Shadows of Golstar (26 page)

Lieutenant Commander Zane aboard the
Righteous Fist
was bored and stifled yet another yawn. The initial excitement over the
mysterious escort duty soon waned into the boredom of the ship routine. They
had been on-station for over four ship cycles. The
Light Saber
, to which
they were to provide escort, had only arrived a cycle ago. Another,
unidentified ship rendezvoused and linked-up with the
Light
Saber
shortly thereafter.

Unfortunately, the unknown ship’s final approach and
docking were screened from the escort ships’ sensors. They had received a terse
message stating only that an expected visitor had docked with the
Light
Saber
. After some curiosity and interest from members of the crew, it
became apparent that no other information would be forthcoming. The ships’
captains were the only ones privy to that information and it was expected to
stay that way.

Secrecy was the standard procedure in the military and
Zane, for one, was weary of it and the other oppressive policies he had endured
while honorably serving his people. He thought he might leave the service when
his tour was up. He only had half a year left in his obligation. Perhaps it was
time to resume civilian life.

He shook himself mentally, trying to elevate his
alertness. After all, they were at defensive condition, Beta. All ship’s
scanners were pointed outward, carpeting the surrounding area of the rendezvous
point. As the duty officer for the ‘night’ shift, he constantly scanned the
ship’s activity array console. It monitored all the primary duty stations on
the ship’s bridge. As he gazed glassy-eyed at the board, a flashing message
indicator caught his eye.

He looked across the deck and saw the message alert
lamp lit over the master communications console. He quickly strode over to the
Communications officer sitting at the console. He wracked his brain, trying to
remember the ensign’s name. A number of new crewmen had recently rotated into
the ship’s roster and he was still trying to familiarize himself with the new
members of the crew; match the names to the faces. He took a little solace that
the
Fist’s
sister ship, the
Light Avenger
, had experienced a
similar crew change.

Zane gave up trying to remember the crewman’s name and
leaned over the ensign’s shoulder and asked. “Ensign, I saw that we just
received a new message. What is its classification?” He fervently hoped for
something that would pull him out of his boredom, like new orders or even a
recall, anything but this dull station keeping.

The sandy haired communications officer looked up and
seemed mildly surprised by a visit from his duty officer. He looked at the lamp
above his head and verified it hadn’t erroneously flashed amber, indicating
‘Priority.’ He confirmed that it was solid white, indicating that it was just
one more routine message. “It cleared crypto sir, here it is.” He touched an
illuminated square on the console and a flimsy slid into a tray. He looked at a
small status screen on the console. “It is coded as a test/calibrate message,
sir.”

Zane picked up the flimsy and saw that it was indeed a
test. He sighed in disappointment. Just more routine, he thought. He looked at
it anyway. The message’s classification was labeled ‘TEST’ across the header and
calibration symbols filled a column to the right of the test message. The test
message itself was a quotation from the Book of Light. He read, ‘The Light
shall prevail in spite of all attempts to dowse it with the dark waters of sin
and chaos. The sacrifice of a few to save many may be necessary to preserve the
Way. Those who do not shirk from this most difficult duty will be bathed by the
Light.’ He didn’t bother to read the remaining lines. Another zealot, he
thought of the sender on Berralton. He gave the flimsy back to the ensign and
said, “Carry on.” He slowly walked over to his station.

The ensign watched the retreating back of the
lieutenant commander. Another bored slacker, he thought. Soon, the lieutenant
commander wouldn’t be bothered by boredom. Soon, he wouldn’t be bothered by
anything ever again. The ensign smoothed the ‘test’ message, straightening out
imaginary wrinkles. It would be valuable someday, he thought. The colonel sent
the message with the code-phrase. It was the go-ahead for the mutiny. This
simple message would change history and he would play an important part.
Instead of slipping the flimsy into the discard slot, he put the message in his
personal abeyance file. He would retrieve it later.

