Terminus (Fringe Worlds #1) (5 page)

Chapter 3

Of course, “Skullcap” wasn’t the thing’s name – just the moniker Maker had assigned to him. (Assuming it was a “he.” It might not even have a gender, let alone an individual name.) It was the one he’d fought on the derelict ship. As if in confirmation, he could see the ring of skulls around its neck.

Maker let out a ragged breath. “When was this taken?” he practically demanded. “Where?”

“One of the Fringe worlds,” the general said. “Terminus. About ten days ago.”

The image above the holodisk changed, expanded. Projecting upwards until it was over everyone’s head, it now showed a star chart, with worlds and suns depicted as tiny spheres. At the outer edges of the chart, a tiny dot – presumably Terminus – began to pulse brighter than its fellows.

“Fringe?” Maker said with contempt. “That world’s deep in the Beyond!”

“It may appear that way on a map,” Browing agreed. “But those in authority have seen fit to declare it a Fringe world and therefore the property of the human race.”

Maker frowned, his distaste for what he was hearing keenly evident on his face. Claiming a world in this fashion typically meant that anything between it and the current edge of human-occupied space was also being annexed. It was pure politics, something he cared little for – because in many instances it often led to military skirmishes, if not outright war (especially if such a planet already had an indigenous population) – and his companions were quick to pick up on his antipathy on this subject.

“Look,” Dr. Chantrey said after a moment, “I don’t need to tell you that humanity, as a species, is in perpetual growth mode. We have ever more people, needing ever more space, and requiring ever more resources. We have to keep pushing outward, keep expanding, or civilization – as we know it – will collapse. That means staking a claim to planets and territory farther and farther away from the Hub, which itself keeps expanding.”

“It’s always been this way,” Kroner added. “You know that. There are places in Gaian Space that were considered Beyond five hundred years ago. We planted our flag on them, absorbed them into the fold, and kept moving on. This is nothing new.”

“Fine. I get it,” Maker said in exasperation. “Colonialism is alive and well, and also good for you. Be sure to get your recommended daily allowance.”

Browing softly cleared his throat. “If we could get back on topic for a second?”

“By all means,” the general said, plainly ready to change the subject.

The holograph changed again, this time blowing up the rotating image of what was apparently the planet Terminus. It was an Earth-like world in appearance – blue-green, with swirling clouds in the atmosphere and maybe a fifty-fifty split between landmass and water on its surface.

“As I mentioned,” Browing said, “humanity has claimed Terminus as being part of the Fringe. However, despite our belief that it’s a part of Gaian Space, it is at present a bandied world.”

Maker gave a short nod to show that he understood. A bandied world was one which, for various reasons, more than one sentient species was laying claim to. One race might claim it for religious reasons; another, for its natural resources; a third, because of some perceived strategic advantage; and so on. Such a planet, being in the middle of an interstellar tug-of-war, might find itself home to a multitude of species. Apparently Terminus was such a world.

“How did you get the holo-pic of the insectoid?” Maker asked.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” Kroner said. The general had been noticeably silent during most of Maker’s earlier narrative – probably because he’d heard it dozens of times before. In fact, he’d been one of the general officers who initially debriefed Maker. Now, however, it was clearly his turn to do the talking.

“About a month ago,” Kroner went on, “one of our Marine scout ships disappeared while on a routine mission. When we sent a team to investigate at the scout ship’s last known coordinates, they found evidence of a battle and a strange form of radiation – but not our missing scout ship or her crew. When our scientists tried to identify the radiation, only a single matching reference came back.”

“Let me guess,” Maker said. “The ship I made my infamous jump in.”

“Yes,” Kroner said, nodding. “At that point, we hit a dead end in our search, until a few weeks ago when that same radiation was detected in outer space just above Terminus. The radiation trail led down into the planet’s atmosphere, where we lost it.

“Since the only connection we had to this situation was your file, Gant, we pulled it up and went through it in exquisite detail. One of the things in there was a holographic rendition of the aliens that attacked you – a likeness that had been cobbled together based on your description.”

