Chaos Quarter (8 page)

She did. The pedal on the right was longer and thinner, the one on the left, squarish.

“Engine control. Right pedal controls forward propulsion. Give it a tap.”

She did so. On the viewscreen the speed increased slightly. She focused on the numbers. Two speed figures were there, one next to the other. The first had eight digits and changed quickly. The second had three digits and the letter
C
.

“The figure on the left is miles per hour, not really that important outside of a planet’s atmosphere. The one on the right is our speed compared to
C
, which is the speed of light. That tap of your foot told the engine to burn, accelerating us up to .077C, or 7.7 percent the speed of light,” Rex explained.

“I know that, the speed of light,” Chakrika spoke hopefully. “That’s the fastest speed in the galaxy, right?”

“Yep. Fastest known. We can get up to 10 percent speed of light if we need to. Now, move your foot to the left pedal. Give it a tap.”

She did. The screen shifted slightly as the ship slowed.

“Reversing engines, kind of like the brake. It burns opposite the main engines to kill speed,” he explained. “Last, take your left foot and find the sleeve on the left side, near the floor.”

She probed around with her foot until she found it and slid her foot inside.

“Rotational control. To rotate the ship along the long axis, you use this.”

“Long axis? I’m not sure what you mean?” she asked.

“You ever seen a barrel roll?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, eyes lighting up with recognition.

“Move your foot to the left,” he spoke.

She did. The stars on the viewscreen began spinning as the ship rotated counter-clockwise.

“Right will spin it clockwise. Move your foot back to the center.”

She did and the rotation stopped. The ship returned to a course parallel with the system’s elliptical plane.

“That’s all there is to it,” Rex said, sinking into the gunner’s position.

“You have to do all four of these at once?” she asked after a moment of thought.

“Yeah. It takes a while to get used to. But once you master it, you not only can fly most ships, but you have the potential to be an awesome drummer,” Rex spoke. An uncomprehending stare answered him.

“Never mind. It will take a bit of time. I trained for five years. But if you know some basics, you can fly simple courses without the computer,” he continued.

She let out a heavy breath.

“Can I go now?” she asked.

“Yeah, go on,” he replied.

She darted out of the room, relief dripping off her. Rex shook his head and smiled, then moved back to the command station, sighing to himself.

“Think she’s got potential?”

“
I am incapable of giving opinion
,
” the computer replied.

Rex chuckled, “Keep forgetting that. Return us to course, continue on at present speed.”

* * *

By Chaos Quarter standards, Cordelia was an advanced world. The seat of the Qahiran Confederacy, it controlled all of the inner half of its solar system and had several ships large enough to qualify as frigates in a stronger nation, though with far more primitive weapons. Flying into orbit of Cordelia, which had turned out to be the fourth world of the system, they passed by several
Hastav-
class fighters. While underpowered and lightly armed by Commonwealth or Europan standards, the
Hastav
was a status symbol in the quarter. If you could afford to buy them, you had to have some economic ability, which meant you had some power.

The world itself was fairly standard. It was fairly similar to Earth: ice caps at the poles, large continents with deserts, plains, forests, and rugged mountains. The capital city, Khors, rested in the planet’s northern hemisphere, on a high plateau surrounded by jungle.

Standing at the spaceport, Rex took a deep breath, tasting the air. It was damp and heavy with water. It clung close to his skin, making everything feel slimy and moist. Yet the oxygen remained thin, making him breathe more quickly than he was used to doing.

Whose bright idea was it to build the capital nine thousand feet up and surrounded by rain forest?

Chakrika didn’t seem to mind. The spaceport sat atop a hill overlooking the city. The hill’s summit had been flattened to build the spaceport, but still reached high enough to give them a good view of Khors. The city stretched ahead of them for several miles, two thirds of it to the west of a large, lagoon-like lake, the rest to the east. The streets were paved and bustling with traffic.

