Prologue
Unknown coordinates
quarantined planet 1078Ω-b (‘Unity’)
“Wake up, Darius. Come along. Rise and shine.”
Who are you?
“Wake up, Darius. You’ve rested long enough.”
I don’t understand. Who are you?
“Darius, don’t be silly. You remember me. How could you not?”
Who...?
“Really? Oh, this is embarrassing. I’m you. Now, wake up."
Under the empty streets of a dead city, cables thick as tree trunks snaked through claustrophobic tunnels, wreathed in years of dust. Then, in the inky blackness, a spark; a jolt of electricity coursed through decrepit wires, a pathfinder in the dark. And moments later, the spark became a torrent.
Corridors that had been empty and dark for more than a decade now glowed with new light. Somewhere deep in the maze of tunnels, the muffled groan of a generator started up, and then another, and another.
In a cavernous room, black as space, a single light pulsed softly, a beacon of faint blue light amid the sea of darkness. It glowed, faded, glowed, and faded – and came back red.
Darius woke up.
Castor’s Bluff Aerodrome
Sanctuary (Northern Hemisphere, New Constantinople Territories)
16:35 (local 32-hour day/night cycle)
21st of Thaw (first season, local 408-day year)
Starchaser had seen a long and eventful life. From the tip of her stubby nose to the nozzles of her aft nacelles, every inch of her airframe had a story to tell. She had served as a rapid response vehicle for the New Heliopolis Fire Department, and in places still bore the red and white of that life; she had hauled cargo and people under half a dozen captains and would-be skyfarers. Eleven years were behind her, and she had seen and done more than many aerovessels ever would.
Now, she sat on her landing stanchions in a blister hangar, early Thaw rain beating out a persistent rhythm on the corrugated steel roof. Adrian Blackwood, current owner and captain of the vessel, was shoulder-deep in the port side fore maintenance hatch, muttering to himself as he rooted out a faulty connection that kept coming loose and shorting against the hull. Eleven years had taken their toll on the ship, and she was long overdue a full refit – but on the money an independent skyfarer made, that was very much a distant dream.
Adrian leaned further into the maintenance hatch, balancing on one foot. The errant cable was in sight, but just out of reach; the plastic sheath that held the wires together had split down its length and jumped the bracket that held it in place, allowing it to swing loose and short out against the metal of the inner hull. He leaned in, balancing on one foot, the other leg out behind him as a counterbalance, but still the elusive cable remained out of reach.
“Um. Excuse me?”
The voice came from somewhere behind him, but he couldn’t see who had spoken. Without looking, he reached out a hand, making a grabbing motion.
“Pass me the grabber, will you?”
“The... grabber?”
“The grabby thing. Like a long stick with a little pincer thing on the end? It’s by the workbench.”
A few moments later, the item in question was handed to him, and the extra reach made all the difference; the reinforced plastic pincer held the cable tight, and he extracted it with a minimum of fuss. He inspected it with a discerning gaze, and clicked his tongue.
“Duct tape’s not going to hold this. Have to resheathe the whole damn thing.”
“Um. The store in the main terminal sells cable repair kits.”
“Decent ones, or?”
“Fast-Fix and Beistantr’s Finest, I think.”
“Pft. More like Beistantr’s Ripoff.” Adrian glanced up at the speaker for the first time, taking them in. They were a felian, feline and humanoid, with mottled calico fur and a stripe of hair dyed orangey-red between their upright ears. They wore a tshirt and raincoat, and their trousers and trainers were spattered with mud from walking outside.
“So, did you want something?” Adrian asked, wrapping a ragged and greasy old towel around the cable. The felian presented a slightly crumpled piece of paper, and Adrian took it, glancing at it.
“Um. I’m looking for Captain Blackwood,” the felian said.
“Oh, you saw my flyer. Yeah, you’ve found him.” He handed the flyer back.
“A-are you still looking for crew? It’s just, I need some work, and I want to... y’know, go see the world outside Castor’s Bluff. And yours was the only advert up on the board, so...”
Adrian smiled to himself. “Yeah, I’m still looking for crew. Any experience?”
“...No.”
“Well, I guess everyone’s got to start somewhere. Might as well be on this old bucket.” He patted the hull of Starchaser affectionately, then offered the felian a hand to shake. “So you are...?”
“-Oh. Um. Karina. Karina Med-Milan.” They shook Adrian’s hand in their paw.
“Welcome aboard, Karina. Now where’d you say this store was?”
