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“ALL STATIONS, WE’VE arrived in Auriga Bonfanti. Perform post-fold checks and report issues. Command out.” Saree pushed the comms off and started her post-fold checks. Navigation appeared perfect. She frowned. Surprisingly perfect. If this was a dark system, how did they fold in right on target? Most dark stations had terrible frequency standard maintenance because they didn’t have Time Guild clocks and they couldn’t afford to fold message pods continually. Saree pushed the question away. They had a job to do and it wasn’t to investigate the clock. Not now.
Surveillance was clear, or at least the initial sweep appeared clear. There were probably hazards and enemies there, but cloaked or otherwise disguised. Saree had no doubt they’d find trouble, hopefully before it found them. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ruhger sweeping through the same surveillance views.
“Stowing fold generators, two minutes to thrust,” Chief said.
A message popped in from the station. Docking fees, air fees, fuel costs—all outrageous as expected. Transit orbits specified to the fold hold point and for shuttles to the station were slow and fuel-consuming; expedited orbits cost more. Saree had to admire their technique even if it was a ‘rad-blasted if you do, black hole if you don’t’ situation. Either way, Bonfanti pulled in a lot of credits. She transferred the fees for Lightwave to Fold Hold point Bravo Three. Slow was better for them; they needed all the time they could get to gather intelligence.
Rules and regulations were... interesting. Saree copied them to the crew files and to the passenger notifications before reading them. Obey all Bonfanti Station instructions or get blasted, no warnings. On station, Bonfanti beings were sacrosanct, even if they were stealing from you—and they would. Whatever you did to a Bonfanti would be done to you, but doubled. Protection from Bonfantis and others was available for hire, but those up for hire were already on someone’s payroll and would double-cross you. Weapons were allowed, but nothing that penetrated station bulkheads, so no laser rifles and definitely no projectile weapons. Low-power laser pistols, stunners, knives, blunt instruments and other primitive hunting tools seemed to be favored. Chief might get to use his axe after all. Carefully. Which, if Saree understood Chief’s berserker rages, was unlikely.
There was no obvious way to tell who was a native Bonfanti either. Katryn could run facial recognition, but not in real time. And despite it being a relatively small station, there were still thousands of beings. Did they carry identification of any kind? There had to be something allowing them to access private areas of Bonfanti Station, perhaps something tied into their e-torcs.
Ruhger said, “Listen up, people. We’ve got—” he glanced at her transfer orbit specifications “—fifty-five hours to gather intel on Bonfanti, Phalanx Eagle, and Wreck. After we arrive at Fold Hold orbit Bravo, we’ll decide who is going to the station and how we’re getting there. Those of you in intel and net, you’ve got your assignments from Lightwave Security. Those of you who want to participate in person for the station mission, meet in Cargo Bay One in two hours. We’ll work on small team travel, defense and offensive tactics, Chief Bhoher in command. Pilots, meet in the command center in two hours; we’ll plan mutually supporting orbits for the transfer to the station. We’ll also plan escape orbits and fly close-formation sims. You’ll be working for me. Everyone else, meet in the chow hall with Grant Lowe after lunch. You’ll be mapping station travel and escape routes, including emergency pickups outside the station, and planning communications with station factions. Lunch will be served in thirty mikes. Dinner will be as scheduled, preliminary intelligence briefing after dinner. All shuttles, all stations, remain ready for action at any time; we are in enemy territory. Send relevant questions to me or your team leader. Ruhger out.” He gripped the armrests of his chair tightly, then slowly released his fingers, stretching them wide, and relaxed back into the seat.
Ruhger might look relaxed to most, but Saree could see the underlying tension. “Don’t worry about Lightwave; I’ve got her,” she said.
“Thanks. I am worried. About Lightwave, about all these extra beings onboard, about not having enough extra beings onboard, about the mission and...” Ruhger trailed off.
“Everything?”
He huffed. “Yes. Everything.”
Saree shrugged. “Understandable. We should be worried. There’s a lot of potential for everything to go wrong and for double, triple and quadruple crosses. We have no way to know if all the beings onboard are truly on our side or not.”
“Ruhger,” Grant called out from his position, sprawled on the couches in the corner of the command center, “I’m going to need Loreli for this.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Grant said. “The latest Bonfanti craze is dressing in elaborate costumes. The station looks like one huge party, like an Old Earth Carnival. Visitors stand out because they’re dressed in merc-wear. Not only do the Bonfantis dress up, but the costumes seem to segregate factions using color and theme and the themes change. I need Loreli to help me design something neutral that we can easily adjust to color-match a faction, then switch back.”