It is now time to get down to business, he thought. He
knew his counterpart on the
Light Avenger
would have received an
identical message. He and his counterpart would contact the rest of the
mutineers on each ship. They had little more than an hour until the attack
would begin. The attack had to be precisely coordinated and started at exactly
the same time on both ships. He thought it was unfortunate that none of their
people were on the
Light Saber
. However, he understood it had been too
dangerous to attempt any change in personnel assigned to the Grand Patriarch’s
own ship.

It was finally time to begin. First, he needed to get
off the bridge. He absently reached into his shirt pocket and palmed the small
capsule containing a harmless mixture of chemicals that would simulate the
onset of food poisoning. He reached up and rubbed his chin, then moving to his
mouth, slipped the capsule between his lips. Once he was excused from his
communications duty for a trip to sickbay, he would take the antidote. He could
then begin contacting the others. He waited in quiet expectation and was
pleased when he felt the first chill as the capsule’s contents began to take
effect. He could imagine his face was beginning to pale.

Two members of his group were currently at their posts
on the bridge. His sudden sickness would be their signal the operation would
begin at the end of the next full hour. It would be very soon. As he began to
feel worse, he was glad it was now finally starting. The lieutenant commander
wasn’t the only one who was bored.

Owens waited to be called back by the Keeper of the
Way. It had been over an hour since he had entered the room. At first, he paced
back and forth, still trying to figure a way out his predicament. As he was
pacing, it dawned on him his room might be under surveillance. He stopped and
sat in an overstuffed chair, hoping he would be viewed as being contemplative
rather than anxious. He sat stoically as his mind continued its search for a
solution to his problem. Finally, he admitted to himself, there was nothing
that he could do to repair the damage.

He then stood up and walked over to a round, carved
wooden table. A silver tea service rested on its surface. Reaching down, he
picked up the sugar bowl and idly turned it in his hands as he silently cursed
the man responsible for him being here, Neven the blackmailer, Neven the
consummate bureaucrat. What he wouldn’t give right then to place his hands
around that scrawny neck and squeeze. He was startled by a sound of grinding
metal. He looked down at his clenched hands and saw that the sugar bowl was now
a twisted mass, the sugar pooling between his boots. He hastily put it back on
the silver tray. The small misshapen lump of metal looked out of place with the
remaining pieces and he hoped that it wasn’t some sort of family heirloom. Just
one more thing to piss off the Keeper of the Way, he thought darkly.

This brought back to mind her recent behavior. Her
initial reaction to his alleged violation seemed totally out of proportion to
the infraction. At the time, she actually seemed on the verge of losing
control. Even when he explained the nature of the harness, she remained quite
angry, as if she hadn’t really listened to his words.

He hadn’t expected that. He had assumed that Golstar
would have sent a high-level diplomat. She didn’t seem to fit the profile. The
Keeper of the Way didn’t exhibit any of the diplomatic mannerisms he had
experienced while back on Denbus. Then again, he thought, maybe arrogance and
haughtiness were Golstar’s version of diplomacy. Perhaps it was just her age,
he mused; she did seem awfully young to hold such an important-sounding title.
He shrugged and put those thoughts aside for future consideration.

But, to be honest, he had to admit her reaction would
not have occurred at all had he not been responsible for the oversight in the
first place. Instead, he might still be engaged in polite conversation with the
ravishing Keeper of the Way. Well at least, he reasoned, he had been earnest in
both his admission and apology.

Of course on the bright side, he thought with a flash
of dark humor, with her superior attitude there was always the chance the
Keeper would allow for him as being a complete idiot and accept his apology out
of pure sympathy for the mentally impaired. He snorted, yeah, and maybe with
their advanced technology, they could implant some intelligence in his brain.
He shook his head in self-disgust and imagined the reaction of his government
on learning that their representative had managed to royally piss off a
high-ranking Golstar official within mere minutes of boarding the vessel.

Right then he wished he could talk to Hec. Not that he
thought that Hec would offer anything useful, but he would provide a
much-needed sounding board, at least once he stopped laughing. In his mind’s
ear could hear Hec say, ‘…and they want you to follow clues? Excuse me Boss but
it seems to me that you can’t even follow simple directions.’ Imagining the
crusty AI’s reaction, Owens couldn’t help but grin.

