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_I originally wrote these two chapters for the Fanfic page of my friend Tim Isles' Empire Quintilogy site. After chapter 2 I got bored, however, and the thing sat about on my HD for a while.
Recently I rediscovered it, brushed it up, and posted it here. If the response is good I may consider finishing it. Also, if anyone can help me find a name for it, that would be appreciated._
Chapter I
The hot norwest winds howled across Perseus IIs equatorial plains, kicking the dust of the spaceport into tiny storms throughout the small settlement, and blowing grit into the eyes of Zane Corrigan, captain of the independent merchant ship Blue Suede Cat.
Swearing, Zane pushed open the door of the tiny spaceport bar, and was instantly assailed by the smell of nicotine, alcohol, and unwashed bodies. Perseans drunk to get plastered, and even at this relatively early hour the bar was full of drunken miners.
Ignoring the yells of the regulars as he blocked their view of the Tri-V screen, he pushed through the noisy crowd to the only working mission kiosk on Perseus II.
A huge list of missions met Zanes eyes as he scrolled down the screen; with independent captains unwilling to launch due to the threat of attack by Cult or alien warships, corporate missions had backed up to unheard-of levels. There was still nothing paying high enough to get Zane to move the Blue Suede Cat from her berth on Perseus IIs small spaceport pad.
It was now five weeks since the oddball religious group known as The Cult, followed by hordes of strange green alien ships, began attacking Terran Star Empire worlds throughout the south-eastern quadrant. Many of the Empires worlds in that area had been devastated by the first Cult invasions, or abandoned to the aliens. On the worlds which were left, independent captains like Zane went to ground, praying their credits would last them through the current crisis.
A rise in the already high noise level brought Zane back to the present; two drunken miners seemed to have gotten into a particularly impressive fight over use of the credit outlet. Already their colleagues had formed a tight ring around the pair, egging on one combatant or the other.
This presented a welcome opportunity to get to the bar, and Zane took it, heading around the group to the bar. The bartender had gone to break up the fight, without much success, so he asked the mans assistant, a thin, weedy man who seemed to have a permanently running nose, for a beer.
The mans prominent adams apple bobbed irritatingly as he nodded and opened the beer refrigerator to retrieve a can of local brew.
Thas two cred. the man said, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve.
Zane pushed over the requisite credit chips and threaded his way through the room back to his table.
The beer brewed on Perseus invited the old analogy of making love in a boat; still, it was cheap and plentiful, the two qualities Zane was looking for. In the center of the room the bartender, brawny from doing so several times each night, was pulling apart the two brawling miners, and soon the Friday-night patrons resumed their normal activities of drinking and yelling encouragement for the sportsmen on the Tri-V.
Zane had gone back for a second beer when the door opened and the noise level dropped abruptly.
All heads swung towards the door; normally the miners yells and cheers would resume as they recognised and greeted one of their own, but this time the noise stayed at a record low, as the miners began muttering between themselves, and throwing surreptitious glances at the figure which had just entered.
The newcomer was hidden in a voluminous cream-coloured cloak, bound at the waist by a simple leather belt.
Murmurs swept the bar as one miner after another made the connection between the colour of The Cults warships and that of the strangers cloak, and finally a big, flabby man with a protruding beer gut stood up and yelled Cultist! Which was wrong, of course; members of The Cult wore lime-green cloaks, not cream-coloured.
Instantly the hooded strangers arms shot from his -or hers, Zane could not tell the strangers gender under the cloak- sleeves, revealing an illegal Brox energy blade gauntlet on the strangers right wrist.
Moments later the fat miner was pressed up against the wall of the bar, eyes crossing as they attempted to track the twenty inches of glowing blue blade hovering fractions of an inch from his nose. The hood was pushed back, revealing a young woman with piercing blue eyes.
Look at me, d*ckhead, she said softly, Do I look like a Cultist to you?
The miner trembled, pig-like eyes never leaving the blade which was held steady between his eyes. N-No miss. he finally whimpered.
Terminating the blade, the woman let him slump to the floor, where he was hauled back up by two of his fellow miners, and stalked over to the bar.
