Tales from the Inbox: The Pilgrim’s Wager

2952-09-11 – Tales from the Inbox: The Pilgrim’s Wager 

Emilio B. drummed his fingers on the side of his command chair and watched the sensor plot in the middle of the bridge. Fey Wanderer being in hostile territory, their sensors were all on passive mode and every feature intended to conceal the ship’s presence from unfriendly eyes was active; this did wonders for their chances of survival, but didn’t have any good effect on her ability to see what was going on more than a few hundred kilometers away. 

The gravimetric sensors had picked up a few drive signatures, but not nearly as many as he had been expecting. Margaux, in Confederated hands, had been a fortress and an industrial powerhouse, at least by Coreward Frontier standards. Surely the invading power, with no such worlds of its own before the war, would have to make use of the ones it had taken, and that meant there had to be far more ships in the system than currently showed as visible on the plot. 

Most likely, the majority of the ships he couldn’t see would be parked in orbit around the planet for which so much blood had been spilled, and Wanderer wouldn’t be going close enough to be threatened by them. If there were some parked elsewhere, though, Emilio had to guess where before he committed his ship to any particular course through the system; no amount of stealth features in the world would help him if he blundered within a few hundred klicks of an Incarnation cruiser while setting up a gravitational slingshot around one of the outer gas giants. 

Wanderer had the legs that made such a mishap escapable in all but the worst circumstances but it would mean either abandoning the delivery or dropping poor Rawlins so far out that her chances of making planetfall were miniscule. She’d paid in advance, but Emilio didn’t like taking money and only delivering on half of what she’d promised. It wasn’t good business, because it didn’t encourage repeat customers, and it would bring rise to the idea that when the Fey Wanderer and its crew agreed to do something, they didn’t see it through. 

“Captain?” Miss Vargas turned away from the helm controls. “What’s our course?” 

“No course yet.” Emilio shook his head. “We need more information, and there’s nothing in our neighborhood to find us.” 

“Aye.” Vargas reluctantly turned back to her controls. She clearly didn’t like loitering in a hostile system, and Emilio could hardly blame her. The sooner they were out, the safer they’d be. 

The soles of hard dirtside boots clicked on the deck in the corridor behind Emilio, and his blood ran cold.  

“Can I help you, Miss Rowlins?” Emilio didn’t turn around; he was still focused on the data plot. Miss Rawlins might be a client, but after their last meeting, when she’d made it only too clear what she was and what her business was, he wanted as little of her company as possible. 

“Just observing.” Rowlins fell silent for a long moment, probably looking at the same holographic readout Emilio was. “The view is better here than in the hangar.” 

Most clients got bored or got themselves kicked off the bridge within minutes of trying to “observe” Wanderer’s operations, so Emilio didn’t expect her to remain long. He waved a hand of assent, then went back to watching every minute development on the display. Passive sensors had just detected a pair of small craft moving in from one of the outer systems without a gravitic signature; most likely those were cheap-fabbed industrial barges using ion propulsion. If so, the moon they’d departed from was an active industral base; several potential courses were no longer viable. 

For her part, Rawlins remained silent, but her presence loomed over Emilio like a cloud. He wished he had some excuse to send her away. 

Signal scatter suggested some sort of Incarnation military activity near the fifth planet, a md-sized gas giant, making another set of courses inviable. The list of low-risk courses was shrinking by the minute. No course was without risk, of course, not in an Incarnation system. 

“There.” Rawlins stepped up beside Emilio’s chair and pointed. “The fifth planet.” 

Emilio frowned and turned to his client. “I’m sorry?” 

“Make our course there.” Rowlins stepped back. “That signal scatter is from a strike patrol. They’ll have moved on hours before we get there.” 

Emilio raised one eyebrow. “How can you be sure?“ 

Rowlins shrugged. “Nothing’s certain. But with no drive signature, it’s either strike units or a garrison. They wouldn’t park a cruiser out there with a cold drive.” 

Emilio considered this. Odds favored this wager, but to go that way instead of to use another planet as a slingshot with no traffic detected there at all? 

Rawlins was, of course, the client, and the major risk was to her. Given her background, perhaps it was more than a simple wager. “Miss Vargas, start preparing for course... nineteen or twenty-two.” He looked up at the woman standing next to his chair. “We won’t be past the no return point for at least half an hour, so let's see if anything else comes up before then.” 

Ayaka Rowlins going rogue on a supposed vengeance mission is an interesting development, but it is sadly one which I don’t have any expectation of learning more about in the near future, or ever. Emilio (not his real name of course) sent in what he could, but the only person who could tell the whole tale is Rawlins herself, and I do not expect that she will ever tell it to us or anyone. 

 

Details

Tales from the Inbox: The Pilgrim’s Departure

2952-09-18 – Tales from the Inbox: The Pilgrim’s Departure 

Obviously, the trail of Ayaka Rowlins dead ends at her launch from a hired smuggler vessel in the Margaux system. Unfortunately, until the war ends, I doubt anyone will be able to determine for certain what her fate was, but these described events happened several months ago, so she has met that fate by now. 

I shudder to think of what the Incarnation would do to an Immortal defector. No doubt Rowlins had some idea, and this was considered in her preparation for going rogue on this apparent suicide mission. 

