Pearl of the Stars | Far From Home
Sleeping With the Enemy

The security officer didn’t say a word during the entire fifteen minute journey, from the docks to La Verdê, lest he jeopardise his career any further than he already had done.

Two suns were over halfway through their daily traversal of the sky and to the east, as Emily and Mr Holden clambered quickly from the back of the vehicle, a third was just making itself known.

Hen Riley was waiting for them outside the restaurant. He looked like a cat on a hot tin roof, unable to stand still as he hopped nervously from one foot to the other, sucking hungrily upon a cigarette.

“Ms Johnson,” said Hen, flashing a quick salute. “Mr Holden.”

“Sir,” both the Pearls officers replied, returning Hen’s salute.

“Thank you, both, for coming down.”

“You say that as if there’s a chance we wouldn’t have,” replied Emily.

They followed Hen inside. A couple of suits were on the door, and several more were stationed within. All were dressed the same. Black trousers and jacket, white shirt, black tie, reflective shades. The only thing that gave them away as military, were the boots.

“Special Service,” said Hen, noting the questioning look upon Mr Holden’s face. “Ex-military, the majority of them.”

“What are they doing here?” Holden asked, as he lit a cigarette.

“The brass thinks Captain Ifhans’ disappearance was an inside job,” replied Hen, shaking his head. “A Diamantra spy, operating within our own territory.”

“Diamantra?” Emily asked.

“Enemies of the Allied Worlds,” Hen explained. “It has to be them, the Diamantra, who took Grace. There’s no one else I can think of.”

“We’ve been over the entire scene, Sir,” said one of the suits as he approached. He was built, almost as large as Mr Holden. Emily noted he failed to salute, but that was likely as the two men were of equal status, rather than a lack of respect. Not every organisation was the same and clearly, saluting was not Special Service’s standard procedure.

“And?” Commander Riley demanded.

“And nothing, Sir,” the suit replied. “There’s no trace of Captain Ifhans, nor of anyone else. Whoever took her, covered their tracks extremely well indeed.”

“It has to be the Diamantra,” said Hen, as the suit went about his business.

“In which case, we’ll take the Pearl, and ask them very nicely to give her back,” said Emily, with a smile.

They turned and left the premises, Johnson and Holden to head back to the Pearl, and Hen Riley towards his own vessel.

When he was certain they’d gone, the suit who’d spoken to them spoke into his personal coms.

“They’re gone, Ma’am. The coast is clear.”

Moments later, a woman strode inside, instantly demanding the unconditional respect of everybody else in the room. Everything from the way she held herself, to the clothes she wore and the look in her eyes, told that she was not to be ficked with.

“Why, of all the fickling people,” she began, pausing only to light a cigarette, “did it have to be my fickling brothers date who got kidnapped?”

“He still doesn’t know you’re alive, Ma’am?”

“No, he doesn’t. As far as Hen’s concerned, I died a long time ago.”

“Are you going to let him know you’re still alive?”

“That’s not my call, and it’s way above his pay-grade.”

“He’s your brother, Calla.”

“I know, Tom. But that doesn’t grant him automatic access to classified information.”

“You’re right, of course,” Tom conceded. “Out of interest though, do we think he’s along the right lines?”

“In thinking it’s the Diamantra that took his honey?” Calla inhaled deeply of the cigarette, and breathed the smoke from her nostrils. “No, I don’t think they have anything to do with it, but they may know does.”

“You mean..?”

“Yes, I do,” she replied with a slight smirk, enjoying Tom’s slight discomfort.

“Fine,” he sighed, “but if that bitch shoots me again...”

“It was just a graze,” she chuckled as she made to leave. “Now, man the fick up and come on.”

“Officer on deck!” Mr Foster saluted as Emily and Holden arrived upon the Pearls bridge.

“Thank you, Mr Foster,” replied Emily as she returned his salute. “Have we received a communication from Commander Riley?”

“Aye Ma’am, we’re to follow him,” Foster said. “He’s docked a few clicks to the south, but he’s going to swing by this way and pick us up.”

“Good,” Emily said, and lit a cigarette. “See to it that we’re ready when called upon, Mr Foster.”

“Aye Ma’am,” he replied, as his screen went blank, along with every other screen on the bridge.

“What the fick?”

“I... I’ve no idea, Ma’am.”

“Get me the engine room.”

“Aye Ma’am, engine room.” He set about the task, or at least he attempted to. “Coms appear to be down, Ma’am.”

“Someone tell me what the fick is happening on my damn ship!”

Emily’s screen fizzed into life, midst a mass of static, and an image appeared, that of the suit who’d spoken to her, Holden, and Commander Riley, in the restaurant.

“You!”

“Calm down, Ms Johnson, there really is no cause for alarm.”

“You’ve disabled my fickling ship,” she shouted, angrily, as the cessation of vibrations throughout the Pearl of the Stars indicated her engines had just gone off line.

“For your own safety, I assure you,” he replied, with an air of infuriating calm.

“Fick that!” she yelled in reply. “One of our people has gone missing, and there’s nothing you can do to prevent us from searching for her.”