His humor quickly faded and his thoughts returned to
the gravity of the situation. His regret was gradually giving way to
indignation. The sole reason that he was here was because of
their
damned invitation. They wanted a private investigator, and had asked for him,
specifically. And goddamn it, that’s what he was, a private investigator, not a
diplomat. If they had a case that needed investigation, fine, just give him the
damn problem and he would try to solve it. If the rulers of Golstar had issues
with his minor transgression, then either shoot him or send him back. Screw
diplomacy, he thought.

With these thoughts, he actually felt better and the
tenseness in his shoulders began to ease. As he became a little more relaxed,
his thoughts returned to the Keeper of the Way. Her admonishment faded into the
background as a grudging appreciation of her obvious female attributes began to
crowd out his previous reflections. It had been a very long time since he had
held a woman of her stature in his arms and he idly wondered what it would be
like to kiss those inviting lips, provided of course there was an antidote to
the venom that spewed from them. He did have to admit she was definitely a
beautiful woman; at least from the brief external view he was afforded.
However, as he continued to think of her, he remembered the modest cut of her
clothing and without willing it; his natural analytical mind began to take
over.

Her clothing was conservative, only her face and hands
exposed. It more or less matched the attire he had been ordered to wear. This
triggered a new thought. His eyes tracked around the room and he again noted
the marked Victorian style of the furnishings. In fact, he thought, everything
that he had seen of the ship so far had left him with an impression of ancient
Victorian England.

He again considered the Keeper’s clothing with the
high neckline and low hem touching the floor. He looked down at his own modest
apparel and thought even the Guard’s uniform had a distinct Victorian cut to
it. He wondered if it could be that obvious, that simple, that the Victorian
age of old Earth had a marked influence on Golstar’s culture.

How very odd, he thought, that he would be familiar
with that ancient period in Earth’s history. While no scholar on the subject,
he knew the Victorian period was named for, and corresponded to the reign of a
Queen named Victoria. She ruled a country called England from 1839 to 1901, old
Earth reckoning. He remembered that the country’s social foundation was greatly
influenced by the Queen and her husband, Prince Albert. The Victorian era
exemplified what was then considered as high morals, modesty, and proper
decorum.

He knew this because out of curiosity, he had
researched one of his favorite authors, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who was born
back in the late 1850s during the Victorian era. Doyle’s first story featuring
the great mythical private detective, Sherlock Holmes, his ship’s namesake, was
titled ‘A Study in Scarlet’ and was published in the latter period of Queen
Victoria’s reign. He had considered naming the ship ‘Scarlet,’ but decided that
he didn’t want it confused with a great, ancient literary character of the same
name.

As he began to speculate on how much influence the
historical era might have had on Golstar society, a soft chime coming from the
vicinity of the door interrupted his thoughts. The chime sounded twice more at
discrete intervals, then the door to his quarters opened and the same guard was
waiting out in the corridor.

The guard, taciturn as ever, simply said that the
Keeper of the Way was ready to receive him again and then turned and started
down the corridor without another word. Owens rose from the bed and rushed to
follow him, almost running into his back. He had forgotten that he was not
wearing his harness. Without it, he would have to be very careful. His reflexes
were attuned to higher gravity. He had to remember to compensate and slow his
reactions. He reduced his bouncing gate to a more controlled shuffle.

The guard had not noticed his difficulty and continued
to lead Owens back down the long corridor. Owens was careful to pay better
attention on the way to the Keeper so that if he had to, he could find his way
back to his quarters on his own.

It struck him as odd that they had encountered no crew
on the way to his quarters. On this return trip, the corridors were just as
deserted. It was strange to him that on a ship this size he had met only two
people, the Keeper and the guard. Perhaps they had screened off this section of
the ship to keep him isolated from the crew. In his preoccupation with the
empty corridors, Owens almost collided with the guard again who had finally
stopped in front of a door. The guard tapped the pressure plate and the door
opened into the same room in which Owens had originally met with the Keeper of
the Way.