“Copy that. I’ll talk to Loreli, tell her she’ll have to turn over meals to one of the other cooks.”
“She’s not going to like it,” Grant warned.
Ruhger glanced at Saree, a tinge of amusement in the raise of his thick brows. “Oh, I know that. Still, the mission comes first, and this will be a challenge. She can cook in her sleep.”
Saree chuckled. “Don’t tell her that. She’ll be terribly offended. Loreli doesn’t just cook, she creates, dahrling!”
“Nice imitation,” Grant said.
“Thank you, dahrling!”
“Nope, you lost it that time.” Grant went back to his holo, sweeping through.
Too bad Hal wasn’t here; he’d do some pattern-matching, and come up with the color combinations they needed in a few minutes.
“Fold generators stowed, thrusters ready,” Chief said.
Saree brought up ship-wide comms. “All stations, initiating thrust for Fold Hold orbit Bravo Three in five, four, three, two, execute.” She pressed the go-button on the orbit she’d programmed in and watched the thruster status. Everything firing normally, no issues.
“Thrusters operating nominally,” Chief said.
“Copy that. I’ve got it if you want to get lunch, Chief.”
“Copy. I should; I’m the one who knows all these beings.” Reluctance coated his tone.
“You’re the driving force, Chief,” Ruhger said. “It’s up to you to make all the motivational speeches about working together for the common good, smoothing over the conflicts.”
Saree heard the thwack of wrench on palm in the background.
“Yeah, I know,” Chief said. “I got it. You’ve got Lightwave, Pilot Saraa.”
“I’ve got Lightwave. Pilot out.” Saree turned to Ruhger. “That goes for you, too. A lot of these people are here because of you.”
Ruhger’s full lips compressed. “Or my parents. Don’t worry, I’ll play my role as Captain to the hilt. Between Chief taking a subordinate role and all these individualists, many of whom watched me grow up, I’ll be extremely clear and commanding.” He turned toward her and smiled his tiny smile. “So don’t get offended when I bark at you.”
“Not to worry, Captain.” She made a deep, seated bow. “Pilot Saraa lives to serve.”
Ruhger snort-chuckled. “Right.” He sobered and spoke quietly, checking to make sure his comms were off. “You noticed the clock?” It wasn’t really a question.
“Yes. I’m not sure we can afford to investigate.”
“We can’t. Not right now. But think about the possibilities. If they don’t want us folding out, can they adjust the clock enough that most wouldn’t attempt it? If we fold anyway, can they tell it’s because we’ve got our own frequency standard?”
Saree knew Ruhger was speaking about her own time sense, not an atomic clock, but the objectification was still slightly dismaying.
“And will they guess it’s more than that?”
“They could,” Saree answered, shrugging. “With all the rumors out there, it’s more than possible. It’s not going to be a real secret much longer. I hope Maulana succeeds.”
Ruhger nodded, but didn’t say anything. After eighteen seconds, he stood. “I’m off to the chow hall. Pilot Saraa, you’ve got Lightwave.”
“I’ve got Lightwave.” And she did. It was surprising just how comfortable she had grown with command. Just a few days ago, she was flailing around, trying to figure out what she was doing, making mistake after mistake. Saree still had a lot to learn, but it no longer seemed like she was falling into a black hole in a bod pod. With Ruhger’s and Chief’s help, she could do this.
Saree returned to scanning surveillance, looking carefully at every view and frequency. There had to be tricky things in this system or they wouldn’t have stayed secure for so long. She’d found several Bonfanti surveillance platforms and some cloaked weapons, but not enough of them. Twenty-four minutes later, a hover tray floated in with her lunch. Loreli was so thoughtful. Saree sent a thank-you in return and ate. After her first encounter with the former PE mercenaries, she’d stayed in the operations center as much as possible. Most of them were rude and crude, and they wouldn’t stop propositioning her. Her new body was such a pain. She should have asked if Doc could change her back while the Clobbered Turkey was still with them.
When Ruhger started the pilot briefing, she listened carefully, fascinated. Evidently, flying in close formation was a skill taught at an early age in the original Phalanx Eagle, just in case the enemy had a way to negate or take over auto-pilots. It took precision, attention and the ability to not only do the physics in your head, but have a “feel” for the math as well. Using a thruster in space wasn’t the same as flying on a planet—there wasn’t anything to slow you down, like discernable gravity or friction from the atmosphere. From the crashes in the simulators, practice was the other part of the equation. Saree had no intention of being one of the pilots flying to the station, but she joined in the simulations anyway. You never knew when a skill might come in handy. She crashed, crashed, and crashed and pushed the simulation away. If she could develop the skill at all. Well, no reason to rush. Saree returned to the surveillance. She had to be missing something.
