Tales from the Service: The Quickley Drop

2951-10-04 – Tales from the Service: The Quickley Drop

Planet Quickley in the Lee-Hosha system was planned to be a major colonization site on the Sagittarius Frontier before the War; apparently most of the orbital and groundside factory hardware had already been delivered and was being set up when this side of the Gap was overrun. Since then, it has reportedly been an Incarnation depot world, a forward base manufacturing and storing spare parts and equipment.

Last week, our very own Nojus Brand made landfall with a Marine contingent dispatched to retake Quickley. Though I had other content prepared for today, Navy Signals brought in his first report earlier than expected. Evidently, the first forty-eight hours of the operation went well, and he was able to interview some of the Marines from the first wave.

I have only lightly edited his report for clarity and to remove a few points that Naval Intelligence was not willing to let me include.

Sergeant Myron Vergossen watched the scouting drone rise into the air until it was lost from sight. He missed operating on the other side of the Gap, where he would have F.V.D.A. troops handling little things like drone ops for his boys; out here on the Sagittarius side, a Marine had to do it, and that meant the squad had one less weapon pod, and Private Morello was doing what no private should ever be trusted to do – more than one thing at once.

So far, other than a spirited but ineffectual rocket bombardment of the LZ, and a few brave but equally ineffectual sharpshooters lurking in the lush canopies of Quickley’s towering tree-analogues, Myron’s squad hadn’t seen anything of the enemy. The briefing had suggested they would encounter a significant garrison and many fortified strong points with interlocking fields of fire, but so far, he and his boys had seen nothing of the kind, not even a smoking crater where such a fortification might have once existed.

Myron had been around long enough to Intelligence was usually wrong, but he also knew that it was never wrong in the favor of the Marines. Anyone who’d ever spent any time in a Rico suit knew only too well that suspiciously good news was evidence of enemy action.

At least Quickley was a beautiful place. They had landed in the temperate zone, on a small continent that was relatively flat and mostly forested, save for the broad, grassy coastal plains which had made such an ideal landing area. The roads were little more than dirt tracks winding through primeval woodland untouched by homesteads or villages. The only settlement that had been built on Quickley before the war was Q-S1, the partially complete spaceport site on the central plateau which hadn’t even been given the dignity of a proper name; most of the Incarnation effort on the world had been focused on this same site.

As the drone reached its optimal height, it started sending back thermal-image data of the ground ahead. The squad network used this to put the locations of anything alive on the various Marines’ helmet heads-up displays. Most of the glowing blips in front of them were probably animals cowering from the strange mechanical monsters tromping down the road that had been cut through their home, but it was impossible to be sure.

As the drone moved farther ahead, however, it spotted something that was definitely not an animal. A huge blob of heat in a thicket right next to the crossroads a kilometer ahead had a distinctly trapezoidal aspect. Most likely, it was a well-camouflaged bunker whose internal electronics were bleeding waste heat.

“Looks like we found the perimeter, Sarge.” Private Morello straightened, probably instructing the drone to circle the target.

“Probably.” Myron checked his map. If they followed the road, they’d be in that bunker’s field of fire before they could see it, and artillery capable of ranging the area wouldn’t be set up for a few more hours. The forest would slow them too much for a proper assault, and in their Rico suits, there’d be no way to sneak up on an Incarnation bunker, which was generally outfitted with more electronic sensors than a Confederated Navy destroyer. The engineers who’d built the bunker couldn’t have picked a bigger spot.

“What’s the play, Sarge?” Corporal Columbera waved one gauntleted hand toward the forest. “Think we can bypass it?”

“That’ll take all day.” Their suits had jump rockets, of course, but those had limited fuel; if they burned it all hopping around one bunker, they wouldn’t be able to use that mobility in assaulting the next one.

“We can get close enough for V-E if we stay behind this rise.” Columbera pointed to a slight, thickly wooded hillock on the left side of the road. “Maybe within a hundred meters.”

“Could be.” Myron followed the rise on his terrain map for a moment. “Take your section and get as close as you can.” He waved down the road. “Everyone else, on me. We’ve got front door duty on this one.”

