Terminus Shift (Targon Tales - Sethran Book 2) Read online

  Terminus Shift

  By Chris Reher

  Thank you to Dee Solberg, Susan Kaye Quinn, Jim Kolter

  and the S3G

  Copyright © 2014 Chris Reher

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 978-0-9921090-3-5

  The Targon Tales:

  Sky Hunter - 1

  The Catalyst - 2

  Only Human - 3

  Rebel Alliances - 4

  Delphi Promised - 5

  Quantum Tangle – Sethran 1

  Terminus Shift – Sethran 2

  www.chrisreher.com

  The Targon Tales series takes place in the same universe, a densely populated and very small section of our galaxy. The stories intertwine and characters move through some for a while and may then appear elsewhere. They are numbered in chronological order but each is a complete story.

  www.chrisreher.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents on this planet or any other are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  “How dare you delay me! I am a representative of the Imperial Majestic Over-Vizier of the Third Royal Family of Gramor on an urgent mission to Pelion. Move aside at once or face the wrath of our Lord Olas.”

  “Gramor has no royal family. How about you send some ID before you face my wrath, pilot?”

  Sethran Kada slipped into his pilot bench, a little surprised to find Air Command hailing him out here. He scanned for more unwelcome escorts and found another military cruiser between him and the jumpsite. Of course they had collapsed the gate as soon they emerged, making a quick exit impossible.

  “Did I say Gramor? I meant Callas.” He shifted his attention to the markers for two more ships approaching rapidly from the planet behind him, armed, fully shielded and definitely not belonging to Air Command. Those he did expect. Since eluding them on the Aikhor airfield he had kept well ahead of them but this encounter with the patrol was whittling away his head start by the second.

  “Sethran Kada, it says here,” the officer said. “Quite the sheet you have. Visual, please. What are you doing out here?”

  An audible signal alerted Seth to the Union ship’s scanners taking a closer look at the Dutchman, easily poking through the cruising shields to look at the interesting bits. He kept his eyes on the few compartments liberally doused with sensor-scattering filaments. Their content remained invisible on the screens.

  “That shouldn’t be a mystery.” Seth activated a camera to let the officer make a visual confirmation of his identity: Centauri, black haired and long-limbed like all of them, violet eyes that reflected nearby light, and a friendly grin that often charmed even the most bad-tempered of cops. The Human taking a snap of his irises didn’t seem charmed. “Since I’m currently traveling on a mathematically correct trajectory away from the only two habitable planets in this sector and the only other point of interest here is this jumpsite, the astute observer would conclude that I am about to enter subspace.”

  He heard a sigh, followed by a dead silence suggesting some unheard conversation between the two military ships. Seth kept busy. The Dutchman confirmed the switch from auto-pilot to Seth’s neural interface, giving him both mental and tactile control of all systems. He drifted toward the jumpsite aptly named Pelion Gate. It appeared on his monitors as an empty bit of space ringed by a set of Union-owned beacons waiting for him to align and activate.

  Sites like these channeled commercial and military traffic among populated sectors of this small, crowded piece of their galaxy along easily monitored shipping lanes with great efficiency. The beacons enabled even the most untried of navigators to find a way through the dead nothing of subspace and emerge unscathed at the intended destination. Stable and accessible, allowing no deviation between entry and exit, these conduits provided safety as well as close surveillance of all those who passed through the ring of beacons. Seth usually had the means to counter their soulless intrusion, but not the Union patrol intent on waylaying him today.

  “You’re not actually supposed to be on Pelion, are you, Kada?”

  “That’s still before the ministry,” Seth said, wondering when his contacts would get around to expunging that particular misdemeanor. “Besides, I’m not going to Pelion. Just passing through.”

  “To Callas.”

  “Maybe.” Seth’s scanners picked up the patrol cruiser’s request for identification of the two other ships. It now broadcasted on a variety of channels; clearly their initial hail had gone unanswered. “What’s going on? Never seen this gate manned before.”

  “Just the usual chatter among rebels.”

  “If it were usual you wouldn’t be out here harassing tourists.”

  “Is that what you are? A tourist? You might as well wait for that incoming traffic and share the load.”

  “I’m expected. No time to waste.” The two approaching ships were not the sort looking to hook up for the subspace leap. Entering a gate in a convoy significantly reduced the strain on each ship’s processors as they worked together with the beacons but these two would have other priorities. For the most part, he supposed, blowing the Dutchman to bits was at the top of their list. Two bored Air Command patrol crews would not discourage them today. Perhaps it was better to just get out of everyone’s way. “So I’ll just get jumping, then.”

  “You’re vacationing on Callas, another three days away, and you can’t wait a few more minutes to get there?” The voice of the officer aboard the patrol ship took on a less genial tone. Perhaps the continued silence from the heavily armed new arrivals was a little more worrisome than a minor felon entering Pelion Gate. “You’ll want to stop at the station, Dutchman. That’s not negotiable.”

