Starbound (16 page)

To High Station One

B
enfold
was a co
zy ship despite her
unexpected size. She
was indeed shaped l
ike a wasp, with the
cargo holds encompa
ssing her belly whil
e the hyperdimension
al drives and Hoagla
nd Field generators
were held out well t
o either side, like
wings. She was also
a full two-thirds th
e length of a Lights
hip and in some ways
superior in perform
ance, especially tri
mmed as she was now
in normal space, wit
h low mass in her sp
acious cargo holds.
But she was not so e
legantly appointed a
s a Lightship, with
the majority of her
interior space reser
ved for carrying car
go. Nonetheless, her
forward third held
our sturdy crew well
, with an oversized
mess hall and a smal
ler room whose walls
Zander could draw c
losed to create a pr
oper dining room.

It was almost a full day out in normal space to the jump point from Quantar to Carinthia, then another full day's trek to High Station Three, limited as we were by the Carinthian Navy's in-system speed regulations. We had already made the turn inbound and Dobrina and I were getting some rest when Zander's call from the bridge woke us both. I checked my watch. Still two hours to High Station Three.

“Cochrane here,” I said into the desk com.

“Just got the call from Carinthian Naval command,” came Zander's raspy reply. “They want us to skip our scheduled stop at Three and proceed directly to One first, so I can drop you off. Then back out to Three to deliver my scheduled cargo. And they're assigning us an escort.”

“What kind of escort?” I asked.

“By displacement, a Carinthian Navy destroyer. I'll let you decide what kind of company that is.”

I looked to Dobrina, who was already up and dressing.

“We're on our way,” I said.

We arrived at
Benfold
's command deck a few minutes later. Flying as we were under the red and gray standard of Pendax afforded us some measure of protection, even exception from any importune requests from our escort. The Carinthian destroyer flew side by side with us, to give us a gentle nudge away from our filed flight plan. It was clear that we were not to even consider a stop at High Station Three. Nonetheless, as we passed close by Three on our new vector Zander received numerous greetings from his many friends in the Carinthian Navy by radio and even longwave packet, which was unusual. If there was any sort of warning in those private packets, Zander kept it to himself.

The command deck of
Benf
old
was tight and cramped, and really no place for visitors. Only five seats were available, including the captain's, which Zander wasn't giving up. It was really more of a C-and-C, buried as she was deep inside the ship's fo'c'sle, away from the engines and cargo holds. I was reminded again of the fanciful design of the Lightships, with their archaic conning towers with the bridge on top, like an Old Earth sailing vessel. It was a symbol of the openness and freedom of the explorer, a central theme in Lightship design. Such fanciful touches were a direct result of the Historian's gift of the all-enveloping defensive Hoagland Field, given to Quantar and Carinthia more than a decade ago.

We stood on either side of Zander, assessing the situation.

“They've asked us to increase our speed,” said Zander. “Obviously they want us to get in-system faster than our original plan.”

“To what end?” asked Dobrina.

“Who's to know?” replied Zander.

“No chance they could just be a friendly escort?” asked Dobrina.

“Unlikely with as much offensive hardware as those destroyers carry. A scout or corvette could do the job easily enough, without the show of force,” replied Zander.

“The Carinthian government has known we were coming for weeks. Why this kind of act?” asked Dobrina.

“It could be nothing. But it does seem like the powers that be on Carinthia want to show us their fist instead of shaking our hands. I'd take that as a message. Like I said, rumors of unrest in the capital, Commander,” said Zander.

“Politics aside, can we defend ourselves if required?” I asked Zander. He looked at me sidelong.

“I'd say yes. They're guided missile destroyers, pack plenty of wallop, including nuke-tipped torpedoes. We're much faster than they are. I don't have as much artillery, but my coil cannons could mess them up right good,” he said.

“Let's hope it doesn't come to that,” I said. Zander stood, his cane supporting his bad leg.

“This is my ship, but on this mission I'm under your command, Mr. Cochrane. What are your orders?” he said. I thought about that for a second.

“Steady as we go, for now,” I said. Dobrina looked up from the tactical board.

“At this speed I make it around five hours to High Station One,” she said.

I only nodded in response.

In the end they asked us, in a way that sounded very much like an order, to fly in close formation, making a heading straight for One. I decided discretion was the better part of valor, so we followed without protest. After slightly more than five hours with our escort, we docked at High Station One, far above Carinthia, her blue-green shine glowing in the dark of space as we looked at her on the main display.

“Does it feel good to be home?” I asked Dobrina, trying to cheer her. She nodded nervously but said nothing.

“Watch your back, lad,” said Zander as we stood at the airlock of his cargo bay. “Strange goings on these days.”

“I'm sure it will be fine,” I said, not really sure if I believed that. We said our goodbyes to Zander as the Carinthian soldiers on the other side of the air lock tapped three times on our door in staccato repetition. I verified the environment was stable and then reluctantly opened the airlock. A phalanx of six Carinthian military police, or
Fel
djäger
as Dobrina called them, stood facing us on the other side.