Twenty-four new objects popped up and Saree jolted back in her seat. They flew in six different orbital planes around the station, at a convenient distance for taking out any shuttle in an unauthorized approach. If they were weapons, once a shuttle approached the station, they could be targeted by four of these things at once, which meant there was almost certainly one with a clear shot at all times.
Katryn contacted her from the new intel center, formerly Cargo Bay Four. “We infiltrated a net with the specs for cloaking these things. Tyron adjusted some of our surveillance so we can see them. We’re not sure what they are yet, but probably weapons.”
“Almost certainly. Perfect envelopment of the station.”
“Yes. Orbital weapon platforms are nothing new, but I do wonder why they hide them.”
“Good question.” Saree grimaced. “Let me know if you find out.”
“Will do. Katryn out.”
Well, that helped. But if these were cloaked, there might be more. These might even be relatively easy to find, to lull less suspicious minds into thinking they’d found everything. None of them were that naïve.
Six hours later, Saree hadn’t found any additional orbital threats. Neither had Katryn and Tyron, although they’d gathered a lot of information about the station and its inhabitants. It wasn’t a nice place, unless you were part of the top tier, and even then, falling off that pyramid was pretty easy. Being pushed off was more common, and it didn’t take much. The very tippy-top of the economic and social strata ruled with an iron fist encased in a velvet glove—but that glove was very thin and easily ripped. Any being under the top few percent survived through mutual brutality and constantly shifting alliances. One of the top tier families ran blood-sport spectacles in the Bonfanti Arena, using the bottom tier of the beings trapped in Bonfanti’s prison system, keeping the rest of them entertained and threatened at the same time. Bonfanti Station’s rulers kept the beings just under them off-balance and uncertain by arbitrarily changing social rules and cues, “ruining” entire families with malicious joy, throwing them down into to the station’s prison levels to live or die in the scrum.
The prison levels were interior compartments in the middle of the station, run by the prisoners themselves. They fought over access to the garbage from the rest of the station and the few water stations available. The prison leadership changed often as beings weakened, were betrayed, or got scooped up to compete in the spectacles entertaining the masses. The entire prison could be viewed on station-wide vid by Bonfanti dwellers for free; visitors were charged for the “privilege” of watching the carnage.
The fights were another source of income for Bonfanti Station. The fight arena was one of the few places visitors were safe from casual predation by Bonfanti elite, so visitors went there whether they wanted to or not. Most coming to Bonfanti enjoyed watching the gruesome and awful struggles for survival. If they didn’t, there were plenty of relatively safer dark stations sprinkled throughout the universe.
But none of those dark stations had what Bonfanti had—a stable clock, with a guarantee of no bad folds, no folds into another folder or orbital debris if you used the secure scheduling messages correctly. The safest beings on Bonfanti were the orbital controllers, but they were safe only if they did their jobs perfectly. One mistake and they were in the fight rings. Saree wished they’d known about the “perfect clock” before they got here. They might have made a different approach, one that let her take a shuttle to the clock and check it out. But that wasn’t going to happen, not now when every move they made was watched by multiple sensors and weapons. Saree wondered how many other things about Bonfanti they didn’t know and wouldn’t know until they got there and it was too late.
Saree stretched high and walked circles around her operations center. Maybe she should bring a rowing machine in here. As they picked up mercenaries and shuttles on their way out of Antlia and through various other systems, she’d walled off the corner opposite the seating area, creating a small room for herself and another room next to it with four bunk beds. It started as a way for her to avoid all the other beings onboard, but in the end, it was more useful than she’d anticipated, with Ruhger and Grant crashing in the bunks on a regular basis.
Ruhger entered, followed by two beings she hadn’t met yet. Saree crossed the compartment to greet them. The two were bipedal, a good two and a half meters tall and thin, their skin a shimmering red-bronze, and they wore long, dark blue caftans that looked like flowing water. If they had hair, it was hidden under their squat, wide, flat-brimmed hats fastened to their heads by a tight cowl showing just their faces.
“Pilot Saraa, this is Weaver and Ridley.” Ruhger gestured in turn to the two.
Saree bowed and the two beings returned her bow.
One of them, Weaver, said, “Not our real names, but pronounceable in Trade by most beings. We are happy to meet you, Pilot Saraa.”
“I am pleased and honored to meet both of you.”
