans; each concentrating on their
segment of a curving instrument panel.
In the cargo decks beneath them the ship’s
engineer, Teri, and her apprentice Coll fought to contain a crippling fire.
No simulation could have factored-in the
sixth member of their crew; part science officer, part medic, and part
mystery—Dav’s talents would never appear on any crew manifest or certificate
of qualification.
He stood behind Karla, the skin on her neck
and scalp tingling as he used his psychic abilities to replace the ship’s
failing sensors; he was her only link with the world outside their vessel
and the planet below.
She spoke, her voice relayed by a tiny
sub-dermal microphone embedded in her jaw, “How high are we, Dav?”
“About 4 k. There’s land below—flat—no
mountains—no water.”
She glanced across at Rafe, his
aristocratic brow was beaded with sweat. “Nav, any idea where we are?”
“None, I’ve no planetary beacons. In fact
there’s no comms traffic of any sort.”
“Shit,” said Edan, “if this planet’s that
backward—were in trouble.”
Karla grimaced; Edan’s optimism never
failed to surprise her. Their chances of landing intact were so slim, the
last thing on her mind was a breach of Imperium First-Contact rules.
Dav let out a groan of dismay.
Karla twisted in her seat. His thin, almost
boyish features were so distorted he looked to be in pain, and his deep
brown eyes held an apology.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed, “there’s a city
below.”
“Engineering,” said Karla, “I need
manoeuvring thrust.”
Teri answered, “Engineering—no chance; the
only control I’ve got left is the plasma feed. It’s either on or off—you
choose.”
Karla turned to face Edan, his normally
round smiling face seemed expressionless. “What do we do, sir?”
His words were flat and unemotional.
“Section four, part seven of the merchant rules. A vessel shall not land in
an area where there is risk to human life.”
Karla could have quoted the same text. It
was a simple rule with no sub-clauses, no exceptions, and no loopholes. For
a pilot, it was more than a rule—it was a sacred trust.
Edan took a deep breath. “You know what to
do, Karla.”
Her training took over; but it was as if
someone else slid aside the hood covering the self-destruct mechanism,
someone else that keyed in the arming code, and someone else whose finger
finally hovered over the activator. It would be a painless death; vaporised
in an instant. Karla closed her eyes and pressed her finger down.
#
Dawn mist hung
over the city of Setlan; streaking its crowded stone houses with damp and
laying a shimmering wet coat over its cobbled streets.
In the market square traders were busy
making final adjustments to stalls piled high with fresh fruit, vegetables,
fish, and butchered meats. They called and waved to the few early customers,
inviting them to inspect their produce.
A low rumble broke the calm, growing until
loose and aged windows trembled in their frames. Then high above, amongst
the thin, sheeted cloud, a light appeared—a new wonder in a new day. One by
one the people looked up, their features dancing in a strange flickering
light.
#
Karla’s finger
stabbed at the panel. “Shit! It won’t go!”
Dav leant over and grabbed her arm. “Then
you’ll have to land us! I’ll find somewhere.”
Karla swallowed hard, fighting panic with
deep, painful breaths.
“Two k,” said Dav.
Karla’s fingers danced over the controls.
“OK, initiating emergency landing sequence! Deploying air brakes—now.” The
hull creaked as baffles used primarily for stability were extended beyond
their design parameters. Her fingers continued their manic dance. “All
manoeuvring thrusters on max.” Adding to the clamour came a high pitched
whine as small plasma rockets, normally used to adjust pitch and jaw, were
all focused downward. She felt her weight climb as their descent slowed.
Dav squeezed her shoulder. “I’ve got a
clearing! Forty degrees spinal.”
Karla responded instantly, dropping one of
the airbrakes flush for a moment and tilting the ship in a sickening
manoeuvre that had Dav clinging hard to her chair with his feet clear of the
ground.
“Hold there,” he gasped. “We’re over it.”
Karla steadied the ship.
“Estimate one k,” he said.
To Karla’s amazement a viewer flickered to
life and a small rectangular target appeared among the criss-cross lines of
the city streets. She sat in stunned silence, watching tiny figures
scattering to safety. They seemed to move so slowly, she wanted to shout at
them to run faster—to run for their lives.
