“You have Colin Hess to thank for your seat.”
“I have you to thank, and your friends on Mars. I got elected as the workers’ man, not management’s man. What a one-eighty I’ve pulled, Christ.” French opened his computer. “Sometimes I wonder about your relationship with Hess, Eli. How did the son of a former union boss wind up as the attack dog for the Alliance’s wealthiest military contractor?”
Perry sighed and rose. “Jack, I resent your tone and mood. I’m here to help you and you owe me more than you realize. I have plenty of documents that would put you in prison for life if they ever surfaced. And even if you don’t win the ASP nomination next year, you do know that you’ve got to defend your seat again, right?”
“Is that a threat?”
“Not at all. I’m just reminding you that the most powerful union leaders on Mars got you elected twice, just like you said. Their money, their influence, their vote.”
French glared at Perry. “You wouldn’t dare…”
“Don’t forget your place, Jack. I made you, and I can destroy you just as easily. Whether at the ballot box or in the courtroom, I have a lot more leverage than you.” Perry smiled. “That being said, I wanted to let you know that Hess sends his regards. He’ll be in town this coming week for the security summit. He’ll want to see you on his trip, perhaps at the summit itself.”
French grimaced. “I’ll think about it. Foreign policy and military matters aren’t exactly my strong field.”
“Hess insists.”
“I’ll think about it, Perry. I have a busy schedule, so if you would?”
He gestured towards the door with a dismissing hand. Perry nodded and left. As he walked down the hall, he smiled.
Easier than I thought it would be.
Chapter Fifteen: Interstellar Travel
Deep Space
“I know this may be difficult to understand,” High Prod Arranko said with carefully-chosen words, “but the loss of your father represents a serious blow to the military. The Empire has seen few leaders as bright as Akgu Juska.”
Zurra did not meet his superior’s gaze. “You honor my father and family with your praise, High Prod.”
“Praise well deserved,” Arranko said. He was an aging krokator; his skin hung from his bones like drapes and his eyes were dead, hollow pits.
It had been an accident, they said. While rendezvousing with a nearby fleet, Akgu Juska’s transport had sent out a distress signal before contact was completely lost. When a search-and-rescue craft reached the scene sixteen hours later, there was nothing but debris scattered through space, some pieces of the ship down on a lonely moon.
Out there, somewhere in the oblivion of space, what little remained of Akgu Juska’s body was cast forever to the vastness of infinity. He was given a respectful funeral without a body – a pyre was burnt for him anyways, but something felt wrong without his remains being committed to ash like the wood.
I suppose he was turned to ashes out in space anyways, Zurra had thought darkly. It was an unfitting death for his father. A prod that had spent most of his career on firm ground dying in a spaceship accident.
Zurra moved through the somber crowd at the funeral. The service was being held in a field near the Akgu home. The leafy branches of coalnut trees swayed in the light afternoon breeze and the sounds of a pogo echoed in the distance from a nearby farm.
A masked priest committed some items of Juska’s to the flames. “And so we thank Ugrand for the time our departed friend Akgu Juska was given, we exonerate Frusrand for his guidance of Akgu Juska to glory and righteousness, and we accept Ukkum’s wisdom in taking him when he saw fit.” He bent his head low. “Kurkand keep him in his mercy.”
There was a brief minute of silence. The flames licked into the sky.
The priest gazed up from behind his shroud and gestured towards a tall blue-skin. “Now, Prod Trakk Nikkwill has a few words to say about the departed.”
As per tradtion, eulogies at krokator funerals were given according to social rank as opposed to relationship with the deceased. Arranko had left after delivering the Death Box due to his ailing health, but the presence of a prod as decorated as Nikkwill was a true honor.
“Prod Akgu Juska was a friend of mine,” Nikkwill began as he stared into the flames. “He was a committed soldier, and a noble one. In an era that has seen many tarls and prods question the wisdom of the Empire’s leadership, Juska instead followed every order given without question. His loyalty to the Emperor and his people is a trait every officer ought to emulate. Prod Juska was a stern but just leader, treating his inferiors with respect, and they did the same to him. I never once saw Juska enter an argument with a fellow officer, insult their ideas, or question their loyalty and competence. He was a kind soul, a fine warrior, and a true hero of the Empire.”
Eulogies were brief matters. Nikkwill stepped aside back into the crowd of assorted officers and locals. Another prod stepped forward to speak, followed by two more of equal standing. A few tarls who had long-ago served under Juska shared anecdotes of his tenure as a garrison commander on his homeworld of Kenka.
“And finally, Karp Akgu Zurra, the departed’s son, has a few words about his father to say.”
#
To understand how infinitely empty space was, one had to venture onto one of the cargo haulers that relied on hyperspace engines to navigate the stars as opposed to the more convenient interstellar jump gates used by smaller vessels. Due to krokator security protocol that predated Oranokk, foreign vessels could not use jump gates directly into Imperial space from beyond systems directly on the Empire’s fringes, and as a result, a teeming ‘gate culture’ had been born on the Border Worlds, feeding crime as cargo runners piloting smaller craft in and out of the Empire had to make stops between the jump gates in the independent systems and those across the fortified stellar border.
