Tales from the Service: An Immortal’s Inquisition

2948-08-12 – Tales from the Service: An Immortal’s Inquisition

Berardo at length became aware of angry voices barking invective in his direction. The pain in his head, worse than any hangover, made it hard to concentrate on them, and his thoughts flitted gamely away each time he tried to give one any serious attention.

Cracking open his eyes proved a challenge nearly beyond him, and the reward for his effort, a stabbing blade of light eviscerating each retina, allowed no feeling of accomplishment. The blinding blue-white beam came from a spotlight pointed directly at his face, and the invective seemed to be coming from shadowy figures milling behind it. There were two voices, but Berardo was sure there were more figures.

The louder, gruff voice barked something that sounded vaguely dire, and Berardo this time matched it to a square-shouldered shadow to the left of the spotlight. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered why he hadn’t had his brain scooped out by some Incarnation nightmare-machine yet. The counterhuman invaders of the Coreward Frontier were not known for being patient interrogators.

The second voice countered with something equally sinister, but in a more measured and refined tone. Berardo suspected he was supposed to be listening, but even half-conscious and concussed he recognized the ancient good-cop and bad-cop interrogation routine. Why he merited this relatively light treatment from the Incarnation remained unclear.

The gruff bad-cop spoke again, and someone behind Berardo grabbed his hair and lifted up his head, exposing his neck enough that the edge of a blade could slide into place over it. Perhaps it was time to start paying attention to the words of his interrogators, before his good fortune ran out. Wincing, he focused hard on the refined good-cop voice.

“…need for anything like that. Surely this comrade will prove useful to us in the future, if his loyalty can withstand a trial such as this.”

“Useful?” The gruff voice laughed. “He’ll take his assignment and vanish into the deepest, darkest hole he can find as soon as he gets out of sight, even if he isn’t tainted.”

Trying not to gulp and thus come into more intimate contact with the blade, Berardo decided it was time to speak up for himself. “Wh-what do…” His voice was hoarse, and he realized he hadn’t had a drink since shortly after making planetfall, at least eight hours before his ill-fated encounter with the Immortal Katia. “What do you want?”

“You have had dealings with one called Katia.” The measured voice’s strained tone suggested they’d been over this while Berardo had been less than fully conscious. “Explain every detail.”

The knife slid away, and the hand gripping Berardo’s hair loosened its painful grip. He told them what he knew, taking time to make sure to include every detail from the moment Katia discovered him to the moment the sentry had bludgeoned him. It helped that none of these moments were incriminating – even the camouflaged ship in the gulley was not too far out of norm for Incarnation black ops. At every pause, he was terrified the men would ask him about his mission for their cause, but this seemed to interest them not at all.

When he had finished without being interrupted once, Berardo wondered why. The shadowy figures were still there, but they had remained silent throughout his account. He waited, certain they were about to ask the question that would blow his flimsy cover wide open and send him tumbling through the infinite Hells which passed for standard Incarnation intelligence gathering methods.

Eventually, as the silence lengthened, Berardo wondered if his interrogators had been listening at all. If they had what they wanted, why were they still there, and if they didn’t, why weren’t they continuing their irritating routine?

“I have another question.” This voice was new, soft, and somewhat less hostile. “Are you ready to leave?”

The man with his hand on Berardo’s scalp loosed his grip and stepped away suddenly. “It’s you!” The voice was that of the sentry who’d clobbered him, and so Berardo was not overly saddened by the sound of tearing flesh and gurgling as something tore out the Incarnation soldier’s throat.

Berardo couldn’t turn around enough to see the man crumple to the floor, but he could only guess one culprit for the killing. “Katia, I assume?”

Another shadow moved behind the spotlight, and suddenly the fixture shut off. Behind it, Berardo saw two figures slumped against purloined civilian office chairs, their throats cut from ear to ear and the implants in their temples smashed into tangles of flesh, wires, and metal shards. At least one more corpse lay on the floor in the shadowy space beyond the interrogators.

