“The same holds true for the manifest of your Celesta crew,” Captain Quiqui admits.
“They want us to lose. It will tarnish the reputation of the fleet the Mokarran fear.”
“I’ve examined intelligence of the Summersun military. Assisting the Deliverance will lead to victory.”
“Not without causalities.”
“I remember why I never returned home,” Maxtin says.
“Killed in the line of duty remains a high honor among our people.”
“Then we shall honor our government. Are they going to staff the UCP embassy with such deviants as they consigned to this crew?”
“We wouldn’t want anyone staffing our first embassy to embarrass The Conclave.” Professor Emuukha adds, “Admiral, allow me to show you to your quarters.”
“Captain Quiqui, there have to be more than one hundred people upsetting The Conclave. You need more than a skeleton crew.”
Quiqui nods.
“You want insubordinates under your command?”
Professor Emuukha seals the door to the single unit living quarters. “Maxtin, don’t trust those penalized for speaking out. Some would sell you out to return to The Conclave’s good graces or to be banished to the Zayous surface.”
“Nothing’s changed.” Maxtin sniffs the air. “How many people were assigned to this room?”
“Family of four. They were lucky to have this much space.”
“A colonization of a new planet would fix this.”
“Have you ever known our government to do what was best for the masses?”
“Even a full staff of Zayars at the embassy won’t alleviate these numbers.”
“The embassy staffing will ensconce the reason for why shuttles are going between the UCP and Zayous. Every Zayar we get off a ship restores us. Trust me, one less person in line for the shower use will be noticed.”
“Needed a medium cruiser.”
“You would have shoved some thirty thousand people onto other ships.”
“The embassy’s capacity maxes at thousand. Some could join the Academy,” Maxtin offers.
“A few might, but Zayars don’t mingle well with off-worlders.”
“This venture will establish a presence. Saber rattle, nothing more.”
“You won’t fail. Adding the Celesta to your military action should magnify your original plan.”
Maxtin activates the computer screen on the wall. He displays a map of Zayous. Using his finger, he scrolls until the dome appears. “What’s the closest city to the dome?”
“Melentia.”
“A quiet fishing village—a hundred miles away from the domed area.”
“It was home to some fifty thousand and not many fish. They will send all original residents home first and fill in any civil gaps until staffed. They’ll shuffle around citizens until they have one battle cruiser strictly for military,” Emuukha explains.
“A colony reduces the drain on all the ships by removing thousands of people at once.”
“They are making some kind of play, Maxtin. Something even you’re unable to outthink. They want their fleet back, and not to protect a new world. Logically, retribution on the Mokarran. If Zayous joins the UCP, they may lead you into war.”
“Why is everyone so quick to want war?”
“I have written more dissertations on the subject than we have ships in our combat fleet. In our case it would be cold-hearted revenge. We stopped war on our own planet once we sponsored population control.”
“I remember the ‘The Corden Flies lecture.’ The cube of food you placed in their jar every day could feed ten flies. Anytime they had an eleventh member they killed the most vulnerable insect.”
“Remember, it wasn’t always a baby fly.”
“Sometimes they killed the old one, or the maimed, or the sick,” Maxtin says.
“I speculate this acceptance of UCP help was because we are reaching the end of our food cubes and no one is ready to select the most vulnerable, or in our case, decide who has become undesirable in our current situation.
FEAR—THE MOST DANGEROUS of human emotions. Throughout all his training with the Calthos warriors he never witnessed any among them. They are instilled to control fear from birth. Their techniques never involved dealing with a spaceship crash. His sword master would never concern himself with what crisis introduced fear, but instead to focus on the training—escape the crisis. Sucking in toxic air panics his brain. He closes his mouth and exhales. The lack of breathable air takes away his ability to calm his brain. He smells and tastes the pollutants as they consume the artificial atmosphere. He must get off the bridge.
Blue lightning swims through the Dragon’s control panels. Tendrils of electrical arc seem to hang in the air for hours before they dance to the next panel, sending up plumes of green sparks and more coils of electricity. Streams of blue lightning strike some of the crew, sending them into convulsions, jerking like a skipping LP record.
Reynard moves his hand to unlock the seatbelt. The strangest sensations overwhelm him as azure sparks dance across his fingernails.
So much for being a leaf on the wind…
Breathe—find complete relaxation.
The seconds last forever.
The lights flash off.
Reynard understands they are going to crash. No matter how many alternative plans his mind contemplates, none of them will halt the impact of the lake on the view screen—nothing. None of his training gives him the ability to prevent a crash when a ship loses all power. He notes the Dragon has no air bags to cushion his fall. He places his open palm on the harness—locked on his chest. He prepares for the onslaught of impact.
The seconds stretch.
He opens his mouth to order the crew to brace for impact.
Hours past from the time darkness consumes the bridge—smash.
The harness pulls Reynard into the formfitting seat cushions. The concussion jars through him. Deflating his lungs. His limbs flail, but he stays in his chair. Seconds pass as hours and Reynard wonders how his crew will withstand the trauma.
Even in pitch black, he understands the Dragon impacted the lake and slid forward, resting with a lean to the left. Reynard forces his mind to grasp an escape and how to find the air he needs in the complete blackness of the Dragon.
Emergency light.
Emergency lights should come on. Reynard’s thoughts are replaced by swimming worry about asphyxiation. Drowning in a
