Dark Space: Origin (11 page)

“I am . . . on the bridge of my ship.”

“And what ship is that?”

“The S
haral
.”

“A Sythian command ship?”

“Yes.”

“And these beings on the deck are . . .”

“My crew.”

“They don’t look like Gors, Kaon.”

“They are not
Gorz
. They are
Zithianz.
”

“Where are all the Gors?”

“On their ships.”

“There are no Gors aboard this vessel?”

“We do not risk having them aboard.”

“What is the purpose of this vessel, Kaon?”

“It is a carrier.”

Hoff’s mind boggled at that. A thirty-kilometer-long carrier would hold thousands of fighters. “How many fighters does this ship hold?”

“None.”

“What? What does it carry?”

“It carries Gors.”

Hoff’s eyes narrowed and suddenly his suspicions were raised again. “You just told me you don’t risk having Gors aboard your ship.”

“We do not.
The S
haral
carries Gor vessels for long journeys. The Gors are not allowed to leave their ships.”

“Show me.”

Suddenly the scene on the bridge vanished, and Hoff stood looking out a broad viewport at a vast hangar bay, ten times the size of anything Hoff had ever seen aboard a human warship—the
Valiant
included. Inside were dozens of Gor cruisers hanging from the ceiling and locked into docking stations on the floor. Hoff wondered if Overlord Dominic’s allies had told him about this, or if this was the first anyone had ever discovered about the nature of Sythian command ships. Given the size of the average Sythian fleet, even at 30 kilometers long, a behemoth cruiser wouldn’t have much room for anything besides docking stations for the Gors’ ships. Hoff thought about how easy it would be for the Gors to obliterate the behemoth cruiser from the inside, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Yet again, the Gors’ story didn’t make sense. If they were trying to break free, they should have done so long ago.

“How many Sythians are on board this ship, Kaon?”

“Two hundred and seventy.”

“That’s it? What do they do?”

“There is one to control every Gor ship, and twelve more for the S
haral.
”

“Just twelve? What are the Sythians doing in our galaxy, Kaon?”

“What are we doing . . .”

“Yes, you heard me.”

“W-what . . .” What followed was not translated by Hoff’s translator.

Suddenly the scene vanished and back was the blank black screen. “What happened?”

“We’re losing him, sir.”

“Stop the probe.”

Heston pulled off the helmet and shook his head. He turned to look at Kaon. The alien’s eyes were rolling, and his expression was a rictus of pain. “So you weren’t lying to me?” Hoff found it difficult to believe.

“I told . . . you the truth. . . .” he said distantly. “You do not believe it.”

“Did you see that?” Hoff asked, turning to Commander Donali.

“I did.”

“There were Sythians on that ship.” Hoff shook his head. “It can’t be. He’s not telling the truth!”

“Sir—” Donali turned to him. “—if I may ask, what makes you so sure?”

“I . . .” Heston trailed off and turned to stare at the Sythian. Kaon stared back. “Is his brain showing any signs of damage from the probe?”

“No, but I doubt he’ll live through another session like that. Not yet anyway. He’ll need some time to recover.”

Heston stood up from the interrogator’s chair. “Well then, it seems we’re forced to take a break.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In your experience, Commander, is there any way to fool a probe?”

“Only if the subject himself is fooled.”

“And how might that occur?”

Donali blinked; his glowing artificial eye dimmed and then brightened to mimic the effect. “If he were chipped, sir, and his memories were planted rather than real.”

“Exactly.”

Donali shook his head. “If Kaon had an implant, I’d have found that right away with the probe.”

“Sythians don’t have the same technology as us. They might not need to implant anything.”

“Then how are we supposed to find out about it?”

“If you knew he was chipped, but you couldn’t see the implant, what would you look for?”

“Scar tissue, or maybe some type of trace—memories, feelings, or thoughts which are out of place, things which cause anxiety in the host because they don’t fit with the rest of his or her identity.”

“Good. Look for that, and let me know what you find.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hoff stormed out of the probe room, shaking his head. The Gors were not going to get away with this. Maybe Overlord Dominic had made allowances for them, but Hoff Heston had run out of patience. Kaon was a planted Gor agent; he was sure of it. He was going to have to try a different tack to prove it. Maybe he’d interrogate a Gor or two. The aliens’ telepathy posed a problem, but he could always drum up some excuse to take a few Gors out for a joy ride so they could get far enough away from their
crèche mates
that they wouldn’t be able to tell the others what he was doing to them.

Hoff smiled, and his mood lifted as he strode through the detention level. He was eager to get started interrogating the Gors, but unfortunately there were still some political ends to tie. While debriefing Captain Adram of the
Interloper
, he’d found out that the imposter overlord was an ex-con named Ethan. As for the other two prisoners, one was Ethan’s alleged son, a nova pilot named Adan Reese, and the other a doctor named Kurlin Vastra. Apparently that doctor was the man responsible for creating the virus which had ravaged the
Valiant.
All three were awaiting his judgment.