Ten minutes later, Adrian was sat at the bar of the Castor’s Bluff diner, ten credits poorer but with a Fast-Fix in his pocket, and a House Special omelette on the way. The sound of his meal sputtering away in the pan drifted from the kitchen was the only real noise in the otherwise silent diner. Castor’s Bluff was a small airstop, barely large enough to qualify even as a village, and like every airstop north of New Constantinople, it saw hardly any traffic from the start of Freeze until the end of Thaw. Adrian, it seemed, was the only skyfarer to have stopped here for weeks.
His omelette was placed in front of him, steaming and fresh from the frying pan; chunks of onion and strips of Vrod pork glistened in the fluffy, pale orange mass. Adrian dug in with aplomb. The waitress returned as he was mopping the plate with a crust of bread, and gave him a smile.
“That’s got to be some kind of record,” she said, taking the plate. “You’re the captain of that shuttle down in Hangar Four, aren’t you?”
“That’s me.”
“Saw Karina heading down that way before. Always going on about wanting to travel, she is. Figure she’s asked you if she can join your crew, eh?”
“Asked and answered. Soon as I get the ship repaired we’re heading down to New Con. I think she’s gone to pack and tell her family.”
He raised his arms as the waitress wiped down the countertop, and stood up, stretching.
“Well, just you keep her safe. She’s important to all of us here. We're a tight-knit community, especially her family.”
Adrian glanced around, looking wistful for a moment. "Must be nice," he muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing." He dug out some crumpled notes from his pocket and handed them over. "Keep the change."
The waitress turned her attention to the register, and Adrian pushed the door open and stepped out into the fading dusk.
Department of Intelligence Offices
Axis (New Monte Carlo, Sapphire Islands)
08:19 (local 26-hour day/night cycle)
Avril 25th (local 358-day year)
The Department of Intelligence tower was an imposing structure, to say the least; a kilometre and a half of black steel and carbon polymers, dotted with lights, stabbing straight up from amongst the smaller skyscrapers. The only buildings that even came close size-wise were the various headquarters of the transgalactic corporations – the solid, angular StormTech Spire, with the corporation’s stormcloud and lightning bolt insignia painstakingly rendered in palladium and gold; the clean-cut and minimalist Aeon Pharmaceutical Headquarters, featureless white which seemed to softly glow in the mid-morning sun; the heavy stepped-pyramid tower that housed Sarehan Industrial’s representatives on Axis.
Director Kes Caveney saw each of these and more as zir shuttle swept in along the coast, bound for the D.O.I tower. It arced gracefully around the tower, giving the Director an excellent view; another shuttle, a craft in military sage and khaki, looked out of place among the sea of matte black and grey. Ah, she’s early. Excellent.
The Director’s shuttle touched down with a gentle jolt, and ze gathered zirself up before descending the ramp. Zir secretary, an Artificial Intelligence who took the name Creed, had projected his hologrammatic form beside the door into the tower, and was waiting patiently for zir arrival.
“Good morning, Director,” he said, keeping step with zir – though his feet didn’t touch the ground, and rather, he floated along in the air next to zir, projected from a tiny hologram drone. “Lord Admiral Rashid arrived a few minutes ago. She is waiting outside your office.”
“Thank you, Mister Creed,” Caveney replied. “Any other business?”
“Several reports from the Outer Colonies. Nothing of any urgency. The datapulse from the monitoring station in ten-seventy-eight omega is still being decrypted.”
“Notify me the instant the decryption is finished. The instant, Mister Creed.”
“Of course, Director.”
The secretary bowed his head and flickered out, the drone zooming away down a corridor, leaving Caveney to make zir way to the meeting. The Lord Admiral, as Creed had said, was waiting outside Caveney’s office, arms folded, tapping her foot impatiently. She glared when Caveney approached.
“Director, I have things to do. I don’t appreciate being kept waiting.”
“I do apologise, Lord Admiral. I did say nine o’clock.” Ze gestured towards the door, which opened at zir approach. “Shall we?”
“Let’s get this over with.”
“Delightful.” Caveney led the way inside, sitting down at the far side of zir desk – old, made of genuine oak, an heirloom from zir father. The Admiral sat on the other side, clearly uncomfortable in the moulded hard plastic chair.
“I’ll be brief, Admiral. At oh-one-thirteen hours this morning, we received an encrypted datapulse from our monitoring station in the ten-seventy-eight omega system.”
The Admiral frowned. “That system is quarantined. What are your people doing in there?”
“It’s an automated station, Admiral. It has been on-site monitoring the system since twenty-nine-ninety-five, waiting for any signs of activity from the system’s primary inhabited world. The datapulse indicates that activity has been detected.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Not at all. Unity was a well-developed world. It had plenty of bunkers and shelters. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine that some of its people survived the bombardment.”
