Starpiercer: Sunlight's Edge

CHAPTER XIX: CARCOSA V

XIX
CARCOSA V

"Hey," said the guy across the corridor.

They'd won.

He'd lost, but they'd won.

One more of the Caroline's crew was looking like he'd die. One of the Parlons. Poor Happa had been smashed against the wall during the immense force of Gallenhorst's emergency acceleration. But the ship itself was being refitted by a small swarm of Colonial Defence Fleet maintenance staff, and the big asteroid had been seized by navy's tugboats, and eased into a gentle orbit of Tylo.

It was over.

The Colonial Defence Fleet was deployed in force now, picking up the wreckage of what must have been the shortest battle in the history of Solace. As he'd been frog-marched to his new temporary home, he'd overheard a broadcast. The full casualty count in the entire Tyluset system stood at forty. Five hundred and thirty seven if you counted the Compact ships that had been ripped apart piecemeal by the Tralfarian task group before the abortive war had even started.

Three Tralfarian gunboats and two Colonial torpedo boats had been reduced to their component atoms before, supposedly, a ceasefire had been demanded by both King Valdimir of Tralaria himself, and the entire Colonial Secretariat, as both sides had, apparently, been completely clueless as to why their forces were shooting each other up in the backwater of the DMZ. Now dignitaries from both nations were meeting at the Dog's Eye Orbital Station, probably drinking too-sweet wine, eating those ridiculous tiny sandwiches and congratulating each other on a job well done of averting another war.

Waste of a good conspiracy if you ask me. Why the hell had the Tralfarians put that stupid beacon on the Caroline to lure in the Compact and justify their operation if they'd just planned on giving up and going back home the second someone called for cooler heads to prevail?

He'd bet his life on it that it had been a political move. Classic Tralfarian brinksmanship, to see just how much they could get away with before someone poked them back. He hoped they'd gotten their clout. That the lives were worth it. He quietly cursed every Tralfarian under the light of the stars. Except Amanda. She'd always been nice to him.

But now, the Caroline would be going back to the Corporate Alliance. The Tralfarians had gotten to flex their muscles. Gallenhorst, if he lived, would get his administrative job. Tylo would get it's asteroid station, and all the politicians could spend the rest of time jacking each other off at state functions until the stars burned out.

And he got a seven-by-seven cell on a Colonial prison barge.

Someone had had to take the fall.

"Hey," said the guy across the hall again.

Carcosa sighed and sat up on his bed to look at the man, groaning as he did so. Middlespace was handy, what with it's different laws of physics. There was a consistent up and down, running perpendicular to a ship's intended direction, for some reason. No one knew why.

It was a novelty, and nice to finally be able to walk around without kicking off of everything, but at the same time, it was hell on anyone who'd spent the last half a year either in zero-G or pressed down by accelerative force. It made his bones ache and his stomach turn. "What?" he demanded. The guy wore a yellow prison jumpsuit, but by his haircut, he looked like Colonial Defense Fleet personnel.

"What are you in for?"

Carcosa leaned back against the little acceleration cot and sighed. There were sixty inmates on this prison barge, and he just had to get the chatty one in the cell across from him.

He fixed the man with a blank stare. "Terrorism. Oh, and breaking corporate code."

The man blinked. "Oh. Were you with the Compact?"

"No," said Carcosa. "But the Colonies had to throw someone under the bus for that whole mess. They chose the Compact, and anyone who has present or past affiliation. Plus, the Corporate Alliance is pissed off with me now. I messed with their shit. Easy middle ground for the Colonies to take me."

The man nodded good-naturedly. "For what it's worth, it's probably just a political stunt. The Colonies-"

"Yeah yeah, they back the- or they used to back the Compact, I know." He waved hand languidly, and then winced. They should have kept him in the hospital bay. He contemplated tearing off the cast and breaking his arm all over again. At least then he wouldn't have to talk with this idiot.

"Yeah, well...for what it's worth, nobody thinks you guys are bad guys for fighting the royals. You lost your homes, you know?"

"Hey," he said, raising a hand. "I'm not with the Compact. I was. Years ago. It's old shit now. I figure they probably arrested the survivors of those ships too? The ones the Tralfarians shot up I mean."

The talkative guy nodded.

Carcosa leaned back and sighed. Typical. The big powerbrokers lose a few guys, and the little guy gets blamed for it. The Tralfarians got to go home to their families and their homeworlds, and their puppet of a king with a slap on the wrist. He got a prison barge to some Colonial gulag. "So, where we headed?"

"The Lady," said the man. "It's a corrective facility in the Moltuset system. I'm here for disobeying orders myself, I mean, I say we have at the damn royals. They came into our system and started trying to board our ships and wage their private little war against the Compact..." Carcosa let him ramble on. Some hotheaded kid who'd probably fired his weapons after the ceasefire order had been given. He'd probably be given a discharge and then sent back home at worst.

When the soldier had finished sharing unasked-for details about his life, Carcosa's eyes roved up to the ceiling. There was a monitor there, at least, with some old news scrolling across the screen. Most of it was about this stupid shit.'Bloodshed in the DMZ' said the headline. The 'Tyluset Crisis' they were calling it. All that subterfuge, that beacon...everything...for what? A political shitstorm? Tralfaria showing off their military erection? He almost wanted to laugh.

Maybe it had just been a regular Compact emergency beacon.Maybe the Compact had had some grand design on the system. If they had, their corpses weren't telling anyone.

"So, what's this prison like. This...lady? An ice moon, right? We digging rocks in a labor camp?"

"Yeah, in the outer Moltuset system. It's not bad though. A bit like a getaway. You're from the Corporate Alliance, right?"

"Sure."

"Well, I've heard that those For-profit prisons suck. It's not like that in the Colonies. They stick you there, rehabilitate you for a bit. Team-building exercises, plenty of food and sleep, you know. Games and stuff. The works." The kid's face turned chagrined. "I'll probably just get a discharge and get chucked out of the navy, but it's not a bad place to be locked up." His voice turned morose, and he continued oversharing.

Carcosa leaned back again. Rehabilitation. That could be nice.

A little vacation.

That wouldn't be so bad.