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Over a century later...
KS Desiccator; Office of
Ser Ricaud
En route to planet Janus IV, ETA: 00:17
The "Tri-System"
The Issac System, Amaron Quadrant, Vidur Sector
MAY 05 2793/2793.125; 1815 Hours (CST)
The Kindred flagship Desiccator lurched out of jumpspace, its massive sublight engines kicking in as the pseudomotion of Jump Drive abruptly ceased. To most it was an unsightly monstrosity, resembling a brown-tinted octopus creature of ancient Earth, stretching out for some two thousand meters. On its bow were an assortment of what appeared to be the "tentacles" of the octopi-like ship, clearly put there to make the vessel into a weapon in itself, being able to destroy other capital ships simply by ramming and impaling them at little risk to itself.
Vell Ricaud II, CEO of the Kindred Corporation, took a personal liking to the appearance of his flagship. Though he himself had not had the gigantic vessel built—his insane brother Sar "Kronos" Ricaud had taken care of that—he thought it effectively illustrated just how serious his organization was. It was true, however, that he’d dedicated three years to moving the Kindred away from the criminal syndicate Sar had warped it into. That was after he had been put into cryogenic stasis for some twenty years upon his contraction of the potentially fatal AOD virus, and all the trials that followed in his life as a privateer. Even now he was busy deconstructing all of the Kindred’s more reckless "pirate" branches, most of which now operating separate from the central organization to avoid persecution by Vell. Perhaps he, too, shared his twin brother’s penchant for vessels that could truly inspire terror in whoever happened to glance its way.
It did not matter. The Kindred required a mobile base of operations, a flagship. Actually, the original Kindred flagship, the Dark Reaper, had been destroyed when he confronted his brother after recovering from the amnesia he’d come down with upon emerging from cryosleep. The whole vessel imploded with his brother’s corpse in it just moments before he was able to escape with the family medallion. Luckily enough, a few days later he’d discovered Sar had another such monstrosity, this one in the final stages of construction. It was a simple matter to have his people complete it.
Vell leaned forward in his transparisteel desk, turning away from the viewports. He felt a tender hand on his shoulder. Vell glanced behind him to see Melissa Banks, clad in her usual armor-like garment, though she had not bothered with the helmet this once. The fingers of her other hand played across her chrome-plated top. "Vell, you’ve been so busy lately," she softly spoke in his ear with her mysterious accented voice. "Is it not time for more... relaxing activities?"
A wry smile came across Vell’s face as he took Melissa’s hand in his own. "I take it you have something in mind...?"
"Oh, I can think of a few things." Melissa leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a light kiss on his cheek. Vell was about to do something himself when the intercom chimed. Melissa grunted, then sat in the chair in front of Vell’s desk.
"Oh, this better be good," Vell spoke into his desk comm panel, pressing and depressing the "talk" touchbutton.
"A Ser Hassan of the CIS has docked and is requesting to see you, Ser Ricaud," came the voice of the deck officer. "A Ser David Hassan."
Vell nearly jumped. David? He hadn’t seen the man since he’d helped Vell meet the Rhinehart fellow who had filled in the final few blanks in his memory, then they’d gone out to stop an ambush on the CIS Commander-In-Chief by the Kindred flagship and fleet—the conflict that had destroyed the first ship and led to the death of Sar "Kronos." Vell had always assumed David was still doing his thing on the planet Hades, brooding and interrogating unruly prisoners and such. "Send him in."
"David Hassan of the CIS?" Melissa stood, clearly taken aback by the sudden announcement of the incoming Central Intelligence Services visitor. Vell smirked, thinking to himself that Melissa probably had more than her own fair share of criminal involvements—more than enough to make her nervous of a visit by the one of the most dreaded authority figures the Tri-System had to offer. "I think I had better... ah... leave for the time being, Vell. You understand how I am about these... these military types." She started for the door to the hallway corridor. She stopped at the door for a moment, winking back at Vell. "I’ll keep in touch, flyboy, don’t worry."
"Don’t I know it." Vell watched her go, then leaned back and folded his arms. He spent the next few minutes running through all the possible reasons David would want to see him in his head. Catching up on old times? Not bloody likely. He wanted something from him, just like last time. David had needed him to infiltrate the Kindred back then, using Vell as a tool for his own personal vendetta. Not that the man hadn’t returned the favor—that was the fact that made the unknown conditions of this new visit that much more interesting.