“I remember,” Maker said, recollecting the many hours spent with hologram artists who attempted to squeeze every minute detail about the appearance of the attackers out of him.

“We distributed that image to our people and allies on Terminus,” Kroner continued. “We hit pay dirt, as I said, about ten days ago, when someone captured that image of the Vacra that you saw earlier.”

“Vacra?” Maker asked quizzically.

“Yes,” Kroner said. “That appears to be what they call themselves.”

“So what are they doing there?” Maker asked. “On Terminus?”

“We can only speculate at this point, but we do have a theory,” Kroner replied. “We believe the Vacra locked horns with our scout ship. They won the battle, but didn’t escape entirely unscathed. They were able to make the jump to hyperspace, but their ship was damaged so they had to head someplace to make repairs…Terminus.”

Maker’s brow creased in thought. “That’s a lot of conjecture based on nothing more than a radiation trail.”

“Well, we’ve got a little more than that,” Browing confided. “They’ve actually been dealing with local merchants, trying to obtain certain goods, which is how we got the holo-pic. One of our non-human allies took it.”

“What are they trying to buy?” Maker asked.

A cocksure grin found its way onto Browing’s face as he responded. “Shield generators, fusion coil, fortified alloy…”

The list went on, but it was clear that much of what the Vacra had been seeking was material used in the construction of spacefaring vessels…or the repair of them.

“Alright,” Maker said when Browing finally finished reciting the Vacra’s shopping list. “I suppose this is all leading up as to why you’re here. If you’re just looking for confirmation, you got it. They’re the ones that attacked us four years ago.”

Maker spent a moment thinking about how much time it had been, although he knew it almost down to the second: kicked out of the service a year after the incident, then bumming around the Gaian Expanse for another year before finally settling on Ginsburg for the past two. Altogether four years. Four long years for it to finally become clear that the encounter he’d reported hadn’t been some figment of his imagination.

It felt good to finally be vindicated. Maker looked expectantly at his visitors, suddenly wondering if his corroboration was all they had come for. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“We want more than confirmation,” General Kroner said after a few seconds. “We want you to go after them.”

Chapter 4

Maker didn’t immediately respond to the general’s statement, prompting Kroner to repeat himself.

“I heard you the first time,” Maker said. “I’m just not sure what you’re asking. Are you saying that you want me as some kind of civilian advisor to a military campaign, or maybe as–”

“We want you to lead a recon mission to locate the Vacra on Terminus,” Kroner said, interrupting him.

“Recon??!!” Maker shouted incredulously. “These things have attacked and destroyed at least three of our ships! You need to be organizing a
strike
!”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it,” the general said. “For now, we need to find out more about them. They clearly have weapons and technology that we don’t understand. A show of force probably isn’t the wisest course of action. As you yourself said, Gant, they’ve destroyed three of our ships. We need to know what we’re up against before we start picking a fight.”

Maker spent a few moments brooding on what he’d just heard. He hated to admit it, but the general’s position actually made sense. An attack really didn’t seem prudent when they had no idea what they were facing.

“We understand how you feel,” Dr. Chantrey suddenly chimed in, apparently interpreting Maker’s silence as opposition. “However, charging in with almost no intel would be complete folly. We need you to do this our way.”

“Assuming I agree with you,” Maker said, “I can’t recall the last time a civilian led any kind of military action on the front lines like you’re suggesting.”

“We’ll reinstate you,” Browing said. “Full time and credit for the past few years. You’ll be a full-fledged Marine again, with uninterrupted service as far as your record goes.”

Maker laughed derisively. “I spent fifteen years getting my butt shot off for the Marines, and at the end of the day they gave me the bum’s rush. Why would I be eager to sign up for that again?”

“Because you’re a patriot,” the doctor said, “and a Marine at heart. Service is in your blood, and right now that service is needed.”

“Stop it,” Maker told the doctor, still smiling. “Just stop it.”

“Stop what?” Dr. Chantrey asked, seemingly surprised.