“You performed your duty admirably.” Katia lounged against the rear of the spotlight mounting, splatters of blood crisscrossing her tanned skin and vanishing into the crimson cloth of an Incarnation naval dress uniform she had picked up somewhere since shoving him toward the sentry. “We should leave before more inquisitors arrive.”

“Inquisitors?” Only after she had named his tormentors did he recognize their gold-and-sable uniforms. The Inquisitors were Naval Intelligence’s opposite number in the Incarnation, focusing mainly on counter-intelligence efforts. inquisiton operations were an enigma for the Confederated military, mainly because they were so successful. What was known about them came from the small number of officer defectors and prisoners of war.

Katia trotted across the room and sliced Berardo’s bonds with a few swift motions of the blood-streaked knife in her hand. He leapt up and backed away from her. “If they’re after you…”

Katia’s temple-implant flashed wildly from orange to red. “I have malfunctioned.” She twirled the knife, then tucked it into one sleeve. “Aberrance is not permitted.”

Berardo nodded. “I know.” He hurriedly searched the pockets of each body, grabbing a few data-packs and other assorted items. Incarnation personnel carried almost no physical items, so his entire haul fit in a single pocket. “Shame you smashed their implants. That’s where the good stuff was.”

Katia shrugged, entirely unperturbed by Berardo’s rather non-subservient looting. He realized she probably had never bought his cover, but had pretended to in order to get him to play along. It was a cynical approach, but it had proved successful. “You are still leaving the planet?”

“Hells yes.” Berardo straightened from his grisly work and straightened, wincing as the quick motion made his head swim. Luckily, Smitten Ginny had enough autopilot to get offworld in the next orbital coverage gap on its own; he was in no state to fly the ship manually. “Let’s go.”

Naval Intelligence learned a great deal from Berardo’s account when he returned from Adimari Valis, even before Katia’s debriefing. This aberrant Immortal is not the first such to defect to the Confederated side, but she is the first to do so without being captured in action first.

The Inquisition referred to in this account is a little-known organization, which Naval Intelligence cannot or will not provide us more background on at this time. A centralized, ideological state such as the Inquisition inevitably needs such secret internal police, though most likely their enforcement is handled digitally through the implants they almost all have been fitted with.

[D.L.C.: Apologies for the delay in this feed item. As many of you know, there was a stellar storm along the Hypercast relay network linking Maribel to Cosmic Background’s Planet at Centauri headquarters. Rather than pull up one of the canned Tales from the Inbox stories saved there in case of such disruptions, HQ decided to wait for the conclusion to Berardo’s story once Hypercast connectivity was restored.]

Details

Tales from the Service: An Immortal’s Whims

2948-08-04 – Tales from the Service: An Immortal’s Whims 

This week’s entry continues the story of Berardo Loncar which started last week with Tales from the Service: Behind Enemy Lines. Mr. Loncar’s adventure on an enemy-held world is the only window into the life on an occupied world that we have – with most of the civilian population evacuated, it seems strange that Adimari Valis is, in his telling, so heavily patrolled and garrisoned. Perhaps garrison duty is how the Incarnation uses its greenest troops, or perhaps there are more surviving gureillas than most Confederated estimates suggest. 

The Immortal jogged through the forest that covered the valley floor at a maddeningly fast rate, her precise footfalls mocking Berardo’s own stumbling, tripping, and crashing. Wherever she intended to take him, he knew he wasn’t going to make his intended launch window – and he didn’t want to until he could be certain to lift off without her aboard. 

After a few kilometers of travelling in beeline fashion through the wilderness, in flagrant disregard for the network of footpaths and roads Berardo knew crisscrossed the valley, the Immortal stopped suddenly, holding up a hand to suggest her charge do the same. Breathing heavily, he halted a few paces back and leaned against a tree. He wanted to know where he was being taken and what for, but he also knew that irritating an Immortal could be a fatal mistake, even for someone believed to be an ally. 