The other effect was that direct travel between the Empire and other nations had to be done via the gargantuan haulers that used actual hyperspace engines akin to those pioneered by the Grays – cargo ships several miles long that rocketed through folded space several times faster than the speed of light, taking days and weeks to travel distances that vessels using jump gates could do in a matter of hours. Imperial shipping companies had made a huge profit on selling passenger space aboard the haulers for anyone headed in or out of the Empire who didn’t want to risk getting robbed or killed on a Border World while waiting for a charter ship to take them through a jump gate.
Not surprisingly, the space sold on a cargo hauler was about as unglamorous a method of travel as could be found in the galaxy. Passengers were often packed in cramped, zero-gravity spaces where they would float and bounce off one another for the bulk of the journey. The cabin was only given nominal heating, although the body heat in the tight quarters often negated this effect if there were enough travelers. Due to the inconvenience and discomfort involved in foreign travel, most krokator avoided leaving the Empire if at all possible, which also provided a convenient way for the Empire to keep their population at bay within their own borders.
Zurra floated through a thin opening between two passenger compartments, using the sides of the portal to pull himself through. A large civilian krokator was hanging onto one of the nearby walls for dear life.
“Hello, sharm!” he said and waved. “I’m afraid I’m still not completely used to travelling this way.”
Zurra acknowledged him and grabbed ahold of the wall, pulling himself up against it. “It takes a while. What brings you to Terra?”
“I was just appointed as a go-between for one of our manufacturing companies and a buyer in the Alliance. I still have another trip to take to another planet – Man-hat-tan, I think? – after we get to Terra.”
“Hopefully you get a gravity-controlled, heated charter through a jump gate,” Zurra muttered.
“What about you, sharm? When did we start sending soldiers out into Allied space?”
“I am part of a dip
lomatic detail.”
The krokator nodded approvingly. “That sounds fitting.”
The clung to the wall as the side of the ship groaned. Tremors from the force of hyperspace coupled with the power of the engines caused the hauler to shake and rumble as it hurtled through oblivion.
“I still have a hard time believing this whole business with the Emperor… and on the Urkuran, no less! Do the heretics have no shame?”
“If they had any respect for the traditions of the Empire,” Zurra replied coolly, “then they would not be heretics.”
The passenger laughed heartily. “Yes, yes I suppose you are right.” He looked around the passenger compartment, which was unusually empty for an interstellar voyage. “What world are you from?”
“Kenka. You have not seen many black-skins before, have you?”
“I come from the bluest part of Sartokken, so no. We had a green-skin family in our town when I was growing up and they received unconscious stares everywhere they went.”
“I have yet to travel to Sartokken. My commanding officer when I graduated the Academy was a true blue Sartokkosh. He spoke of it as a place he never intended to return to.”
“Yes, Sartokken has seen better days. We suffer the tragedy of a universally hated planetary governor. He is the one problem Progressives and traditionalists can agree upon.”
Zurra asked, “Are you with the Movement?”
“I like some of their ideas, but I do not wear the colors, no,” the civilian smoothly replied. “I fear that after the Emperor’s death there may be some shakeups within the Movement. I hope it does not turn violent, we do not need any more bloodshed.”
“I agree. But,” Zurra said with a broad smile, “whatever happens is Frusrand’s will.”
“Aptly put, sharm. Aptly put.”
#
The monotony of space travel was crushing. Zurra spent several hours at one point floating around in the cargo bays, which were freezing cold and filled with a wide variety of dull crates contained in nets tethered to the walls. After making his way through a maze of cargo clumps, he found the crew’s quarters and pulled his way in.
The crew of the particular hauler he was riding was a rough assortment of humans, krokator and muunfi. The muunfi, bunchu as they were, mostly kept to themselves. Zurra was a little surprised to see the humans so cordial with the krokator crewmen – they spoke Krokam with a thick accent and poor pronunciation but surprisingly accurate and modern vernacular, and showed no animosity. They played human card games as much as they collaboratively solved classic krokator puzzles.
The apparent captain of the vessel was a stocky, well-built human, with gray hair and beady eyes. Zurra had seen very few humans before – only their hair color and skin shades differentiated them. The facial features were all so similar he had a hard time discerning several of the crewmen from one another.
“Hey, big man, you want in on a hand?” the captain said in Standard after spotting him in the far corner of the room. Zurra had a limited understanding of the language but he nodded. There were only two other krokator at the table, and four humans.
“I do want to play,” he said slowly. One of the krokator dealt him two cards and Zurra had to press them against the table so they would stay down.
“The game is hold-em, if you’ve ever played. Doubt you would have,” one of the other humans said. “Your two cards are your hand. You up your bet depending on if you think your hand is strong or not. If you have a weak hand, you can stay in and try to bluff other players out. We show five other cards on the table and at the end, your two cards and three of the shown cards have to make the best hand. Simple enough?”
Zurra scratched his head. “No… I will watch, yes?”
“Sounds fine.”
Zurra spent the next few hours confused, but by the end of his stay in the crew quarters he had picked up the core aspects of how the game worked. He even played two hands, although he lost badly. The human numerical system was awfully confusing, though the number of symbols on each card – strange as they were – helped enormously.