“Actually, Ms Johnson, there is. As you can see, your ship is completely disabled, but if by some miracle you do manage to get her up and running again, you will replace twelve light cruisers in a low orbit, with orders to stop you at whatever the cost.”

“I’m going to fickling kill you!”

“I’m sure you’ll try, Ms Johnson.”

With that, he ended the transmission.

Emily slammed her fists into the console in front of her and yelled, “Holden, Foster! I don’t care what it takes, get those fickling engines on line!”

“Aye Ma’am,” both replied, neglecting to salute as they scampered away.

Commander Hen Riley waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but after ten minutes there was still no change to his visual capabilities.

He was cable-tied to a chair, and every time he struggled even slightly against those bonds, he could feel them digging deeper into the skin of his wrists.

He’d been grabbed right off the street whilst making his way to his vessel, and that didn’t make any sense to him. He was sure that the Diamantra were the ones behind Grace Ifhans’ disappearance and if that really was the case, then taking a man of his standing from the street, in broad daylight, was a very bold move indeed.

He replayed events since his capture, in his head. He was pretty certain he was still within the city limits, and therefore still upon Kargõs, but other than that his current location could be anywhere.

He cried out into the darkness, over and over, shouting until he was hoarse. No one came though, and there was no response so Hen decided he would reserve his energy and strength until the opportune moment for escape came.

Moments before the Rising Sun, the Nexus, and the Calypso exited Jump Space, Senna Karavel sat in the central chair upon the bridge. In her hands she held the message sent by the Nexus. It was possible for vessels to communicate with each other whilst in Jump Space, but said communications could not be anything substantial. A conversation, either video or audio, for example, was impossible. The physics of Jump Space didn’t allow for such a thing to happen, but it was possible for a ship to send a minute data burst to another.

She read it again.

′Four-hundred megalight-years. Ficked.′

She’d been staring at it for hours, counting down the hours as they went agonisingly slowly.

She was fairly certain she knew exactly what it meant, not that the code was particularly difficult to decipher. As to how they’d ended up four-hundred megalight-years from home though, and how Frank Holding had arrived at that obscene conclusion, were both mysteries to her. As soon as they exited Jump Space, all would hopefully become clear. Or at least, less murky.

The three vessels flashed into real space at the edge of a nondescript star system. The Rising Sun’s scanners showed a vast asteroid belt orbiting a Red Giant but other than that, the system was empty.

“Captain Holding for you, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. On screen.”

“Aye Ma’am, on screen.”

“Frank,” she said, not waiting for her fellow Captain to greet her. “What the fick is going on?”

“That’s a long fickling story, Senna,” he replied.

“Well, trim it down. How the fick are we so far from home, and how in the stars did you come to such a conclusion?”

“I’ve no idea how we got this far out,” he replied with a shrug. “Perhaps something went wrong with our jump drives, though that’s unlikely as whatever happened, it affected all three vessels simultaneously. ‘Course, it could be that there was some kinda’ interference when we made the initial jump.”

“Interference, like a wormhole?” Senna asked, open-mouthed as the thought came to her. “They’ve only ever been speculated upon.”

“Aye, but it might not be anything so complicated as that. Think about it, we’ve been utilising Jump Space for hundreds of years,” he said, pausing to light a cigarette. “It may simply be that we’ve stretched it beyond its limits.”

“If that was the case, its likely we’d have ended up light years away, once again, yet my systems show we’ve arrived in our intended system.”

“Like I say, Senna. I’m only working with maybes, here.”

“True enough,” she replied with a nod. “How did you reach four-hundred megalight-years?”

“I didn’t, that’s down to Lieutenant Jones. She had a little help though, it seems the Nexus′ systems have evolved, somehow. I’m not fickling around, Senna. I’ve got a star chart for the entire damn Universe.”

“Handy,” she smiled.

“Aye. So Victoria, or Remigro?”

“Victoria,” she replied, definitely.

“My thoughts exactly,” he smiled. “Saying that, it’ll be our descendants many times removed, who make it back, assuming the ships hold out that long.”

“Aye, but it gives us something to shoot for,” she smiled. “So what else do you have for me?”

“Got a lass needs reassignment,” he replied. “Lieutenant Ella Canston.”

“You have issues with her?”

“None at all, but I’ve got the weapons tech who raped her in solitary.”

“Say no more, Frank,” Senna replied. “I’ll shuttle over and pick her up myself.”

It was whilst the shuttle containing Senna Karavel, and Ella Canston, was returning to the Rising Sun, that a rerouted message arrived from the Calypso. When Den Jargo’s face appeared upon the small screen attached the shuttles dash, it wore an expression of deep concern.

“Den, what’s wrong?” Senna asked, alerted instantly by the look upon his face.

“It’s the survival pod, Senna,” he replied. “It’s acting very strangely.”

“How strangely?” she asked. “Tell me none of your people have touched it.”

“I’ve had my consignment of marines working shifts, guarding the door. No one’s been in there, Senna.”

“Then what the fick, Den?”

“It activated automatically, a part of it at least. As best I can tell, and without getting too close, I think it’s some kind of beacon.”

