The Szuiltan Alliance (The Szuiltan Trilogy) (3 page)

It was funny, looking back on it, but he had always assumed that Steve and Sharon would get together, but then Steve and Jack had left Earth for the romance of the Traders and he had headed for academia. No one had been more surprised than he was when Sharon followed him, although, he remembered with a quiet laugh, it had still taken him more than three years to pluck up the courage to ask her to be something more than just a friend.

"Prepare to disembark."

The metallic voice snapped through the whine of the engines and Martin closed the wallet and fastened it into his breast pocket.

Around him, the thirty men and women under his command were performing last minute checks on weaponry and the air masks they needed to breath the thick atmosphere. He hurriedly checked his own. Everything seemed in working order. That at least gave him an edge in surviving this raid.

A screen above his head crackled and flashed and showed him brief glimpses of their target.

Milos IV was the poor relation of the Milos system. There were no cities on its inhospitable surface, it's thick atmosphere made it financially inadvisable for civilian settlements. In fact, it had almost been overlooked by the Earth Fleet in its ponderous journey through this sector of neutral space, until the faint signal had been intercepted.

At first the origin of the transmission had been thought to be Milos III, a fertile and heavily populated planet and therefore protected under the 4009 Agreement, but further investigation had revealed Milos III to be merely a relay station and the origin was traced to Milos IV. The signal was in a known Aksian code. The Commanders needed no other proof. The Terramarines were sent in.

Now, as Martin rested his hand on the quick release button of the safety harness and tried to steady his nerves, ready for disembarkation, he cursed the careless operator who had sent the signal with the Earth fleet so nearby. He had been on R&R aboard the leisure ship and looking forward to a peaceful journey, feeling happier with each new rumour about the approaching treaty. He had not been ready to go on yet another raid.

The troop carrier hit the ground hard, sliding to a bone juddering halt at the end of a four hundred yard trough. The braking distance was short for something moving so fast, but then the braking power of the machine was immense and showed little regard for those strapped inside.

Even before the carrier had finally settled its weight into the marshy ground, the rear door had unhinged itself and splashed down into the surrounding water, forming a ramp for the troops to disembark.

Martin was first, as was only right given his senior position. There was always a moment after the landing when he sat there, stunned and aching from the impact, but then the adrenaline kicked in and his training screamed at him to move.

He hit the quick release button and his safety harness snapped back, retracting into the seat behind him. All around he was aware of the others doing the same, and the resulting sound was like a flock of birds taking flight.

He headed down the ramp at a trot, sinking into the marsh without hesitation, dragging his feet through the water until he found a small patch of more solid ground. He didn't look behind him. He didn't have to. He knew implicitly that his Unit would be following him.

The first to reach his side were the Trailbreakers, two men and one woman who had been extensively trained in tracking, observation and silent killing skills. The cold, emotionless professionalism in the eyes of a Trailbreaker far surpassed anything Martin had ever seen in any other soldier, however dedicated, and it always unnerved him. Were Trailbreakers born that way or could human beings really be trained to be that ruthless?

Without a word, the Trailbreakers indicated the direction they would head and had soon disappeared into the mists. Martin didn't argue. The Trailbreakers would have studied the maps carefully. If they thought the target was in that direction then Martin had no hesitation in following them.

He signalled for the rest of his Unit to fall-in and acknowledged the thumbs up from the troop carrier pilot. She would be waiting there for them when they had finished the job.

Chapter 4

The Earth Controller left the Church of Larn refreshed. He always found the half hour service relaxing and peaceful, the antithesis of the world he ruled. Was it too much to ask that they could live without the ever-present threat of planetary genocide hanging over them? The Agreement of 4009, signed by one of his predecessors some fifty years ago, forbidding deliberate attacks on civilian targets, had kept the number of non-combatant casualties relatively low, but its hold was tenuous. There had been increasing pressure in the last four years or so to break The Agreement and launch a full scale invasion of Aks, much of it from unnamed but undoubtedly high ranking officers in the military. He thought it strangely fitting that it had been their growing militaristic rumblings that had pushed him even further along the road he had already falteringly set foot on. The road to peace. A complete cessation of hostilities with Aks.

He looked back to the warmly lit room he had just come from, The Church of Larn, specially commissioned by himself when this great Controller's Space Cruiser was first built. Through the open door he could see the mihrab, the pointed niche in the wall, moving to his right. The ship was turning and the mihrab's computer automatically tracked the quibla, the direction of prayer. This had been the greatest innovation of all for the Controller. It was vital that he faced the correct way when in prayer, towards the holy planet of Earth.

He turned back to face the long corridor, not attempting to conceal his heavy sigh as Loadra, High Priest of Larn and Religious Advisor to the Controller, stepped from the door at the far end. The Controller's entourage of lesser advisors and armed security parted as the grey robed figure strode through them, long black hair flowing behind him like the tail of a wild beast, equally black eyes flashing above a long straight nose.

Loadra stopped before the portly form of the Controller, his mane of hair in stark contrast to the Controller's bald head, effectively blocking the way forward. The Controller creased a smile across his face, his many years in politics lending the expression a sincerity he did not feel.

"Loadra. I didn't see you at the service?"

The High Priest's voice was a snarl of contempt. "I have no need of these shallow rituals for the masses. I pray to Larn in my own, deeper way and he warns me of the foolishness of your actions."

The Controller's smile faded. "We are on the course to peace Loadra, and nothing you can say will change that."

"This war is a Holy War!" Loadra raised his fist in anger. "The Aksian heathen must be crushed!"

"The Aksian heathen, as you call them, are followers of Larn just as we are. It is the official religion of the whole galaxy."

"They have perverted the true religion with their own laws and rituals. They sanction whores for their leaders. They twist the words of Larn for their own ends. It is a blasphemy that must be rooted out and destroyed."

