Astra: Synchronicity (4 page)

The crew sat there paralyzed, gaping at the
sight with variations of awe and fear. Aliens had always been
portrayed as aggressors. Ardri chose to be an optimist. If humans
could be inherently good, other sentient races were capable of the
same. For the moment that wasn't her decision to make.
First-contact protocols dictated captains faced with an alien
encounter return to home space at once.

Maxia turned toward Ardri. "Captain…your
orders?"

She scratched her jaw despite the fact it did
not itch. "Set a course for Chara and engage the hyperdrive."

The
Schenectady
rotated on its
vertical axis and escaped into hyperspace. It would take the ship
five days to reach Chara. Until they returned to home space near
Zion, they'd be under a communications blackout due to the lack of
hyperspace nodes in the area.

"Captain," Maxia informed the bridge crew as
he pecked his fingers across the console, "the unknown ship appears
to be following us."

She stood and walked over to him, where she
glanced down at the readings and wiped her sweaty palms against her
pants. "Do you think it's hostile?"

Maxia rolled his eyes. "Of course it's
hostile."

"Why exactly is that, Ensign?" the captain
asked as she hovered over his seat. "Should the aliens assume we'd
also be hostile?"

"With all due respect, sir, the human
response has always been to kill it before it kills us. I can't
help being an ignorant product of society."

"Ignorance is why the government has been at
a standstill for decades."

"Maybe they'll be carebears and we'll all get
along," Maxia mused.

Ardri shot him an insolent glance. "You are
out of line, Mr. Maxia." He turned back around and sat with his
attention on his display. "Is the ship gaining on us?"

"It has matched our velocity. For now."

Faeun shifted her attention back to the
captain. "What if it follows us all the way to Chara?"

"When we get back to AC space, I'll get in
touch with Admiral McKirin," she said. "As much as I loathe the
thought, this may end in a fight. I hope they're as curious about
us as we'll be of them. Please keep me posted if anything changes,
Ensign."

The news had the potential to strain already
tenuous relations between the American Federation and United
Europe. Never in history had the alliance been so torn by
capitalists and socialists—those who wanted to rape Astra and those
inspired to give it away. Since the American Federation governed
eighteen habitable worlds over most of the eastern rim, it had the
most say. Their conservative majority lauded their industrialized
society, but their lax justice system favored those who could buy
their innocence. Had it not been tempered by the civility of the
million citizens of United Europe, the Allied Confederacy would've
been run like the Wild West.

But in all its ostentatious glory, the UE
succumbed to the same political mayhem plaguing the AF: infighting,
perpetual campaigning, posturing instead of compromising, and
all-around incompetence that prevented the most basic functions of
the allied government. The Allied Fleet represented their combined
military force, and as such, the military was bound to any rule
they handed down.

Most of the Allied Council supported the
isolationism of Astra, which was a large part of the reason the
Allied Fleet didn't explore the galaxy beyond. In fact, going to
Gamma Pavonis in the first place would catch her some grief;
however, with the possible encroachment of aliens on Astra's
doorstep, her decision would be commended.

All they could do now was wonder and wait.
This would be the longest day of her life.

***

Commander Rashad Mundammi took a deep breath
as he stared up into the clear sky and waited with his executive
officer outside their ship. Sirius cut across the heavens with
azure radiance, bestowing an ethereal sparkle on the snow-covered
Imperial City on Kashtivone. Bare trees cast towering shadows over
the landing zone. He removed a hashish cigarette from his pocket
and lit it. He'd forgotten the last time he saw snow covering the
ground even if this was a damn Asian world and pulled his thick
coat around him to keep out the chill.

The squalor of the capital's slums hung
around them. Ill-conceived shanties made of tin, wood, and
cardboard leaned at unsustainable angles in a dirty rainbow of
colors. The grime-covered streets smelled of excrement, yet hoards
of people toddled through the slush on their way to the market a
few blocks away. Once the morning rush subsided, the area would be
empty. Everyone old enough to reproduce worked here: in mines, in
factories, and in the fields. Such was the life of peasants in the
Pan-Asian Union.