  Seth cursed silently. The massive Union station on the Pelion side of this breach was, indeed, his destination but he had hoped to get there unannounced. Now his presence in the sector would no doubt be reported to the management of Pelion Gate as soon as he opened the jumpsite. The patrol’s message packet sent through with him would arrive at the ring before he did. “Need service anyway,” he said blithely. “You folks have yourself a lovely day.”

  “It’s night.”

  “Whatever.” Seth sent a mental signal to the ship’s chronometer to adjust the time to Pelion’s rotation. The Union cruisers moved away and turned their attention to the incoming private vessels. Relieved, Seth began to feed the jumpsite, using the beacons to conserve energy. Instead of taxing his own systems, he let the site’s processors work with the Dutchman’s to calculate the traverse through the Big Empty. A slight tremor moved through the ship in preparation for launch.

  And then a forceful and all too familiar blow struck the ship. His hands gripped the armrests of his bench when the Dutchman switched into a defensive configuration without warning. The shields were already at full service for the jump but now the weapons systems came online as well. Power routed from the gravity spinners and all components signaled combat readiness.

  “Damn.” Seth dove out of the way of another volley emitting from the cruisers streaking toward them, his mental reflex faster than a physical interface could react. The Union ships, too, took up a defensive posture.

  “Stand down, Air Command,” a female voice cut into their sound systems. They heard excited voices of others in the background. “This is not your fight.”

  “Identify,” the officer replied. “Identify and stand down.”

  “Those are Shri-Lan rebels,” Seth supplied, naming the Union’s greatest foe and the primary reason f
or Air Command’s presence in this sector.

  No time to question, no time to explain. The two rebel ships bore down upon the cruisers near the jumpsite, now targeting the forward shields of the Air Command patrols, more as warning than to cause damage. The shots impacting the Dutchman’s shields hit home with far greater accuracy.

  “We just want the Centauri,” the woman said. “Move aside or we’ll destroy you, too.”

  “Get out of here, Kada!” the Union officer ordered.

  “Yessir!” Seth signaled the beacons surrounding the site and accelerated toward the slowly forming aperture. He settled into his headset, using only his mind to direct the Dutchman into the breach.

  But would those rebels give up if he left? The patrol would have alerted the Union base back on Aikhor who would have scrambled by now. This was not rebel-held territory and an attack on a military ship was not only an act of war but also damn cheeky. The only way to escape now was through the jumpsite to the Pelion sector. And the only way to the site led past the undoubtedly very irate military patrol.

  “Bitch took out my fucking aft shield!” The Union pilot’s exclamation was edged in panic, betraying his lack of experience with Shri-Lan rebels bent on retribution.

  Seth switched to the real vid display showing the field behind him. The rebel ships had fully engaged, no longer interested in avoiding a fight with Air Command to get at the Dutchman.

  Seth allowed the newly formed field to collapse and whipped the Dutchman around to return to the Union ships, his hands flying over the tactical controls as he returned fire. He dove below the cruiser to his left and came up in time to blast one of the rebel ship’s shield seams, using his neural interface to place the charge with precision. Wounded, the Shri-Lan ship spun away to present another side to the melee only to take another hit.

  The Dutchman shuddered when a projectile rammed into its undercarriage. He reached up to slap a few internal shields into place when a containment warning appeared on the holo representation of his ship beside him. He moved back to let the Air Command cruiser take a shot at their enemy and grinned when it disintegrated over their heads. A few solid chunks of hull slammed into his shields, barely raising a note of concern from his monitors. He came around and lobbed a missile at the remaining rebels’ left crossdrive, watching it crumble with a burst of quickly-extinguished sparks.

  “Pretty!” he said.

  “Remaining bogey’s disabled,” one of the officers transmitted. “I’m lame, too.”

  “Backup coming in from Aikhor,” his colleague reported. “Should be here in a few hours. No other unidentifieds in the vicinity.”

  “Tourist, eh, Kada? What are you packing on that boat? You cut through that shield like churry lard.”

  “Lucky hit,” Seth said and turned the Dutchman back to the jumpsite.

  “I’d thank you for saving my ass but I think we have to thank you for starting all this to begin with.”

  “I have to go.”

  “Negative, Kada. You’re staying here till we know what’s so important about you.”

  “No, really. I’m expected.” Seth moved into position. “I had fun, though. Thanks.”

  “Kada…”

  “Let Pelion deal with him,” the officer on the undamaged ship said. “We’ll know soon enough what had this Shri-Lan scum so excited.”

  “Unlikely,” Seth said to himself after shutting down their com link. Unfortunately, whatever story the surviving rebels had to offer Air Command investigators was surely worse than the truth. They’d not pass up an opportunity to create more trouble.

  He returned his attention to the jumpsite. A pleasant tone rang through the ship to announce the imminent jump. The Dutchman accelerated correctly, steadily, while ramping up all shields for the assault about to be unleashed upon it. The shields would form a small bubble of safety for pilot and cargo, allowing him to pass from one sector to the other in mere moments. He breathed deeply, steeling himself, before placing his hand on the control panel, confirming what his mind had already conveyed to the processor.

