Read Sol (The Silver Ships Book 5) Online
Authors: S. H. Jucha
“Maybe they don’t want to hurt us,” Morris whispered back. The captain’s scowl told her not to voice such absurd thoughts.
With most of the militia coming close to nodding off from the long wait, the heavy doors on both sides of the administrative space suddenly and silently slid open. The troops scrambled into defensive positions and held their collective breaths. Then, without fanfare, the militia watched an odd-looking collection of individuals stroll in with armed troopers backing them.
“Fire,” Major Lindling yelled.
Alex hit his people with an implant pulse designed to stall their movements for just a moment, to prevent his people from reacting. Even the twins received the pulse. Later, the crèche-mates would compare notes, discussing what they should do in the future if it happened again. The oddest question would come from Étienne, who would ask his brother, “How was it for you?”
As Alex expected, nothing happened — no stun darts were fired; no pellets flew their way. The militia continued to pull the triggers of their weapons several more times and even began checking for ammunition loads.
Incensed, Major Lindling yelled, “Attack!” He climbed over the barricade of office furniture, brandishing his rifle like a club, and Alain, released from Alex’s brief implant pulse, calmly shot the major with his stun gun. Unfortunately for Captain Yun, his training kicked in and he followed his superior. The captain now lay crumpled on the deck beside the major, felled by Étienne.
Tatia glanced at Alex, who stood with his hands clasped in front of him, waiting, and she chose to withhold further orders to her people.
The militia’s troopers, looking decidedly uncertain, turned to regard Lieutenant Morris, who was crouched behind some chairs.
“Lieutenant,” a sergeant whispered, “you’re senior.”
Lieutenant Morris stood, her legs visibly shaking, and eyed her senior officers lying comatose on the deck. Faced with the task of command, Patrice Morris chose to be guided by her own initiative. For the first time in her brief career, she had no immediate superior; she could act as she believed the militia should have always behaved. “Put down your weapons,” she said, but her order came out rather weakly. “Put down your weapons,” Patrice barked loudly when no one had obeyed. Weapons clattered on the deck in response.
Patrice Morris scanned the two groups of strangers standing in front of the militia’s barricade and picked out a large individual with clasped hands that one group was carefully arranged around. It was the two beautifully identical young men, flanking the large individual, who had dropped her superiors.
Lieutenant Morris placed her pellet rifle on the deck and awkwardly climbed over the barricade of chairs, walking as steadily as she could toward the large Haraken,
make that immense,
she amended, the closer she got to him. That a soft, lopsided smile formed on the face of the man she hoped was the president, caused her, for no reason that came to mind, to smile shyly in return.
Patrice stopped in front of the Haraken and extended her hand slowly. “I’m Lieutenant Morris, Sir. I would like to surrender the station to you, and I ask for clemency for my people.”
“As Haraken’s president, I accept your surrender, Lieutenant,” Alex replied, shaking her hand.
Lieutenant Morris glanced down at her hand, seeing it enfolded inside Alex’s considerable one, but she didn’t flinch; just stood looking at their hands for a moment.
Lieutenant Morris watched the president turn and beam at the incredibly attractive woman next to him. Patrice could sense the intense emotion shared in that moment between the two Harakens.
Would that someone would look at me like that someday,
Patrice thought.
“Well, Lieutenant Morris,” Alex said, snapping the young woman’s eyes back to him. “What do you think of your station?”
Lieutenant Morris was prepared to plead for the lives of her troopers. This certainly wasn’t a question she was expecting, and the president appeared to be waiting for a sincere answer, and she scrambled to provide him one. “Sergeants Hanford and Diaz, step forward,” she ordered firmly.
Two senior sergeants moved without hesitation, easily vaulting the barricade, and hurried to snap to attention before their lieutenant. But their eyes flicked from her to the president and the stun guns strapped to the legs of the twins, who returned their glances with calm determination.