"Been a long time, Lev Arris," chimed a familiar voice. Vell didn’t even hear him come in.
Vell sat for a long moment, studying David. He didn’t look any older, but he no longer wore his old, almost casual style of clothing. Instead he was donned head to toe in a Naval-like CIS dress uniform, complete with full decorative regalia. "Lev Arris," Vell spoke the name. His name, for a time. "That’s a name I haven’t been called since my—"
"Your amnesia incident, I know. Four years ago. The Canera. Sar." David pulled up the chair Melissa had been sitting in. "Your twin didn’t even want you to know your own name when you came out cryosleep so he had his boys have Jan Mitorr scribble some bullshit name on the tube. Sad story."
"The doctors that pulled me out didn’t know any better. I had no records in my tube, no ID of any kind. My file records... Sar had them erased, I’m sure. They told me my name was Lev Arris because, well, that’s what the tube said."
"I do remember reading a report back in those days. I remember reading about a break-in at the Medexport Company. The door was blown open and Jan Mitorr was found dead inside. I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that, did you?"
Vell gave him a stern, moderately balanced glance. "Don’t be ridiculous. I was a privateer, not a murderer."
"Am I suggesting you murdered him? Are you putting words in my mouth, Vell?"
Vell sighed. "So how are things going in the CIS these days, anyway?"
David cocked his head, nodding in a positive manner. "Smoothly, smoothly. With the Kindred under your leash all we’ve got to worry about are all those damned pirate clans. The Jincilla Clan, the Kiowan Clan, the Chirichan Clan, the Papagod Clan—you know, all those sons of bitches ambushing every honest planet trader they run into. After that incident with your brother three years ago, I was promoted to Commander-In-Chief of the CIS. But, hey, there’s really only so much that can be done." He made an inconspicuous gesture at the medals and insignias decorating his uniform.
Vell popped the cork on a bottle of Firekkan ale (AKA "Firekka’s Finest") he’d come into the possession of a year or so ago. It was supposed to be one hundred and forty years old, but he had no way of verifying it, as the bird-like Firekkans had no elaborate method of labeling. He poured a sizable amount into a glass, then hovered the bottle over a second one. "Care for a drink, David?"
David waved a hand forward. "Nah, never drink on duty."
"Have it your way." Vell began to lower the bottle, keeping his eyes on David as he did.
David grinned. "Aw, what the hell. Fill’er up, old friend."
"That’s what I thought." Vell laughed and obliged, handing the glass over the desk to David. After they each took a sip, Vell asked the obvious question: "You came here to discuss something...?"
"Yes, I suppose it is time to get down to business." David finished off his Firekkan ale and put the glass back down on the desk. "A certain situation has arisen for the Inner Worlds. A very precarious situation."
"Let me guess... those pesky Kilrathi are at it again?" Vell mused, scoffing under his breath. Those cat-like creatures had managed to be a pain in the ass for nearly two centuries, no matter how many devastating or crippling defeats they’d suffered. The fact of the matter was the Kilrathi were regarded as little more than a joke now, unable to even muster enough firepower to take out a Confed garbage scow if they gave it their best shot. They’d be lucky to even manage to cooperate with each other these days, all those little warring clans calling themselves the "Fourth Imperium," fighting amongst themselves all the time. In truth, their "Fourth Imperium" was, in fact, in its eleventh Imperial incarnation—twelfth, if one counted its stint as the ill-fated "Assembly of Clans" that eventually tore itself apart. He doubted if they even remembered what it was they were still so worried about fighting for.
"Very funny." David leaned closer, the look in his eyes a combination of grim truth and suppressed fear. "How familiar are you with the Steltek race encountered in the Gemini Sector early in the year 2669? It was an incident of public record."
Vell lifted his eyebrows and shrugged. "Sorry, David. Doesn’t ring a bell."
"Ought to keep up on your history, Vell. It gives a man perspective." David grunted, then began, "In 2654.080, one of the CIAI’s deep space probes turned up something interesting. An alien ship, seen entering a distant jump point, then vanishing. They codenamed the species ‘Double-Helix’ from the shape of the spacecraft seen, but no further sightings were recorded. Until, we think, 2669." David folded his arms. "In 2669 it seems a privateer fellow in the Gemini Sector came into the possession of a certain alien cannon that quite possibly belonged to this race. Real rough character, this guy. Some ex-merchant who started privateering on his granddaddy’s money."