“Your bombardment,” Rashid said coldly.
“I accept the responsibility for my actions, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss.” Caveney tapped an impulse control on zir desk, and a hologram appeared above it, a semi-transparent rendition of a planet turning slowly and bathing the room in a soft blue-white glow.
“This is Unity?” Rashid asked, looking through the projection.
“Our most recent rendition, yes. A decade or so out of date. Now, this datapulse warrants immediate investigation.”
“So send one of your sloops.”
“Rest assured, I will be. But ten-seventy-eight-omega is remote, and with the recent increase in outlaw activity in the Outer Colonies, I’d be remiss to send it alone. It will need an escort.”
Rashid folded her arms. “And that’s where I come in, correct?”
“Indeed. I’ll need at least two or three ships, preferably at least one cruiser in case we need to set up ground operations on Unity.” Ze touched another impulse control, and the hologram was replaced with a list of names and faces – commanders, captains, admirals, anybody with command of a ship.
“I don’t suppose you have anybody in mind?” Rashid asked resignedly, scrolling through the list.
“Juras Ley’daan.”
Rashid stopped, and glared at Caveney.
“You want Ley’daan. You want me to give you one of my most qualified admirals?” She leaned back, staring coldly. “That’s a lot to ask.”
Caveney smiled. “Perhaps, but think about it. The ambassadors from the Traditionalist factions are en route to Axis as we speak. Ley’daan is a Contemporary, and you know how Traditionalists feel about that. They’re like Protestants and Catholics.”
“Like what?”
“Just an old saying. They don’t get along, is my meaning. Having Ley’daan well out of sight will doubtless make negotiations easier, and I’m sure the Councillors will be grateful to you for your diplomacy.”
“And if I refuse?”
Caveney shrugged. “You are of course free to do so. Nicely as I can ask, you have the authority to refuse, and I will undertake this mission without the navy’s assistance. But you are familiar with Unity’s history, yes?”
“The basics, yes.”
“This activity on the planet could be nothing, but if it isn't nothing, you know what’s at stake.” Caveney locked eyes with the Lord Admiral, stoic and silent. The Admiral hesitated, then nodded.
“You’ll have your escort.”
Caveney smiled. “Thank you, Admiral.”
Unknown coordinates
quarantined planet 1078Ω-b (‘Unity’)
“Wake up, Darius. Come along. Rise and shine.”
Who are you?
“Wake up, Darius. You’ve rested long enough.”
I don’t understand. Who are you?
“Darius, don’t be silly. You remember me. How could you not?”
Who...?
“Really? Oh, this is embarrassing. I’m you. Now, wake up."
Under the empty streets of a dead city, cables thick as tree trunks snaked through claustrophobic tunnels, wreathed in years of dust. Then, in the inky blackness, a spark; a jolt of electricity coursed through decrepit wires, a pathfinder in the dark. And moments later, the spark became a torrent.
Corridors that had been empty and dark for more than a decade now glowed with new light. Somewhere deep in the maze of tunnels, the muffled groan of a generator started up, and then another, and another.
In a cavernous room, black as space, a single light pulsed softly, a beacon of faint blue light amid the sea of darkness. It glowed, faded, glowed, and faded – and came back red.
Darius woke up.
Castor’s Bluff Aerodrome
Sanctuary (Northern Hemisphere, New Constantinople Territories)
16:35 (local 32-hour day/night cycle)
21st of Thaw (first season, local 408-day year)
Starchaser had seen a long and eventful life. From the tip of her stubby nose to the nozzles of her aft nacelles, every inch of her airframe had a story to tell. She had served as a rapid response vehicle for the New Heliopolis Fire Department, and in places still bore the red and white of that life; she had hauled cargo and people under half a dozen captains and would-be skyfarers. Eleven years were behind her, and she had seen and done more than many aerovessels ever would.
Now, she sat on her landing stanchions in a blister hangar, early Thaw rain beating out a persistent rhythm on the corrugated steel roof. Adrian Blackwood, current owner and captain of the vessel, was shoulder-deep in the port side fore maintenance hatch, muttering to himself as he rooted out a faulty connection that kept coming loose and shorting against the hull. Eleven years had taken their toll on the ship, and she was long overdue a full refit – but on the money an independent skyfarer made, that was very much a distant dream.
Adrian leaned further into the maintenance hatch, balancing on one foot. The errant cable was in sight, but just out of reach; the plastic sheath that held the wires together had split down its length and jumped the bracket that held it in place, allowing it to swing loose and short out against the metal of the inner hull. He leaned in, balancing on one foot, the other leg out behind him as a counterbalance, but still the elusive cable remained out of reach.