And judged they would be. Heston had no time for dissenters and rebels—humans fighting humans—it was a waste of precious resources, and it had to end. If Dark Space had been under his command, he would have purged it of all the criminals long ago. At least for now he had the power to purge it of these three. But before any of them were probed and executed, Heston would give Ethan a chance for a less public hearing, just in case.

Chapter 8

E
than felt the cold duranium of the manacles press against his wrists, locking them to the armrests of a high-backed black chair. His ankles were likewise restrained. He didn’t bother to struggle. If he survived the mind probe, it would be liberating to have people finally know the truth—the whole truth. He’d been an unwitting pawn in Brondi’s plot, but on some level he’d also been a witting one. His mission had been to infiltrate the
Valiant
and find some way to sabotage it. In exchange, Brondi had promised to release his copilot, Alara, and his ship, the
Atton
. He’d also promised to forgive the 10,000 sols they owed him, but Brondi had lied. He’d never intended to release Alara—the fact that he’d had her chipped was proof enough of that—and in a way that was fair, because Ethan had never intended to sabotage the
Valiant,
at least not in any way which would injure her crew.

Unfortunately, Brondi had anticipated Ethan’s reluctance and had used him as the carrier for Kurlin’s deadly virus. All Ethan had needed to do to achieve Brondi’s ends was to set foot aboard the
Valiant
.

Ethan’s jaw clenched as he remembered how he’d been used. As for the others about to be tried with him, one of them was guilty and one was mostly innocent. Ethan glanced to his left and watched the innocent one being strapped into a chair beside his own. That young man looked up and smiled; he had bristly blond hair and sharp, refined features. Ethan knew that young man was his son, Atton Ortane, but the boy was still cloaked in the holoskin which Ethan had used to infiltrate the
Valiant
. Ethan and Atton had switched roles when they’d found each other, with Ethan taking Atton’s holoskin to adopt the mantle of overlord, while Ethan had passed his rudimentary holoskin on to his son and Atton had become the nova pilot Adan Reese.

In hindsight, that had been a foolish switch. All the identity switching had eventually caught up with them, landing them here, awaiting trial for an impressive set of crimes. Atton hadn’t been arrested for impersonating an officer, but it was just a matter of time before that crime was discovered, too. For now, Atton was on trial because he had stunned and locked up the two corpsmen who had interrogated Doctor Kurlin. They were the only ones who knew that Kurlin had created the virus, and they also knew that the virus had been carried aboard the
Valiant
by a holoskinner. Atton’s reasoning in shutting those guards up had been that if people started looking for one holoskinner, they’d soon discover both Atton and Ethan, and everything would unravel very quickly.

But things had unraveled anyway.

While testing the crew for live strains of his virus, Kurlin had discovered the overlord was an imposter, and he’d used that to blackmail Ethan. Like son like father, Ethan had stuffed Kurlin into a stasis tube to shut him up, but Kurlin had later escaped and made good on his blackmail. Ethan had responded to that by telling the crew what Kurlin’s part in Brondi’s scheme had been, and all three of them had landed in the brig.

Ethan turned to see Doctor Kurlin being strapped into a third and final probe chair, but he was
struggling—kicking and screaming at the top of his lungs, demanding his rights and asking for a legal counsel. Ethan eyed the old man for a moment and then shook his head. “This is a military trial, you old skriff, and we’re not in the Imperium anymore. We have no rights.”

One of the guards holding Kurlin down sucker punched him in the gut, and the doctor doubled over, paralyzed with pain. His arms and legs were promptly sealed into the manacles, and then the guards withdrew to either side of the room.

Kurlin turned to glare at Ethan. “You sound as though you’re enjoying this.”

Ethan smirked back. “You threatened to reveal me, and then you did. You started it.”

“You stunned me and stuffed me in a stasis tube! What was I supposed to do when I got out?” Kurlin shot back. “You could have sent my family back like I’d asked and then none of this would have happened, but instead you insisted on taking us all to the netherworld with you! You left me no choice!”

“Well, it’s ironic that we made it safely across Sythian Space after all, and now we’re all headed to the netherworld because of
you
.”

“I’m surprised an uneducated grub like you can even recognize irony,” Kurlin replied.

Ethan gritted his teeth at the insult. No matter how thick his skin had grown during his time as an outlaw and later as a convicted felon on Etaris, being called a grub still cut straight to his marrow and made him see red. “It’s a shame they locked us in these chairs, Kurlin. I would have liked to help you.”

Kurlin’s eyes narrowed at that. “Help me?”

“Yes, I would have liked to crush your throat and put you out of your misery.”

“Is that how you solve all of your problems? You’re just proving my point, you Philistan.”

“I’m from Roka IV, not Philista.”

“Are you two done?” Atton said.

Ethan turned to his son and jerked his head at the doctor. “Ask him.”

“Ask yourself. Rather than sit here insulting each other, we should be thinking of a way to get out of this.”

“There is no way out of this,” Ethan replied. “Of the three of us only you have a chance for something lighter than a death sentence. As for me and the doc, we may as well start praying to the Immortals.”

“I’m not a praying man,” Kurlin said, turning to look out at the empty rows of seats arrayed in front of them. They sat on the stage at the front of a large briefing room. That implied that their trial would be a public one, but so far no one had arrived besides the squad of sentinels who had brought them in.