Sounds like a man after my own heart, Vell thought, a thinly disguised smile on his face. "Go on."
"In installing the cannon on the privateer’s ship, he activated one of the alien race’s drone ships, programmed and built to destroy all traces of their existence in the Milky Way Galaxy after they’d migrated millennia ago to other regions of the universe. The privateer was able to destroy the drone with the help of the Confederation Space Navy, but not before making contact with a member of the race itself in apparently one of the same ships seen on 2654.080. This incident revealed the species’ name: Steltek, as well as the fact that they preceded this galaxy’s current inhabitants. Not much more is known about that event, except that the Steltek that had made contact with the privateer disappeared, presumably going back to its people.
"That’s when something really disturbing happened." David’s face went even more serious. "In 2680, it seems the Steltek attempted to place one of their kind into our ranks disguised as a human. A freelance pilot, Dan ‘StormRyder’ Sting, had this female Steltek agent as his wingman, and was later abducted on a mission and subjected to a memory wipe that didn’t quite work as well as the Steltek might have hoped. Evidence of this act of espionage proves that, even after abandoning it untold millennia ago, they have been keeping an eye on the Milky Way, particularly the Confederation. We even have a report of a man named Axel Sharpe, who was kidnapped by the Steltek after a bomb blast put him in a coma. He came back with eye-witness reports of the Steltek’s insurmountable technology in weapons, propulsion, and more."
"That’s great. Fucking wonderful. Beautiful. You going somewhere with this?"
"Oh, it gets better," Hassan assured his old friend. "In April of that year the planet Cynium, a planet in a system just beyond the Delta Prime System in Gemini with quite the stock hold of energy that had nearly every power in the galaxy trying to take it..."
"The Battle of Cynium."
"You’ve heard of it, good. Anyhow, Cynium was somehow destroyed by an unidentifiable capital ship. Reports of that incident are sketchy, but we believe that ship was Steltek, and they came to our space to again remove the last traces of their former occupancy before we could get our hands on it.
"Which brings us to the present. Deep space outposts are being knocked out tenfold near the Confed/Andorran border in the Avalon Sector. The Confederation Twenty-Second Fleet went in to investigate but was apparently entirely destroyed before it could even send out a distress call."
"Jesus..."
"Yeah, it doesn’t look good. The Confederation’s border is receding like you wouldn’t believe—and they don’t even know what’s taking them out yet!"
"But you suspect it’s this Steltek race...?" The thought of being on the bad side of an millennia-old species capable of crossing galaxies and destroying worlds didn’t settle well on Vell’s conscience.
"Having already ruled out the Nephilim Aliens of the 2680s invasion out, we just don’t have anything else to go on. Whatever it is that’s out there, it’s sure as hell no group of pirate ragtags!"
Vell finished his drink as well. It was potent stuff, that "Firekka’s Finest." "I don’t have to think too hard to figure out why the CIS Commander-in-Chief is consulting the leader of the Kindred while humanity is being threatened into another Intergalactic War." Vell gave David a clever smile. "You want my help. You want the Kindred’s help."
"You’re right, I do." David nodded dutifully. "I need it. Humanity needs it."
"Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I don’t live in the Inner Worlds, David. The Tri-System has its own problems—let the blue suits in the Confederation sort out theirs."
"Vell, I know damned well the Kindred has an entire fleet of warships at its disposal—at your disposal. I also know that ever since your fucked up brother turned your father’s company upside down, the family business hasn’t been exactly profitable for you. People don’t care if the Kindred’s got a new leader. They fear it, Vell. They fear you." David shook his head, making a tsk, tsk sound. "That’s not good for business, Vell."
"You underestimate my organization’s influence." Vell sighed tiredly, then added submissively, "But you do have a point."
"Come to the defense of humanity this once, Vell. If you can help stop this invasion, people will see the Kindred in a whole new light. One that is, I think, a little more profitable, don’t you think?"
"Yeah, put my ass on the line going after some alien strike force with who knows how much power at their disposal just to lower my name a couple slots on the people’s most wanted list? No thanks, David."
"I know you want everyone to believe you’re just some cold-hearted businessman. Some faceless schmuck who’s got no friends, no family, a snobby bastard who just sits around wondering how much money he’s going to rake in the next day or how he’s going to smooth over the next meeting with the Tanfen Corp or The Guild or whoever else you’re dealing with under the table." David’s eyes bore into Vell’s. "You don’t fool me, Vell. You can’t sit there and tell me you don’t give a damn that billions of lives—human lives—are going down the crapper. I see through your bullshit. It’s the right thing to do and you know it."