The miners parted silently to let her through.
One Denebian light ice beer. she said -no, ordered- the bartender.
Nodding nervously, the man hurried into a back room to find her order. Deneb might be a world troubled by rebellion and civil war, but the Denebians still made the best beer.
Of course, since the breweries had been acquired by the Colonial Navy all the Denebian beer which got to civilian markets left Deneb via the black market, and bartenders on worlds all over the Empire hoarded it jealously.
Thats, ah, fifteen credits. the bartender said, sweat dripping down his face.
Wordlessly the woman slid the credit chip across the greasy bartop, and the noise finally rose back to its normal level.
His view of the Tri-V eclipsed by a pair of burly miners, Zane sipped his beer, grimaced, and set the can down again.
Do you mind if I sit here? a soft voice asked. Zane looked up to see the slender young woman in the cream-coloured cloak.
Sure. he said, waving to the chair opposite him. She sat with a grateful smile on her face, and pulled the tab on her can.
Captain Corrigan, I presume? she asked, sipping at the frosty beer. When Zane nodded, she continued; Im Karen Drin, captain of the Sapphire.
Zane spluttered, spraying beer over the table.
You mean, like Erik Drin, the Purification commander?
Karen nodded. My brother. She shuddered slightly at the thought of the Purification Patrols, then sat straighter. One of the many rifts between us, she continued briskly. Now, captain, you may be able to help me.
Zane eyed her suspiciously. How?
My Survey Ship,the Sapphire , blew a drive coil on the way in to Perseus -I had to be towed in by a local tug. I require passage to Veego.
Its in the middle of the warzone, theres no way you could pay me enough to go there!
Netherless, take me there, and I will pay you half a million credits. Dont lie to me and say you dont need the credits- I know the taxes the Imperial Taxation Bureau puts on indy merchants.
Zane gaped- hed never seen that many credits in his life, much less owned such an amount.
Hed purchased the Blue Suede Cat , a dilapidated Sauridian Laser Ship, from a Weave-partisan merchant for less than that.
Okay, I wont lie to you and tell you I dont need the credits. I do. But no way am I going into the middle of a warzone for that amount!
Would it help you if I told you the fate of Humanity may lie in the balance?
Zane scowled. Trying to appeal to my patriotism, lady? If you know what the taxes the ITB puts on indy traders, then you ought to know that indy traders have no patriotism. Not after having to pay those taxes!
She sighed. One million credits, then.
Zane was astounded. Who did this woman work for, anyway, that she could afford to spend a million credits on a one-way trip to Veego?
Gulping, he rapidly calculated his current tax levels as compared to a one million credit rise in his funds. With that amount of credits, he could pay his taxes easily for two years!
Done, he said finally, The Blue Suede Cat lifts at oh-seven-hundred hours tomorrow morning, pad six.
A sunny smile lit up her thin face, mellowing the effects of those piercing blue eyes. Good. Consider this a down payment. She tossed him a fifty thousand credit chip.
And with that she pushed her way through the tightly packed miners and was gone, leaving Zane to wonder just what hed gotten himself into
Chapter II
Perseus II was cool and silent in the grey predawn darkness, illuminated only by the moonlight of Pegasus high above. With the ease of long practice Zane punched in the access codes for the Blue Suede Cats crew hatch.
The Blue Suede Cat was built by Sauridians to Sauridian design, and it showed in the primitive fission stardrives and inelegant exposed structural girders. A Sauridian Laser Ship, it was grimy and cramped, yet it was faster than anything else ever made, had more cargo room than a Rendelli shuttlecraft, and higher firepower than a heavy fighter, in the form of six Sauridian hydrogen-fluoride laser cannon, both coaxial and fixed.
All those good points more than made up for the constant smell of burning oil and the grease which covered every surface. Zane made a half -hearted attempt to clean up the debris of a weeks takeaway food from the bridge before calling up the Blue Suede Cats operating statistics.
A column of Sauridian glyphs, accompanied by lines of Terranglo translation, scrolled down the schematics viewscreen. The Blue Suede Cat was as ready for launch as a fifteen-year-old ship held together by duct tape could ever be.
