Black Sector 9

Chronicles of Xanctu

Synopsis

Previously on ‘Chronicles of Xancu’

The uneasy feeling wouldn't go away. It had been a long, hard jump from The Fence to Starbuoy, and now things moved only as fast as the walkway. But it was as close to stasis as she’d been in a while.

“Finally, the local network is allowing me access. Follow me, it’s quicker this way”, voiced Chron over the suit’s interface, its chrome exterior winking green at her in case she missed it in her ear.

“What did you do to persuade it?”

“Oh, I pinged it on loop.”

Bad as she felt, she couldn’t suppress a grin. Maybe Chron was as irritable as her in it’s own way. She’d spent enough time programming it to be rude. The stats it fed her showed that Starbuoy appeared to be well supplied with air and gravity, and that all the ceiling lights in their corridor were functional. Maybe Fleethome would be bearable. The kit got lighter at the thought, or maybe it was a gravity switch. She couldn't be sure. Picking up pace at the thought of getting comfortable, she followed Chron, shrugging off the edgy mood as best she could.

The walkway swung around a curl in the corridor and deposited them at an intersection where a flashing sign pointed towards Fleethome. Two troopers in Meuller 141 deep-space combat suits guarded the signposted hatch, their suits bristling with extra equipment. They both carried plasma weapons, a loadout not normally approved for orbitals or ships. She approached them slowly. Regulation.

The standard security unit in the center of the bulkhead door scanned her. Chron bleeped its authorization code. Confirming her retinal scan pattern, the com-grid winked green.

"Welcome to Fleethome-on-Starbuoy, Commander Rubek"; said the trooper on the left, his voice amped by the chest speaker. His suit lifted in respect, it’s servos whining.

"Thanks trooper, but it’s really acting Nav-Com"

"Have a pleasant stay Commander.", the suit responded.

The door steamed, hissed, then irised open, allowing her access to Fleethome. The blue-green colour scheme and design was the same as any other Fleethome she’d ever been. She headed towards coms. The medium-sized chamber was crowded with personnel. She took an outside seat and ditched the kit. Gravity was getting taxing. Chron hovered near the ceiling. It was the only navbot in the place. She was the only navigator in the chamber.

The resident pack hogging the consoles wore off-duty outers and had heavy planet features, their skin leathered and wrinkled from gravity. She nodded at them, half-listening to them swapping easy banter in basic. They were looking forward to going home; an alien concept to anyone ‘born’ on Orco, a place where desirable genes were bio-crafted. She’d been lucky to get free of Orco, but there was nowhere she called home.

Snapping out of the unpleasant memory, she returned a salute from one of the pack, who graciously offered his seat. The rest of them drifted away to their quarters, giving her some privacy. Taking the chair, she punched her com-code into the console. The response was immediate.

:Attention - Nav-Commander Xelexnia Rubek ex Destroyer DRAKLIKA 62XC:

:On arrival report IMMEDIATELY to Command Center at Black Sector 9:

She blanked it and sat back in the chair, staring into void.

“It looks like you got promoted”, offered Chron.

“Is that all you got?”

“Unless it’s a mistaken entry, that’s what it says.”

“I need a human to promote me, not a console.”

“I am privileged to serve you, Commander Xelexnia.”

“Fuck off Chron. The Captain could’ve told me, before he dumped me here and it would’ve meant something.”

“Maybe Captain Soliyo didn’t know?”

She grunted, unwilling to give up the gripe. “So where’s Black Sector 9?”

“It’s a long walk.”

“Of fucking course it is.”

Resignedly, she toted the kit. A proxy promotion, no explanation, and a long walk. Some shut-eye couldn’t come soon enough. A cycle ago they’d been on The Fence? She was losing track. The Fence surrounding the Merkan Empire ran for five hundred parsecs along borders through uncharted territories. She’d thought Starbuoy was a dead end, but there were also tactical advantages to Starbuoy's location. It was totally isolated from any gravity flux and thus had immediate access to warpspace. You could be anywhere soon enough.

“How long were we out there?”

“I compute that three cycles ago we were at the P'LYRAE 3 system when we received the order to jump to Starbuoy, Commander.”

“Stop calling me Commander, Chron.”

“As you wish, Xelexnia.”

“We were a long way from anywhere, then they ordered us to Starbuoy. We didn’t need supplies. This transfer has to be important.”

“I agree with your assessment, Xelexnia. This is important.”