Vell stretched his arms in front of him, then leaned an arm against his desk. He glanced out the viewports once more, pausing to observe the star constellations and distant nebulae, losing himself in them for a moment.
He turned back to David. Looked him in the eye.
There was only one possible answer.
Bishop Space Station; Laboratory
08
In orbit over planet Gwynedd
The Gwynedd System, Isaac Quadrant, Enigma Sector
1932 Hours (CST)
"Look at his eyes! They’re fluttering!"
"We did it, people."
"Contact Space Marshal Albrecht. He’ll want to know right away that we were successful."
"Okay, everybody be quiet—he’s coming to. Remember the script, people, remember the script."
"Shhh..."
"Chris... Chris, can you hear me?"
Strange voices rattled through his head accompanied by a terrible wave of nausea that made it impossible for him to think. As if that wasn’t enough, his skin itched and burned, as if besieged by a colony of fire ants.
He opened his eyes, gazing around at his surroundings as they slowly came into focus. He saw two men in hospital uniforms and a woman with a medical instrument of some kind in her hand. Instinctively he shot upward, immediately finding himself being restrained at the waist by a belt that kept his entire lower body secured to the table he found he was laying blanketed upon.
What’s going on?
The woman, red-haired and dressed in a white bodysuit, took a cautious step forward. "Chris," she spoke, trying to sound calm. "My name is Pamela Darmin, I’m a doctor here on the Bishop, a station orbiting the planet Gwynedd. You’ve been in cryogenic stasis for some time. You’re almost certainly suffering from hibernation sickness—if you can’t remember who you are, don’t worry, your memory will return in time."
"You called me Chris..." he spoke. He held his hands in front of him and stared at them, regarding his fingers and palms with a puzzled gaze.
"Yes, your name is Christopher Blair. You were a decorated brigadier general in the Confederation Space Force, then a flight instructor, and finally a famous commodore in the Space Navy just before your, ah, retirement."
Chris Blair... yes, he knew that now. "I... I remember... I remember... the fuh-Formidable... Gilgamesh... Tiger’s Claw... the cuh... Concordia... Victory... Lexington... the Intrepid... the Midway... the... Star... Star... Star what?" he broke off. Chris looked at the doctors with an innocent, unknowing look. "What am I talking about? What are they?" He lunged forward, or rather tried to against his restraints. "You know, don't you?"
"If I’m not mistaken, you are naming the ships you served on during your military career in the Space Force and Navy, Chris. Do you remember your career?"
"My career?" Chris pulled his arms free of the blankets and rubbed his eyes. "I remember... Nephilim... probing my mind... making me see... I remember the Kilrathi. Jeannette... Angel... Angel... Thrakhath murdered Angel. Jazz... Jazz was the traitor. But Hobbes... Hobbes... no... he betrayed us all. Bugs? What bugs? Tolwyn... no... no!" he cried out, slamming a fist on the mattress.
Dr. Darmin laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It’s okay, Chris. Recovering memory is always a painful and traumatic experience, more so for some than others. Just take it one step at a time."
It didn’t make any difference. It was coming back like an unstoppable tsunami of a tidal wave into Chris’ mind. Names, faces, battles, enemies, lovers, friends. His mind was processing the flood of lost information one chain after the other with dizzying speed. "How long was I in cryosleep? Why?"
The three doctors exchanged glances. Worried glances. "We thought it would be best if we discuss this at a later time," a bearded doctor with a tag labeled "Etchinson, Dr. Harold" explained, "... once you’ve regained your full memory."
"Tell me, dammit!" Chris yelled out. "God damn you, I’m entitled to an explanation!"
"If you must insist, I will tell you." Dr. Darmin swallowed, tensing like she expected Chris to explode momentarily. "You..." She paused again, glancing back at the others as if looking for support. "You have been in cryogenic stasis for one hundred and two years, three months, and twelve days."
"What?!" Chris’ eyes widened with horror. He remained still on the bed for a long moment as he considered her words. "That’s not possible, dammit! That’s not... possible!"
Dr. Etchinson cleared his throat as he stood in for Dr. Darmin. "I’m afraid it is. On the year 2673, during the Black Lance incident instigated by a Geoffrey Tolwyn, you went to a planet named Telamon IV. Do you remember that, Chris?"