He didn’t see any buildings above ten stories, but the various structures looked solid and well maintained. Most were plain cement with minimal ornamentation, often painted in an off-white color that reminded Rex of the sea-shells you’d see on a beach. Jungle vines broke the monotony of the color, streaking across the buildings, in some places so thick that it looked like ivy. Monkeys perched on the roofs, tiny little furry figures oblivious to the human clatter below. Several on the nearby terminal roof dropped the stems from some tiny reddish fruit that they ate furiously.

“I’ve never fired one of these,” he heard Chakrika say. Rex turned to face her. She was looking at the gun he had given her, holding it in one hand and Quintus in the other.

“Not that hard. Take off the safety, raise it to eye level, fire at whatever you want to die. Make sure to use two hands to hold it,” he spoke.

“Won’t it recoil?”

“No powder. They’re electromagnetically accelerated. Little if any recoil. Just make sure not to point it at anything you’re not willing to kill,” he stressed.

“You sure you shouldn’t bring Lucius?”

“Lucius has never seen this man,” Rex replied.

“I know…” she muttered. “I’m just not sure about this. If this man talks for that region of space, he might have powerful friends. What if they don’t want us snooping around?”

“Nobody ever
wants
people snooping around,” Rex replied. “But it’s what I’ve been ordered to do.”

“By a navy that betrayed and abandoned you,” she pointed out.

“Hating one commodore doesn’t mean I hate my country,” he replied. “Here comes Lucius with the truck.”

A pick-up truck pulled to a stop next to them. A centuries-old design that never seemed to outlive its usefulness, the truck his new gunner had bought was like any other: Small cab in the front, large bed in the back for carrying stuff. It was the same off-white color as the buildings. Nothing fancy, just functional.

After shutting the truck off, Lucius stepped out, tossing the keys to Rex.

“All is set,” he said, taking his son from Chakrika. The boy’s eyes were wide open, taking in everything around him.

“You have no idea what’s going on, do you?” Chakrika said playfully, grasping the baby’s tiny hands. Quintus closed his grip around her fingers and then decided the hand would be better off in his mouth.

“He fed?” asked Lucius.

“Yes,” she replied, then stroked Quintus’s cheek. “Bye, little one.”

“Let the locals off-load the metals for sale, but don’t let them past the cargo bay,” Rex said to Lucius. He and Chakrika got into the pick-up truck. The engine hummed as the fuel cell kicked to life.

“Why the truck?” Chakrika asked.

“To carry supplies. Figured I should have a ground vehicle anyway,” he explained.

“You bought this?” she asked.

“Sure did. Lucius got it for twenty bits gold, only a few years used. Now just gotta figure out which side of the road they drive on here…”

Honking horns and a near miss answered his question. For some inexplicable reason, they drove on the left. Who did that? Rex mulled about it and wandered the town for a few minutes, looking closely at passing buildings.

“Are we buying supplies?” Chakrika asked after a while.

“Eventually, I hope. Gotta get some information first…and this looks like the place.”

They pulled into a parking lot next to a respectable-looking bar.

“We’re drinking?” she asked.

“Whiskey in the morning—breakfast of kings,” he replied.

They walked in. It was late morning local time, so it was nearly empty. Two women in toga-like robes chattered in the back and picked at appetizers. Beyond that there was the bartender, who watched the holo-TV projection floating over the center of the room. A game was on, some strange combination of soccer and ping-pong.

From what Rex could tell, it consisted of men standing on opposite sides of a field, pelting a large, industrial-strength beach-ball with small, dense rubber balls launched from hand-held air cannons, trying to get the large ball into a goal. All the while the other team used their air cannons to try and push it away. Rex wondered why they just didn’t shoot the opposing team with the rubber balls so there’d be no defenders to stop them from putting the large ball wherever they want.

Seeing them the bartender, a young fellow with copper skin and overly–gelled hair, said something in a language that vaguely resembled Portuguese. When he got no answer, he cleared his throat and spoke in heavily accented English.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. I need a beer and information. I’ll pay for both,” Rex replied.

“Subtle,” Chakrika commented.

“Subtle is overrated,” he quipped as the man placed a beer bottle in front of him. Rex took a swig and fought to hide a grimace, shocked at the bitterness of the brew.
Must be an acquired taste.

“L-looking to trade?” the bartender managed.

