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There were three ships above us, size four small cruiser hulls. Interrogatory said that they were Imperial military. In Technical, “Civil vessel Golden Hind, you will come to rest in an unpowered two isquare orbit and stand by for boarding!” spit out of the tachyonic set. The distance was a little over 280 kilometers above the surface, or 175 miles. The broadcast was repeated in Traditional, the other ‘official’ language of the Empire. “What are we going to do?” Jayden asked. Truthfully, I’m not certain either he or John Kyle understood either language well enough.
“We’re going to assume that orbit and heave to,” I replied, “Those are military cruisers with Vector pilots. Somewhere, there are a dozen Starbird auxiliaries able to pounce down and annihilate us if we don’t comply. There isn’t a damned thing we can do to evade them, and even if we did, they know who we are. Failure to comply will only make it worse.”
Major Kyle activated the tachyonic transmitter and replied to the Imperials, “This is Golden Hind, John Kyle commanding,” he spoke in English, “We have received your instruction and will comply.” I had a hunch that things had just gone to hell in a handbasket, but I knew we had to reply in one of the Imperial languages. I grabbed the microphone and repeated, “This is Golden Hind,we will comply,” in Technical.
It took a good ten minutes for Major Kyle to bring us up to stationary orbit altitude and velocity. He wasn’t using maximum power; we didn’t want to create even a momentary idea in the mind of whomever had guns on us over there in the Patrol Cruisers that we might be trying to escape. Vector Drive could vanish in a twinkling, so sometimes the guns and gunners had to be on a hair trigger.
Things had gone to hell in a handbasket. One of the Patrol cruisers matched orbits, and two suited humans came over, entering our tiny airlock one at a time. Basic Imperial spacesuits were skin-tight mesh except for the helmet, belt, and excretory areas. There was a latex-like material under the mesh to help protect against radiation, and a network of wires and tubes for air, water, and power in flexible conduits between helmet and belt. Another thin layer of latex-like material overlay the whole thing to keep the loose bits from getting snagged, but it could be and often was cut for access, then patched later. Not in the military, though. The first one through was wearing two purple discs on a black background. Troop Corporal, the lowest grade corporal,my datalink told me, commands a troop of twenty prime line troops plus staff in Planetary Surface, usually crews totaling six to eight prime in the Tactical or Strategic Space services. Three Patrol Cruisers was about what someone in his position would command. He was also wearing the golden triangle of a Second Order Guardian.
“Who is the commander of this vessel?” he demanded in Technical.
Damn. So much for my bonus. John Kyle started talking first, in English. “I’m John Kyle, commanding. What can I do for you.”
But this was a situation where who was in command couldn’t be hidden, “No, John,” I told him gently, in English, “Officially, I’ve been in command since we left Earth. I’ll explain later, if I get a chance.” To the Troop Corporal, I said in Traditional, “Correction. I’m in command of Golden Hind. Joseph Bernard, of United States, Earth,” and gave him my citizenship number. Technical was a good, precise language, but it was a severe pain to use.
“You have been observed violating an Imperial Interdiction Order. Do you have justification?” About this time, the second person, a woman wearing the single white disc on white of a Staff Private, finished cycling through the airlock. She wasn’t wearing the insignia of a Guardian, but I got the impression she was operant, nonetheless.
“My employer ordered me to,” I said, knowing that it wouldn’t cut it with him, or anyone else in the Imperial hierarchy. I was the adult pilot in command, not whomever the suits back at VSC were paying to set our itinerary.
“Why didn’t you check the Control Notices?” he asked.
“I didn’t know there was a publication for Earth’s Instance,” I replied, “I know that’s no excuse. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Correct it won’t. You’re under arrest on suspicion of treason. The ship is commandeered to Svalbard Base, Earth, for investigation and trial. These people are under detention as witnesses and are advised they are also under suspicion of treason. You’re ordered to surrender piloting control to Private Ostezi, here.”