“Um. Excuse me?”
The voice came from somewhere behind him, but he couldn’t see who had spoken. Without looking, he reached out a hand, making a grabbing motion.
“Pass me the grabber, will you?”
“The... grabber?”
“The grabby thing. Like a long stick with a little pincer thing on the end? It’s by the workbench.”
A few moments later, the item in question was handed to him, and the extra reach made all the difference; the reinforced plastic pincer held the cable tight, and he extracted it with a minimum of fuss. He inspected it with a discerning gaze, and clicked his tongue.
“Duct tape’s not going to hold this. Have to resheathe the whole damn thing.”
“Um. The store in the main terminal sells cable repair kits.”
“Decent ones, or?”
“Fast-Fix and Beistantr’s Finest, I think.”
“Pft. More like Beistantr’s Ripoff.” Adrian glanced up at the speaker for the first time, taking them in. They were a felian, feline and humanoid, with mottled calico fur and a stripe of hair dyed orangey-red between their upright ears. They wore a tshirt and raincoat, and their trousers and trainers were spattered with mud from walking outside.
“So, did you want something?” Adrian asked, wrapping a ragged and greasy old towel around the cable. The felian presented a slightly crumpled piece of paper, and Adrian took it, glancing at it.
“Um. I’m looking for Captain Blackwood,” the felian said.
“Oh, you saw my flyer. Yeah, you’ve found him.” He handed the flyer back.
“A-are you still looking for crew? It’s just, I need some work, and I want to... y’know, go see the world outside Castor’s Bluff. And yours was the only advert up on the board, so...”
Adrian smiled to himself. “Yeah, I’m still looking for crew. Any experience?”
“...No.”
“Well, I guess everyone’s got to start somewhere. Might as well be on this old bucket.” He patted the hull of Starchaser affectionately, then offered the felian a hand to shake. “So you are...?”
“-Oh. Um. Karina. Karina Med-Milan.” They shook Adrian’s hand in their paw.
“Welcome aboard, Karina. Now where’d you say this store was?”
Ten minutes later, Adrian was sat at the bar of the Castor’s Bluff diner, ten credits poorer but with a Fast-Fix in his pocket, and a House Special omelette on the way. The sound of his meal sputtering away in the pan drifted from the kitchen was the only real noise in the otherwise silent diner. Castor’s Bluff was a small airstop, barely large enough to qualify even as a village, and like every airstop north of New Constantinople, it saw hardly any traffic from the start of Freeze until the end of Thaw. Adrian, it seemed, was the only skyfarer to have stopped here for weeks.
His omelette was placed in front of him, steaming and fresh from the frying pan; chunks of onion and strips of Vrod pork glistened in the fluffy, pale orange mass. Adrian dug in with aplomb. The waitress returned as he was mopping the plate with a crust of bread, and gave him a smile.
“That’s got to be some kind of record,” she said, taking the plate. “You’re the captain of that shuttle down in Hangar Four, aren’t you?”
“That’s me.”
“Saw Karina heading down that way before. Always going on about wanting to travel, she is. Figure she’s asked you if she can join your crew, eh?”
“Asked and answered. Soon as I get the ship repaired we’re heading down to New Con. I think she’s gone to pack and tell her family.”
He raised his arms as the waitress wiped down the countertop, and stood up, stretching.
“Well, just you keep her safe. She’s important to all of us here. We're a tight-knit community, especially her family.”
Adrian glanced around, looking wistful for a moment. "Must be nice," he muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing." He dug out some crumpled notes from his pocket and handed them over. "Keep the change."
The waitress turned her attention to the register, and Adrian pushed the door open and stepped out into the fading dusk.
Department of Intelligence Offices
Axis (New Monte Carlo, Sapphire Islands)
08:19 (local 26-hour day/night cycle)
Avril 25th (local 358-day year)
The Department of Intelligence tower was an imposing structure, to say the least; a kilometre and a half of black steel and carbon polymers, dotted with lights, stabbing straight up from amongst the smaller skyscrapers. The only buildings that even came close size-wise were the various headquarters of the transgalactic corporations – the solid, angular StormTech Spire, with the corporation’s stormcloud and lightning bolt insignia painstakingly rendered in palladium and gold; the clean-cut and minimalist Aeon Pharmaceutical Headquarters, featureless white which seemed to softly glow in the mid-morning sun; the heavy stepped-pyramid tower that housed Sarehan Industrial’s representatives on Axis.
