Relics of Utopia (Starship Gilead Book 1) Page 3

  Jehane broke the silence. “We’re going to get married,” she announced.

  “He proposed?”

  “Well, not exactly. But he told me that he loves me and that he’s never met another girl like me on a thousand worlds. He called me his wildwood flower.”

  Adrienne sighed in spite of herself. She could see how it would be easy to fall in love with someone who talked like that.

  As the river slowly flowed past them and down to the sea, the two girls dreamed of love and talked and occasionally reeled in their lines to see if the bait still sat on their hooks. It was a beautiful, crisp day and the birds sang in the trees, but Adrienne couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was coming.

  Four hundred thousand kilometers above Cheron-4, a Brethren gunship armada waited. There were nine ships in all, a hodgepodge of destroyers and retrofitted antiques that wouldn’t stand a chance against Gilead in a fair fight. But then, what kind of fool ever fought fairly?

  “What’s the status of our cloaking device?” said Captain Anderson of the starship Azazel. The destroyer had just arrived on the scene after fleeing the gunship Chamberlain, and the captain was worried they might have been detected. Thankfully, his business with the Saladin had already been conducted by the time the Chamberlain arrived. Otherwise, the Brethren fleet might be forced to abort their mission.

  “Our cloak is operating at eighty-five percent efficiency,” answered Jordan Berlocher, his tactical officer.

  Captain Elbryian Anderson reclined in his chair, his eyes fixed on the enormous starship filling his view screen. Gilead was the among the last surviving Jerusalem-class starships from the Galactic Civil War and more than a match for their little armada. The Azazel’s cloaking system had been malfunctioning for several hours, and Elbryian was terrified that the cloak would fail at any moment and the ship would suddenly come shimmering into view. He was more than willing to die fighting against Gilead under normal circumstances, but he had a mission to accomplish—one that would change the future—and the last thing Elbryian wanted was for that mission to fail because of a technical malfunction.

  “Look at her,” he said, admiring Gilead from afar. “She’s a beautiful ship. A masterpiece.” Elbryian loved machines—he had ever since he was a child—but his religion did not allow him to pursue such a trivial passion. The universe was broken, and it would remain so until its true masters were restored to their rightful place. The Brethren faith reached back into ancient times; as far as they were concerned, theirs was the oldest religion in the human history. They believed that the universe was controlled by powerful, supernatural beings called the Watchers. These beings had interacted with mankind in his infancy, but man had turned on his gods and trapped them in an extradimensional prison. The Brethren aimed to release the Watchers and restore the one true faith—their faith—to the universe.

  “It is a ship of infidels,” Berlocher said. “Everyone on board deserves death.”

  “‘Deserves death,’” Anderson repeated softly. “Of course they do. But imagine if we could turn their hearts toward the truth. What great works could we do for our cause with a ship like Gilead under our command?”

  Berlocher seemed to consider this for a moment before he nodded his agreement. He was a brash young man with his cheeks covered in peach fuzz, but he was full of passion for his faith in the Watchers who secretly ruled the universe. He likely saw Gilead as a symbol of heresy and would have been pleased to see the great old ship scuttled. And in truth, that was the most likely outcome of this secret mission. But the idea of converting his enemy into a friend—that was an idea that appealed to Anderson.

  “Have faith,” Anderson said. “Everything will turn out just the way it should. Remember, we have the gods on our side.”

  “Yes, sai,” Berlocher said. He bowed his head in reverence and tuned back to his workstation.

  Captain Anderson turned his attention back to Gilead, admiring her sleek lines as she maintained orbit above the planet. And far below, Cheron-4 spun leisurely on its axis, turning slowly toward its fate.

  The young men of Avalon, or at least those who had managed to withstand the disapproving stares of their fathers on this day of harvest, were congregated in a fallow field outside of the village. They had all seen the notice on the net and had all come here for the same purpose: to take their place as rangers of Gilead.