“Commander Cochrane? Captain Kierkopf?” asked the tallest one in the middle. We both acknowledged. “Come vis uz please,” he said in a heavy Carinthian accent. His tone and manner left no doubt that it was an order, even if he did say “please.”

We followed the commandant of the guard through a nearly empty deck on what should have been a thriving military station. No question that High Station One was buttoned down tight. As we approached a more central hub of the station traffic picked up a bit, looking more like what you would expect from an operating military space station. I got more than one sidelong glance from passing officers and enlisteds. I supposed that my choice of wearing my royal family colors instead of my Union Navy uniform had something to do with that.

We were guided into an anteroom that could only be described as plush, with soft velvet-covered chairs and a formal sitting area. The
Feldjäger
were pleasant enough, even though no smiles were on offer, offering us tea and pastries. We ate in silence, avoiding small talk. After
about half an hour of this we were escorted into an adjoining, much larger room. It was also done in a rich, formal style, and very much looked to be the type of room that would be used for receiving visiting dignitaries. There were a few servants scattered around the perimeter, but we were offered no further refreshments, nor a place to sit. After about five minutes of this, a man that looked to be some sort of protocol official entered the room and activated a small standing monitor station placed on top of a central podium. Then he came up to me.

“Your codex please, Sire?” he said. I immediately went to my diplomatic pouch and retrieved a small black box, opened it and removed a metal cylinder from the velvet casing and handed it to the officer. He took it to the monitor and slipped it inside the unit. The codex had been given to me by Perkins back on Quantar prior to our departure. The codex had been used for centuries in the Empire as a way of validating the bearer's DNA and ancestral history. It confirmed a royal was who he said he was. These were ancient and very formal protocols, but Perkins had suspected I might need it. The Carinthians, it seemed, stayed much closer to the old royal protocols than we on Quantar did.

After a few moments the cylinder popped back out of the monitor and the officer took it and handed it back to me.

“Thank you, Sire,” he said with a head bow, then made for the far doorway as if to depart.

“What's that all about?” whispered Dobrina. I tilted my head toward her.

“Just royal formalities. The protocols of the demigods. Nothing for you mere mortals to worry yourselves over,” I said. That got a smile from her despite our obviously stressful circumstances.

When he reached the doorway the protocol officer opened it and then stood to one side. At that signal a tall man, looking about thirty years old and dressed in a highly decorated Carinthian green military uniform stepped through the threshold and strode purposefully
toward us, trailed by the protocol officer. He stopped a few meters away from me and then just stared, as if waiting for something. He reminded me of Serosian: tall, dark hair, but with a slightly rounder face that nonetheless reflected the angular edge of his father, who was undoubtedly the Grand Duke Henrik Feilberg.

The protocol officer stepped up, placing himself between but not in front of the two of us. Dobrina took a step back away from me. I just waited, perplexed by the whole thing. I was wondering if I would have to start the conversation when the protocol officer thankfully spoke up.

“Your Highness,” he said to the decorated man, “may I present Peter Erasmus Cochrane, Duke of KendalFalk, Viscount of New Queensland, and heir to the Director's Chair of Quantar.” Then he turned to me. “Sire Cochrane, may I present to you Prince Arin Feilberg, Duke of New Styria and New Burgenland, Prince Regent of the Realm of Carinthia.”

“Prince Arin,” I said, bowing from the neck per the protocol Perkins had taught me.

“Duke Peter,” he replied with no real joy in his voice, making the same bow to me. “Welcome to Carinthia.”

“Thank you, Sire,” I said, then turned to my companion with a sweep of my arm. “May I present Captain Dobrina Kierkopf of the Unified Space Navy.” At this Dobrina stepped out and did a slight dip, which I supposed was what they called a curtsey. The prince did not move to shake her hand, but simply acknowledged her with a slight nod and a single word.

“Captain,” he said. She stepped back behind me. The protocol officer took over the conversation again.

“Duke Peter is here in the role of a Union Navy Commander, Highness, attending a Royal Navy inquest on the loss of our Lightship
Impulse
in the Altos system,” he said. The prince made a face like this was news to him, but said nothing. There was an air about him of
superiority, as if he was looking down on an obviously uncultured young royal from a provincial world. Finally, he spoke again.

“I have been taught by the Historians of Earth that our families were on opposite sides of the old Imperial civil war. How convenient it must be for your people that we are now on the same side,” said Arin.

I was puzzled by the comment. “Well, Highness, I am not sure if I would use the word ‘convenient,' but yes, the Union has been to Quantar's advantage, undoubtedly,” I replied. He gave a quick, humorless smile at that before responding in kind.

“What I meant to say is that Carinthia offers the Union our heavy industry, our machinery and resources, our engineering enterprise. Yet Quantar seems only to offer some inexpensive timber and your noted shiraz wines. It hardly seems a fair exchange to me,” he said.