The Controller shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, holding back the building headache.

"There’s no use in talking, Loadra. The Treaty is prepared. It just waits for our signatures. Hostilities must cease.”

He looked for some understanding, some acceptance in the other’s eyes but found none.

“You know I am a true believer, but the safety of my people must come before these religious differences." He pushed his way past the High Priest. "We can discuss this further in my quarters if you wish. I will not discuss policy in a ship's corridor with a man more full of anger than sense!"

Surrounded by his ever-present entourage the Controller stormed off towards the door at the far end of the corridor.

Loadra turned to watch him go. He was sworn to advise and follow the Earth Controller, but he was also a High Priest of Larn and equally sworn to follow his faith. There was much to think about.

Chapter 5

Steve felt better after a quick meal of Festi's homegrown egg, bacon and mushrooms. It was unlikely that the eggs came from chickens, or that the bacon came from pigs, and the mushrooms had produced a not unpleasant tingling sensation at the base of his neck, but he didn't care. It was food and it was edible.

He didn't really take much notice of his surroundings until he had finished eating, but as he sat back and sipped at some local hot beverage he had not even asked the name of, he glanced around the small, dark cafe.

There were few other people at the tables. An elderly couple sat in a far corner, drinking whatever Steve was drinking. A middle aged man in a suit, strangely out of place in the surroundings, smoked a cigarette and idly watched the table's extractors suck the smoke away in a fascinating spiral. The man who had served him his food and drink stood behind the counter and behind him, narrow windows looked out onto the walkway. Steve suddenly remembered his reason for being on Festi.

He rose from his table, leaving the drink unfinished, and walked to the counter.

"You're looking better than when you walked in," said the man as he took Steve's money.

"I feel better as well," said Steve, taking his change.

"You're not from here."

"Just arrived." Steve did not really feel inclined to embark on a long conversation with this stranger, but he had no wish to offend him by walking away either.

"Trader by the look of your clothes."

"I was, and I will be again if I can find a ship."

"Plenty of dealers here on Festi. Best..."

"I know, " interrupted Steve. "Best dealers in the galaxy. Unfortunately they're all out of my league where price is concerned."

"Have you been outside the dome yet?"

"What? Outside the climate control area? Why would I do that?"

"Because the weather might be shit, but that's where you'll find the
real
second-hand bargains. I can give you a name if you like?"

By the time Steve had finished following the man's directions, night was beginning to threaten. Festi's bright twin suns, Jan and Sylve, hung low in a lurid evening sky, pushing long fingers of shadows from the spaceyard's decaying circle of buildings, shadows that clawed their way across the dull concrete of the sales lot to grasp the squat, unattractive ship crouched, almost ashamedly, at its corner.

The two men standing before it looked from the ship to each other, both thoughtful and mildly nervous.

The salesman, a middle-aged retired space trader, now settled into an ordered, almost tedious, lifestyle, bit his lower lip and waited. This ship had plagued him for several months, squatting like some ugly malevolent goblin that no one wanted to buy. Perhaps this time...

Steve shifted his slight weight from foot to foot, hands on hips, unable to decide whether he should buy. Not for the first time he caught sight of the heavy indentation in the bow of the ship, relic of some long forgotten, and apparently unreported, accident.

"What did you say she was called?" He searched swiftly, but unsuccessfully, for the nameplate.

"The last owner called her The Seven Deadly Sins. Of course, we could change that for you if you wished. Wouldn't take long."

The salesman clasped his hands together, a feeling of imminent sale coming over him and warming him against what was turning into a cold night. Out here, beyond the limits of the city's climate dome, the land rental was cheap but you had to contend with Festi's natural weather.

"The Seven Deadly Sins." Steve spoke the name softly, almost in reverence. It appealed to his, some would say twisted, sense of humour. The ship did have a certain sinful look and the interior, which he had inspected earlier, had done little to alleviate the atmosphere of squalor and mischievous evil. He knew he was talking himself into buying the ship, romanticising the shit out of his reasons, but underlying it all was the simple, cold and uncomfortable truth. The Seven Deadly Sins was about all he could afford.

He scratched at his head through thick, long, untidy brown hair and smiled wryly. "Ok," he turned to the salesman. "I'll take it."

"A good decision, if I may say so sir. She's a fine ship."

"She's shit, but I'm not in a position to argue." It was also more affordable shit than he had found in the numerous other spaceyards he had tried that day.

The salesman shrugged, his jaw aching grin refusing to slip. "I'm sure you'll feel differently after you've flown her for a while."

Steve smiled. "You could be right. Now, could we complete the details? I'd like to get going. It's cold out here."

The salesman nodded, looking to the east where storm clouds were boiling in the ever-darkening sky. Violent electrical storms came and went with equal rapidity beyond the city's controlled limits. He shivered involuntarily and led Steve to the small office.

Steve filled in the necessary on-screen forms swiftly, his eyes also on the approaching storm, and transferred them to the salesman's display allowing him to read them through and place his own electronic signature at the bottom. Neither man said a word as Steve gave clearance, via the computer, to the Galactic Bank to transfer the agreed amount from his account into the spaceyard's account. Once confirmed, the salesman handed over the wallet of card locks and ignition combinations and glanced once again out of the office window to the east.

"Storm's getting close sir. If you take my advice you'll hurry off right away. You don't want to be grounded here for its duration, however short. Festi's bad enough without the eccentricities of its weather."

Steve nodded and shook hands with the salesman. For a moment the older man's eyes misted over and the false smile slipped. He was no longer a salesman. He was an old trader, reminiscing about years spent travelling between worlds and cultures. When he spoke there was a crack of sad regret in his voice.

"Good trading son. Treat her gently and she'll serve you well."