  Vallin Arrington stood among his friends and acquaintances, his face lean and as smooth as a baby’s ass, his blond hair hanging down in his eyes, and wondered if he was making a terrible mistake. His father was back at the farm, probably drunk off his rocker, and here he was playing space cowboy.

  It felt wrong. But at the same time, he knew in his heart that he had to get away from this place. He was no farmer, not anymore, and he would gladly leave Avalon and never return if that was what God or Fate willed. Assuming either of those forces actually played a hand in people’s lives.

  A man in black combat armor stood before the crowd, a great blue eagle emblazoned across his breastplate. Disruptor pistol holstered on his hip. The armor was scraped and dented in countless places, and the gear certainly looked like it had seen more than its fair share of combat. He looked like a knight from the olden times—like King Arthur or Captain Lightoller.

  His helmet had a tinted visor that made him look almost like a warbot. You couldn’t see his eyes, but even so, Vallin was certain they were fixed right at him. He tried not to look away, but some animalistic part of him couldn’t hold the ranger’s gaze for long.

  The armored figure spoke, his voice amplified by a speaker inside his helmet.

  “My name is General Hollis Garner. I’m in command of the Rangers of Gilead and the person you’ll answer to should you decide to join us in the black. I’m also the person who will make you want to come home crying to your mommies, so I want you to think long and hard before you press your thumb to my register. Do you hear me?”

  The farm boys murmured their responses, and the tone of the general’s voice shifted. “When I ask you a question, I expect a clear, straight answer. I said, do you hear me?”

  “We hear you,” they answered in unison.

  “Good. Now, here’s how it’s gonna be. I’m not gonna run you in circles through the woods or make you do ten thousand push-ups today because, honestly, I just don’t give a rat’s ass. I’ll take every one of you that’s willing to sign on. I’m just gonna tell you one thing, and then you can decide for yourself if you’re a farmer or a soldier. I don’t care either way. Do you hear me?”

  “We hear you, sai.”

  Garner removed his helmet, revealing a grim face. He was shaved bald, but coarse stubble covered his brown skin, as if he didn’t particularly care about grooming himself on a daily basis. He wore a thick goatee that was peppered with white, and scars on his forehead surely came with an interesting tale. He looked like a soldier—a warrior who could fight a rathbear with nothing but his hands and not feel even the least bit concerned. His eyes were as black and cold as the night sky.

  “This is how it is, boys,” he said. “The lot of you live on this backwater planet, staring up at the stars and dreaming of a life of adventure. You’ve all heard the tales of Captain Lightoller and his brave crew. You’ve heard about women who will open their legs for any man who wears the blue eagle, and that probably sounds right nice compared to milking goats and shoveling horse shit or whatever it is you do all day. Problem is, life on Gilead isn’t gonna be like that for you. If you join me on the ship, I’m gonna work your asses until you drop in your bunks that night. You’re gonna learn to fight without regard for your own well-being. You’re gonna learn to kill without remorse. And I can promise you, boys, I’ll make you cry and wish you had never been born. Some of you will beg to be dropped off at the nearest spaceport, and others will die on some nameless moon and no one will even remember your names.”

  Vallin sensed the apprehension in the other young men of Avalon. Some of them had sweethearts they would have to leave behind. Some had families they might not see again for years, if ever. But for Vallin, there was nothing here in Avalon. He had to get out, and Gilead was his only option. His father had never been the same after his mother died. It was like whatever was good in the man was buried with his wife, and all that remained was cold, and hard, and loveless.

  And even considering all that, Vallin would have stayed on—would have kept things going on the farm just like he had since his mother passed. . . but not now. Not after what had happened.

  “You did this to me, boy, and you’re no son of mine anymore.”

  Vallin shivered at the memory of what his father had said. It shanked him in the heart. He had to get away from here, and Gilead was departing tonight.

  “Now I’m gonna give you all a chance to go back to your families,” said General Garner, “and I won’t think any less of you for it. Go on. Walk away.”