“Stop trying to psychoanalyze me,” Maker replied. “Quit trying to push my buttons.”

The doctor shook her head. “I’m not–”

“Sure you are,” Maker said. “But back to the subject at hand. I’m not wild about the idea of being the military’s scapegoat again if things go sideways.”

“What if we sweeten the pot a little?” Kroner asked.

Maker’s eyes narrowed. “I’m listening,” he said.

“Before your last mission,” the general said, “you applied to the officer’s program and were accepted. Of course, all of that got put on hold after you came back. And then you…left the service.”

Maker nodded, almost dumbly. So much had happened in the aftermath of his return from that last mission that he had practically forgotten about this last thing, that he had applied to become an officer.

“What are you saying?” Maker asked.

“I’m saying that we’ll go ahead and push the paperwork through,” the general stated. “You won’t just be coming back to the Marines, but you’ll be coming back an officer. Something you always wanted.”

Maker blinked, the general’s offer clearly catching him by surprise.

“One question before I decide,” Maker said. “Why me?”

“Frankly speaking,” Browing said, “you’re the only human being who’s ever seen these things – the Vacra.”

“Wrong,” Maker declared, shaking his head. “I’m just the only one who’s ever seen them and lived to tell about it.”

“Be that as it may,” Dr. Chantrey said, “you’ve got the most experience with them, which – along with your military training, knowledge, and skill – makes you the most qualified to lead this mission.”

Maker frowned, seeming to mull things over. “Alright, let’s say I accept,” he said after a moment. “I’ll need a team–”

“Already taken care of,” Browing interjected. He pulled a p-comp from a pocket and extended the palm-sized computer to Maker. “If you take a look at the profiles on the screen there, you’ll see that we’ve assembled a select task force to–”

“No thanks,” Maker said, cutting Browing off as he returned the man’s p-comp, having spent no more than a moment glancing at the information on its monitor. “If I’m going to do this, there are some conditions you have to meet, the first one being that Erlen comes with me.”

“Done,” Kroner declared with a nod.

Of course, that one was pretty easy and expected. Even before he got railroaded out of the Marines, anyone acquainted with him knew that he didn’t go anywhere without the Niotan. However, he felt the need to make it clear that Erlen was part of the deal.

“Next,” Maker said, “I pick my own team.”

“Agreed,” Kroner stated.

“Now wait just a minute,” Browing said, clearly not happy. “This is a high-level mission requiring people who–”

“It’s fine,” the general said, cutting Browing off with a wave of his hand. He turned his attention back to Maker. “What else?”

Maker took a deep breath. “I want eclipse authority,” he announced.

The room went silent. Maker’s visitors exchanged telling, knowing glances. His last request was a big one; eclipse authority meant that he would have the privilege and prerogative to exceed his mission parameters whenever and however he liked. It was a literal license to do whatever he wanted, no matter how unlawful, unethical, or unscrupulous. It was usually granted to only the most trusted of individuals on the most important of missions. In fact, only three people were ever alleged to have received it since
Homo sapiens
began their expansion across the stars.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Browing opened his mouth to say something, but Dr. Chantrey spoke up first.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, “but we can’t do that. No one here has the power to grant you eclipse authority, or even promise that we’ll get it for you. We can try, but frankly speaking, it’s not likely to happen.”

“I see,” Maker said, not looking particularly happy with her statement.

“However,” the doctor continued, “you shouldn’t be looking at this in terms of what you can’t do, but see it as an opportunity for what you can.”

“Which is…?” Maker asked.

“To catch the one that got away,” she replied, the corners of her mouth turning up into a smile. At that point she had him hooked, and she knew it.

“Alright,” Maker said. “I’m in.” As he said the words, an odd sense of relief that he hadn’t expected flooded through him.

“Outstanding,” said the general, shaking his hand.

“Oh, there is one more thing,” Maker said. “I get to use
this
.”

