Brothers in Exile_Sons of the Starfarers Page 7

  “Uh-oh.”

  Isaac turned around and saw four men approaching along the walkway, three of them with weapons in their hands. One carried a knife that was at least as long as Aaron’s, while two others carried long metal whips, each with a pronged end.

  The fourth man was the slaver from the cantina.

  “You are both very bad manners,” he said, his lips curling up in a deadly grin. “Now I am teaching you some.”

  Isaac backed up, his stomach sinking. He glanced desperately behind him, but there was nothing that way except two vacant docking nodes and a dead end. He tried palming the airlock, but the thugs had locked it down. Only the tram could get them out of here, and it was already gone.

  “Get behind me,” said Aaron. He brandished his knife as menacingly as he could with his already shaky hand.

  The slaver chuckled and made a gesture. The men with the whips stepped forward, ready to strike. One of them cracked his, sending sparks from the pronged end. Isaac swallowed—this was not going to end well.

  “I was offering bargain,” said the slaver. “You were not taking. Now, am offering new bargain: your lives.”

  “What’s he saying?” Aaron whispered.

  “He says he’ll let us live if we give him the girl.”

  “What?”

  “He says—I don’t know. But I think he’s ready to kill us. Or worse.”

  Aaron clenched his teeth and gripped his knife a little tighter. It wasn’t shaking nearly as much anymore.

  “Come on, you bastards,” he said softly. “Come on, and I’ll—”

  The roar of the approaching tram filled the narrow space on the docking arm, making the slaver frown. He and his thugs stepped aside, and the tram sped past them, squealing on its brakes. It came to a stop in front of the Medea’s docking node just as the other two men climbed up from the hatchway. The doors slid open and a young man stepped out, holding a pistol.

  Isaac didn’t recognize him, though something about his face seemed familiar. He was tall and thin, with long, jet-black hair and a prominent nose. His skin color was somewhere between brown and olive, and his dark eyes were as piercing as they were fearless. He held his pistol as if it were a natural extension of his own body, a fact that did not escape the thugs. They backed away slowly as the man stepped between them and the two brothers.

  “Stay calm,” he said in perfect Deltan. “I’ll get you out of this.”

  He smiled at the slaver and spoke calmly in a language that neither of the brothers understood. The slaver’s eyes widened. The five thugs formed a protective circle around their boss, but the man with the pistol paid that no mind. He spoke to them as calmly as if they were still at the bar in the cantina. His pistol, however, remained drawn.

  We’re going to need a way out before this escalates, Isaac thought. He considered making a dash for the tram, but that would put the thugs between him and his ship. Instead, he turned to the wrist console and tried to unlock the docking node.

  “What’s going on?” Aaron whispered. “Who is this guy?”

  “I don’t know. Just get ready to run.”

  “Stay calm,” the man said again. With his attention still focused on the slaver, he continued their conversation, this time in a more earnest tone. The slaver’s face turned red, and he started to shout.

  At that moment, the airlock hissed open.

  “Now!” Isaac shouted. He grabbed his brother and made a mad dash for the door. The moment they were in, he palmed it shut and collapsed, gasping in pain on the floor.

  A Patriot’s Plea

  “Isaac? Are you all right?”

  Isaac felt like throwing up. His side hurt something awful, and his ears still rang from the blow he’d taken only a minute or two before. On board the Medea, where the artificial gravity was much closer to normal, he felt all his injuries acutely. He coughed, and Aaron helped him up to his feet.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “You didn’t leave anything on the station, did you?”

  “I don’t think so, no.”

  “Then let’s get to the cockpit.”

  “What about that guy who saved us?” Aaron asked. “What are we going to do, just leave him there?”

  Isaac palmed the inner airlock door and limped through. “We can’t fight those thug—you saw how well-armed they are. The best we can do is call the authorities and hope for the best.”