“Well, it’s never too late to learn,” Ethan said.

Before Kurlin could reply, the doors swished open, and Admiral Heston walked in flanked by four more sentinels, their plasma rifles held across their chests. Behind them walked a group of prisoners, their hands bound with stun cords, and two more sentinels. Ethan frowned, and his eyes narrowed as he studied the faces of those prisoners. They looked familiar. . . . as they drew nearer Ethan suddenly recognized one of them, and he did a double take. “Is that Commander Caldin?”

“Where?” Atton asked.

“What did she do?” Then Ethan noticed who else was with the commander—her entire bridge crew, as well as Gina Giord, and her copilot, Alara Vastra. “Frek . . .” Ethan whispered, watching as sentinels forced the prisoners to take seats along the front rows. Caldin caught Ethan’s eye and scowled at him as she sat down. Alara also looked up at him, but her expression was full of sadness, not loathing. Ethan offered her a tight smile, as if to say,
don’t worry; everything’s going to be all right
, but she didn’t smile back.

The admiral walked straight up to Ethan and stood gazing down on him with a stern expression and hands clasped behind his back. Ethan noted that Heston was probably ten or twenty years older than him, his hair even more grizzled than Ethan’s own.

“You must be the overlord,” Heston said. His gray eyes were bright and full of contempt.

Ethan shook his head. “No, sir. I was just keeping his throne warm.”

Heston snorted. “I’m going to give you a chance to come clean, Ethan. Who are you? And is there any reason at all that I should not have you probed here today, in front of this body of witnesses?” The admiral half turned to indicate the shackled prisoners. Ethan noted that besides the guards and the prisoners they’d brought, there were no other witnesses.
Where’s the jury?
Ethan wondered. Looking back to the admiral, he shook his head. “This is hardly a fair trial, Admiral. The men and women sitting in this room with us are the ones most likely to judge me with a bias. They can’t be jurymen.”

“They’re not. They’re the witnesses to your crimes.” The admiral turned and pointed to a gleaming black wall along one side of the room. “The jury is sitting over there.”

“How do I know that?” Ethan asked. “I can’t see their faces.”

Heston turned and snapped his fingers at one of the sentinels. “Lights in the jury box, sergeant.” Ethan noted that unlike most of the sentinels in Dark Space, these ones wore complete sets of thick, matte gray plasteel armor. That sergeant could survive a plasma grenade. Ethan watched him move to one side of the room and fiddle with a control panel there. Then the dark, shiny wall was illuminated from within to reveal a group of five men and women. The admiral turned back to Ethan. “Satisfied?”

“No,” Kurlin replied. “This is a witch hunt, not a trial. If you want to give us a fair trial, give us a defense counsel.”

Heston turned to the old doctor and smiled. “Why, are you afraid that the truth is not enough to speak for itself?”

“A mind probe is very dangerous, Admiral. That is a death sentence in itself, so in a way you’ve already judged us.”

“Yes, but we’re short of time, and I’m short of patience—if you turn out to be innocent and you suffer an adverse reaction to the probe, rest assured your family will be compensated accordingly. Nevertheless . . .” Ethan watched the admiral’s gaze return to him and remain there. “I’m going to ask you one more time—is there any reason you can give me not to proceed?”

Ethan frowned. It was as though the admiral were looking for an excuse not to probe him. “I can’t say I’m innocent, but I’m also not as guilty as I seem.”

“That’s it? No other reasons . . . perhaps during your time as overlord you’ve come by some classified information which would be dangerous to share so publicly?”

Ethan’s eyebrows slowly rose.
Where are you going with this?
he wondered. Gazing up into the admiral’s unsettling gray eyes, Ethan felt a shiver creeping down his spine. The last thing he wanted was to give the admiral a reason to single him out for a private hearing. That sounded more like it would be a private torture session. Ethan wasn’t sure why the admiral was asking, but he decided to stick with the truth. He was tired of hiding. “The most dangerous secret I possess is the one you all already know. I was caught wearing a holoskin and impersonating the overlord.”

The admiral’s eyes narrowed sharply; he seemed unhappy with that answer. “Very well.” With that, he turned and nodded to one of the other guards who had come in with him, this one unarmored, but wearing the silver uniform of the sentinels. His shoulder was marked with a red and white patch which identified him as a medic. In his hands he carried three implanters. The points of their needles glinted with deadly promise, and Ethan winced in anticipation. The medic handed two of the implanters to an assistant and then walked up to Kurlin with the third. He pushed the old man’s head forward until his chin touched his chest.

Kurlin shook his head vigorously, trying to resist as he wailed, “I’m an Imperial citizen! You can’t do this to me!” An assisting corpsman stepped forward to hold Kurlin’s head still. “Let me go!”

“Wait!” a woman cried. “Stop it!”

The admiral turned to see an old woman standing up along the front row. “Sit down, please, ma’am.”

“He was forced to cooperate with Brondi! He hasn’t done anything!”

Ethan recognized that woman as Kurlin’s wife. He was surprised they’d allowed her into the trial room.