  A few of the gathered young men did just that. The general watched them go, his eyes never wavering, until all that remained were the recruits who would accompany him back to Gilead.

  Vallin would have remained even if he were the only one left standing, but he was pleased to see almost a dozen others also stayed. His thoughts drifted up through the atmosphere and into the black. The ship was up there, orbiting the planet like a floating city. Gilead. The Warden of the Night—that’s what the old-timers used to call the ancient starship. She had been protecting this sector—what some called the Barony of Gilead—for half a millennium, and soon he would call her home. He wanted to see her. . . wanted to leave this old life behind and embrace whatever lay ahead.

  He was ready.

  “The rest of you,” said the general, “don’t think of yourselves as brave or smart or anything else.
Your friends who walked away—they’re the smart ones. The lot of you are going to be begging me to let you off at the next habitable moon.”

  He raised his left arm and activated a holographic interface. Turning the virtual screen, he displayed a text document so that everyone could see. “Here’s the contract, such as it is. Read it over and make your mark. Or skedaddle on out of here. Either way is fine with me. The shuttle leaves at nineteen o’clock, Earth Time. You can bring whatever you can fit in a duffel. And don’t forget to pack your teddy bears—you’ll need those to cry on tomorrow.”

  Garner beamed the document to the gathered recruits, retrieved his helmet, and sat down on a tree stump. He produced a cigar from another compartment and lit it up. Vallin wondered if the tobacco was grown here on Cheron-4 or another agrarian world.

  Vallin tapped at his watch and activated his own interface. He synced General Garner’s document and started to read the contract. He only got through the first couple of paragraphs before he decided to skip ahead to the end. Pressing his thumb on the appropriate place, he then handed the tablet to next recruit.

  There was no turning back now.

  Gadsey’s Tavern was crowded by the time night fell, and Windham was glad he and Charlie had managed to snag a table. Many of Gilead’s citizens and crew were enjoying an evening of shore leave in Avalon, and the tavern’s small dance floor had been jammed packed all night. The two old friends had been talking for hours, and Windham could almost sense Eowyn’s presence at their pub table. She would have approved of this reunion, of that he had no doubt. It was good to let go of his pain, even if only for one night.

  The country singer Charlie had mentioned wasn’t just good, he was exceptional. He held the crowd in the palm of his hand, and Windham was starting to wonder why this guy was playing in a dive bar on the fringes of the galaxy instead of arena shows on the prime worlds. Jon Galen sat on a stool on Gadsey’s tiny stage, playing an antique guitar and singing the kind of song that seemed to come pre-installed in the mind of every human in the galaxy. Dressed all in black, he had a scraggly beard and long dark hair that touched his shoulders.

  “You were right about that one,” Windham said. “He’s great.”

  “I know it,” said Charlie. “He’s been onworld for a while now, and Gadsey’s is packed like this every time he performs.”

  Staring through the dense crowd, Windham’s thoughts returned to his meeting with Charlie earlier in the day. Were there Brethren agents mixed in among all these people? The bar was packed so full, it would make a perfect target for a terrorist attack. The thought sobered the captain almost instantly, and Windham had to resist the urge to hop out of his seat and drag his friend to safety. A warning klaxon was sounding in his head—something bad was about to happen, he just knew it.

  “You okay?” Charlie asked. “Windham, you look like someone just stepped on your grave.”

  “What? Yeah. Sorry… I was just thinking about your trouble.”

  Charlie looked serious all of a sudden. He was a good man, trying to do his best in a difficult situation. “The Brethren are a curse,” he whispered. “I don’t even know what they want. It’s like they just enjoy killing people.”

  The mood at their table was turning dark, and Windham knew it was his own fault. “I put in the order as soon as we finished our meeting,” said the captain. “There should be a unit of rangers on planet by midnight. We’ll flush those bastards out, I promise.”

  A tight smile formed at the corners of Charlie’s mouth. “Thank you, my brother.”