#
Hot air surged
into the market square, building a wall of pressure that ejected the last
few retreating souls into the adjoining streets. Thick fumes from charred
meats and fruits choked their throats, and the flutter and crack of cloth
awnings crowded their ears. They pressed themselves into doorways or lay
flat to avoid fragments of stalls tumbling amidst the clouds of dust and
smoke; their screams drowned by a deafening roar.
From the safety of houses at the edge of
the market, bolder faces peered through narrow cracks in doors and shutters.
Almost obscured by the maelstrom surrounding it, they watched a dark mass
settle into the centre of the square.
Then the thunder stopped, and for a time
the clatter of raining debris and the moans of pain and terror were the only
sounds to be heard.
Suddenly a loud hiss cut the air and plumes
of steam spread across the market, rising in billowing waves over the
rooftops before fading and condensing to a warm, sooty drizzle. When the
mist cleared a tall, blunt cone-shaped structure was revealed—crouching on
four spidery legs, it stood more than twice the height of the two-story
buildings edging the market square.
Nothing remained of the stalls so carefully
prepared for that day’s trading.
#
Edan was out
of his couch in an instant. “Engineering, how’s that fire?”
Through a background roar Teri’s voice came
back, panting and shrill, “We’re losing it—we’ll have to abandon and go for
a purge.”
“OK, you and Coll crack a hatch down
there—we’ll use the crew level escape hatch.”
“No way. We open a hatch down here and
you’ve got a furnace, we’re coming to you.”
“Got that! Grab pulse rifles on the way
out.” He gripped Karla’s shoulder, “How’re we doing?”
“Drive secure—all stations powered down.”
“Good work.” Edan turned to Dav. “You’re
last man out. Suit up and bring down the survival pack.” He pulled Karla to
her feet. “Deploy the escape chute, then help Dav gear up.” He pointed a
finger into Rafe’s chest. “First man out. If I were one of the natives out
there I’d be pretty pissed by now. Secure the perimeter—semicircular spread
from the base of the chute—weapons on broad-focus, minimum stun.”
Rafe snapped a salute. “Aye, sir.”
“Captain to all crew—nobody fires unless
it’s life and death. We know it’s only a stun setting but they don’t. I’m
pulling our log, don’t wait for me—just get out.”
#
Karla sprang
to the central ladder connecting the flight deck to the crew deck. She
skidded down it with her ankles locked on the outer frame. Dav was right
behind her. Fighting the impulse to cough, she swept through the dense smoke
filling the corridor. A few quick strides brought her to the inner door of
the escape hatch. Dav pressed her gently aside as he slipped into the suit
locker next to it.
Using large manual levers, she unlocked and
opened both doors. The expected rush of fresh air as the outer door folded
back never came; the air outside was almost as foul as that inside.
A turn of a handle and a hard tug released
the escape chute. It rolled away from the hatch, inflating rapidly and
settling at an angle to the ground.
Rafe tapped her shoulder and handed her two
pulse rifles. “Wish me luck.”
“Will a boot in the ass do?”
She never got her answer; he was already
halfway down the chute. She just had time to sling both rifles before Coll
and Teri appeared.
“Jeez,” she said, horrified.
Both the youngster and the older woman wore
breather masks and held pulse rifles. Their faces were covered with soot and
their grey overalls were blackened and charred. Teri’s eyes were grim,
businesslike, Coll’s were etched with fear and panic.
Karla sent Coll first and then Teri a
moment later.
Edan arrived next; he pulled off his
breather mask and pressed it over her mouth. “You OK up here?”
She flipped him an OK and waved him
forward. Once he was on his way she joined Dav in the suit locker.
He was almost dressed, needing only his
helmet. She grabbed it from its hook and pulled her mask aside to kiss him
quickly on the lips before jamming the helmet on and locking it in place.
“You OK?” she said.
“Fine, green on everything.”
“Take care.”
He answered by pushing her towards the
hatch. She flopped onto the chute, sliding quickly down.
Edan pulled her to her feet. “Watch out for
Dav,” he said
She looked up—Dav was in the hatchway,
black fumes boiling around him as he prepared to lower the survival pack. A
metal arm emerged from a recess above the hatch. Considering its function it
seemed far too slow for Karla’s liking. It settled into position and then a
thin cable attached to it went taut, drawing a heavy box from inside the
ship. As the box swung clear Dav stepped onto it. He clung to the cable as
the box dropped slowly towards the ground; the metal arm extending to keep
it clear of the hull’s gradual spread.