Director Kes Caveney saw each of these and more as zir shuttle swept in along the coast, bound for the D.O.I tower. It arced gracefully around the tower, giving the Director an excellent view; another shuttle, a craft in military sage and khaki, looked out of place among the sea of matte black and grey. Ah, she’s early. Excellent.
The Director’s shuttle touched down with a gentle jolt, and ze gathered zirself up before descending the ramp. Zir secretary, an Artificial Intelligence who took the name Creed, had projected his hologrammatic form beside the door into the tower, and was waiting patiently for zir arrival.
“Good morning, Director,” he said, keeping step with zir – though his feet didn’t touch the ground, and rather, he floated along in the air next to zir, projected from a tiny hologram drone. “Lord Admiral Rashid arrived a few minutes ago. She is waiting outside your office.”
“Thank you, Mister Creed,” Caveney replied. “Any other business?”
“Several reports from the Outer Colonies. Nothing of any urgency. The datapulse from the monitoring station in ten-seventy-eight omega is still being decrypted.”
“Notify me the instant the decryption is finished. The instant, Mister Creed.”
“Of course, Director.”
The secretary bowed his head and flickered out, the drone zooming away down a corridor, leaving Caveney to make zir way to the meeting. The Lord Admiral, as Creed had said, was waiting outside Caveney’s office, arms folded, tapping her foot impatiently. She glared when Caveney approached.
“Director, I have things to do. I don’t appreciate being kept waiting.”
“I do apologise, Lord Admiral. I did say nine o’clock.” Ze gestured towards the door, which opened at zir approach. “Shall we?”
“Let’s get this over with.”
“Delightful.” Caveney led the way inside, sitting down at the far side of zir desk – old, made of genuine oak, an heirloom from zir father. The Admiral sat on the other side, clearly uncomfortable in the moulded hard plastic chair.
“I’ll be brief, Admiral. At oh-one-thirteen hours this morning, we received an encrypted datapulse from our monitoring station in the ten-seventy-eight omega system.”
The Admiral frowned. “That system is quarantined. What are your people doing in there?”
“It’s an automated station, Admiral. It has been on-site monitoring the system since twenty-nine-ninety-five, waiting for any signs of activity from the system’s primary inhabited world. The datapulse indicates that activity has been detected.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Not at all. Unity was a well-developed world. It had plenty of bunkers and shelters. It’s not much of a stretch to imagine that some of its people survived the bombardment.”
“Your bombardment,” Rashid said coldly.
“I accept the responsibility for my actions, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss.” Caveney tapped an impulse control on zir desk, and a hologram appeared above it, a semi-transparent rendition of a planet turning slowly and bathing the room in a soft blue-white glow.
“This is Unity?” Rashid asked, looking through the projection.
“Our most recent rendition, yes. A decade or so out of date. Now, this datapulse warrants immediate investigation.”
“So send one of your sloops.”
“Rest assured, I will be. But ten-seventy-eight-omega is remote, and with the recent increase in outlaw activity in the Outer Colonies, I’d be remiss to send it alone. It will need an escort.”
Rashid folded her arms. “And that’s where I come in, correct?”
“Indeed. I’ll need at least two or three ships, preferably at least one cruiser in case we need to set up ground operations on Unity.” Ze touched another impulse control, and the hologram was replaced with a list of names and faces – commanders, captains, admirals, anybody with command of a ship.
“I don’t suppose you have anybody in mind?” Rashid asked resignedly, scrolling through the list.
“Juras Ley’daan.”
Rashid stopped, and glared at Caveney.
“You want Ley’daan. You want me to give you one of my most qualified admirals?” She leaned back, staring coldly. “That’s a lot to ask.”
Caveney smiled. “Perhaps, but think about it. The ambassadors from the Traditionalist factions are en route to Axis as we speak. Ley’daan is a Contemporary, and you know how Traditionalists feel about that. They’re like Protestants and Catholics.”
“Like what?”
“Just an old saying. They don’t get along, is my meaning. Having Ley’daan well out of sight will doubtless make negotiations easier, and I’m sure the Councillors will be grateful to you for your diplomacy.”
“And if I refuse?”
Caveney shrugged. “You are of course free to do so. Nicely as I can ask, you have the authority to refuse, and I will undertake this mission without the navy’s assistance. But you are familiar with Unity’s history, yes?”
“The basics, yes.”
“This activity on the planet could be nothing, but if it isn't nothing, you know what’s at stake.” Caveney locked eyes with the Lord Admiral, stoic and silent. The Admiral hesitated, then nodded.
“You’ll have your escort.”
Caveney smiled. “Thank you, Admiral.”