Dark Omega

CHAPTER 31 - THE MAIDEN OF AMALFI

The Pro Patria-class sprint freighter Virginis Amalfi—the Maiden of Amalfi in the common tongue of the Dominion—rested at anchor, high above the war-torn world of Protasia. A gleaming sliver of metal, nearly eight hundred meters in length from the forward scanning pylons to aft engine baffles. It was a graceful craft, lithe and swift—as long as she was unburdened by the six massive cargo spheres that currently straddled her waist. Even fully loaded, she was far faster and more maneuverable than the giant cargo haulers that dominated long-distance trade in the Successor Kingdoms. A ship like the Virginis was more suited to carrying wealthy passengers and luxuries than bulk goods. Thanks to a few special modifications, it was also capable of daring acts of exploration, smuggling runs, and privateering. The Maiden was a venerable old lady—her keel had been laid down over Moeral Utilis before the Titanomachy—but her owners had kept her in working order throughout the centuries. The numerous refits she'd undergone meant there were few original parts left, except the structural members of her spaceframe.

The starship's Master and Commander, the Honorable Starwalker Corben Emmanuel of the House of Orovar, sat alone in the observation spire—a retractable obelisk of adamantine, crowned by an impenetrable crystal sphere—soaring above the Maiden's superstructure. The spire was not an original feature of the Pro Patria class, but an addition made by the founder of House Orovar, Lord Orovar the Merovingian, in preparation for his second great expedition into the wild space on the galaxy's southern margins. Where had he gotten the plans for the spire? Where had he acquired the materials? What yard had done the work? There was no mention of the refit in the family annals, and not even the technomancers could ascertain its origins, leaving those questions unanswerable.

If there was a place on board the ship where Corben felt at home, it was up here. No one was allowed to ascend the spire while he was present, not even his personal servants or bodyguards. It was the only place where he could escape the oppressive claustrophobia the rest of the Maiden invoked in him. With the viewing ports fully opened, he could pretend he was flying through the void alone, unburdened by the hundreds of thousands of tonnes of metal, ceramics, and synthetics that made up the flesh and bones of the leviathan beneath his feet.

Captain Corben touched the command pad situated in the armrest of his chair. The majestic murals of Old Earth soaring overhead faded, replaced by a crystal-clear image of the cold void outside. He played with another set of controls in the other armrest. Mighty thruster banks began to fire sequentially, slowly turning the Maiden of Amalfi so that her prow pointed directly towards the planet below. At a distance of more than forty thousand kilometers, the world was reduced to a blue-white ball, framed by pitch darkness and bright sunlight.

Protasia. Or should I call it Akakios, as it says on my star charts?

The captain rose from his seat and moved to a computing desk made of carved hardwoods procured from a dozen different worlds. He looked down at the digital starmap spread across half the table. He might not belong on a starship, but he knew all there was to know about astrocartography and commerce. Corben could have done a splendid job running the family business. If only the old man hadn't insisted his son take personal command of the Maiden. If only he could have run the vessel by proxy. Many expatriate Starwalker dynasties did that. Corben could have stayed on Sorbonne and pulled strings. Avoided all this travel. But no, Simenon had made a provision in his will—his son must command the Maiden, or forfeit his inheritance.

Tick, tick, tick. 

He heard it more clearly this time. It was the same sound he thought he'd heard earlier. It was very faint, but it was there. It reminded him of the sound lobsters made when thrown into the boiling pan—the scratching of chitin on metal, muted by the roiling water, and the sealed pressure lid. Corben listened intently, but the noise was gone. The observation sphere was kept pristine, free of vermin, and the general decay that threatened to overtake the below-decks.