Treason? What the fuck?I thought, but there was no point fighting at this point. There hadn’t been since we were hailed – fighting would just get us all dead, fast. Treason might be a potential death penalty, but my only hope was cooperation and honesty. I had made a mistake – a big one. I had to hope that when it was all explained – and it would be explained – I’d be able to get off for less than the maximum penalty. Maybe I’d be able to get off completely, but I doubted it. My hopes for leniency were built on not intending any such thing as treason.
I authorized her as a pilot, then surrendered Command Pilot authority to her. “I’ve got control, sir,” she said, “The ship is brand new, and in good shape. Any time you’re ready.” She went up to the control cabin and took the main pilot’s chair. The Troop Corporal, who still hadn’t introduced himself, kept us under observation. I had no doubts he could take all four of us if we did anything stupid.
“Link for Vector and countdown from ten on my mark, Private Nosoni in control. Mark.”
“What’s going on here?” Jayden asked. He didn’t understand either of the Imperial languages.
“I’ve apparently made a mistake in neglecting to check a publication called Control Notices for our stellar neighborhood. As a result, we’ve run into an Imperial operation of some nature. It could be pretty serious. My best hope, all of our best hope, is to cooperate and be meek and forthcoming. I’m under arrest, but you may notice he hasn’t even bothered to disarm me.” Although that last was probably mostly because I was no threat.
“Why didn’t you check it?”
“I didn’t think there was one for the area. The Empire told us everything in our neighborhood was harmless.”
“Actually, sir, what we told you was that there were no significant threats to Earth, a very different thing.” That was the Imperial. Right. Just because he’d spoken Traditional didn’t mean he didn’t understand English. The Empire was adamant that it did not do business in local languages. That meant that when working in their official capacities, the language was Traditional or Technical. Period. Supposed to make certain citizens learned to communicate in at least one of the Empire’s official languages. Actually, according to Tia Grace, there were two other Imperial languages, but they were mostly limited to operants because natural state humans like me and the crew of Golden Hind didn’t think that way. My understanding was that the Empire had a tiny government by Earth’s standards. You could go your whole life without interacting with the government. Well, except for a contractor administering the adulthood tests, and assuming you didn’t do something stupid like I had. But if you wanted to work for an Imperial employer, you had to be proficient in at least one of the languages, too. It had taken me months to learn the basics of Traditional, but at least the thought process and structure was something like English. Technical was an entirely different thought process. I was still at the stage where I had to think about the words and the modifiers one at a time. I had to admit it was a wonderfully precise language, but it was like Old Entish in that Lord of the Rings movie. It took a long time to say anything.
To demonstrate how different things were, thanks to Vector Drive, we were already inside Earth’s atmosphere, approaching the Svalbard Islands. If you don’t know where that is, maybe Spitzbergen will ring a bell. Before the Empire came, the furthest north of any permanent settlement on Earth. The archipelago sits between the Arctic Ocean, Barents Sea and Greenland Sea from about 75 to 80 degrees north latitude. The Empire had bought most of the archipelago from Norway for the largest of three bases on Earth itself. As a result, Norway was the wealthiest government on Earth right now.
It was early July, which meant the area was about as warm as it ever got that far north of the Arctic Circle. There was still a chill in the air, and I was wishing for a light jacket I didn’t have as the still nameless Troop Corporal motioned us out of Golden Hind, but he led us swiftly underground and then through a portal to their main administrative area. Asina carried Tellea, who’d fallen asleep. Sentries at the entrance to the underground were combat suited, mottled grayish to blend with the tarmac, vaguely insectoid in their appearance with reflective visors, completely deadly with gatling-looking lasers and various other deadly accoutrements mounted, a vague hum emanating from the suits. I’d never seen combat suits – or pictures of combat suits – any color other than gold before. I presumed the difference was intentional camouflage. More sentries – combat suits the same off-white as the underground corridors – guarded the entry and exit of the portals.
Copyright 2016 Dan Melson. All Rights Reserved.
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