He pressed a button on his wristband, and a nearby panel of wall slid up into the roof with a mechanical whirr, revealing a hidden, coffin-sized cubbyhole. Intrigued, Maker’s visitors walked over to the alcove for a better look at its contents: a suit of battle armor.

Browing frowned as he looked at the outfit. “This is illegal, you know. It’s a violation and a felony for civilians to possess Marine armor.”

“This isn’t Marine armor,” Maker countered. “It’s mine. I built it from scratch.”

“But probably from Marine specs,” Browing insisted, “since it’s the best battle gear out there.”

“It’s the best
mass-produced
gear out there,” Maker corrected. “But you can custom-build armor that’s a whole lot better, and I did. I even put my own sigil on it.”

He slapped his hand on the left pectoral of the armor, where a small image of Erlen was engraved in the metal. Kroner laughed when he realized what it was.

“Using your own armor shouldn’t be an issue,” the general said with a smile, clapping Maker on the shoulder.

“If the general approves, I have no objection,” Browing added. “Glad to have you aboard. And if you’ve got an idea of who you want on your team, just tell us and we’ll start making it happen.”

“For the most part, I don’t know who I want just yet,” Maker said. “That being the case, I’m going to need complete access to the military personnel database.”

Browing looked stunned. “Complete access? To the
entire
database?”

“Yes,” Maker responded. “How else am I going to screen for the people I’ll need? I need to check not only their skill sets, but their entire backgrounds. That means I need full access.”

“So, you don’t even have names at this point?” Browing asked.

“Well, I can give you
one
name,” Maker said. “Chief Master Sergeant Hector Adames.”

Browing pulled out his p-comp, and then rapidly moved his fingers across its screen, sorting information. A moment later he stopped, then stared at the screen, eyes flitting back and forth as he read what was on the monitor. A second later he let out a harsh laugh.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Browing said, looking up. “The man’s a criminal, from a family of criminals.”

“Hector left his wayward ways behind and severed his family ties when he joined the Corps,” Maker said defensively.

“Actually,” Browing retorted, again looking at the screen, “it looks like joining the Marines was just a cover to continue his illicit activities. Let’s see…accused of using his position as quartermaster to smuggle goods…implicated in the sale of restricted weaponry to civilians…” Browing looked up. “About the only reason he’s not spending the rest of his life in a military prison is lack of evidence.”

“So he’s either innocent, smart, or both,” Maker concluded. “And not many dummies make it to Chief.”

“And neither did your friend,” Browing said. “He’s been demoted twice, so Chief isn’t on his résumé at the moment.”

Maker shrugged, taking it in stride. “Still, I want him on my team.”

“We’ll make it happen,” the general said, obviously ready to leave before Browing found a way to queer the deal. “We’ll get you access to the database. Be ready to move out in three days.”

He shook Maker’s hand again, said his goodbyes, and then headed to the door. Growling, Erlen raced over and gently raked a paw across Kroner’s shin.

“Of course I didn’t forget you,” the general said, bending down to scratch Erlen’s head.

Next, Browing stiffly shook Maker’s hand before swiftly heading to the door, sidestepping General Kroner, who was still petting Erlen.

“Well,” Dr. Chantrey said, extending her hand, “it’s been a pleasure.”

Maker shook the proffered hand. “Before you go,” he said. “Two questions.”

The doctor seemed intrigued. “Go ahead.”

“First of all, I know you and Browing must have read my file before coming here, so why ask all those questions like you didn’t know my story, my background?”

For a second, Maker didn’t think she was going to answer. Then when it appeared that she
was
going to reply, her eyes twitched in a way that made her seem sly, shifty even, and he knew that he wasn’t going to get a truthful response. But at that moment, something happened; her demeanor changed and a kind of resolve seemed to settle within her.

“This is why,” she said, and suddenly there was a thin metallic rod in her palm. It must have been some form of prestidigitation, because Maker would have sworn that her hand was empty a moment earlier. He looked at the rod, noting that it was about six inches in length and maybe half the width of his middle finger. At one end of it were a number of tiny lights and diodes that randomly gave off soft flashes of light.