  Windham hoped that was enough. The Brethren were like rats—they scurried into their holes whenever someone with authority came sniffing around, but they always crawled out again as soon as the coast was clear. Windham hated them all the way down in his bones.

  Charlie leaned forward. “I notice that you didn’t make it over to see Ella,” he said.

  Windham gave his friend a stern look. This was one topic of conversation he had wanted to avoid. Ella Bowen was Eowyn’s cousin and childhood best friend. She took it hard when Eowyn died.

  Charlie was unfazed. “The two of you ought to try and patch things up while there’s still time. Your boy was running around town with her son Henry earlier today . . .”

  “There’s nothing left to patch up,” said Windham. “She’ll never forgive me for what happened to Eowyn, and to be honest, I don’t think I can forgive myself.”

  The two old friends exchanged a look, and a million words passed unsaid between them. The moment was awkward, and both men were glad when the waitress returned with their beers.

  They drank and listened and talked. It was a good night, and Windham was pleased that he had finally returned to Avalon. This is what Eowyn would have wanted, he knew that, and he also knew that his children needed to spend time with their planet-bound cousins. There was something special about the people of Cheron-4. They were sturdy, honest folk trying to earn a living by the sweat of their brows. Eowyn had loved this place, and it wasn’t hard to understand why. Still, Windham couldn’t shake the feeling that trouble was headed their way at maximum warp.

  When the country singer’s set was over, he slung his guitar behind his back like a disruptor rifle and approached their table. Windham’s face was well known across this sector, and Charlie was the governor of the entire planet. It wasn’t hard for anyone to pick out who they were, but most people had the decency to just allow these two old friends to share this moment to themselves. But Windham really didn’t mind. He had enjoyed the concert. It was, perhaps, the first time he had truly enjoyed anything since he lost Eowyn.

  “Excuse me. You’re Captain Manthus?” The man’s face was young, but there was something about his eyes that made him seem much, much older.

  “I am,” Windham said.

  “I’m Jon Galen. It’s an honor to meet you.”

  The singer offered his hand and Windham shook it warmly. Galen turned to Charlie. “Governor Morrison, sai.”

  Charlie lifted his glass as if in a toast, drained it, and then set it on the table.

  The waitress appeared almost immediately. “Can I get you fellas another round?”

  “I’d best be moving on,” Charlie said. “But it was good to see you again, old friend.”

  “I’ll have another,” said Windham. “And bring something for my new friend, Galen, here. Whatever he likes.”

  The waitress smiled. “Yes, sai.”

  Galen stood awkwardly by as Windham and Charlie embraced.

  “I should have done this years ago,” said the captain.

  “I’m glad you finally came around,” Charlie said. “You’ll always be welcome here, my brother.”

  Windham took his seat and watched his old friend leave the tavern. He was sorry to see Charlie go. Neither man was exactly in his prime. One day, they would part in this dingy old bar, and it would be for the last time.

  “Captain,” Galen said, “I was wondering if I might travel with you and your crew for a time?” The singer stared at Windham earnestly. His strange eyes made the captain feel uncomfortable.

  “Gilead’s no cruise ship,” Windham replied. “There’s trouble out there in the dark, and it often crosses our path.”

  “I know, sai, and I’d be willing to take that risk. I could sing for your crew, tell stories, do some stand-up . . .”

  “We have a holosimulator.”

  Galen bit his lip. “There’s nothing like the real thing.”

  The waitress reappeared. She set another beer in front of the captain and a goblet of blue liquid in front of the singer.

  “What the hell is that?” Windham said.

  “A blue nebula.”

  Windham grimaced. He was never one for fruity drinks. “It’ll be six months, maybe eight, before we return to Avalon.”

  Galen took a slow look around the tavern. “To be honest, I don’t care if I ever see this place again.”

  “Have you traveled far?”

  “Across the universe.”

  “And here you are, face-to-face with me, a million kilometers from where you started.”

  “Something like that,” Galen said. He took a sip of his vibrant drink.