An obscene rasp followed a muffled
detonation and a spume of thick, white foam poured from the hatch and
engulfed Dav. Within seconds it began to harden. Feverishly he tore lumps
from the expanding mass clinging to the suit, but his actions became slower
until finally he froze, encased in a pale cocoon. He toppled gracefully from
the box, falling onto the hull and tumbling and skidding the last few metres
to the ground.
Karla had a short frustrating wait until
the survival pack settled on the ground; she couldn’t help Dav while he was
still encased in the fire-retardant foam. She unclipped the cable and threw
the lid open. She quickly located a small cylinder, which she snatched out.
Standing over Dav, she aimed its nozzle and sprayed a pale gas that
instantly dissolved the foam. She knelt and brushed a dusty white residue
from Dav’s helmet, clearing a small window to peer in. His eyes were closed.
“Dav, you OK?”
He didn’t respond. If he had a neck injury,
removing the helmet could do more harm than good; but if he wasn’t breathing
he needed immediate help. Her momentary indecision resolved when his eyes
fluttered open.
“Hi, sweets, how about getting this off?”
She unclipped the helmet. “You’re an
asshole. Why didn’t you set a longer delay on the purge?”
“Dunno—stupid maybe?”
Edan shouted, “Dav, Karla, perimeter!”
Karla helped Dav stand and then handed over
a pulse rifle. He snatched her wrist before she could turn away and looked
towards the crowd.
“They all made it clear,” he said firmly.
“No one died here.”
She accepted his gift. “Thanks.”
#
Edan Evans
barely had time to run his fingers through the remains of his greying hair
before a clamour of angry shouts drew his attention to the perimeter. The
city’s natives were emerging from side streets, doorways and cellar
hatches—and they were out for revenge.
The crew were in a tight spread, the base
of the ship at their backs, each about three metres apart and all armed with
pulse rifles. The cobbled surface of the market had been completely swept
clear, offering zero cover.
“Kneel,” he shouted, mustering
parade-ground volume and tone. “Weapons to shoulder. Look the part—sweep
your quadrant but don’t fire without my order.”
The mob hesitated, forming a distinct line
with those at the front shouting and posturing aggressively—the crew’s
positive stance the only thing holding them back.
Edan ducked as a stone flew past his head.
“Keep your wits about you, no retaliation.”
“Shouldn’t we surrender?” said Rafe.
More stones were thrown and the crowd
inched forward, their angry roar growing louder by the second.
“Well, captain?” shouted Rafe.
“Not my number one choice,” said Edan. He
saw a stone strike Teri in the head; she shook it off, wiping a trickle of
blood clear of her eyes.
“Captain?” shouted Rafe.
Edan glanced down at the readout on his
weapon. “All crew, check weapons for minimum setting. Prepare to saturate
your quadrant, watch for overlap.” Edan noted with satisfaction that there
was no further protest from Rafe as he shifted quickly from the role of
questioning and balancing civilian first officer, to chain-of-command combat
professional; even though, had they both still been in Imperial service,
Rafe would have outranked Edan.
Before he could give the next order a loud
report from a firearm echoed around the square and most of the crowd cowered
to the ground.
In an instant Edan registered that none of
the crew were hit; the impact would have knocked them to the ground. He also
registered that they had all kept to combat protocol; waiting for his
command before firing. Snatching a breath to steady his aim, he flicked the
rifle beam setting to narrow and squinted down the sight at the source of
the gunshot; marked by a lingering billow of smoke. Then a tall, powerfully
built figure stepped out of the smoke, a musket cradled in his arms—it had
been a warning shot only.
Once clear of the crowd, the man stopped
and shouted something that seemed to calm them. He stared directly at Edan
and slowly lowered the butt of his musket to the ground; resting a gloved
hand over the barrel end as if it were a walking cane. Edan stood and
lowered his own weapon, letting it hang from a short strap on his body
harness. “Hold positions,” he said quietly.
The native nodded his head, and still
holding eye-contact slipped a pouch from his leather waistcoat and lobbed it
towards the perimeter.
“Will I get it?” said Rafe.
Edan raised a hand, and called to Dav, “Can
you read anything?”
Dav concentrated. “He’s strong—but there’s
no threat.”
“OK, Rafe, get the pouch—and take care!”
Rafe sprang to his feet. “Sir!”