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Tales from the Inbox: The Councilor’s Trust

2951-09-27 – Tales from the Inbox: The Councilor’s Trust

Drase was gone only a few minutes, but it was plenty of time for Nestor Palazzo to wonder if his suggestion had been somewhat less than wise. In truth, he didn’t want to get mixed up in the secretive doings of any of the Sagittarius xenos, be they Gilehdat, Kyaroh, or anything else. If Hoyr agreed to let him in on this supposedly important secret, it might bring all sorts of trouble far in excess of any pay.

When he spotted the slim, hooded figure slipping back across Lawrence’s dingy dining room, he was already hoping that she’d received a negative answer. The deliberate strut she’d used to turn every head and clear a path for Hoyr before was gone, now; she was gliding through the space like a ghost, almost without touching the floor, and with barely any eyes fixing on her.

“I was able to make Hoyr understand the problem.” Drase spoke without sitting down.

“Ah, well.” Nestor sighed. “There’ll be other jobs. Drase, I really appreciate-” Nestor stopped. Drase was still standing there, her glinting eyes boring into his. “What?”

“Had there not been these complexities, would you have accepted Hoyr’s task? Even if it meant trusting me with the navigation of your ship?”

Nestor shrugged. “If it were just a matter of you entering in coordinates without me knowing them? Sure. I could show you how to do it with the navcomputer in a couple hours.”

Drase nodded, her shoulders slumping slightly to communicate relief. “Then perhaps I will not come to regret vouching for your honesty.”

“Wait.” Nestor slid out of the booth to stand, towering over Drase. “He agreed?”

Drase nodded and held out her hand. When she opened it, he saw the Hoyr’s black token resting on her palm. “Take this.”

Nestor reached out to take the metallic disk, but before his fingers could close on it, Drase grabbed his huge hand in both of hers and pressed the token into his palm. “My fate is staked with this secret, Nestor.” She whispered, barely audible over the hubbub in the diner. “If it were to ever get out, you cannot conceive of the consequences for us both.”

Nestor shook his head. “If it’s too much a risk-”

Drase released Nestor’s hand and stepped back. “It was mine to risk, and it was risked.”

Nestor held the token in front of his face. It was heavier than it had looked, and covered in tiny symbols that he couldn’t possibly make out clearly in the dim lighting of Lawrence’s. “What now?”

“Hoyr will have the cargo at Macie Kurtz sometime next shift.” Drase turned around, reached up, and pulled Nestor’s hand down toward his pocket. “I will show you how to use this when we have departed this station.”

Nestor nodded. “What’s he paying?”

“Of your credits…” Drase paused and looked away for a moment. “One thousand times five hundred plus fifty. And there’s-”

Nestor steadied himself against the table. “Five-fifty thousand credits, Drase?” The sum was nearly half of the total value of Macie Kurtz, even with all the modifications he’d made to it over the years. Running back and forth from the Sprawl to the outlying stations, even with the most sensitive cargoes, didn’t pay that much in ten runs.

Drase nodded, unsurprised by Nestor’s reaction. “As I said, he pays very well. Your government issued the Kyaroh credits, so they spend them far too freely.”

“Clearly.” Nestor grinned, then reached back into the table to close out his tab with the diner, his tab still sitting at zero despite the drinks and food. “Come on. I was going to make this a surprise, but we don’t have enough time for me to sneak it back to the ship anymore.”

“You have ordered some amenities for my space aboard the ship.” Drase’s lips tugged upward into a smile. “I have known since the day you radioed ahead and placed the order, but I do appreciate the gesture.”

Nestor frowned as he led the way toward the exit. He had of course worried she might be able to guess that he was up to something, but he hadn’t expected her intuition to be so specific. “Are you sure you people aren’t mind-readers?”

As they stepped out into the better lit concourse outside Lawrence’s, Drase flicked her brown hood back across her shoulders. Her golden, almost cherubic face and hairless head shone in the harsh light, and the faint freckles below her huge eyes almost seemed to twinkle. Her appearance turned a few heads, but only a few – the Gilehdat had been a common enough sight on the Sprawl almost the moment it had been constructed.

When Nestor led her into the lift, Drase slid one slim arm into his and leaned against him. “Would you have preferred me to pretend to be surprised?”

Nestor shook his head, looking down at her. “You know what I think about white lies. People are easiest to deal with if they’re honest.”

