Exiles

  * * * *

  The medical over Ford sat in his cabin toying with the empty glass on the table in front of him. He’d stowed his armour and hung up his cyber cloak, opting instead for a variation of the midnight blue uniform he'd worn on previous occasions. He'd adapted to function as a single piece suit with the integrated tunic front buckled over the chest. The shirt was gone, replaced by pale green piping around the cuffs and collar. Gold and silver rank insignia and ID flashes splashed across the shoulders. He was toying with the idea of using it as a new uniform to give the multi-species Themis crew the common identity they currently lacked. He’d had Alaster beef up the high tensile weave and added the ability to hermetically seal the suit, by deploying a hood similar to ones the Talmari used on their suits in an emergency.

  The medical had given him a clean bill of health, even if it had left some unanswered questions. There were no noticeable side effects from the transit through the wormhole into hyperspace and back again. Radiation exposure was minimal and well within acceptable limits. Only residual traces of the drugs remained and no lasting damage from their use was evident. However no one else had reported a similar experience to his own. All they remembered at best, was being buffeted and tossed around in a semi-conscious, drug induced, comatose state. Trapped in a dark, surreal void, before being spat back out again into normal space.

  Anna had postulated there were three possible explanations. That Ford’s genetic make-up had left him especially vulnerable to the psychotropic properties of the cocktail of drugs she’d used and it was simply a hallucination. Although there were no genetic markers in his medical profile to indicate this. It was an attribute of his role as Gaia’s guardian and organic interface, but given they had virtually no understanding of the technology behind this, or the tech she’d given them to facilitate the raid, it was mere speculation. He had indeed experienced a hither too unknown entity, lurking in the hostile alien dimension of the space between space. An entity, that under normal circumstances, they would be safely insulated from inside a ship’s hull. Against this had to be weighted the fact no one else had, had a similar experience. Perhaps he should ask Gaia and see what, if anything, she had in her databanks on this phenomena? Gaia had been her usual evasive self, explaining that she was unable to maintain her link with him during the transit. That his physiology was so alien to that of the Ancients, it was impossible to formulate a hypothesis on what he had actually experienced. He couldn’t help thinking on occasions like this that he, and indeed the whole human race, was still on probation and that there was a lot she was holding back.

  He replaced the glass on the table, picked up the bottle, refilled it, then another glass beside it and slid it across the table to Bryson, who was sitting opposite him. He’d just finished briefing him on the missing blade and nanogrenade and had allowed his thoughts to wander, while Bryson reviewed the compartmentalised data to which he had given him access.

  Bryson tossed the small tablet he’d been holding back onto the table and picked up the glass, examining its contents carefully. “We’re the only two who know about this?”

  Ford nodded.

  “Good, best to keep it that way. If this got out? I can think of quite a few charges some people would like add to your already lengthy rap sheet. At least we have a narrow band of suspects. All of whom were personally vetted by me, for the ships security detail I might add, must be losing my touch.” He took a gulp and replaced the glass on the table.

  Ford stared at his glass intently swilling its contents round the edges. “Don’t blame yourself, the whole universe is going to hell in a hand-cart right now. Frankly I’m amazed at how well most of the crew is holding up.”

  He flicked on the screen on the wall opposite him and Bryson swung his chair round to catch the latest Galaxic News updates. They were replaying the High Priestess broadcast to the people of Malshenko and the Malstrom core worlds.

  “People of Malshenko today is a historic day Malstrom is no more. All its core assets, planets and people have been assimilated into the Brethren. Its enemies, the Vesperon, Haldyne and Zodan Corporations, have been defeated and their battle fleets converted to the faith...”

  By a strange twist of fate the same team that had reported on Fords extradition hearing, Sarah and John, were covering the unfolding events. Sarah had been given exclusive access to the Malshenko home world and was awaiting an interview with the High Priestess and the Prophet. She appeared to be in what used to be the board room of the now defunct Malstrom Corporation. A stage had been erected at the far end of the room, with three chairs arranged around a low table, on which stood several carafes of water and fine crystal glasses. Banks of cameras and microphones fanned out around the stage. Meanwhile the holographic avatars of the former stakeholders, each representing one of the remaining Malstrom core worlds, sat obediently round the old boardroom table and waited. High ranking acolytes, who could afford to buy their way into the inner circle of the faith, milled around jostling for position. A roll call of rich, famous and infamous faces, waiting for the High Priestess and Prophet to make an appearance and give their highly anticipated interview.

  In lieu of an appearance, the camera cut back to John in the studio, for an update on all the latest developments around the universe. It was a grim bulletin. The speed of the collapse of the Vesperon, Haldyne and Zodan corporate empires, following the lost of their main battle fleets, was breath taking. Rebellions, civil unrest, riots and asset grabs by smaller corporations seizing the opportunity for greatness, plus rumours of more Anterian incursions into human space.