Ruhger said, “They are folder pilots and, more importantly for us, very good operational commanders. Their family unit has a large fleet of folders, working mostly in Taurus, Aries and Cetus. Weaver and Ridley are in their adventure phase. Their originators worked with us in the original Phalanx Eagle.”
“Our originators worked for Rehmington and Wilson, Ruhger,” Ridley said. “They trusted no one else in Phalanx Eagle’s leadership. And they were right. Wilson and Rehmington are the reason they survived to become originators.”
Weaver added, “And so when the message came, speaking of ending the instigator, the Wreck, our originators asked for volunteers. All of the adventurers stepped forward and we were chosen. If our mission is successful, our return to the home fleet will be glorious!”
“Let’s not count our eggs before they hatch,” Saree said.
They both tilted their heads, which looked particularly odd on their long, skinny necks. “We are mammals, Pilot Saraa.”
She smiled and shook her head. “My apologies, it’s just a saying from my... planet about a food species.”
They both shuddered. “Flesh eaters,” Wilson muttered.
“Don’t worry, Loreli knows your requirements, Gentles,” Ruhger said, carefully concealing his amusement. “Anyway, please walk Weaver and Ridley through our systems and standard procedures. Tyron’s already given them full access.” He turned back to Weaver and Ridley. “Almost everything is standard, but there are some differences Saraa will show you, mostly for net security. She’ll also walk you through all our weapons. I’ll be leaving someone to run those weapons, most likely Grant and Loreli, but I need to see who else might want to stay onboard rather than be in the action. Each shuttle will need a pilot or two to stay onboard too.” Ruhger shook his head. “Most want Wreck’s head too badly to stay out of the direct fight.” He grimaced. “Especially Chief Bhoher.”
“We do not understand the need for blood, Captain Ruhger, but will support you. We must ensure your survival as an originator.”
Ruhger rocked back on his heels, shock widening his eyes. “That’s why you’re here?”
Wilson said, “Of course. Why else?”
Saree held back a laugh at his comical look of surprise, but it was a close call. “Very well, Gentles, let me show you Lightwave’s systems and run you through some simulation.” She smiled at Ruhger, keeping her teeth covered. “I’ve got it, Captain.”
“Thank you, Saraa. I’ll check in with all of you later.”
“We understand there are quarters here, Pilot Saraa?” Ridley asked.
“Yes, follow me.” Saree led them to the entry. “They are very basic. The sani-mod is there.” She pointed. “And feel free to call me Saraa unless the title is necessary.”
“Thank you, Saraa. It is all acceptable.”
“Excellent.” She opened the hatch and swept an arm out to invite them in. “Take whatever bunk you’d like. I will reserve this room for you.”
“No need for that, Saraa. A rest bunk is all we will need.” They entered and placed sacks on one stack of bunks.
“When you’re ready, please join me.”
“Thank you, Saraa. We’ll be right there.”
Saree walked back to her seat, hoping Tyron and Katryn had adequately secured everything concerning her real life and duties. She didn’t know anything about this species, but obviously Ruhger trusted them. His specification of “an adventure phase” implied the beings left their home system for only a short time, and therefore weren’t going to steal Lightwave out from under them. Hopefully Ruhger’s trust wasn’t misplaced.
Ridley and Weaver came back to her. “We are ready, Saraa. Please show us all you can.”
“Certainly, Gentles. Have a seat if that’s comfortable. We’ll start with navigation.” Saree started on the review, happy to be occupied and no longer alone.
#
SAREE TOOK HER HANDS off the controls. “Bonfanti Station, you have control.” She sat back in the pilot’s seat and blew out a long breath.
“Copy, Solar Wind Alpha shuttle. Locked on... now. Charges start upon lock. Please check all connections and ensure credit transfer information is correct or you will not be released. Shuttles releasing themselves will be disabled and confiscated, any beings inside imprisoned. Is this clear?”
“Clear, Bonfanti, thank you.”
A snort of laughter was cut off.
“I don’t think they get thanked for threats very often, Saraa,” Ruhger told her.
“Being polite is always good. You never know when it might help.”
Chief said, “Be polite and kind, but have a plan to kill everyone around you. Easy enough.”
Laughter rang in the crowded shuttle.
“Chief, your berserker is showing,” Tyron said with a sharp-edged grin.
“It will show a lot more before this is over.” Chief’s axe haft smacked once into his armored palm, and slid it back into sheath concealed by his costume. “Bonfanti was stupid to not accept our offer.”