Drase laughed, a crystalline tittering sound that, though pleasant, was nothing a human could possibly have made. “Then I will remain easy to deal with, as long as I am permitted to give no answer when all answers risk being misunderstood.”

“I know.” Nestor wondered why he knew this, but he did, and that bothered him more than being uncertain. He was only too aware of how easy it would be for her to manipulate him – but he was also confident that she would not do so.

As usual, Drase seemed to read Nestor’s thoughts. “You see why, but it eludes your active thought, so it passes upward as intuition.” She craned her head back and closed her eyes. “It is the seed from which the tutors coax our art, and it would make you mad if you were not a recluse.”

Nestor rolled his eyes. “I’m terrible at reading people. That’s why people drive me mad.”

“And yet, for your instincts, it seems my disposition is quite naked.” Drase opened her eyes into alluring crimson slits, and despite himself Nestor found that comparison arresting. “Do not ask me to teach you the art.”

“Because you aren’t a tutor?”

Drase shook her head, just as the lift doors opened onto Merchant’s Row. “It is not a matter of capacity. I do not wish to be so cruel.” With one motion that seemed too fluid to be the work of a limb containing bones, she extracted her arm from his.

Nestor frowned at this enigmatic answer, but something in her demeanor suggested that he wouldn’t get any more out of her on that topic, at least not then. With a sigh, he led the way toward the shop which had a crate of luxuries waiting for them.

This is, I am afraid, the end of Mr. Palazzo’s account, at least the part he sent. It makes sense that, if it is accurate, he would not detail any part of his work for the Kyaroh for fear of betraying their secrets, and if the account contains embellished elements, that he would leave it there for fear of betraying the fact that he did not in fact work with them.

The focus of his account is obviously on the relationship between himself and his erstwhile fellow spacer, the Gilehdat envoy Drase. Her suggestion that a human might learn the arts of the Gilehdat diplomats is interesting, though I’m sure their kind would deny that officially. If half of what is said of them is true, they are a potent weapon for the Grand Journey in its diplomatic endeavors which I’m sure this organization is not interested in sharing with the Confederated Worlds.

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Tales from the Inbox: The Computational Dilemma

2951-09-13 – Tales from the Inbox: The Computational Dilemma 

This week, we continue Nestor Palazzo’s account. Obviously, his claim of being involved in secret Kyaroh dealings is dubious to be sure, and is perhaps embellished, but it seems that he needed this embellishment to explain something about his changing relationship with his associate, the Gilehdat envoy Drase. 

“You negotiated work? Just now?” Nestor Palazzo frowned across the table at his cloaked companion. “That can’t have taken more than a minute.” 

Drase shrugged, her slight frame still not quite used to the gesture. “Hoyr and I spoke while you were seeing to your other business. I told him that I had no right to commit you or your ship until you granted me that right.” She flicked a long, golden finger into the menu, requesting a beverage. “He will pay very well.” 

Nestor set down his spoon and pushed aside his still only half-eaten stew. “Okay. What’s the catch?” He didn’t have any real problem with the idea of working for a Cutter – other than Hoyr, he had never really spoken to one – but the ease with which Drase had found him work was more than a little suspicious. 

“His time table is short, as he said.” Drase’s drink slid out onto the table, and she picked it up. “Also, the destination coordinates are quite secret. It is demanded by the leaders of the Kyaroh that no human may know the location.” 

Nestor frowned. “If I can’t know where-” 

Drase spun the token she’d been given like a coin. “The Kyaroh trust a Councilor to protect their secrets.” She peeled the film off the rim of the drink and took a long sip. “The only missing piece is your cooperation.” 

Nestor held up his hand. “How am I going to program the Himura drive if I don’t have a destination?” 

“You won’t program it.” Drase stopped the spinning disk with one golden finger. “You will teach me to enter coordinates into the star drive, and to purge its memory core.” 

“Woah, woah.” Nestor shook his head. “Back up. It’s not that simple.” He held up a finger. “Firstly, it’s not as simple as entering coordinates. The navcomputer needs to compute the fold radials and transit points, and send those over to the Himura prior to a jump. The navcomputer records are protected information, you can’t wipe that without getting-” 

“It is possible to directly configure the star drive.” Drase arched one eyebrow. “I have read of human spacers doing this in emergencies.” 

