[05] Elite: Reclamation (19 page)

‘Set drone hyperdrive target to Mithra,’ he instructed. A faint chime sounded in acknowledgement.

‘Standby to release drone, negative trajectory course, two hundred metres astern.’

This time the computer buzzed in response.

Drone subsystem: Course confirmed. Hyperspace destination confirmed.

‘Acknowledged,’ Dalk said, watching the approaching bulk of the
Basilica
sweeping toward him.

‘Deploy drone and activate drone hyperspace countdown … now.’

There was the faintest of clunks as the drone detached from the hull of the
Coup de Grâce.
It slowly retreated behind the main ship until it was holding position as instructed.

The
Basilica
was close now. He had to time this perfectly. Too close and the jump would be jammed by the mass of the facility, too far and his plan wouldn’t work.

Drone subsystem: Hyperspace Engaging.

There was a flicker of harsh light across the hull of the
Basilica
. Behind the
Coup de Grâce
, a flickering sphere of sparkling energy had formed. A hyperspace cloud; the telltale marker that meant a ship had jumped out …

But the
Coup de Grâce
hadn’t jumped, only the drone.

The moment the cloud appeared, Dalk spun his ship around and nudged it behind the bulk of the
Basilica
, bringing it to a halt and then cutting power to all systems.

On the scanner a faint red mark appeared, rapidly closing on the flickering cloud. From his vantage point Dalk could just see skin tight’s Viper. Right about now she’d be scanning the cloud the drone had left. Advanced scanners could decode the destination ...

‘Come on,’ Dalk whispered to himself. ‘Take the bait.’

A few moments passed and a second cloud appeared. Skin tight had jumped. Dalk grinned, targeting his own scanners on it.

Destination co-ordinates: Mithra.

‘Got you.’

The
Coup de Grâce
fired its drives back up and blasted away from the
Basilica
, its hyperdrive charging for its own jump, ready to head in the opposite direction.

‘A wily one, that one,’ the guard said, having observed the manoeuvre. ‘Got to hand it to him though, clever move. Looks like the best of the lot. He’s got the tech, the expertise and the contacts.’

Octavia nodded, but her expression was grim.

‘I don’t trust him. Do some digging. He was too smooth. He’s covering something up. I reckon he plans on taking the cargo himself. He figured it was valuable.’

‘Tricky to avoid revealing that. Why would anyone want a contract on some dumb kid and an old ship like that.’

Octavia pursed her lips and let out a sigh.

‘You got homing tags on all of them?’

‘All bolted up when they were docked. Telemetry too. We can track these low births anywhere in the galaxy. If they find him, we’ll know.’

Octavia nodded.

‘Get my ship prepped and ready to go immediately,’ she ordered. ‘It’s going to be him. I want to be there when he tries to double-cross me. About time I had a little fun.’

***

Salomé pulled the straps about her, trying to stop herself from trembling. Hassan had directed her into the rear chair again and was busy adjusting the myriad switches and controls around the cockpit. A series of rising hums sounded around her as the ship readied itself.

She felt numb as she tried to piece together the fragments of memory that swirled around in her mind. They refused to coalesce. Every time she got close a headache would flash across her brow forcing her to stop. It was wearisome and maddening.

The faint recall of pain in her chest was a recurring theme. A sword, bright steel flashing before her eyes. Running, fleeing and panic. A shadow, a dark cloak twirling around a mysterious figure. Blood. Feelings of fear, defiance and betrayal. Blurred faces tantalised her, blending into a spinning maelstrom of out of focus faces. Voices that were achingly familiar but yet utterly unknown echoed around her, sometimes soft and reassuring, but more often tinged with warning, desperate calls and yells of anguish.

Then it was all gone again, infuriatingly ephemeral and elusive. The more she concentrated the more the memories receded from her. Her mind felt foggy, slow and unresponsive. She couldn’t remember anything before seeing the young Commander who had woken her up. What had happened? Had he kidnapped her? Erased her memory? He wasn’t to be trusted, that was for sure, yet he was the only person who knew anything about her. She was helpless.