A rumble of engines overhead marked the passage of a squadron of Incarnation “Repine” ground-attack aircraft, their tailless delta-wing shapes seeming to skim just above tree level. They were flying northwest – almost on a line, Berardo estimated, between the numerous landing-fields of the spaceport and the hills around the Xenarch digs, where Confederated partisans were rumored to hide. He hoped the partisans – which in practice were probably little more than a gaggle of terrified civilians from the outlying settlements – were well hidden. 

Returning his attention to his surroundings, Berardo was surprised to find the Immortal pressing herself against the bole of a gnarled tree, eyes turned upward to follow the Repines as they vanished over the distant hills. It looked almost like she was more afraid of these air-breathing gunships than he was. Berardo shook his head. Immortals, though ostensibly human beings, were paragons of their masters’ counterhuman goals – while connected to the Incarnation’s datasphere, their implants kept their heads full of orthodox Incarnation dogma, and they were not permitted to remain outside datasphere range for long. Any appearance that this one might be a fugitive from her comrades, he decided, was just that – an appearance. 

“Not far now.” The Immortal waved Berardo onward and began moving forward once more at the same impossible pace. 

Staggering to catch up, Berardo decided to hazard a single question. “Where are we going?” 

“The town in this valley. It is called Halloway City.” She didn’t stop to answer, and her voice was just loud enough for him to hear. 

Berardo knew that, of course – he had met his opposite number at the outskirts of the humble “city” to collect the package his employer had paid so highly for him to retrieve. That time, he had paralleled the main road into town, and had thus approached from another direction. 

Thinking about the package, Berardo winced, remembering that the prize which made all the risk worthwhile now lay on the dorsal surface of Smitten Jenny, protected only by the camouflage netting over the little ship. He didn’t want to imagine what would happen if he lost it. 

When the outlying buildings loomed into view through the tops of the keyring-trees, Berardo’s guide halted once more. The buildings were of course all Confederated Worlds prefabricated affairs, and Berardo thought they looked like humble warehouses, but the Immortal seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time scanning their silhouettes. 

“You will proceed to that structure." She pointed to one of the outbuildings ahead. There is a sentry. Tell him that you have information from Katia.” 

“Katia, that is your name?” 

Berardo expected to regret the question, but the Immortal just nodded. “Correct.” 

“Do I get the information they’ll want?” He didn’t dare ask why she wasn’t doing it herself. 

“Just answer their questions.” This time, a touch of annoyance entered her voice, and Berardo knew he had exhausted her patience. He gave his best version of the Incarnation chest-thumping salute and sauntered off through the undergrowth, looking immediately for some way out of the errand without Katia noticing his disappearance. 

Unfortunately, he rounded a stand of thornferns to find himself in direct view of a sentry leaning idly against the rear door of the building he’d been sent to. The man took notice, but didn’t leap into a more alert stance, suggesting back-door visitors through the woods were not altogether unusual. 

As purposefully as he could, Berardo marched up to the sentry, offering another Incarnation salute. 

“This is a restricted area, Comrade.” The man observed. That was true, but laughably so; Berardo knew the entire valley, and indeed most of the surrounding arid uplands, were marked as a restricted area by Incarnation occupation forces. “Let me see your ident chip.” 

Berardo held out his arm, and the man scanned the chip, quickly glancing at the forged identity documents it provided. When the scrutiny began to drag on long enough for discomfort, he cleared his throat. “I have information from Katia. She-” 

“Katia?” The sentry glared daggers at Berardo, no longer looking at the scanner-screen. “How does a collaborator agent just in from Maribel know that name?” 

“She interrupted my small effort to help postpone extinction.” Berardo hated the Incarnaton platitudes, but he was able to echo them smoothly all the same. “I was of course happy to further aid-” 

“This should not be discussed here. Go inside.” The sentry unlocked the door and gestured for Berardo to enter the dim interior.  