  That didn’t seem to sit well with Aaron. He bit his lip and glanced behind him, as if he wanted to run out and help the man outside. Isaac wanted to do something too, but he knew they wouldn’t last five seconds against the slaver and his goons.

  As he started to limp toward the cabin of the ship, a muffled knock sounded through the airlock. He froze, his veins turning to ice. The sound was distant, coming through more than ten centimeters of hardened durasteel, but it was definitely a knock.

  “Is that…” Aaron asked, leaving the question unfinished. He raised his knife, still smeared with blood.

  “Hold on a second,” said Isaac. He punched a few keys on the airlock access panel, and the miniature screen showed a wide-angle view from just outside the door. The black-haired man was waiting there calmly, apparently uninjured. There was no sign of the slaver or his men.

  “Who is it?” Aaron asked.

  “It’s the man who saved us. From what I can tell, the slavers are gone.”

  “Should I let him in?”

  Isaac hesitated. Was this was some sort of trap? Taking that sort of risk didn’t make sense. Then again, the man had just saved their lives. For honor’s sake, the least they owed him was a proper thank you.

  “It’s okay,” said Isaac. “Let him in.”

  Aaron lowered his knife and palmed the airlock. It opened slowly with a loud hiss, revealing the man who had rescued them. His pistol was holstered on his hip, his demeanor as calm and collected as if the standoff had never happened. He nodded politely at Aaron as he stepped inside.

  “Thank you, sir,” he said in flawless Deltan. “I take it from the public registry that you are Aaron Deltana?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Who are you?”

  “I’m known in these parts as Argo. I’m a starfarer, much like yourselves.”

  “How do you know so much about us?” Isaac asked. “And where did you learn to speak Deltan?”

  Argo smiled. “I’ve spent a great deal of time in the Oriana Cluster, especially in the more remote colonies. That’s how I recognized you. It’s not every dayshift that you see a Deltan in these parts, even such a major trading hub as Hephesteron Station. But what really caught my interest was the name of your ship, the Medea. That’s a Pleiadian name. Is that what brings you to this part of the Outworlds?”

  He doesn’t know about the girl in the cryotank, Isaac thought, relaxing a bit. That’s not what he’s after.

  “We have our own reasons for coming to the New Pleiades. But come, won’t you sit down for a bit?”

  “Gladly.”

  Isaac hobbled into the cabin, the others following close behind. His head and stomach still hurt where the thugs had hit him, but the pain was fading. With luck, he’d make a speedy recovery. As Argo sat down at the lounge table, he fired up the food synthesizer to make some drinks.

  “Would you like anything? Some juice, maybe?”

  “Thank you,” said Argo. “Some juice sounds nice. It’s been a while since I had a good Deltan drink.”

  Aaron wiped off his knife blade and sheathed it before walking over to Isaac. “Here, I’ll get that,” he said under his breath. “You go sit down and rest.”

  “I’m fine, Aaron.”

  “No, I mean it. You took a pretty bad beating out there—you’re in no shape to play host. I’ll take care of it.”

  Isaac sighed, but didn’t offer any more protest. He eased himself onto the semi-circular couch, sitting next to Argo. The throbbing ache and soreness in his side told him that his brother was right.

  “I have to thank you for rescu
ing us,” he told their guest, who sat with his hands clasped on the tabletop. “What exactly happened out there?”

  “The man you met at the bar is a fairly well-known crime lord here in the Pleiadian underworld. He runs a mid-sized slaving outfit and operates brothels at almost a dozen star systems. He’s a vindictive man with a heady temper, so when you started that fight with him, I knew there would be trouble.”

  “How did you convince him to spare us?”

  A sly grin spread across Argo’s face. “Well, I’m fairly well-known around the New Pleiades myself. Not as a petty crime lord, mind you—I have no respect for scum like that. No, I’m more what you might call a ‘patriot.’”

  Aaron brought the drinks over and set them down. He sat across the circular table from Argo and looked him in the eye as Argo accepted the juice glass and took a sip from it.