Chron bleeped at the door. It scanned her then hissed open. She stepped over the threshold with Chron leading the way, leaving the surprised troopers at the door behind her. Walking back down the short corridor to the curl, she toed it back onto the walkway. Moving at the same speed, two white-robed, blue-skinned techs swapped dialogue in hybrid Basic. She pretended not to understand their greetings.

The suit told her it was cold outside, reminding her that the deeper you went the stranger it got, and the uneasy feeling hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had gotten worse. “Fuck Fleet. Fuck Regulation.”

“You are internalizing, Xelexnia. It is OK to feel bad after a jump.”

“When you remember Nexus you can preach”, she snapped at it.

“I do not recall participating in the Nexus campaign, Xelexnia.”

“Exactly, but I got the campaign flash so shut the fuck up about my internals and worry about yours instead.”

“I am aware that the Nexus campaign is recorded as a failed rebellion that went horribly wrong when a weapon of mass destruction mistakenly detonated, causing the planetary core to rupture, Xelexnia.”

“That’s the story, yeh. Leave it.”

She shivered. Nexus had been seven solars ago but she’d seen less time than that. Dialing up the heat in the suit, she remembered the dynamics of aggression that had produced and fired the Great War, twelve thousand solars ago. Since the treaty of Twinne Yashtoor, under the benign reign of the 'Council of Nine', peace had existed in the known galaxy for more than a decamillennium. Peace? Nexus had shattered and died. It was unimaginable, but she'd been there and wore its epitaph on her breast as a campaign flash to prove it. Thinking about Nexus was always painful. It had been her first tour. She'd never forgotten the awful vibrations through the ships hull when Nexus detonated. Truth was, she'd felt more than hull vibrations; she'd felt billions of screaming voices going to fiery hell, had died with them, had been incapacitated with delirium for cycles. Thankfully, others had suffered problems too. She’d recovered. Others hadn’t.

Stopping for a moment, she let the walkway do the work. It wasn’t ever going to be over, even after her recovery. Hundreds of fleet personnel had gone insane. Amongst them had been a high percentage of Fleet navigators. The shortage of trained astronavigators had prompted further training opportunities, but she’d had to agree to hypnotherapy in order to get the promotion. It should have blocked her memory of Nexus, but for some reason it hadn't worked. She remembered Nexus, and others remembered too. Of course Chron had been reprogrammed. She knew better than to open up to it. Who knew what code it had been stuffed with. The walkway continued its never-ending curve.

“You-’re brea-thing, aint-cha?”

Chron’s projected path for Black Sector showed it was still a fair distance. The location displayed as a -- Temporary Orbital Command Zone -- but there was a no transportation corridor to Black Sector, which was coded NO ACCESS. A command zone without easy access seemed illogical, but the map assured her she had to walk the last part of the way. Most of the horde was now going the opposite way down the curved outer corridor of the orbital, leaving her following the directional floor weave, hypnotically trudging towards the walkway which ran round the Orbital's three radial arms. Her body objected to the duty. The kit got heavier, and the bad feeling hadn’t let up.

"yr....BREATHIN.... aintch-ah?"

The Orbital's outer walkway seemed endless, the long, cold corridor eerie enough to make her feel insecure without a weapon. Some Orbitals were dangerous. She hoped this wasn’t one of them. And the non-stop exercise was taking its toll. Her stomach churned in protest. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten.

“Still brea-thing, Ain-tcha?”

Her orders allowed for zero misunderstanding, and gave nothing away, except a possible promotion. “Report Immediately---Nav-Commander? Null-A! Morphs! Deadheads!” The kit was solid weight and the only sign of life in the corridor was a patrolling duo in Mueller 141 rigs. They scanned her, then walked on by, ignoring her. No threat.

“We are being followed by the Pterryxi trooper from earlier, Xelexnia.”

Breathing hard, she didn’t respond and kept her pace constant. Nothing was normal.

"Yer breathin, Aintcha?"

The extended walk had sapped enough of her physical strength for the corridor to assume hallucinogenic proportions. Slowing down, she took in a few deep breaths, then made an abrupt about face, immediately catching sight of the lizard trooper who’d scanned her at the dock. Its articulated armour was unmistakable. It halted and stood passively in the deserted corridor. Too tired to do more than ignore it, she began walking the last section of the curved access corridor to Black Sector. She toed it round the low gravity curl, her boots sucking and releasing the coded griplock material the floor was coated with. In peripheral vision, the lizard followed her up. It was probably capable of taking out the whole corridor then returning unaided to whichever ship it had come from.

“Our follower is making me nervous. Let me know if it gets closer.”