With some misgivings, he stepped over the threshold. It was too late to run – he needed to see the mysterious errand through and then get away as best he was able. 

Berardo's misgivings, as it turned out, were entirely too warranted. By the time he heard the rattle of the sling-swivel on the sentry's laser carbine, it was too late. The weapon’s stock came down on the back of his head, and with a crashing wave of pain, Berardo lost consciousness. 

Details

Tales from the Service: Behind Enemy Lines

2948-07-28 – Tales from the Service: Behind Enemy Lines 

We haven’t seen much of Adimari Valis since it fell to Incarnation forces earlier this year, and for good reason – the world is not connected to the Confederated Hypercomm network and no Navy vessel has been able to approach within hailing distance of the surface. 

Mercenaries operating high-risk operations have however made limited contact with persons on the surface. From reports they managed to bring back, a large group of scientists, mercenaries, and civilian stragglers have holed up in the labyrinthine Xenarch digs for which the planet is well known, and the Incarnation seems to have little interest in rooting them out quickly. Other pockets of isolated resistance still exist as well, but the enemy is in complete control of all infrastructure and industry on the planet, and has pacified the (largely evacuated) spaceport city with its own. 

Berardo Loncar visited the world relatively recently – indeed, he is the last person of Confederated allegiance that Naval Intelligence will confirm has been to the occupied world. He got more than he bargained for in his brief stay there – still, he counts himself lucky, as he did make it out alive. In this first part of his account (of which more will follow as available) we see how all the preparation money can buy did not protect him from running into trouble. 

Berardo Loncar held his breath as the patrol passed less than ten meters from the stand of caddybush which he had been forced to use as cover. He didn’t dare peek out at them as their boots crunched into the pebbly soil between him and the ship he had grounded in a nearby gully, in case an Immortal happened to be among them. The rank and file masses of Incarnation ground forces were zealous and well organized, but the Incarnation’s elite super-soldiers had far sharper senses than any other human, and the reflexes to decapitate him with a laser carbine before he could get his own pistol out of its holster. 

Holding his breath, Berardo waited until the sounds of boots had faded into the distance before picking up the satchel at his feet and creeping out into the open. Adimari Valis was not a place he would have picked to land, but the number of zeroes his employers had tacked onto the credit value of the contract had changed his mind, at least temporarily. They had used a go-between to hire him, but Berardo knew his way around the Frontier well enough to guess who he was really working for. 

Darting across the open space and into the underbrush around the gully, Berardo gingerly set the bag down on the roof of his ship and began to peel back the adaptive camouflage nets. Smitten Ginny handled well and carried enough ECM systems to foil even notoriously good Incarnation sensors, but he still wished for the increased size, speed, and weaponry on his Whitefeather Keet, which was docked in a storage bay at Margaux. 

“Freeze.” A soft voice behind Berardo commanded, and he felt the cold smart-lens muzzle of a laser carbine press against his back. 

Doing exactly as commanded, Berardo counted his blessings that he had not been shot immediately. Apparently he had not waited long enough for the patrol to pass by. He carried an expensively forged Incarnation identity chip which should fool foot-soldiers and perhaps even Immortals, but he doubted it would stand up to detailed scrutiny if he were hauled back to the spaceport for processing. “Can I help you?” He tried to act bored and annoyed rather than terrified, as if being held up by brain-tweaked counterhuman radicals was just another part of his daily routine. 

“Stand up and turn aroun. Slowly.” The voice – he decided it was a woman’s, though hoarse as if from shouting and at the edge of breaking altogether – stayed quiet, as if his captor too was trying to avoid notice. 

Doing as he was told, Berardo found himself face to face with a lone Incarnation conscript, her temple implant flashing a frenzied pattern of reds, yellow, and oranges. Her pale gray uniform was threadbare and creased as if she had spent the night in the field, but her alert eyes showed no sign of fatigue.  

“Let me know when you want my ident chip.” He shrugged, as if he had all the time in the world. In reality, if he didn’t get Smitten Jinny off the ground in twenty minutes, the next gap in the orbital coverage network would not appear for two more days, but he couldn’t escape if he was shot or hauled back to base. 