“President Racine is inquiring into the status of our station,” Morris said. “Please update him on dock and bay usage, maintenance, and systems problems.”
Alex stood patiently while the two sergeants droned on for a while listing problem after problem, before he finally held up his hand. “Quite a mess you have on your hand, Lieutenant,” Alex said. “I suggest you get started.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. President,” Morris said.
“Sir,” Sergeant Diaz, the enlisted men’s senior noncom, said, saluting Alex, “we will be happy to get started on these projects immediately, and we appreciate your lenience with the troops.” When his lieutenant remained dumbfounded at what was transpiring, the sergeant scowled slightly at her and flicked his eyes at Alex, which finally galvanized Patrice.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. President. We’ll prioritize the work, but with our small number of troops, it will take many months, if not a year, to complete the entire list, and there is the question of adequate parts and supplies,” Morris said.
“Not to worry, Lieutenant,” Alex answered with a generous smile. “You’ll have a great deal of help as soon as I speak to the rebels.”
“The rebels, Sir?”
“Yes, Lieutenant, or don’t you believe they have a stake in the welfare of this station?” Alex asked.
“Yes, they do … but, President Racine, they don’t like us,” Morris replied. That her comment elicited smiles and a few snickers among the president’s people bothered her, but not as much as the prospect of facing the rebels.
“Then I suggest you be extra nice to them, Lieutenant. I won’t tolerate fighting. That’s a walk through an unconnected airlock. Am I understood?” Alex asked.
The man’s commanding tone galvanized Patrice Morris to jump to attention. “Yes, Mr. President,” she said. “One more question, Sir. Do you wish to collect our weapons?”
“Negative, Lieutenant, they’re inoperable,” Alex replied. “Now get this place cleaned up and your doors open on every deck. I want your section to look like an administration and aid location before today ends.”
When Alex turned away, his people flowed out of his way in a manner that indicated they knew he was going to turn, and they knew where one another stood.
Weird,
Morris thought. “Well, Sergeants, you heard the man. Jump to it,” Morris ordered.
Both sergeants gave Lieutenant Morris big grins and slapped each other on the shoulders as they began issuing their own orders. Patrice Morris leaned against an overturned shelving unit to brace her shaky legs. Nothing in her training had prepared her for this situation. Before the administration doors had swung open, she was sure she was dead. Now, she thought there was hope, at least for today.
Tomorrow’s another thing,
Patrice thought.
“You wanted the station, Mr. President, and now you have it.” Tatia said as they walked back down the main corridor, leaving the militia busy resetting the administration offices. “How long are we planning to stay?”
“At Idona?” Alex asked.
“At Sol?”
“How long would you be willing to stay, Admiral, if it continued to keep Haraken safe?” Alex asked in return.
“But, what’s the plan, Alex?” Tatia complained.
When Tatia reverted to using Alex’s first name, he recognized the symptoms of growing frustration on his admiral’s part and stopped to give Tatia his undivided attention.
“What do you see, Admiral?” Alex asked, waving his arms around him, indicating the entire station.
Knowing Alex and she were about to have one of their strategic-tactics conversations, for which they were famous, Tatia gave his question careful consideration. The station’s deterioration was evident, but that it had been allowed to reach this condition, considering it sat at a key system’s crossroad, according to the UE scientists, made no sense, economically speaking.
“I see a stalemate between enemies … a totalitarian government and a rebellious faction,” Tatia answered.
“Now, how has that condition affected Idona?” Alex asked, his eyes staring intently into Tatia’s.
“The station’s deteriorating conditions reflect a situation in which no side is in a position to win. It’s a stalemate to the detriment of both sides.”
“Precisely, as the SADEs would say,” Alex said, slapping Tatia on the shoulder, creating a resounding thwack. “I admit I didn’t see past our landing, but the station’s condition gave me an idea. We can’t win a war against the UE, but maybe … just maybe … we can win a peace with the people of Sol and force the Tribunal to the bargaining table.”