Ruhger grimaced. This mission wasn’t likely to end well. There was more than a small chance they’d all end up in the fight arenas. But they needed to finish this situation with Wreck, and taking out Phalanx Eagle’s three folders was a losing bet. Bonfanti refused the offer of credits, made through a third party, for Wreck’s imprisonment; he brought them too much business and merchandise. If Gov Human had kept their word and neutralized PE, they wouldn’t have to take action. But they didn’t. There was probably a payoff somewhere at the top. Wreck knew someone or was blackmailing them or supplying them with something, or all of that and more. If that Gov Human official understood why PE needed to be contained, they’d support the action. Ruhger snorted at his own stupidity. No, they’d just sell that valuable information to the highest bidder. Well, it didn’t matter. The plans were made and it was time to implement them. They had to finish this mess with Wreck once and for all so they could concentrate on the real problem. Galactica waited.
Ruhger glanced down at Saree, checking in with the other shuttles.
“Slick Ride got pushed to a different arm of the station. They’re returning to Solar Wind, hoping Bonfanti changes their minds. Everyone else is coming in as planned, five mikes until last shuttle lock on.”
No loss there—none of his people or the really good fighters were on that shuttle. In some ways, he’d rather his shuttle, with Chief onboard, got sent back. It might be safer—for all of them.
Ruhger stood and stretched, making sure his costume remained secured to his soft armor. “All right, everyone cross-check with your buddy. Make sure big weapons are concealed, costumes are secure and working correctly, color switches work. Our lives rest on these outfits creating enough of a statement that we don’t have to fight, at least not right away. The longer we delay the fight, the better our chance of mission success and we live to fight another day. Stay with the group. If you get split off, return to one of the shuttles immediately. Each shuttle has a pilot staying onboard; get to any of them. No one survives alone here. Remember your code words; we can’t trust the net. We meet up with the others in the fight arena entrance at the left-hand pay portal. If they won’t let you pay as a group, return to your shuttle. That’s a guarantee they’re trying to separate and pick us off and there’s no sense in letting it happen. Don’t let rage overcome common sense. Questions or concerns?” Ruhger looked around the motley group. The costumes, gaudy things of shiny black and gold with air bladders making them much larger than the wearer’s body, did just what they were designed to do: they made it hard to pick out individuals or get close, and the garb concealed weapons. Oh, they all had plenty of weapons showing, but the concealed ones were more important. “Line up and wait for the signal.” Those bladders weren’t just filled with air, either. If they were impacted or penetrated, a metallicized foam expanded and hardened, slowing projectiles and knives.
Ruhger waited, somewhat patiently.
“All shuttles locked on Bonfanti Arena arm as planned except Slick Ride. They’re returning to Solar Wind and will back defensive positions.”
Hmm. There were ten fighters on Slick Ride and some of them he didn’t trust much. He knew none of them got messages out while they were locked on Lightwave, but what if they’d sent a message from Slick Ride? He sent a quick text to Katryn, in the Operations Center with Ridley, Weaver, Loreli and Grant, asking Katryn to check and recommending they not be allowed in the Ops Center. Grant sent him back a vid clip of Ruhger himself looking at the overhead in exasperation. Ruhger chuckled. Trust Grant to make a point using his own face. It could be Grant wasn’t happy about being left on Lightwave, but they needed some of their own there. And if it all went bad, Grant had a better chance of talking his way out of a mess than the rest of them. Katryn wasn’t happy either, but acknowledged her skills as a fighter weren’t as important as her net skills. Tyron’s weren’t either, but the crew insisted someone had to have Ruhger and Chief’s six.
He’d have rather left Saree on Lightwave too, but they were short on pilots. Good pilots. Grant and Loreli could fly, but they didn’t have Saree’s skill or feel. She’d flown in the tight formation from Lightwave to Bonfanti without a wobble or visible effort. She did let out a big sigh of relief after turning over the controls to Bonfanti Station, so maybe she didn’t have as much faith in her skill as he did.
It didn’t matter now. She was here, and on the shuttle she’d stay. Not the safest place, but nowhere in or near Bonfanti was truly safe.
Ruhger swept up the tactical comm link. “Team, remember, we’re here for a night of fun, not mayhem. Look excited and happy. Get loud, but not aggressive. Stay in your groups, watch each other’s six. Keep your buddy in sight. No one goes anywhere alone, I don’t care how sexy he, she, it or they are. Exit in five, four, three, two, go.”
Ruhger followed Chief out the airlocks and into Bonfanti Station, secure in the knowledge that Tyron had his six, and everyone else’s, in the tail position. Ruhger forced a smile that probably looked more like an aggressive baring of teeth, and forged ahead to meet the perils of Bonfanti Arena head on.