“Ident... chip.” The woman briefly appeared crestfallen, then nodded to herself as if making a decision. Before Berardo could gesture to where he’d had the device temporarily implanted in his skin, the wind was knocked out of him by a savage blow to the chest; he found himself on the ground gasping before he had even processed the fact that she had moved at all. While most of his being focused on writhing in the dirt in agony, one distracted corner labeled his assailant an Immortal, and lowered his chances of surviving the encounter by at least half. 

“The errands they have local toadies like you running are of no concern.” The woman was kneeling beside Berardo’s shoulder now, and once more he hadn’t been conscious of her moving. “There is a matter of greater urgency.” 

Berardo, still gasping, did his best to nod. It was all he could do – the laser rifle pointed at his forehead indicated what would happen if he disagreed, even though that was perhaps the most pleasant mode of killing available to one of the Incarnation’s bionic soldiers. 

“Good.” The Immortal stood and looked around, then peered into the ravine, and Berardo noticed that his pistol’s handle stuck out of her utility belt. “Get up.” 

This order Berardo struggled to comply with, as he was still gasping for breath which would take some time to return fully. Still, he got to his knees and crawled forward. “Was about to... dust off.” His voice now seemed as ragged as his captor’s. 

“Not yet.” As she spoke, the woman began replacing the camouflage Berardo had started removing. “We go together, but we have to collect something first.” 

Berardo knew he couldn’t tell her about the launch window – waiting for a hole in the surveillance net would reveal that he was not acting with Incarnation permission. Swallowing hard, he nodded his agreement. He might still make it out of the situation alive, but he needed time to think of a way out of it first. 

As he staggered to his feet with the aid of a conebark sapling, Berardo saw the Immortal stalk off into the lush valley undergrowth, simultaneously managing to stride purposefully and creep silently, and to do it without any obvious effort. 

Catching himself before he muttered anything aloud within a stone’s throw of the sharp-eared cyborg, Berardo silently wished he had turned down the job despite the vast sum of credits on offer. Dealing with Immortals was not worth any level of wealth or fame. 

Just after she had vanished from sight ahead, the Immortal reappeared, scowling. “Can’t you go any faster?” She waved him forward. 

Berardo held up his hands and did his best to pick up the pace, despite the amount of noise he was making in the undergrowth. After all, if he was being led through enemy country by an Immortal, it probably didn’t matter much who heard him. 

Details

Tales from the Service: The Garden of the Grand Azure

2948-07-21 – Tales from the Service: The Garden of the Grand Azure 

Last week, we began the account of Leon Koch-Zyma, a Confederated Navy officer whose odd story seems to line up very closely with previous accounts from this feed (If you have not read Tales from the Service: Aboard the Grand Azure, I recommend you do so before reading this week’s entry). While I am personally convinced Leon came into contact with Gus, Blake, Faye, and Sapphire (convinced enough that I have used those pseudonyms rather than the probably-false names given by the mercenaries Leon encountered), there cannot be any proof of this, unless perhaps Junia (who you may recall made her exit from this group on Berkant years before the tale came to us) has any means to confirm. 

As the big, affable repair tech wandered off, Leon’s suspicions that Grand Azure’s crew was up to something were enhanced. “So I’ve met three of the four of you. I suppose we’ll run into the skipper in hydroponics?” 

Gus turned around suddenly, as if stung. “Why would you say that, Lieutenant?” 

“You… suggested it as the highlight of the ship.” 

“Ah, right. I did.” Hadley scratched his neck again. “Next deck down.” 

Even with the upsell Hadley had given him in the umbilical, Leon was surprised by the size and sophistication of the hydroponics garden aboard Grand Azure. The deck’s double-height overhead paneling allowed for a mix of nutrient vats for traditional hydroponics systems and towering, tree-like specimens which served no obvious purpose but decoration. The most prominent species seemed to be a cream-and-blue organism that looked much like a gigantic mushroom; the jewel-like blue pustules studding each mushroom-tree’s trunk setting a rather pleasing counterpoint to the greenery in the beds and vats below. “Impressive. What is it for?” 