If he hadn’t done this who had? He’d said she was on board a ship. Why? He’d laughed at her inexperience with space flight, it seemed clear she’d never stepped foot onto a spacecraft before, so why had she been in one? Why had she been sealed in a pod? Who had done this? Why couldn’t she remember? Was her memory permanently gone or would it return?

She’d heard her own voice as she spoke. She could speak. She had an Imperial accent. How did she know that? She remembered seeing the charts, the names, even the customs and clothes but the moment she tried to recall the detail …

… there was nothing. Did she have family? Parents? Siblings? A pet? She felt sick and confused. She stopped trying, concentrating on her breathing, hoping to settle her stomach and her fears.

What am I going to do?

The Commander didn’t want her aboard; he was likely to abandon her at the first opportunity. Then what? Despair clawed at her mind.

She trembled, pursing her lips and clenching her hands against the seat restraints. Something in her solidified. Anger rose. She’d not allow herself to crumple, she was better than this. The strength of feeling surprised her. Pride and self-respect surged through her. She would find a way to understand and restore, no … reclaim her memory. No one would stand in her way. If someone was responsible, there would be retribution. She’d make sure of that.

Another memory flashed across her mind, unfamiliar, but yet well known. It prompted a strange ambivalence.

Never stop fighting until you can fight no more.

She let out her breath, aware she’d been holding it for some time. Where was that from?

Beneath her the ship trembled and began to rise. Faint whirrings sounded through the hull; machinery performing its function as directed. She gripped the arms of her seat to steady herself.

Hassan chucked something back towards her. It was a plastic bag with some kind of face seal on it. She caught it.

You’ll need one of these,’ he called out, still keeping his attention on the controls as the rocky landscape below dropped out of view.

‘What’s this?’

‘Remlok. Some folks call it a barf-bag.’

‘What’s it for?’

‘You’ll see.’

Salomé felt something moving under her legs, her back and arms. Instinctively she jolted forward in her seat, but it was to no avail, the seat had moulded itself around her and was holding her in place in a strange gel-like substance.

Her short gasp of bewilderment was abruptly severed. The
Talon
lifted off and reached for the stars.

Chapter Seven

The
Coup de Grâce
gently coasted through the blackness, its immaculate time-stressed duralium reflecting starlight off its smooth tapered hull. It rolled to port, the pilot executing a smooth change of direction towards a dark planet, grey against the backdrop of bright stars.

Aboard, Dalk was scrutinising the passive scanner information being presented to him as his ship approached. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. The reading was subtle, but obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. The infrared scanner told a story; a faint red stain marked the surface of the planet, the telltale mark of residual heat. Another ship had recently passed this way.

Judging by the size of the reading the signal hadn’t been left by a big vessel, it was right in the ball park for the Eagle. Dalk guided his ship downwards, confirming the strength and size. He had to know how far behind he was.

‘Eight hours, give or take,’ he said to himself with a satisfied sigh, before calling up the holofac chart of the nearby systems. He had already searched a number of the possible jump points the young pilot could have used. A few more hours and that trace would have faded away beyond detection.

The young man was reasonably canny. He could have easily kept jumping until he ran out of fuel and was forced to make a stop, but that sort of trail was easy to follow; the jump points were simple to read with enhanced scanners. By letting the record of his first jump decay into the darkness the pilot would have thrown many off his trail. Landing on the planet was another smart move. It was possible to see a ship against the darkness of space even with all power sources switched off, but hidden in the shadow of a deep crater it would be virtually undetectable.

Dalk’s first hunch had paid off, now he had to strike lucky again.

The Eagle-class ships didn’t have a huge hyperdrive range, so there were only limited locations available and it would need to refuel to make a further jump. If the pilot was sensible he’d avoid any official refuelling spots. That meant lesser known locations along the route. The Eagle didn’t have a fuel scoop either, so he couldn’t use a convenient gas giant.