  The ship slipped into the breach, immediately out of sight, immediately just simply erased from Seth’s senses. Only a growing dread remained when all light and sound disappeared, gravity did not exist; engines and neurons ceased their work. They would never know the many other worlds that existed in real-space between this point and the site’s terminus at Pelion. Mere notations on astronomical charts, they were without interest until someone discovered the correct, microscopic rupture, the keyhole, in space to span the way there. Seth often thought that many of those worlds should consider themselves fortunate to remain unexplored by Union interests.

  Then he was out. He gasped for air, as always, even though he had been deprived of it for mere seconds. He groped for his mental control of the ship to decelerate and adjust its course, aided by the matching beacons that greeted him here. A quick systems check assured him that, despite the tremendous strain of the traverse, the Dutchman had once again delivered him safely.

  “Someday I’ll get used to this,” he told his ship. Then again, as uncomfortable as these jaunts felt, they were nothing compared to those made by the true subspace navigators. Those rare talents, the Level Three spanners, needed no pre-defined charts or Union-controlled beacons to guide them through raw keyholes to feel their way to a distant destination. Highly valued and highly paid, they worked for Air Command and the larger shipping companies. The more enterprising among them also made deep space exploration possible and led the way to new destinations. Alive, if at all possible. Their work turned simple keyholes into jumpsites, providing the maps for chartjumpers like Seth.

  He sometimes considered going into business with such a navigator to help him get around more easily, if not more cheaply. But the one he knew comfortably enough to want to share his small ship preferred to hear about Seth’s adventures from a safe distance. Given that last time he served as navigator he had lost a hand, it was probably just as well. For the most part, Seth was quite content to avail himself to the charted jumpsites, even if that meant being harassed by patrols with tedious regularity.

  An automated guide signal arrived from the station and he responded without demur this time. Pelion Gate, just ahead of him now, formed a traffic hub linking the busy Targon sub-sector with the more remote Magra-Aikhor corridor. The massive station, ring-shaped like many of its generation, hosted a town’s worth of residents, traders, service depots and, of course, a full complement of Air Command personnel.

  “Welcome to Pelion, Mister Kada,” he was eventually greeted.

  “Thank you,” Seth said, his attention on the approach to the station. Without the jumpsite in its active state, the ring seemed to float purposelessly in the inky nothing of space, too far removed from the Pelion system to seem to belong anywhere. Still, it was lit dramatically on one side by the system’s single star and illuminated by hundreds of windows on the other. An impressive sight, as always swarmed by vessels of all sizes and configurations, surrounded by satellites and solar collectors, and protectively patrolled by Air Command fighter planes.

  “Approach denied. Drop your shields and prepare for boarding.”

  “I’m starting to think people don’t trust me,” Seth grumbled, but what had he expected after his run-in with the patrol back near Aikhor? As he’d assumed, their message packet had come through the gate in his wake and found receptive ears aboard the station. After a moment’s hesitation, he returned a coded message, as always reluctant to use his key unless he absolutely had to. Sometimes it was better to be thought of as a tourist.

  Minutes passed during which one or two of the agile Air Command Kites swooped around him as if a closer look somehow told them anything about the plain, tired-looking cruiser with the plain and unoriginal name. His was a ship like thousands of others that came through here and even their careful scans showed little of what the Dutchman really had to offer.

  Then a different voice: “Boarding pass accepted. You
’re cleared for docking, small craft ring, bay nineteen.”

  “Aren’t you going to wish me a nice day?”

  “Don’t push it, Kada. Whatever you’re doing here, do it quietly.”

  Seth decided to forego further response and brought the Dutchman around to the assigned dock. He nudged the ship gently into its berth and felt the docking rings slide over the entrance to his small cargo bay which also served as air lock. The gently pulsing indicator beside him reminded him that his ship needed attention after the hit he’d taken from the Shri-Lan cruiser. A minor thorium leak in the area he had shielded off. Hoping for a reasonably priced repair, he chatted with the station’s service department before powering the ship down.

  He left the cockpit to enter the cluttered main cabin, the only place he called his home. This also needed attention. A cleaning company could probably restore some order in here although he’d wait until he returned to Magra to hire crews he trusted with his ship’s secrets. He slipped into his boots and faded flight jacket and ran his fingers through his hair. Before he reached the pressure door to the cargo bay, he stopped by the tiny crew quarters to place a hand onto its key plate and then used his foot to push the door open.

  “On your feet,” he said.

  The Caspian female curled up on the lower of the two bunks peered out at him with unblinking yellow eyes. “They caught us,” she said, using her native tongue. “The Shri-Lan.”

  “They tried. Come on, get up. I don’t want to spend any more time here than I have to.” He took a step into the cramped space, careful to stay out of her reach. Unclothed, as was their custom, she had no weapon other than the fierce talons on her three-toed feet. Seth had been on the receiving end of a vicious kick from her only this morning and had learned to stay clear. Still, he did not draw his gun to move her from her bed.

  She unfolded herself slowly, without expression on her narrow face. Her gleaming hide bore the pale spots of Caspia’s coastal plains where Shri-Lan rebels recruited most successfully from among her people. “You got away.”