He entered the room and the door slid closed behind
him. He saw her sitting at a small table he had not noticed during his initial
meeting. He stood just inside the threshold, waiting. She put down what looked
to be a document reader and said in a neutral voice, “Janus Owens, please take
a seat.” She gestured to the chair across from her. He searched her face and
saw nothing in her demeanor that would indicate her state of mind. Carefully,
he walked to the chair she had indicated.

She watched him intently as he walked over. She could
see he was trying to compensate for the light gravity, but he could not
disguise the power in his stride. He moved like some powerful animal whose
strength was barely held in check. She not could help but visualize him as some
wild beast, trained but not tamed, waiting for the chance overpower his master.
In this situation she was the master. An involuntary shiver went through her as
she thought of the implications. He reached the table, looked at the chair and
sat down gingerly. The chair groaned in protest.

 She said, careful to maintain the neutral tone
in her voice, “First, I believe you will want this back.” She turned and
gestured to a chair just behind her. The gravity harness was lying across its seat.
“Do you wish to put it on now?”

Owens was a bit surprised. He matched the neutrality
in her voice. “No, no thank you. I appreciate its return, but I can manage
without it for now. I’ll put it on when I return to my quarters.”

She was a little startled when she felt an unexpected
stab of disappointment that he would not don it there. From where were these
thoughts coming? She found herself beginning to blush and she fought to
reassert her control. Hoping that the outsider had not noticed her momentary
distress, she began. “Janus Owens, after some thought, I believe you can be
forgiven your oversight.”

Owens was careful not to show any reaction. It’s an
oversight now, is it?

Now for my lie, she thought. “Though you did violate
one of our conditions, I have come to believe it was, as you indicated,
unintentional. My reaction could have been more tempered. You understand the
ship
had
detected your electronic harness from the moment you boarded.
You were fortunate to have not been vaporized on the spot. It was only by the
cautious restraint of the captain, the standard response was not immediately
taken.” She paused, looking at his unfamiliar face, trying to read his reaction
to her words and acceptance of her story. His face held an expression only of
mild interest. She could not yet tell if he believed her.

She continued. “The captain delayed in contacting me
while the crew readied their weapons and prepared to jettison your ship and
destroy it. They planned to detain you for a formal ship’s execution. The
captains of Golstar ships are the highest authority on-board and answer to no
one where the ship and crew’s safety are concerned. They are expected to make
life-and-death decisions immediately and without interference. Your every step
was monitored and the captain evaluated you as a potential threat to the ship.”
She waited for a response.

Owens nodded and said, “I understand Confederated
Planets has a similar policy in their navy.” Thinking to himself, Owens
questioned not the authority but the automatic reaction of this
‘shoot-first-ask-questions-later’ captain. Surely, they could tell by their
sensor readings the true nature of his harness. The vest was not that
sophisticated. How could they conclude he was a threat? He wondered; had he
really been that close to death?

Sharné continued, “The captain only called as a
courtesy to notify me of her decision. I worked to convince her to delay
further while she verified with officials back on Berralton that my authority
exceeded hers in this one instance. It was a tense few minutes while the proper
authority was contacted. I must say that while you were sitting here earlier,
the future of your life and ship were in jeopardy.”

She looked at him pointedly, “I am responsible for
your safety, and I make the admission that I was most troubled to hear you
brought aboard a piece of contraband forbidden by the conditions. Although I
was successful in convincing the captain no harm was intended, I was forced to
confirm their findings with you as to the nature of the device. It all happened
rapidly and by the time I confronted you, I was…” she paused. “…somewhat
agitated. I
was
pleased you were forthright in admitting your error and
confirming the data the ship had already scanned from your device.”

“You were put in that situation because of my
thoughtlessness,” Owens said. “Again, I apologize for causing such, ah…
distress aboard your ship and I ask you to accept my sincere thanks for your
intervention on my behalf. Please convey my apologies to the ship’s captain and
thank her on my behalf for her restraint.”

He said this while he was thinking her explanation
didn’t quite ring true. The inconsistency in her statements did not go
unnoticed by Owens. If they had truly confirmed the nature of the device, why
had they still designated him as a threat? Something didn’t jibe with her
explanation. In any event, he thought, the denizens of Golstar surely brought
new meaning to the term ‘paranoia.’