“Just how do you expect to make that happen?”
“The tribunes will succumb when we overpower them with prosperity,” Alex said, winking at her, walking off to catch up with Julien, whom he saw exiting from a side corridor.
Somehow, Alex had thought he had answered Tatia’s question, but, at the moment, she was fairly sure that either she hadn’t heard it correctly or hadn’t understood it.
Étienne and Alain hurried to keep pace with Alex. Having overheard Alex and Tatia’s conversation, Alain quipped privately to his crèche-mate.
* * *
When the UE explorer ship,
Reunion
, returned to Sol, exiting FTL and heading in system, a second mate on a docked freighter at Idona had passed a secret transmission to the rebels, and a buzz raced through the community. But a second message passed to the rebels that the
Reunion
was running silent, refusing all hails by ships and stations, was met with confusion and anxiety.
During the following days, news of the
Hand of Justice
was expected, but the battleship never appeared behind the explorer ship. Rumors from freighter captains and station shop owners were passed to the rebels that aliens were discovered in a far distant world and might have destroyed the UE battleship. Speculation ran rampant about the future of the UE, having disturbed a powerful enemy.
Over time, the rumors faded, except for one story that took root and persisted. It originated from Earth after the
Reunion
made orbit and the crew was transferred planetside, which gave it credence. It read, not aliens — humans.
To the rebels, this possibility was exciting. Humans out among the stars represented a hope, and the rebels discussed and argued as to what these humans might do and whom they might side with if they visited Sol. Questions without answers provided endless hours of debate. Would the UE send fleets back to the new humans’ worlds? Would the absence of the fleets offer an opportunity for them? Could this be the time to retaliate?
The truth of the matter was that the system’s remaining rebels held only pockets of resistance aboard stations or in underground colonies, and they were woefully weak after long decades of fighting, worn down by a war of attrition. Retaliation was a dying hope for them, a dream. The time had long passed for the rebels to defeat the UE with force.
The average Earther was a different creature, not outwardly rebellious against the government but harboring no love for the UE. Many had lost family members or friends to the UE’s harsh policies. They performed their daily jobs faithfully and kept their heads down. Some only thought contrary opinions about the UE, and others crept carefully across the restriction lines to deliver messages and supplies to rebel outposts.
As time wore on following the
Reunion
’s return, rebel excitement dampened, the stories becoming stale and repetitive — until a few days ago. A station restaurant owner passed a message to a tunnel rat, Edmas, to deliver to Nicolette “Nikki” Fowler, the leader of Idona Station’s rebels. Nikki’s grandfather was Idona Station’s last legitimate station director before he fled the outer ring to take up residence in the inner ring as the UE militia landed. The restaurateur’s message was brief but shattering: alien ships were spotted entering the system and were headed for Idona.
Nikki reread the message several times. She was a proponent of the argument that the distant humans might represent hope for the rebels.
Be careful what you wish for, Nikki,
she thought.
You might just get more than you want.
Finally, Nikki passed the message to her second, Vic Lambert, for him to distribute to the tunnel rats, who acted as the rebels’ message runners. The rebels hadn’t trusted the comms system since the day Nikki’s grandfather sealed the connecting doors leading to the outer ring and threatened the militia with the destruction of the station if they touched the doors.
* * *
Nikki and Vic were speaking to the aeroponics department head, who was pleading for more shipments of water and nutrients for the food banks, when the bulkhead speakers crackled to life. The rebels ducked into a crouch, searching for adversaries. In their minds, there was no other reason for the speakers’ activation than as a ruse by the militia to disguise their breach of the connecting doors.
Before Nikki could order her people into defensive positions, she heard, “Captains, militia, and personnel in and around Idona Station, I’m Alex Racine, president of Haraken.” She and the others listened intently to the message, fear and hope entwined in their thoughts. Then, when the president addressed them, cheering broke out so loudly that Vic had to scream for quiet to allow Nikki to hear the rest of the announcement.