But where?

Dalk studied the map. The pilot might make a detour to one of the many mining worlds in the sector to refuel. The
Zegami Foundry
wasn’t too far away, a big metal refinery and fabrication plant, nicely off the beaten track.

Too much of a detour though …

Ferenchia seemed the mostly likely immediate destination. Even with the need to refuel the Eagle was still a long way ahead. Dalk couldn’t arrive there ahead of his quarry, but with a bit of judicious plotting he could close the gap. He’d likely still have to locate them when he arrived. The system served as a major trading hub in this region. There was a lot of commerce, mostly provided by small time traders. It was the perfect place to hide a small ship.

‘Set hyperdrive target to Ferenchia,’ he called out. ‘Spool and jump when ready.’

The computer emitted a double chime. Dalk settled back and waited as the rising hum signalled the power being bled into the core of the ship. With a brief flicker the
Coup de Grâce
disappeared from sight.

***

Jenu frowned at the communique that appeared in front of her. She was privy to most information that Tenim dealt with, but this particular item confused her. It was coded for Tenim directly and only his express permission had allowed her to view it. She replayed the short video. It was laced with static, as if it had been hastily recorded.

‘… Where’s the damn shipment?’ Jenu recognised the disfigured face of Vargo, the Reclamist leader. She recoiled in distaste. ‘We need those weapons and we need them now. What are you playing at?’

Some kind of explosion sounded in the background, static crashed across the display before the image stabilised again. Vargo was staring straight into the camera, leaning in close.

‘The Imperials have sabotaged the mines, we’re losing control of the slaves. Answer me for fuck’s sake. You want your Tantalum? I want my weapons!’

Vargo moved away and the video cut out. Jenu leant back thoughtfully.

‘And what do you make of that?’ Tenim said, leaning across her and running his hand carelessly up her body. She rolled over, stretching her arms up and wriggling closer, enjoying the warmth of their close embrace.

‘It would seem our shipment has gone missing.’

Tenim pouted. ‘My dear Jenu, I’m disappointed. Our shipment indeed.’

Jenu clicked her tongue. ‘It was your idea.’

Tenim pulled a face of mock innocence. ‘Me? How can you even think of such a thing? Is it my fault that pirates are making a profit out of the calamity that has befallen that system? Smugglers and brigands ferrying illegal weapons to revolutionaries? I would never countenance such behaviour.’

Jenu pushed him back down on the bed and rolled across him.

‘Fine words to cover your nefarious plans,’ she said, stopping his reply with a kiss.

It was a moment before he was able to respond.

‘Sometimes words are all we have.’

Jenu folded her arms and leant on his chest, looking into his eyes. Her relationship with Tenim had brought her financial independence, as much travel, responsibility and power as she had ever desired. All their other diversions had been most pleasurable. It had been a profitable association in every way except one; Jenu didn’t trust him.

Part of her desired a simpler life away from all the intrigue and plotting endemic to Federation politics. She could be the wife of a better man, a man for whom lying was not as natural as breathing. Tenim would discard her the moment she was no longer useful. She’d hardened herself to these possibilities over the years, wondering how much of herself she’d compromised in the process. She was wise enough to know the intrigue and the danger excited her. Would she be bored by a more mundane existence?

It was all about timing your exit from the game. For now, Tenim still had much to offer her.

‘Vargo is going to need more than words, I think.’

‘Vargo who?’

Jenu laughed, despite herself. Tenim turned bared faced lies into an art form.

Tenim stretched underneath her. ‘It would seem that Octavia has decided to feed his battle, but starve his victory.’

‘Surely it’s in our interest to continue to help him?’

Tenim didn’t answer. Jenu changed the subject.

‘Do you think Octavia really has the Loren daughter?’

Tenim sighed. ‘No doubt about it. Vargo and his cronies must have bungled their own assassination. Somehow the girl was spirited off planet into Octavia’s waiting arms.’

‘Does Vargo know?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Shouldn’t we let him know?’