"Telamon... yes," Chris spoke before he even thought about it. It was all registering now. "I remember... no. Oh my God... all those people..."
"The Black Lance utilized a biogenic weapon against the planet, killing ninety-percent of the population," the third doctor spoke. He was a young man with short black hair bearing the tag "Kimle, Dr. Graham." "The weapon released microscopic nanobots that sought out and killed anyone who did not measure up to a predetermined set of physical standards, sparing the rest. Overweight people, people with poor eyesight, elderly people, sick people—they were wiped out by the nanobots. You came into contact with the nanobots when you went down to the planet and survived because you ‘measured up.’ But even when you left Telamon IV, you were still infected with the nanobots." Chris’ eyes widened as he went on, "Then on 2691, when you had retired from the service, you came down with a severe—but short-lived—case of Venusian measles. You were put in a hospital, where it immediately became clear that, in contracting the disease, you had inadvertently activated the nanobots still within your body. The medical technology of the time would have been unable to remove the nanobots in time to save your life, so you were put into cryogenic stasis until such a time when the technology to quickly and efficiently neutralize or remove them became available."
Blair furrowed his brow. In spite of everything, Tolwyn had enjoyed one last laugh from the grave, landed one a final blow to the man who had become his greatest nemesis. "Then the nanobots... they’re gone?"
"Not gone, no," Dr. Kimle went on. "We effectively disabled them by flooding your bloodstream with a neutralizing chemical agent recently discovered on the Spinward Rim planet Xeridia VI. They’re still there, but they’ll never do you any harm again."
"Dekker..." Blair rasped. He wasn’t sure why he’d spoken the name at first, but after he did, the chain of memories associated with it seemed to surface. "He was there with me... on the planet..."
"You refer to the Border Worlds Marine that escorted you to Telamon IV." Kimle looked as if he had been expecting him to ask about the guy. "Lieutenant Colonel John ‘Gash’ Dekker lived a full and normal life after leaving the Corps without incident from the nanobots he carried within him."
"What about my family?" he asked. It was the inevitable question he had feared to ask from the beginning. "Did I have a family?"
Again, the exchange of glances.
"You owe me an answer!"
"You were married," Dr. Darmin ceded, though with a showing of obvious reluctance. Reluctance, and something else he couldn’t read. "You had two children at the time you were put into stasis."
"Dead by now... all of them..."
"I’m terribly sorry. I know how difficult this must be for you, Chris, I just hop—"
"You don’t know the first damn thing about how difficult this is for me!" Chris suddenly leaned forward, grabbing and shaking violently at the belt over his waist. "Get these things off me!"
Dr. Darmin undid the belt and straps that secured Chris to the table, then pulled a set of folded clothes from beneath the table. "I’d advise you to put on these clothes before you go anywhere."
As he became unrestrained and threw the blankets off to stand up, Chris came to the realization that he was completely naked. Frantically, he snatched the set of clothes and covered himself. Chris thought he saw a smile on Dr. Darmin’s face, but couldn’t be sure. "I’ll give you some privacy now. But first, here." She extended a hand toward him with a small computer, a Personal Access Directory. "This will tell you everything about your past, your family, any surviving relatives you, ah, might have, and will bring you up to date on the last century."
After Chris accepted it, she headed out the door with the other doctors. "Let us know if you need anything further of us. You’ll need some time to... well, I’ll leave you now."
Chris said nothing as they closed the door behind them. Alone, he had only his despair and a handful of fragmented memories to keep him company as he scratched at his maddeningly itching flesh for several minutes. Solemnly, he then keyed the PAD on.
Bishop Space Station; Primary
Shuttlebay
2031 Hours (CST)
"Are you checking out now, Ser Blair?" inquired the front desk attendant, a perky young woman. Chris was marching toward the exit.
"You’re damned right I am," Blair bit back.
"Ah, are you sure that’s wise...?"
Blair stopped, his eyes narrowing to slits. His resolute gaze briefly met the attendant’s as he tersely replied, "Lady, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life."
"But you can’t ju—"
"I can. There’s a war being fought out there."
The attendant, a mild-mannered woman called "Toni" by her friends, offered no further argument as he headed for the line gathering at one of the nearest outbound passenger shuttles. The attendant had her strict orders from above, after all... "give protest, but let him leave."
Toni gave a quizzical shrug, not troubling herself with pondering what those orders entailed. Whatever the case, it seemed Blair had some destiny that awaited him... whether he knew it yet or not.