Nestor thought back to the last time he’d done the computations for a jump by hand. That had been as part of an examination when he’d updated his solo-operator certification, nearly six years prior; he’d never done it for real, and very no spacer he knew had either. How did Drase expect to learn all that math fast enough to be within Hoyr’s timetable? If she screwed up even one step, it could badly damage Macie Kurtz’s Himura Transitor, or simply deposit the ship at some random nearby location in several glowing pieces. 

Drase leaned closer. “This is a misunderstanding?” Still, her ruby eyes did not betray any hint of concern. Nestor resented how closed her thoughts were; even if she did know the enormity of what she was asking, she probably wouldn’t show it to him or to anyone else unless she wanted to. Every being was an open book to her, but her thoughts were her own. 

Probably sensing Nestor’s annoyance, Drase drew back. “Even now, you think my arts work to my advantage, Nestor?” She looked away, and this time, he could read the hurt feelings in her bearing. “If you do not trust me to act as your agent, I need not do so.” 

“Wait.” Nestor put one big hand on her shoulder as she moved to exit the booth. “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking.” 

Drase looked genuinely startled, though Nestor could not guess exactly why. “How so?” 

“You will have to do the computations by hand to keep their location secret. That takes weeks or months for most humans to learn. Even assuming you picked it up in a few shifts, I couldn’t check your work without access to the original coordinates.” Nestor shook his head. “If you do it wrong, it could kill us, or strand us to die in a wrecked ship.” He had only just begun to come to terms with Drase’s presence in his life and wasn’t terribly interested in having that process violently cut short.  

Drase nodded slowly. “I see. This is not a problem I had anticipated.” 

“Go and talk to Hoyr again.” Nestor dropped his hand. “Tell him that if time is critical, he needs to start trusting at least one human with the coordinates.” 

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Tales from the Inbox: The Councilor’s Arrangement

2951-09-13 – Tales from the Inbox: The Councilor’s Arrangement

Nestor Palazzo slid into the corner booth in Lawrence’s and rested his elbows on the table. The figure opposite, a slight woman wearing a hooded brown cloak, barely raised her head. “Settled up with Mendelsen.” He gestured to the empty bowl in front of her. “Do they have food recipes here that work for you?” 

Drase nodded. “The owner already arranged a data transfer to Macie Kurtz.” Her voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the hubbub of the establishment.  

“Good.” Owen Lawrence, the proprietor, was… well, “friend” was probably not the right term for the relationship. But Nestor knew the man well all the same. 

“He did not ask for payment.” Drase gestured to the bowl. “Not even for the food.” 

“I sent him a message to let him know you were with me.” Nestor called up the table menu and punched in an order for beer and the closest thing to beef stew anyone was likely to get on this side of the Gap. Though each of these items had a listed price, the tab at the bottom of the display still showed a zero tab when he had submitted his order. 

Drase leaned over the table to scrutinize the menu, and its bluish light cast her elfin, not-quite-human features into harsh relief. She seemed far less alien now than she had when they had first met, even though a still image would show no change. “You do not pay here?” 

“I pay Owen, sure. Just not with credits. Credits can be tracked and taxed.” Briefly, Nestor wondered whether the place – one of the seedier eateries in the Sprawl – was a bad place to take a Gilehdat, even one who had, for reasons he still did not understand, inserted herself into his routine. Even if Drase was telling the truth when she said her kind was not telepathic – and he was not entirely convinced of that – there were plenty of people who reacted poorly to their presence. 

Drase nodded, and Nestor disliked how knowing this simple gesture was. “How do you pay him, then, that the authorities do not supervise?” 

“Odds and ends. The sort of thing people offer when they want something done fast and don’t have the credits to match.” Nestor pointed up at a glass ornament hanging on the wall over the booth. “Half the art in this place fell off my ship. Sometimes it’s booze, or real food.” 

Drase sat back, her huge eyes seeming to drink in the light from the menu. “I understand.” 

This was a phrase Nestor had come to dislike intensely, because it never meant just one thing. He had still not gotten used to having someone around on the ship in transit; he was too self-conscious about what she was concluding from every little mannerism and tic he’d picked up in his years of flying solo. 