“The trees are an exotic specimen we picked up in Allenden.” Gus patted one, and Leon noticed that he did so between the gemstone pustules. “Careful, the blue stuff is sticky.” 

“Yes, but what are they for?” Leon pressed, examining one of the sapphire blobs carefully. 

“We’re trying it as a nutrient source. These things put out this blue stuff like you wouldn’t believe. It’s an… acquired taste, but the, ah… chemical composition is pretty sound for human digestion once it’s processed right.” 

“Interesting.” Leon knew he had found his reason to strip-search Grand Azure. The mushroom-trees could for all he knew produce a dangerous drug or another substance prized by criminal syndicates. “We’ll have to verify that claim. With your skipper’s permission, I would like to-” 

“By all means, Lieutenant, take a sample with you.” Gus glanced at the nearest tree, then gestured to one of the smaller blue blisters. 

Leon frowned, then reached out to touch the substance with one gloved hand. It had a thin, brittle skin that gave easily under his finger, and as Hadley had promised, the gooey, viscous mass within felt sticky. A nauseating warmth also penetrated his glove. “Ugh.” He yanked his hand backwards, trailing a long streamer of slime. His fingers didn’t burn or tingle, which meant either it was inert, or his gloves had protected him. “It’s like syrup.” 

“Under some conditions, yes.” Gus Hadley turned to the vats of more traditional hydroponics produce. “Would you like to inspect these as well? I can get some containers from the mess.” 

“Ah, no, thank you.” Leon shook his hand in an attempt to free the last streamer of blue goo. A simple glance at the beds and vats suggested they were standard-issue with most of the usual plants found in shipboard hydroponics. “I’ll just sample the trees, Mr. Hadley. We’ll also need to perform a search to make sure you don’t have any contraband flora aboard.” 

The Azure representative held up his hands. “Lieutenant, there’s not so much as a desk plant in the rest of the ship. What you see is what we have aboard.” 

Once again, Leon got the sense the man was telling the truth in the most deceptive way possible. He’d never heard of any food-crop organisms native to the Allenden system, though perhaps only the size of the Grand Azure’s hydroponics compartment allowed the use of the species. The real question was, why would a high-end private-military frigate have such a vast hydroponics capability in the first place? “I’m sure it is, Mr. Hadley. But you understand, I need to prove that for the report.” 

Hadley looked uncomfortable, scratching his neck under his collar once again. His eyes darted distractedly between Leon and the mushroom-tree behind him. “Really isn’t worth the trouble. But if you’ll wait here, I’ll okay it with the... skipper.” 

“I’ll go with you, Mr. Hadley.” Leon insisted. “I would still like to meet the master of this fine vessel.” 

“The skipper is very particular, but I’ll pass your interest along.” With that, Hadley hurried toward the lift. 

Leon took two steps to follow, but thought better of it – he was being left in the suspiciously extensive hydroponics section unsupervised. As he wandered around, he keyed in an encrypted channel on his comm. “Prentiss, it’s Leon. Round up a team for a teardown search of the Azure.” 

“Will do. Something suspicious over there, Lieutenant?” Chief Technician Prentiss Liu replied immediately. 

“Several somethings. Meet me at the umbilical in ten minutes.” Leon cut the channel as he threaded between two precariously leaning mushroom-trees, careful to avoid brushing against the sticky blisters on their trunks. To his disappointment, the only thing beyond them was another row of the same blue-and-cream organisms. If they were part of some sort of war-profiteering scheme, the Azure crew had a lot of nerve to host them front and center – but if they were just an alternative source of nutrient biomass, it was possible what Gus Hadley and his associates were hiding was not contraband, at least not contraband of a type Chief Tech Liu’s team would be able to find. 

Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Leon turned, expecting to see Hadley threading his way through the stands of mushroom-trees. There was, however, no sign of the man. Leon edged back around the stand of trees between him and the lift - the doors remained closed. 

“Mr. Hadley?” Leon’s hand fell reflexively to his side-arm. He had never used the rail-pistol in anger before, but there was a first time for anything. If the Azure’s small crew tried anything- 

The sound of something wet plopping against the deck behind Leon cause him to whirl in place. One of the sapphire nodules had burst, and a glob of thick sap had fallen outside the lip of the root-bed vat below. He wondered if he had brushed against the fragile pustule himself. Despite its contents streaming out onto the metal plating in a quickening stream, the broken boil seemed to be growing in size almost as fast as the puddle on the deck. 

Fascinated, Leon watched the puddle grow deeper at least as fast as its tongue-like edges expanded outward toward his boots. The mushroom-tree goo moved like no other liquid he’d ever seen – it almost seemed to be alive in its own right, searching for him. Out of sheer, nauseating curiosity, he reached out the toe of one boot, wondering what would happen if he touched it. 

“Lieutenant Koch-Zyma, sir. I’ve been asked to recommend you return to Brightley at once!” 

At the sound of Chief Tech Liu’s voice, Leon jumped back, feeling inexplicably guilty of letting his curiosity get the better of him. He keyed in a reply on the same channel. “On my way, Prentiss. What’s going on?” 

“Don’t know, sir. We just went to general quarters over here and the bridge is working to get Grand Azure off our umbilical as soon as you’re back aboard.” 

“Damn.” Leon threaded his way toward the lift, changing comms channels as he went. “Mr. Hadley, where are you? I need to-” 

“Get back to your ship, of course Lieutenant. The skipper has given you priority access to the lifts.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Hadley.” Leon reached the pair of lift doors, and one of them opened in front of him. He didn’t even need to punch in a deck number – the system seemed to know where he was going. “What’s going on?” 

“Our sensor suite picked out a half-dozen Coronachs creeping in just outside of practical railgun range. Anyone’s guess where they came from.” 

Coronachs, of course, were dedicated strike launches – unlike the more well-rounded Confederated Magpies, they had no star drives of their own. The Incarnation’s swift, flashing sabers went nowhere its strong arm – the Tyrant heavy cruisers – did not take them. If Helena Brightley was caught in the open by one such ship, the added firepower of a single untested mercenary frigate would not do anything to save her. “I guess I’ll finish my inspection some other time, then.” 

The doors opened and Leon saw the hatch to the umbilical only a few paces ahead. As he jogged toward it, this too opened for him, to reveal Chief Technician Prentiss Liu waving him on. 

As Leon passed over the threshold, the twin hatches closed quickly, and the airlock between the two ships depressurized. Gus Hadley’s voice came back on just once before the two ships’ diverging courses took him out of shipboard comms range. “Looking forward to it, Lieutenant.” 

As the umbilical retracted, Leon Koch-Zyma watched through its armor-glass windows as the decorative form of Grand Azure peeled off and made a high-acceleration break for the edge of the system’s jump shadow. Somehow, he doubted the crew would allow him, or any other Confederated officer, another chance to plumb their secrets. 

Gus’s observation about the origin of the trees (which Leon describes in uncannily similar ways to how Junia describes Sapphire’s host flora in her own accounts) is here very interesting, because it lets me pin down Sapphire’s probable species. She is not, in fact, a member of some new and unrecognized species – she is very probably a Myxomyceti from the moon Lazul in the Allenden system. These creatures have a strange life-cycle and there is no scientific consensus on whether they are true sapients. Perhaps some, like Sapphire, are – and others are not. 

Grand Azure is currently contracted as a Confederated Navy auxiliary for patrol duties on the Frontier. It has not, despite Lieutenant Koch-Zyma's concerns, been implicated in any illicit activity. 

Details
  • You are here:  
  • Home