The gold-tipped domes of the Imperial Palace
loomed over the reinforced bulwark surrounding the forbidden
sanctuary. The fortified parapet was visible from every location in
the slums. Triumphal spires flanked by dragons broke the monotony
of its features at regular intervals along its length. Men in
dun-colored uniforms watched the throngs scurrying below, each with
a B90 combat shotgun at the ready in the event of a riot.

No one paid much attention to the Allied
vessel nearby. Few probably realized the ship belonged to their
government's sworn enemy. Citizens, however, were the least of his
worries. Wild dogs roamed in packs, diving into piles of trash in
search of their next meal. He kept his right hand near his
disruptor in case any strayed too close.

Lieutenant-Commander Carmen Martinez stood
next to him shivering, her hands searching the pockets of her coat.
She pulled out a bottle of fruit juice and attempted to open it,
but her cold hands couldn't get enough grip on the slick glass.

Rashad held out his hand, but she ignored his
offer of assistance. She'd always been too damn proud to ask for
help, especially when she needed it most. So he snatched it away
from her and with considerable effort cracked the vacuum seal
before handing it back to her.

"Thanks." She offered him a smile before
taking a sip. "Do you want to go diving at Blue Hole on Monterray
next month? I hear there's a toilet at the bottom."

"That depends. Will you be diving in just
your bikini again?"

She smirked. "It's the only way I know
how."

He hated diving. During an advanced diving
course, his regulator decided to stick 100 meters below the
surface, and while the disaster didn't give him the bends, it did
scare the shit out of him. The incident still gave him nightmares.
He endured the hobby because of her.

The two had been friends since their Academy
days. Every year, she bought him a knife for his birthday to add to
his gargantuan collection. She flirted with everyone and never
apologized for it. And for some reason they never drifted apart—odd
for a man who preferred solitude.

The wind caught a puff of his smoke and blew
it in her face. She fanned the odor away and coughed. "I don't know
how you can smoke those things. You know you're killing yourself,
right?"

Rashad smiled after taking a long drag. "I
don't want to live forever. Anyone who does is either too young or
too stupid to know better."

"Yeah? So what about psions? You've seen the
pictures of Aliane that show she hasn't aged a day since the
Exodus, right?"

"I couldn't live like that. I'd blow my damn
head off. All of those mind-rapers are soulless monsters. Every
single last one of them, and if I had the opportunity to kill them
all, by Astra I would." His hate for the psions penetrated his soul
to its core. At their best they were nothing but trouble, strumming
chords of anxiety in every human settlement. And at their worst
they were murderers.

"Who exactly are we waiting for? Do you
know?"

The commander threw what remained of his
cigarette to the ground and used the toe of his boot to crush it
into the snow. "The second lady of Chara. That's why we landed on
this damn planet."

She clenched her brow. "Isn't she a
psion?"

A transport rounded a corner and approached
them from the direction of the capitol. Flags of the UE adorned the
sides of it, like all their presidential vehicles. Dark windows
obscured their view of the passengers. It hovered over the lot
toward them and came to a halt twenty meters away.

"Yes," Rashad said as the doors of the
transport opened. "Yes, she is."

Nadine Taylor stepped out of the vehicle, and
several officers of the Royal Guard followed her with an arsenal of
suitcases. She wore a white overcoat to shield her from the wind as
she teetered toward them on yellow heels. Her expression conveyed a
sense of perfect serenity. Or contempt.

Nothing about the woman struck him as normal.
Her intense make-up enhanced her ghostly pallor, making her look a
shade more alive than the snowy earth. She might have been
beautiful if she'd lived five hundred years ago during an era that
valued appearances more than substance.

She stopped near Rashad and Carmen while the
guardsmen continued onto the ship; they set the bags down in the
aft hold before returning to the transport. He clenched his jaw and
stared at the ground, where he dug through the snow to the mud
below. No one spoke until the three were alone.