  “A patriot? You mean, like a warrior?”

  “More or less. I’m a lieutenant in the resistance movement. The Gaian Imperials have invaded three of the border stars and amassed a large enough fleet to take over the whole star cluster—provided that none of us fight back.”

  Isaac frowned. “The war’s already started?”

  “Of course,” said Argo, leaning forward. “Haven’t you boys heard? The Gaians have consolidated control of the Coreward Stars, and they’re turning their ambitions outward. Rumor has it that the Oriana Cluster is already in their pocket, starting with Alpha Oriana. Yes, my friends, there’s a war on, make no mistake about it.”

  “Mathusael was saying something about that,” said Aaron. He glanced at Isaac, his eyes lit with excitement. “Don’t you remember?”

  “Yeah,” said Isaac. All too well.

  “Can’t say I know anyone by that name,” said Argo. “It sounds like a good Deltan name, though. Very biblical.” He leaned back and took a swig of his drink.

  “Mathusael is an old friend of ours from back home. He settled down in the Esperanzia system, after traveling to the Coreward Stars. The last we saw him, he was telling us about the Gaian campaign in the Oriana Cluster, or something like that.”

  “Indeed. It’s not just a handful of stars that are threatened. It’s something that the whole Outworlds must unite to face down. If the Imperials aren’t checked, they’ll gobble up every colony on the starmap. When that happens, even the Far Outworlds will be under their control.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Isaac, laying his hands palm up in exasperation. “You can’t possibly believe that the Gaians will conquer every last Outworld star. Even with a dozen battle fleets, it would take them more than a century just to invade every system.”

  Argo eyed him gravely. “They don’t need to send forces to every system—only the important ones. That’s why they’re going for the major star clusters first. The Oriana Cluster is already in their grasp, and the stars behind the Tajji dust lanes have capitulated as well. That gives them a straight shot for the New Pleiades, and our scouts report that the battle fleets are already on their way.”

  “So what’s this resistance movement you’re a part of?” Aaron asked with rapt attention.

  “It’s a loose coalition of local militias and defense forces from across the New Pleiades. The organization is fairly young, so we’re looking to recruit as many friends and volunteers as we can find. In particular, we’re in desperate need of starships.”

  So that’s what this is about.

  “Starships?” Aaron asked.

  “That’s right. We need pilots, captains, and crew to build a fleet that can maintain our positions against an Imperial advance, and possibly even withstand them in battle. The Gaian battle fleets have us out-gunned and outnumbered, but we have a few tricks we can pull until we’re able to fight them directly.”

  “Tricks? What sort of tricks?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t talk about that specifically,” said Argo. “But when the Imperials come, we’ll be ready for them—so long as we have enough starships.”

  “So you’re a recruiter, then?” said Isaac. “You helped us out because you want us to join your cause?”

  “Not just my cause—it’s yours as well. Here in the Outworlds, we always think we can pick up and move if things get bad. No matter what happens, there’s always another star to run away to, another place to go and start over. But the truth is, we depend on each other a lot more than we think. Take the old tradition that a man’s firstborn son should leave on his father’s starship to seek his fortune as a star wanderer. That tradition developed to keep the distant colonies from becoming inbred. But it only works if there are enough independent free colonies to support that sort of nomadic lifestyle. Without enough free ports to trade at, that tradition comes crashing down. The most isolated colonies will either collapse or disband, and before long, there will be nowhere left to run to.”

  Isaac thought of the derelict station at Nova Alnilam and the colony that had collapsed there. If those people had been more interconnected through trade, would that terrible disaster have befallen them? The same could be said of his own home, Megiddo Station. Then again, it wasn’t isolation that had killed his own people; it was the hatred and bigotry of all the surrounding systems that had refused to help.

  “How can we join you?” Aaron asked. The eagerness in his voice was even more troubling than the question.