“Sharm Zurra! May I have a word?” a large, thick-armed krokator called through the door. Zurra obliged and floated back out into the cargo bay.
The krokator that had hailed him was with the diplomatic detail, wearing civilian attire. His tusks were filed so that they barely were visible under his lip and he wore plain but noticeable jewelry – two silver rings on each hand and a small nose ring.
“I want to take this time to tell you about the situation on Terra so that you are prepared for our arrival,” the krokator said. Zurra instantly realized that this was one of the sukuda agents, neither of whom had previously approached him on the voyage.
“We will go somewhere private,” the agent said and they floated up through the seemingly endless forest of tethered cargo balls. The sukud finally grabbed hold of a tether and hung, suspended, looking down at Zurra.
“There is no one watching?”
Zurra held onto a different tethered cargo net and looked around. It was hard to see with all the constantly shifting nets swaying back and forth in the cargo bay, especially since they had been pushed against while the two krokator had moved up through the hold.
“I do not think so. I doubt many passengers would follow us up this far, and the crewmen are too drunk and occupied with their game to notice I left.”
“Good. This will be my only opportunity to speak with you before we arrive. We will be on Terra in seven hours. Once we disembark in Los Angeles, you will not see me again. You will never see my companion. I will not present you with my identity, and even if I did, I will be using an assumed one on Terra. If you happen to see me at the embassy, do not greet me. If you do, I will not respond.”
“I understand,” Zurra said. He would hate working for the sukuda.
“You will receive a brief at the embassy from Ambassador Orget Jerven about Hessian Engineering and the potential Piskka connection. It is confidential and you are never to share any of the information he gives you with anyone, krokator or bunchu. Is this understood?”
“I have handled in confidential matters before.”
“Yes, but in the Empire you have jurisdiction.” The agent paused before saying in the human tongue, “How’s your Standard?”
Zurra was impressed; not even a hint of accent, beyond the natural baritone every krokator spoke with.
“I speak very little Standard,” he replied slowly. “I am still learning.”
The agent scowled. “You’ll have to do better.”
“I know. I am sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. Humans don’t speak formally in everyday talk. It’s faster than Krokam and less formal, even when speaking to superiors. They use contractions… do you know what I’m talking about? The tongue is fast. They run small words together. They mutter, they don’t always articulate, and they sometimes sound like they’re making animal sounds.”
Zurra blinked. “My Standard is not very good, can you speak more slowly? Please?”
The agent shook his head in disbelief and reverted to Krokam. “You will have to practice more. I will let Jerven know that you need a dialect coach to work with at the embassy for a few hours a day so you get up to speed. Have you ever left the Empire before?”
“I have gone to Border Worlds on assignment in the past, but never to another League of Planets nation.”
The agent thinned his eyes. “You speak passable Standard for someone with little experience in the language. Still, a real field agent would be fluent so they could deal with informants.”
“We have informants on Terra already?”
“I do not know many. The ambassador will have more information as to where you can look. I think that will be all for now… you have your papers ready, yes?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I wish you luck on your mission, Sharm Zurra. Be clever on Terra, it is a dangerous and forbidding planet. Frusrand guide your path.”
; “And may He guide yours,” Zurra replied as the sukuda agent flung himself away into the cargo bay and vanished among the floating cargo tethers.
#
“Please fasten your safety harnesses for the duration of our trip down to the surface of Terra,” the voice of one of the ship’s pilots commanded in Krokam as a human repeated the message in Standard. “We will be docking with an orbital rig in about five minutes and once secured, the passenger shuttle will disembark. We will be arriving at the Malibu Spaceport off the coast of mainland California at about three in the afternoon, local time. The current temperature in Los Angeles is 98 degrees Fahrenheit.”
Zurra felt an audible lurch as the hauler’s brake thrusters kicked in and it reached a slower speed in space. Outside the hull, small automated drones launched from their pod on the tip of the docking rig to secure the ship to the rig itself, which was a massive, six-mile long pole floating just within the orbit of Terra’s moon. The rig had several smaller docking poles where the haulers could attach, as the massive ships were too large to enter the planet’s atmosphere.
“We have successfully docked in the orbit of Terra,” the ship officer announced. “Thank you for travelling with us, and please enjoy your stay in the Human Alliance.”
The bay doors under the passenger vessel churned open and the magnetic locks keeping the craft in place turned off, letting the ship drift down from under the hauler. Zurra stared out the small window as the inside of the hauler’s ship bay slowly vanished from view and a startling view of a blue-green planet filled the window. Terra curved away in the distance, and just beyond the orbital horizon he could make out the edge of a small, rocky moon.
The transport craft’s directional engines kicked in and the vessel turned at a wide angle, letting Zurra see even more of the world beneath him. There was considerably more landmass on Terra than on Rukkur – the planet appeared to be larger, too. Two military fighter ships zipped past the hull of the vessel, their contrails crystallizing in the coldness of space. Off in the distance, a large orbital defense station floated into view, obscuring a funny looking geographical feature – a peninsula that looked like a foot kicking an island shaped almost like a ball in the heart of a small sea.