“It has remained at a constant distance, Xelexnia. It appears to offer no threat.”

Tiredness momentarily forgotten, she was off the curl and walking as quick as she could down the color coded .9G strip which lead into a small, but luxuriously appointed reception area.

“This is Black Sector 9, Xelexnia. We have arrived.”

An executive vector stood to the one side of a large, luminous green iris door guarded by two armoured troopers. One of the troopers was a Lizard. It wore the same armour as her stalker in the corridor. Both troopers handled heavy weapons and hovered at her approach. The high pitched whistling of servos struck unsympathetic chords as their combat suits danced in the confined space. The air was heavy and difficult to breathe. She approached them, recognizing the crimson and yellow colours on the Lizard’s articulated armour as the Flying Snake sigil of a Pterryxi combat trooper. It retracted its visor. From within its open faceplate leered the fanged face of the Pterryxi trooper. Thankfully, the other trooper wore a Meuller 141 and was definitely Merkan, a greyling from a low gravity planet. His colours identified him as E.S.S., Elite Star trooper Section. Political warptrooper corps charged to protect politicos. Who hadn’t heard of ESS? Made up of all types, they were infantry with attitude and a galaxy spanning rep. Rebellions had been started and put down by troopers like him.

She closed the remaining distance, coming to a stop five paces away. Regulation. The Lizard had special insignia of some kind stencilled on his breastplate in the strange reptilian symbols she'd studied at the Academy so long ago. It stared through her with a coldness she felt way up her spine. It was far from its homeworld, an ice planet called Pterryx. Chron bleeped. Both troopers ignored it. Facing directly into the dilated black pupils she gave the Pterryxi its stare back. Shock would come later.

“Advise Command that acting Nav-Commander Rubek has reported immediately for duty - as ordered", she stated in Basic.

The lizard scanned her with unblinking bloodshot eyes. It took in the Nexus Flash on her shipsuit but didn't move. She lost patience, her tiredness and irritation overruling fear. She outranked them both; "IMMEDIATELY"; she yelled at them.

They appeared unimpressed. The E.S.S. in the Meuller 141 hovered, watching the Lizard scanning her. The reptoid dimmed its red stare and made sibilant, unintelligible noises into a red com-unit on its left wrist. There was an immediate response in an equally sibilant command tone. The Greyling smiled ominously at her as the lizard motioned with his weapon towards the door, in what was an obvious invitation to enter. The door cycled from green to orange, then irised open, allowing them access to the chamber. She walked between them, close enough to smell the musty odour of the Uxot Mothership that the lizard must have come from. Chron remained as high as it could, scooting under the top of the door. Taken aback by the grandness of the chamber, she immediately lost sight of it.

Deep space shone into luxury and waste. Discreet hidden lighting and the conspicuous luxury of an enormous space curved around her. Suited troopers were stationed at regular intervals around the plushily carpeted chamber. A large, red conference table dominated centre-space. Nine high-backed, plush chairs covered in shimmering red fabric surrounded it. The back of each chair was embossed with its own unique symbol, each representing a section of the Galactic star map. The interior walls were painted a pleasing green colour and decorated with the same gold star map symbols as the chairs. Even the heating grills in the floor were geometrically patterned in matching orange and green. Transparent space crystal made up the outside wall. But the sour, musky smell of the reptoid ship permeated the air.

“Welcome to Starbuoy, Nav-Commander Rubek.”

Astonishingly, she recognized the voice. She turned towards it, her heartbeat racing. The large humanoid floating on an antigrav device before her wore an orange robe trimmed with a faceted cape that sparkled indigo, gold and green. His stocky frame supported a disproportionately large head with orange, bushy facial hair, home to hypnotic ochre eyes and a round face from which a large, flat nose and red, fleshy lips protruded. His large dark pupils close focused on her, his armored hands remaining hidden within the loose folds of his robe. A Draco stood to one side, its grey green cape glittering with kill awards. Its rank was beyond insignia; it was rank.

Bipedal in shape, any resemblance to humanoid ended there. Possessing ovoid red eyes with dark black pupils, she knew his dark green skin was covered with small flexible scales beneath his cape. Larger scutes were located on his back. A short stubby muzzle with twin elliptical nostrils overhung a gaping fanged mouth filled with large pointed teeth. Cold-blooded, the Draco were a species who controlled the feared 'Warrior Elite' of the Reptilian Alliance, or the Uxot Confederation. It scanned her, its winged, scaly body towering over her. She tried not to tremble, her vision tunnelling to a spot on the green wall behind them. The robed figure turned to the Draco and made an ambiguous expression with his armoured hands, which then returned to the sleeves of his robe. The Draco did not react. It remained motionless, its eyes now locked to hers.