As Fey Wanderer finished its slingshot maneuver around the fifth planet in the Margaux system, Emilio B. paced behind his chair on the bridge. There was no drive activity anywhere near them, nor was there any signal activity, but that would be true if his ship was flying right into a trap just as it would be if the area was empty. They were committed to the run now, and would be in real trouble if detected at this stage. 

Their passenger and erstwhile employer Ayaka Rowlins had departed the bridge some time before, which suited Emilio just fine. With their current course, they would be in a prime position to launch her little ship toward planet Margaux in about ten standard hours. Most likely, she had gone to her quarters. After all, her odds of making planetfall would be vastly increased if she was well rested for the attempt. 

As the minutes ticked away and Wanderer’s passive sensors still showed no sign of enemy forces detecting the intruder, Emilio handed off command to Vargas and headed down to the wardroom to get something to eat. He’d been on the bridge nearly every waking moment since they’d committed to their course, and with no food-fab up there, he’d subsisted on nutrient shakes run up to him from the galley for the better part of two days. Some proper hot food would feel good, even if it was, deep down, just another preparation of the same nutrient slurry used to make the shakes. 

As he walked down the corridor to the wardroom, Emilio punched in an order to the food-fab at his destination for chili, one of his favorite items on the ship’s extensive food menu. The machine’s programmed recipe was intended to imitate the flavor profile of Tranquility-style homesteader chili, and though there were neither genuine ground diregoat nor mashed white T-beans in what the food-fab made, the program nailed the flavor of the dish’s key spices: cumin, flyerseed, paprika, and ice-belt pepper. 

The bowl of chili appeared in the machine’s receptacle just as Emilio entered the wardroom. The compartment was empty, of course; all of the senior officers were on duty or sleeping, and most of them were probably getting their meals the same way he had been, or hurrying through their meals to get from duty to sleep and vice versa faster. Being on a run through occupied territory put everyone on edge. 

Sitting down, Emilio had barely put the first spoonful to his mouth when the door opened, and Rowlins stepped in. She had changed from her shipboard fatigues into a skin-tight black flight-ops suit, and with most of the accessories most pilots attached to this suit still missing, this attire left very little to the onlooker’s imagination. 

Emilio waved Rowlins in without a word. That suit might have been a distraction if another young woman was wearing it, but he’d learned too much about her to be at all tempted to fantasize. Her body was corrupted by Incarnation science, and though she had repented of their ideology, no-one could undo the unpleasant things that had been done to her. 

“Captain, I just wanted to-” She looked down at his bowl. “Is this a bad time?” 

Emilio swallowed and shook his head. “No, not particularly. As long as you don’t mind me eating while you talk.” 

Rowlins nodded and sat down across the table. “I wanted to say goodbye, and to offer you a warning. It may be that there will be no time for it later.” 

Emilio nodded. “It has been good doing business with you, Miss Rowlins. But you know your credits are all the thanks we need.” 

Rowlins smiled. “Yes, how very mercenary of you.” She slid a cred-chit across the table. Emilio saw that it was one of the unmarked ones that you handed in to complete a pre-arranged transfer. “Then let this be my thanks. There’s a little extra on there. I won’t need credits where I’m going.” 

Emilio pocketed the chit, then took another bite. When Rowlins didn’t speak right away, he held up his hand. “And the warning?” 

Rowlins sat back in her chair. “At some point, someone’s going to try to figure out where I went. They’ll be good. Maybe the best.” She shrugged. “When they catch up to you, don’t bother to try to lie to them. I think it will go better for you if you tell them everything.” 

“And spend the rest of my life in a military prison?” Emilio scoffed. “We’ve got ways of throwing the authorities off our scent, don’t you worry.” 

Rowlins arched one eyebrow. “Do you think the Confederated government just lets Immortals roam the Reach freely after they promise to be good, and sends the regular constabulary after us if we start causing problems?” 

Emilio hesitated. “Well, no. I figured it would be Naval Intelligence. Maybe B.C.I. I've handled that sort of interference before.” 

Rowlins smiled. “You’ll be lucky if it’s just B.C.I. If it’s-” 

The lights dimmed and an alert klaxon began to blare. Without being prompted, the wardroom’s holo-projector woke up and showed the tactical data-plot, with several fresh red pips at its leading edge. 

Emilio stood up and tapped his earpiece to set it to the primary command channel. “Status report.” 

“Looks like a strike patrol, Captain.” Vargas sounded rattled. “They came out of nowhere.” 

“Have they seen us yet?” 

“Don’t think so. But they’re going to pass within spitting distance.” 

Emilio winced. Incarnation sensor suites were excellent. It would take a truly incompetent pilot to fly close to Fey Wanderer without seeing it, even running cold with stealth systems fully engaged. Changing course risked discovery right away, even if only using the low thrust of the ion engines. 

Rowlins stood up and tapped her forehead with two fingers. “I’ll be ready to launch in five minutes.” With that, she left the wardroom. 

Emilio sighed. It probably had come to that. Wanderer could deal with a few strike launches and make a break for the exits, but it would mean abandoning the run in toward Margaux. Rowlins, obviously, wasn’t going to let that dash her hopes; she would launch and try to make it the rest of the way in on her own, whatever the odds. 

“I’m on my way up.” Emilio took one last look at the meal he’d barely started, then tossed it in the recycler and headed for the bridge. If it came to a tangle with Incarnation forces, they were about to learn that Fey Wanderer was the worst kind of slippery customer. 

Details
  • You are here:  
  • Home
  • Beginning of Text Feed