Edan kept his eyes fixed on the tall
native, taking in his deceptively casual stance. This was a man who
commanded respect, and well known locally by the way he took charge and
settled the mob. The quality of his clothing said wealth, and his vibrant
blue cloak and ruffed shirt suggested flamboyance.
As Rafe approached, the crowd became a
little unsettled. The tall man held up a hand and calmed them with a few
more words.
Rafe snatched up the pouch and trotted back
to hand it over.
Edan teased the draw cord open. “Let’s see
what we’ve got here.” He shook the contents into his palm. A small chain
balance, various coin-shaped weights, a pencil, and a notepad dropped out.
Edan looked across to where the man stood. “What do you think he’s trying to
say?”
“Beats me,” said Rafe. He took the notepad
and leafed through the pages. “It’s lists. Text and numerals, looks like a
decimal system.”
Edan held the balance up and it fell into
shape. Two small balance pans each suspended from three fine silver chains
hung on either end of the balance arm.
“Handy little piece.”
“If I’m not mistaken,” said Rafe, “he’s
some sort of merchant. Maybe he wants to deal with us?”
“Why would he bother? No, that’s a stupid
question. He can see how different we are. If this mob kill us and destroys
everything it’ll spoil any chance he has of doing business.” Edan grinned
wryly. “Of course it’s all speculation until we start a dialogue. But he’s
got my vote if he can keep that mob in check. Invite him in.”
Rafe set off towards the stranger and
motioned him to join them. The tall man shouted something to the crowd,
which started a buzz of chatter, and then walked forward.
“Rafe, back to position,” Edan ordered.
Rafe saluted smartly and trotted away.
Edan smiled at the man and led him over to
the survival pack. He pulled out a small case and placed it on top of the
pack lid, between himself and the native. He then held up the pouch and took
out each item in turn, naming it. The man responded giving it a name in his
own language. Exhausting that source Edan went on to point out items of
clothing and other features around the square.
Suddenly the tiny computer warbled; it had
recognised the native language.
Edan pressed a button on the machine and
spoke slowly. “My name is Edan Evans. I am the captain of this vessel.”
When he finished, the translator spoke the
words back in the native’s tongue.
The native’s eyes widened momentarily.
Despite his surprise he understood what to do next. “My name is Jasper
DeGriss,” was the translation.
Edan took a tiny transceiver from a
compartment in the translator and clipped it around Jasper’s ear. “That
should do it,” he said. The equivalent device was already implanted in
Edan’s ear.
“A most impressive machine,” said Jasper.
He grinned and pointed at the translator. “A device like this could make me
a very rich man.”
“Ah, but you’d need to be a very rich man
to afford it.”
“I understand.” Jasper nodded towards the
crowd. “I fear there is a rather urgent matter needing to be resolved. Very
soon a detachment will arrive from the Robian’s garrison and—”
Edan interrupted. “Who’s this Robian?”
“The local ruler. I fear the officer in
charge will confiscate your possessions and imprison you.”
“I can’t let that happen.”
“Of course not. You call yourself Captain.
Is this a trading vessel?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. To be blunt, you are at a
disadvantage. I doubt it was your intention to cause such mayhem, but you
have made few friends here today. I can, however, offer a solution to this
problem.”
Edan narrowed his eyes. “Go on.”
Jasper swept an arm towards the crowd. “I
will settle all damages—and I will also act as your agent. As my business
associate you will enjoy some useful privileges. In particular,” he raised
an eyebrow, “you will have the approval of the Robian. He has a certain
fondness for my person.”
“What will this cost us?”
“Nothing more than my legitimate expenses,
and as your agent I would hope to make some small financial gain from your
trading activities. A mere, say, ten percent?”
“Five.”
“Eight”
“Seven.”
“Seven and a half it is then, Captain?”
Edan smiled and stretched out his hand.
“It’s a deal.”
His decision could not have been timelier.
An armed troop arrived, carrying muskets and long fearsome pikes. Jasper
prevailed; and with great enthusiasm and a liberal display of gold coin, he
soon had the situation under control.
The mood changed and the crowd began
jostling each other and struggling for a better view of the strangers.
Jasper, realising they would shortly be overwhelmed, pulled off a
masterstroke. He had the troop’s officer declare the area quarantined. A few
quick commands and the soldiers trotted out around the Topaz. With their
pikes held horizontally, they formed a barrier between the crowd and the
ship.
“Now that,” said Edan, “is what I call
service.”
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