She flipped up her dark sunglasses and handed
Rashad a comtab. Her scarlet nails reminded him of daggers dipped
in fresh blood. "I'm expected back in Northampton as soon as
possible."

He scrolled through the information. "I'm not
heading to Chara. I'm supposed to be on Pisa tomorrow for a pick-up
before heading out to the Vega system. This delays it until next
week."

"I didn't make the schedule," Nadine said and
combed back an errant hair to the black crown of sleek curls
adorning her head.

"As long as it doesn't conflict with AC
time-tables, I'll do what I can." He handed the computer tablet off
to Carmen.

"It's been authorized by the President."

Rashad watched the transport pull into the
aft cargo hold. "My orders come from Admiral McKirin, not your
President. The
Kearsarge
isn't a luxury liner for United
Europe. This is the military, and we have more important jobs to
do."

The second lady's breath crystallized in the
cold air. "I'm not asking you to like me or be my friend. I only
ask that you return me to New England in a timely manner."

"I want you to know that I have some
additional rules regarding the passage of psions aboard my ship."
He spit on the ground and rubbed his raw nose. "You're not allowed
to have contact with my crew. You do not have free access to the
lounge or the mess hall. A security officer will be assigned to you
at all times. If there's something you need in a diplomatic
capacity, contact my XO and she'll make the necessary
arrangements."

"You don't honestly think this is the first
ship I've traveled on with a captain who hates psions. I know the
procedure."

"Good. Because if you give me any reason to
suspect you of mental coercion, I'll toss you out an airlock."

Only part of him meant it, but he hoped the
message was clear. Had she been the Chairman's wife, or even the
President's, he would've never gotten away with talking down to
her—psion or not. But Vice President Bryan Taylor had yet to earn
the respect of the majority. His unrelenting defense of psions made
him a traitor in the eyes of many. In United Europe they might view
psions with a don't-ask-don't-tell policy, but the American
Federation granted them no rights. Some people hunted them for
sport with the full blessing of their government to do so. Even
though genocide was wrong, he sympathized with their cause.

Despite the fact both coalitions had united
and forged the Allied Confederacy, the chasm in political and
ethical values between the two groups hadn't budged.

She bowed her head to him. "I assure you I'll
cause no problems aboard your ship. You have my word."

"Then let's go," Rashad said as he gestured
inside.

"We're not done here. The other transport
will be along shortly."

"Who?" Carmen asked.

"Two ambassadors and the defense minister,"
Nadine answered.

He sighed. "I'll wait here for them. Please
escort our guest to her quarters."

Eager to get out of the cold, Carmen gestured
Nadine inside the ship. The second lady picked up one of the
suitcases and headed into the
Kearsarge
. His XO offered him
a comforting smile and squeezed his shoulder. A wave of affection
passed over him as he watched her strut away.

Rashad lit another cigarette to clear his
head. He didn't enjoy the brisk weather either, but he loathed the
thought of dealing with a psion even more. She would always be
there in the back of his mind like the constant chirping of an
annoying cricket. He'd be unable to relax until she left. And since
they'd be heading to Vega soon, she'd be aboard far too long for
comfort.

Aliane stood beside Zingeri on the balcony of
their multi-story house and gazed at the celestial orbs in the
distance. Culpa, their red parent star, lingered in the same place
it had for the past century on the eastern horizon—the only fixture
in the sky that never moved. Abyssa and Emptor twinkled like
diamonds while a dim brown dwarf set over the northwest horizon. In
her voyages throughout Astra, no view of the heavens had been
stranger than the one provided here.

She often wondered what the Americans had
been thinking when they decided to set out for the unusual
quaternary star system of Mu Herculis with its two pairs of binary
stars. None of the planets were remotely Earth-like, and the ones
that were habitable could not support a metropolis. Superbia itself
was tidally locked. The side of the planet facing Culpa averaged
250 Celsius, while the side of Superbia that never saw the sun
reached temperatures of –100 Celsius. A narrow habitable area
bordered the two, and only one such location had access to liquid
water; there, psions carved out a meaningful existence for
themselves.