  “Bastards, they must have been planning this for years, putting their people into key positions, manipulating events, ready to take advantage of the chaos they created. They must have had one hell of an intelligence network to pull all this off, makes me look like and feel like an amateur.” Bryson picked up his glass and drained it slamming it back onto the table.

  The cameras had cut back to Malshenko. The crowd was parting, clearing a way for the Priestess, the Prophet, and their bodyguards. They strode purposefully through the room and took the stage, joined by Sarah. The bodyguards formed a semi-circle behind the stage, weapons at the ready, looking for signs of trouble beyond the mass of lights, cameras and microphones that formed an impenetrable barrier in front of it. Tracy lowered her purple robes hood and brushed her golden hair back from her face, smiling sweetly at Sarah as she crossed her legs. The robe falling away to reveal the smooth golden skin of her legs and thighs through the slits running up the side of her plain white dress. Anderson, the prophet, presented himself as a non-descript middle aged man of military bearing, in a plain grey suit over a simple white shirt. He sat back in his chair folding his hands in his lap and smiled at Sarah and the cameras. A simple black leather skull cap covered his head, sculpted round his ears and swooping down to cover the nape of his neck.

  “They're not manipulating events, they're controlling them.” said Ford coldly. “Or at least they think they are, with stolen Gaia tech. I’m betting they were responsible for the bloodbath at the Angel-1 research facility during the revolt and destroyed it to hide what they’d stolen.”

  Bryson raised an eyebrow. “Anything else you’d care to share with me?”

  “Apart from my secret orders from Ocoto? To do everything we can to help strengthen the federation, weaken its enemies, and a request to find his missing granddaughter. No, I think that about covers it.”

  Bryson picked up the bottle and refilled his glass, before turning his attention back to the screen. “So everyone’s got an agenda, even the good guys, some things never change.”

  Sarah had just finished the preliminary introductions and was getting to the meat of the interview. Asking a question about the unfolding chaos spreading across the crumbling empires of the defeated corporations.

  The High Priestess smiled and shook her head. “We share your concern for their suffering of course. Many will undoubtedly be judged and found wanting by t
hese events, as they unfold around us. But please, rest assured the faithful, those who believe in salvation, will be protected and rewarded for their faith, in the order that is to come from the chaos.”

  “And what do you say to those who say you should use the fleets you’ve recently acquired to intervene, to end the suffering, to impose order and bring relief to all, regardless of their faith?”

  Tongues of orange and red flame shot momentarily through her hair, before she regained her composure, smiling coldly at Sarah. “Those fleets now serve a higher purpose, known only to the prophet, but rest assured it is for the greater good of humankind.”

  Before Sarah could continue there was shouting and a commotion at the back of the room. Someone was pushing their way through the crowd milling around the front of the stage. Anderson, the prophet, stood up and calmly reached over the back of the sofa. Taking a rifle from one of the guards, he placed the stock against his shoulder and lined his eye up with the sight.

  Suddenly, an angry young man dressed in an acolytes robes, burst through the crowd. Knocking people over, pushing cameras, microphones and lights aside, he pointed a heavy automatic at the stage.

  “Greater good of humankind my ass!” he shouted. “You let the Anterian’s feast on my families flesh!”

  The High priestess grabbed Sarah, lifting her from her seat and throwing her to the floor.

  “I’ve been expecting you.” said Anderson as he squeezed the trigger.

  A single highly focused bolt of plasma hit the unknown assailant between the eyes, lifting him off his feet, fire spaying wildly from his gun, ripping through the seat Sarah had been sitting in moments before. As his body fell backwards into the crowd his arm spun upwards, gunfire shredding the ceiling, before the weapon clattered from his lifeless hands spinning across the floor.

  Anderson clicked the safety back on and passed the rifle back to the guard, resuming his seat as if nothing had happened. While the priestess helped Sarah back to her feet and poured her a glass of water, pressing it into her shaking hands.

  “As I was saying.” she continued calmly, ignoring the guards dragging the body away. “The prophet sees things no one else can. He must ensure that the necessary steps are taken to ensure we survive the test that is to come, but fear not Sarah, you have been judged and pasted the test. Now I’m afraid we must conclude this interview, for there is still much for us to do, if we are to save humankind.”

  Somehow Sarah pulled herself together and handed back to John in the studio. Who noted that there was already an significant uptick in people signing up to join the Brethren, following what they’d just witnessed.

  “Well that was one hell of a performance.”

  Ford nodded. “Never saw that one coming, unlike the prophet.”

  Bryson sighed and stared at the bottle was it half empty or half full? “Find the traitor, rescue the missing girl, eliminate Jasper, save the universe from a crazy cult, did I miss anything?”

  Ford smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “It’ll do for a start, but first we need to take care of Nova-7. Ensure we’ve put an end to the meat run once and for all, bring some sanity and stability to this small backwater of the universe.”

  Bryson picked-up the bottle and examined it carefully. “Just as I though half-full and I though the Brethren were crazy.”