  “Right now, all we’re looking to do is build a network of volunteers who can run supplies and communication between systems. We are organizing an armed flotilla, but we need help on the civilian side just as much as on the military. In particular, we’re looking for transports and blockade runners.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad. Isaac, what do you think?”

  “I think we need some time to talk it over.” Time to think if we really want to get involved.

  “That’s perfectly understandable,” said Argo. He finished the last of his drink and pulled a datachip from his jacket pocket. “If you would like to contact me for any reason, you can find my identifiers there. There’s also a contact of mine in the Verdana system, near where the flotilla is organizing. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll direct you to where you need to go.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and you won’t have to worry about that crime boss anymore. I told him that you’re with us. He won’t give you any more trouble.”

  Yes, we already know we’re indebted to you.

  Argo offered his hand and gave him a firm handshake and a smile. He stood up, and Aaron scooted around to show him out. Isaac rose to his feet as well, if for no other reason than to prevent Aaron from saying anything that would commit them. As eager as Aaron was to join up with the resistance, the last thing Isaac wanted was to get them both tied up in an interstellar war.

  * * * * *

  Neither of them spoke after Argo left. Isaac took a shower and applied some healant to his bruises, then climbed into his bunk to rest. Aaron settled down at the lounge table for a half-hearted game of damka with the Medea’s AI. Argo’s news hung over them like a looming debris field, but neither of them wanted to be the first to bring it up.

  Apparently, it weighed a lot more on Aaron’s mind, because he was the first to break the silence. Just as Isaac was drifting off to sleep, his brother asked the question that was on both of their minds.

  “So what do you think?”

  Isaac sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get to sleep for some time. “About what?”

  “You know. What Argo told us about the war.”

  “I think we’ve got enough to worry,” he grumbled. “Like that girl in the cryotank, for example. How are we going to help her if we’re running blockades and ferrying military supplies everywhere?”

  “Maybe Argo has friends who could help us with her.”

  “Maybe he does.”

  “Look,” said Aaron in an exasperated tone, “I know you don’t want to get involved in this resistance movement or whatever. But you have to admit, if Argo and Mathusael are right, there’s a war coming that we su
re as hell can’t ignore.”

  Isaac said nothing. He felt too tired to get caught up in another argument with his little brother.

  “Come on,” Aaron continued. “It’s not like he wants us to outfit the Medea for combat. They’re just looking for starfarers who can transport supplies and equipment. It’s not like we’re enlisting to become soldiers.”

  Would you like to become a soldier? Isaac wondered. Are you really so eager to put your life on the line? And if you get yourself killed, what do you think that’s going to do to me?

  “Why are you so eager to join up with these guys?” he asked.

  “Because it’s a cause that affects all of us. How can you stand by and do nothing?”

  “I haven’t decided what to do yet. Have you?”

  “No,” said Aaron, but Isaac knew that was a lie. From the moment Aaron’s eyes had lit up as Argo explained their plight, Isaac had known that he’d decided to join the resistance.

  “We don’t know enough about this to make a decision yet,” Isaac tried to explain. “All we have to go off of are some rumors from Mathusael and the recruiting pitch from this Argo character. Maybe we can do something to help, but I don’t want to make any commitment until we know what we’re getting into.”

  “How are we going to do that?”

  Isaac took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. His ears still rang from the blow, though the ache had died down considerably. He closed his eyes.

  “I don’t know. We’ll figure that out later.”

  “Argo saved our lives, you know. If we put off making a decision until—”

  “I know, I know. Can’t you let me rest for a bit?”

  It seemed as if Aaron wanted to say more, but thankfully, he let it go for the moment. The table hummed gently as he deactivated it, and his quiet footsteps sounded as he stood up and began to pace.

  “I still think we should ask Argo about that girl in the cryotank. Do you want me to go find him while you’re resting?”

  “No—I’ll take care of that. You go …”

  “Go what?”

  “Go find shomething useful to do,” said Isaac, his words slurring together. “Look up the exchange rates, find shome profitable trades.”