“Yeah. Little bird tells me that there are some worlds looking for grain beyond the Achaean Confederacy,” Rex spoke.

Silence. The two chattering women stared at them, then hurriedly left the bar, leaving some silver coins on the table. The door swung shut behind them.

“You know ambassador is here,” the bartender spoke, seeing where this was going. “You want to know where?”

“If he really does speak for that space, then yeah, couldn’t hurt to work with him,” Rex spoke.

“He will say no,” the bartender replied.

“I’d love to take your word on that, but I can’t. We’ve just met and all,” said Rex.

“Not matter for jokes. People do not go there. Those that go there die,” spoke the bartender. “He will tell you that. Whoever they are, they do not trade.”

Rex dropped a silver bit on the table.

“Where?”

The man looked at the coin for a long moment, then picked it up and rubbed it between his fingers. He glanced up at Chakrika.

“Striped lady, this man get you killed,” he warned.

Chakrika said nothing, just looked to the ground. The bartender pocketed the coin.

“City center, a brick building on the north side of the park. Red, covered in moss. There won’t be a sign,” he said and turned away.

They left the bar
and
the beer, getting back into the pickup truck. It buzzed to life as the inevitable rain began to fall. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

“Well, he was a charming guy,” remarked Rex as they drove.

Chakrika looked deep in thought, as if she didn’t hear him.

“Worried I will get you killed?” Rex asked.

“Yes. What if this ‘ambassador’ tells you nothing? Do you plan to actually go to this space, even with all the stories?” Chakrika asked.

“Probably finish crossing the quarter and do some trading with Achaea, see if these stories are real or just campfire tales,” he explained. “I’ll let you and Lucius know long before I go in so you can get off.”

“We get off and we lose eighty years of life,” she spoke. “You give us a taste and then dump us. Cruel.”

“I suppose. But if entering this ‘ambassador’s’ space will get you killed, would you rather have the fifty more years of life you could have expected a month ago, or get blown up thinking you’ll live another century?”

She thought this over, but did not answer. The storm continued as they pulled into the city center. Thunder roared again as they circled a large park. A dozen towering fig trees, at least a hundred feet tall, rose from a meticulously mowed lawn. Parrots and other colorful birds feasted on their fruit, freshly dropped to the manicured grounds below. Surrounding the park were buildings of grey concrete, covered in vines. More monkeys, also eating the figs, camped out on the roofs. One thin row-house stuck out. It was made of deep-red brick, half-hidden in vibrant green moss and running tangles of vine. It seemed the only man-made splash of color in the city.

“That’s the one,” he said, pointing. The thunder roared again. Then the ground shook.

“Was that the thunder?” asked Chakrika.

“Felt like a tiny earthquake,” Rex noted.

Another roar, this one followed by an explosion. The red brick building erupted in a billow of flame. Explosions rippled down the city center as bombs rained down.

“Shit!” Rex said, slamming on the brakes. A chunk of brick wall smashed into the pavement mere feet from his truck, sending a wash of pulverized concrete onto his windshield. He maneuvered around, driving as close as he could to the wreckage of the building, then stopped.

“What are you doing?! We have to get back to the ship!” Chakrika screamed. The far side of the park exploded in flame. The roar of engines, so very like the thunder of the growing storm, filled the air. Small craft zipped in and out of angry gray clouds. Tiny black ovals fell from them, bombs dropping randomly into the city.

“Come on, quickly!” he snapped.

Chakrika unstrapped herself and jumped from the truck. Fire leapt up on all sides of them as building after building exploded. Debris and concrete hurdled through the park, smashing limbs from the fig trees and scattering dozens of terrified birds. People screamed and ran from the burning structures. The monkey troops followed them, screeching in terror.

They reached the rubble of the brick building. Paper and furniture burned despite the rain. The upper floors had collapsed, leaving a rubble pile of splintered wood and bent metal.

Sticking out from the pile was a human torso, male. Rex rushed up, ignoring the pounding rain drenching his clothing. The body lay motionless, a thick, steel I-beam crushing the chest.

“Our guy,” Rex said. “Get him out from under here.”