“Ah, fick!” Senna said through gritted teeth as she terminated the call. She turned to Ella, who occupied the seat next to her. “Did Frank fill you in on all this survival pod business?”

“Aye Ma’am, he did.”

“Good, at least that’s one less person I need to explain everything to,” she smiled, though it was not a happy smile. “What was your role on the Nexus, Ms Canston?”

“I was assistant to the Quartermaster, Ma’am.”

“So it’s fair to say you know your way around a ship?”

“Aye Ma’am, better than most, I’d wager.”

“Good,” said Senna. “I need an Executive Officer. You’re it, until I replace someone better.”

“Yes Ma’am,” Canston replied, with the smartest of salutes.

The rest of the brief flight was carried out in silence, and Senna guided the shuttle onto the Rising Sun’s starboard deck.

As she and Canston alighted, the vessel’s proximity alarms shrilled out, and they both sprinted to the bridge. They arrived, breathless, a few minutes later.

“What the fick is going on?” Senna demanded.

“A fleet materialised in-system, Ma’am,” replied a Lieutenant. “They came out of nowhere, and they’re blocking our path to our next jump.”

“Ms Canston, I want my planes scrambled. See to it.”

“Aye Ma’am.”

“Lieutenant, get me the Nexus.”

“Aye Ma’am, the Nexus.”

“Senna, you got back in one piece?”

“Aye Frank.”

“Where the fick did that bloody fleet come from?”

“I’ve no idea, but I’d bet my arse they’re tracking the survival pod. I just had a conversation with Captain Jargo. Part of the pod activated, somehow, and Den seems to think that part is a beacon of sorts.”

“At this juncture, I’m inclined to agree.”

“We’re scrambling planes over here, just in case. I suggest you do the same.”

“Aye, I’m already there,” Frank replied. “I’ve got Lieutenant Jones plotting an alternate route.”

“Any other jump point will do, Frank.”

“There’s only three in this damn star system. The one we came through, the one they’re blocking, and the third is equidistant from our respective positions.”

“A drag race, then.”

“Aye, and we’ve no idea how fast that damn fleet can move.”

“Alter course, head for the third jump point. Maintain current velocity. Let’s see what they do then. I’ll issue the same command to the Calypso.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

The two-man vessel touched down upon the dusty ground, its landing gear adjusting to the uneven terrain. Her two occupants alighted, and trod carefully as they made their way over to a small group of buildings, a Diamantra outpost.

“Good thing you’ve got the path memorised, Calla,” said Tom, as he followed exactly in her footsteps. “Crafty Diamantra bastards. Last thing either of us need is to lose a couple of legs treading on a dirty mine.”

“Don’t worry, Tom,” she replied. “That’s not going to happen, not today, anyway.”

Soon they were across the two-hundred yard minefield, unscathed, and Tom breathed a sigh of relief. That feeling was short-lived, however, as the ground to his left erupted as a bullet hit.

“Fickling sniper on the damn roof!”

Both raised their hands high above their heads, and continued their slow approach.

“Nice and easy, Tom,” said Calla, quietly. “Nice and easy.”

Five or six shots hit the ground around them in a similar fashion, before they were but fifty yards away from the outpost.

“We come in peace, you bastards!” Tom yelled.

“Nice, Tom,” Calla chuckled. “Nice.”

A masked figure stepped from the doorway, and held up his hand, apparently an order that the sniper upon the roof should cease firing. Tom and Calla took that opportunity to lower their arms.

“You are risking much, coming here,” the figure said. The voice was digitally altered, though it was clear it was that of a male. His figure was scrawny, though, and could quite easily have belonged to a woman.

“We’re not here to fight,” said Calla, glancing to her right as she saw the barrel of a gun glinting menacingly in the sunlight. “We need information.”

“What makes you think the Diamantra will share any information with you?”

“There’s been an extremely high-profile kidnapping,” Calla continued. “Now, I’m fairly certain it’s not your doing, but unless you can tell me whose doing it is, I’ll have a fleet of warships on your doorstep before you can spit.”

“An empty threat,” the man shrugged. “For as you know, we too command warships in equal number.”

“All the same,” said Calla. “Give us the information we need, and we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Well.” He paused for a thoughtful moment, though his expression was invisible. “There is talk of someone new, operating on one of the Free Worlds.”

“Someone?”

“That’s all I know.”

“All you know, or all you’re willing to tell?”

“Either way, it’s all you’re getting.”

“Fair enough, it’s better than nothing.”

“Good, now we’re done here. Watch out for the mines, and for my sniper, too. She’s got an itchy trigger finger.” With that he turned, and headed back inside the building.

Calla and Tom made their way back to their vessel. It was just before they reached the minefield, that Tom clutched his arm and cried out in pain.

“Fick!”

He and Calla turned, their eyes going straight to the roof where they saw the sniper get to her feet, and flash a mock salute in their direction.

“Damn her,” he grunted. “Same fickling arm, too.”

“Stop being such a baby, it’s just a love bite,” Calla said, laughing. “And besides, that’s what you get for hooking up with the enemy.”