Inputting the instructions to start up the ships drives and manoeuvring thrusters, Zane checked the status of the first officers cabin, the second most comfortable berth on the ship. Thankfully it hadnt been used since the last time hed hired a servobot to clean it, and was still as clean as things stayed on the Blue Suede Cat without constant maintenance. That taken care of, he went to arrange launch clearance with Perseus IIs minimal traffic control.
The traffic control center on Perseus II was manned at all times as was compulsory, albeit in a sloppy and haphazard fashion. It was the largest building in the town, an ugly plasticrete block with communication dishes and sensor masts sprouting from its roof.
The duty officer looked up from his stack of pornographic magazines as Zane entered. The hot, stuffy room stank of old coffee and sweat, and Zane wanted to get off this greasy, sweaty planet as soon as possible.
Captain Zane Corrigan, indy merchant ship Blue Suede Cat. I need departure clearance for oh-seven-hundred hours. The officer swung around on his swivel chair to input Zanes name and that of his ship.
Okay, your landing fees are paid, Captain. Jus fill in this here form and you can be on your way. With that he pushed a departure form across the desk.
Zane quickly filled in the correct data- name, Imperial Taxation Bureau number, ship name and IFF code, among the other numbers and codes required by Imperial bureaucracy. Finally he scrawled his signature at the bottom.
The traffic officer countersigned it, scribbling his own details on the sheet. Gotta say, man, you got balls, the man said, handing back the form, Going out there with Cultists and aliens and Snakes running everywhere.
Zane thanked the man and left, departure form in hand.
Back on the Blue Suede Cat he filed the form away with a myriad others, and went to the galley to fix breakfast. As it was technically a short-range patrol vessel, the Blue Suede Cat had no replicators, so Zane kept a large stock of various freeze-dried meals in the ships freezers. Rummaging through the stacks, he found something labelled Freeze Dried Bacon And Eggs, opened it, and slid it into the crude Sauridian microwave cooking unit.
When the unit finally binged and disgorged his meal, the synthetic bacon had desiccated to a few leathery rashers and what purported to be an egg was rubbery and tasteless. Zane chewed his way through the bland food, and was struggling to masticate a portion of something hed decided had more resemblance to a rubber O-ring than an egg when he heard booted steps on the crew hatch of the Blue Suede Cat.
Throwing the rest of the meal into the recycling chute, Zane went to greet his passenger. Karen Drin was again dressed in her cream-coloured robe, although Zane noticed shed discarded her Brox Energy Blades. A large suitcase was held in one finely-boned hand.
Ah, hello Captain, She said, Would you help me with this?
He took her suitcase from her, carrying it into the first officers quarters. The smile she gave him was ritual formality only, and didnt reach her eyes. Zane left her unpacking her few possessions in the small cabin, and went to check the ship again for launch.
He gave her twenty minutes to unpack, then informed her that the Blue Suede Cat was ready to launch.
Karen appeared in the small and dingy cockpit and strapped herself into the copilots chair with the ease of long practice.
Perseus II Spaceport Control, this is the Independent Merchant Ship Blue Suede Cat , requesting permission to launch.
Permission granted, Blue Suede Cat. the traffic officer replied. Artificial Gravity generators straining, the Blue Suede Cat lifted from the surface of Perseus II and into space.
Out of atmosphere, the stars were resplendent in all their billions, constellations invisible in the wash of stars that was the Milky Way galaxy.
Looking out upon the stars, Zane was reminded again of why he paid his ITB taxes scrupulously, why he followed all the rules like a good little spacer. It was for the vast sense of freedom he got, looking out at all those uncountable billions of stars, the sense of wide-open, untouched space.
Occasionally he wondered if this was what the early astronauts had felt, what had driven humanity- and the Brox, Calan, Hunnsta and Sauridians- to explore the stars.
Its been too long. he breathed, once again in awe of the universe.
Im sorry? Karen asked, unbuckling her crash straps.
Nothing. he mumbled.