A hatch in the wall opened and Nestor’s order slid out on a tray, the foamy head of the beer sloshing wildly within its sealed glass, and steam seeping out from the covered bowl of stew. 

“How long does it usually take to find work?” Drase looked across the establishment, and her eyes lit briefly on every slouched back and huddled conversation. 

“A standard day, maybe two.” Nestor peeled back the flexible seal on his beer and took a swig. It was barely alcoholic, as usual, but it tasted almost good enough not to have come from a food-fab. Owen’s machines carried hand-tweaked recipes for most everything on the menu; it was one of the reasons Nestor liked eating at Lawrence’s every time he made port at the Sprawl. 

Drase sat up straighter and turned her ruby gaze on Nestor. “May I assist this process?”  

He met her gaze, equally unblinking. He’d learned not to let her unblinking attention unsettle him at this point. Those red orbs were more like fine gemstones than proper eyes, and their facet-like pattern of striations had already become familiar, even pleasant to look at. He hadn’t before considered the value of a trained Gilehdat diplomat negotiating his contracts. Even if she said nothing, her ability to read people would be quite useful. “You’re welcome to help, Drase.” 

“That is good. I will need one moment.” Drase pulled her cowl lower over her head, then slid out from the booth and threaded her way across the lounge. Nestor watched her for a moment, appreciating how effortlessly she navigated through the room without ever drawing anyone else’s attention. She was the only female of any species he’d ever seen do that. The mainly male spacers and local ruffians who frequented Lawrence’s tended to fixate on even the barest hint of an attractive female in their midst, even if no trouble usually came of it. 

As he popped the cover off his stew and began to stir it, Nestor wondered, hardly for the first time, what he’d gotten himself into, allowing Drase aboard. She was tolerable as a crew-mate, and certainly easy enough on the eyes. She knew when her presence was becoming bothersome, and when it was accepted, and that was something no human ever seemed to know. 

Most likely, she’d jump ship after a few weeks, he figured. Macie Kurtz was a good ship, but it was not the vessel for someone sent to make a study of humanity, if that part of her story really was true. Then he’d be alone again, and things would go back to normal. 

Just as Nestor lifted the first spoonful of stew to his lips, he saw Drase returning across the room. This time, she was making no attempt to avoid notice; instead, she was using that swaying gait human women used when they wanted every head to turn as they passed by. Behind her followed another figure equally likely to draw attention, a towering creature with long, muscular arms hanging from a strangely narrow but still solidly built torso. Nestor had seen Cutters at the sprawl a few times, but he’d never seen one in Lawrence’s; they didn’t eat human-compatible food. 

Drase glided back to the booth and sat down lightly, gesturing up at the big creature. “Hoyr, this is Captain Palazzo.” 

The Cutter pressed its long hands together in front of its chest. Its somewhat triangular head dipped in some sort of bow.  

Nestor set his spoon down slowly, glancing between Drase and this Hoyr creature. “Friend of yours?” 

“Councilor Drase indicated that your ship is for hire.” Hoyr’s voice was quieter than Nestor expected, and raspy. “Is this still true?” 

Nestor shrugged. “Sure. But I don’t do passenger service. Cargo only.” 

“That was conveyed.” Hoyr reached into a pouch at its belt and withdrew a black, metallic token. “Necessary data. Time sensitive.” He held the object out to Drase, who took it with a bow of her head. With one last look at Nestor, the big xeno turned and picked its way back across the room toward the exit. 

Feeling half the eyes in Lawrence’s on him, Nestor scowled at Drase. “What did you promise him?” 

Drase clasped her hands together over the Cutter’s token. “Nothing at all. I did, however, negotiate work, if you wish to take it.” 

We covered a previous account from Mr. Palazzo some weeks ago, before events elsewhere necessitated a change in focus back toward reports from action areas. I said at the time that I would not be publishing more stories about the Gilehdat, and that I found the Kyaroh, commonly known as the Cutters, to be a far more interesting subject. 

It was Palazzo himself who sent in an account featuring interactions between spacers and Kyaroh, as well as the Gilehdat envoy Drase. The figure of Hoyr in his account is probably a minor diplomat sent by this people to Sagittarius Gate; most of those present on the station are more like military liaisons and observers. 

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