The orange robe turned towards her. "Allow me to introduce myself; I am Grakkus, Emperor of the Merkan Empire domiciled on Imperion in the AMIN-RA system. I am also the Supreme Conflict Mediator and Councillor representing the Merkan Alliance to the Supreme Council Of Nine". He smiled. "You could say I have some influence with those who command Star Fleet. You’ve had a long trip Commander Rubek, and I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but you’re here for a reason and things will soon become clear, but first let me introduce Councilor Gosh’t of the Uxot and Pterryxi Federation…"

She wanted to salute but could only stand frozen in fear of the memory. Even seven solars later, the trace of Grakkus’s voice was unforgettable. For a moment the Draco faded into bizarre insignificance as she remembered Grakkus addressing the Fleet after Nexus. His smile, she remembered too. The Draco was suddenly closer, its large bulk moving unbelievably quickly as it brought its monstrous body up close to her. Hair bristled on the nape of her neck as she saw, up close, its grey scaly skin riding up in layers around its neck, its grotesquely wrinkled face with its bony nasal orifices. Its fanged maw leered at her. Draco were notorious for their temper. This one was no exception. She stayed dead still, keeping her gaze at the regulation distance over his shoulder. Only inculcated discipline keeping her going.

"U ar'r the Aasstro-Nav'vigatri'xx"? It hissed at her in crude military basic, its breath making her hold off on breathing.

“Yes…Sir.”

Grakkus smiled benignly, but said nothing. He appeared to be enjoying her discomfort. The Draco turned to Grakkus with a flash of teeth; "Zo, ss'hee is's your bess't?" Even in bad basic the insinuation was insultingly clear. Her face reddened at the obvious slur and her lower lip began to tremble. She bit it until it stopped, kept her eyes locked to the wall.

"Her ship was here before you expected it, and you have not forgotten Nexus, have you?", replied Grakkus in a piercing whisper. The reptoid's eyes locked back onto hers, and again she was forced to meet its red stare. Draco were a species that could hibernate for long periods of time. Inculcation told her it was impossible to out-stare one. Surprisingly, it looked away. Its reply was mild enough.

"I w'will leev'v dee'ttails off therr brrie'ffing to u, thenn Gra-kkus", it made a depreciating shrug in her direction; "My s'seal is's on thiss." Grakkus seemed pleased with the reptoid’s reaction. He nodded amiably and replied; "In'dach't. This is acceptable." "Be'ya'ah'cht Ssh'too'ch'tt", replied the Draco, exhaling the meaningless words like a curse. Then, looking directly at her it added; "Uxssott ahhn Mehrkaann ass whunn Naavvigatorr. W'we w'will a'all partis'scipate in'n th'hh sucg'ccess of'f yor'r miss'hen. Goott Lukk."

Unwilling to trust her voice, she could only nod. Whatever mission it was referring to, it had already been decided. "Uxot and Merkan. As one", echoed Grakkus. They made meaningless, complicated hand signals to each other. Diplomatic protocol she couldn’t even guess at. Then Grakkus was steering the Draco to the rear of the chamber, their continuing discussion lost to her. She remained at attention. The lizard troopers, acting on some simultaneous hidden command, withdrew towards the two Councilors at the back of the room. A conspicuous hiss of compressed air, then they were gone, except for Grakkus, who hovered silently at the far side of the room.

There was a palpable lessening of tension amongst the Merkan troopers. One of them muttered something low to the others in trooper basic. She understood it as; "no loss". She smiled in their direction, but got ignored for her trouble. Nevertheless, the comment could only mean that the reptoids had left the Orbital. It made sense that this section of the orbital had its own dock. The reptoid shuttle must be anchored directly outside. In confirmation there was a muted roar of a shuttle's secondary propulsion system. She tried for a glimpse of the shuttle craft through the transparent outer wall of the chamber, but just like she'd have done if she'd been the pilot, it tucked under and boosted away. Combat pilots didn't like being scanned and the lizard pilot was no exception.

Grakkus floated slowly towards her, his smile fixed, but unreadable. Stunned by it all, she remained stiffly at attention. Chron was nowhere to be seen.

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© Return of The White Lady (1994) by Mike Kawitzky

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© Chronicles of Xanctu by Mike Kawitzky 2023