The Blue Suede Cat was far faster than any other known vessel; indeed, most of its rear section was the huge drives and fuel tanks required to propel it at those high speeds. As such,it exited the last grips of Perseus IIs gravity well quickly, and Zane soon began to prepare the ship for hyperspace. The hyperspace portal generators began to hum as they built up the immense power required to open a hyperspace portal.
The two of them returned to their crash seats for the turbulent transition into hyperspace. The navigation console was blinking green when several small mass signatures approached the Blue Suede Cat.
The targeting computer identified them as Colonial Navy type-II Interceptors as the comms system crackled to life.
Independent merchant vessel Blue Suede Cat , this is the Number Five Colonial Navy Interceptor patrol. We believe you are harbouring a fugitive; in accordance with Article 45B of the Independent Regulations Act, you are required to stop your drives immediately and stand by for boarding. Zane turned to stare at his passenger as she reached over to the navigation console and initiated hyperspace.
The transition from normal space to hyperspace was always turbulent, and in an old ship like the Blue Suede Cat it was more so. They had to remain in their crash seats as the ship entered hyperspace, Zane clutching his Calan sonic disruptor and staring grimly at Karen.
What the hell was that about? he demanded as soon as the transition was complete, keeping his disruptor pointed at Karens head.
Captain, please, you dont understand! she pleaded, arms up in an unconscious reflex to shield her face.
Dmn right I dont understand. Zane growled. I dont understand why the hll youd want to ruin the reputation of a legit trader. Ive never gone against the law yet, and Im not about to start now!
Please, Captain, I can explain!
Explain then. Explain why I shouldnt hand you over to the first Terran patrol I find!
She took a deep breath, and began.
A decade ago there was a man by the name of Jacob Anderson. Anderson was an influential member of Central Commands administrative arm, with command over Colonial Navy movements throughout the southern sectors. Then came the Farazon Massacres, where over two hundred thousand of the Empires troops died.
Karen was falling into lecture mode, Zane could see.
What does this have to do with anything? he asked.
It has everything to do with it. Karen replied, and continued. Anderson was appalled at the loss of life, and tried to moderate the conflict, to keep the war to acceptable levels. When his schemes were discovered he was slated for execution, but managed to escape with the aid of a partisan mercenary captain.
In hiding, Anderson founded The Artemis Group, determined to stop events like the Farazon Massacres from happening again. Whether that meant assassination of the militants within Central Command or active destruction of battle groups on one side or the other, Anderson meant to keep the toll down. Since then The Artemis Group aided one side or the other, keeping the balance of power equal.
That was until the aliens came.
Now The Artemis Groups purpose is to keep back the aliens from the inhabited worlds of known space. I hijacked a Terran courier carrying information on the alien fleet movements; thats why my Surveyship was too damaged to lift again. Thats why the Empire is after my blood. And if I dont get this information to The Artemis Group, then humanity- and everyone else- is doomed.
She finished speaking, backed into one small corner of the bridge. Suddenly she looked a lot less confident, less certain, than she had back in Perseus IIs spaceport bar yesterday.
Okay then. Zane growled, holstering the disruptor.
Thank you. she replied softly, and disappeared in the direction of the first officers quarters.
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 02-25-2002).)
Shade, I like it. Interesting, complex plot, multidimensional characters, and a mission to save humanity. What more could you ask for? I'm waiting to discover the connection between the cult and the aliens. That's also one place you could find a title - whatever pattern of relationship exists between these unlikely allies.
mj
------------------ A mind is a terrible thing to open cans with. (Mueller, Utne Rdr 3/2002)
(This message has been edited by mamajama (edited 02-25-2002).)
Very good work, Nicholas.
------------------ (url="http://"http://pub51.ezboard.com/fquillzfrm4.showMessage?topicID=10.topic")A Pilot's memory(/url)
MJ, play the plug if you want to know more. I'm sorry if I ruined the suprise for you.
------------------ (url="http://"http://www.geocities.com/shades_shipyard")Shade's Shipyard(/url), the source for your ship needs.
Good story.
Quote
I only have one complaint, loose the contradiction, it breaks up the rythm and doesn't sound right. Simply use ordered or commanded or add an adjective.
------------------ Get a life, a cyberspace life.