VESSEL: Sovereign of the Stars // LOCATION: THE DRIFT // TIME: UNKNOWN
The cutter dropped away from the Sovereign's port side. Floating in its shadow, the deep dark of the drift threatened to swallow the much smaller vessel. Hurkel ignited the engine and the craft leapt forward into the blinking bright of distant stars.
The navigator waved for Romain to loosen the sails. Arrayed on a rotational axis parallel to the hull, he needed to position the three sails to gather as much energy as possible. A brief glance at the sensors, and Romain rotated the rigging array accordingly. Then with a simple lever throw he opened the cutter's sails. Unfurling, they snapped into place and buzzed as they slipped through a pocket of cosmic radiation. Their pearlescent shimmer was one of the most beautiful things in the whole galaxy to Romain's eyes.
The cutter bounded ahead of the current.
Hurkel sat at the stern, his organic hand immersed in the interactive light projected above the tiller. He steered the cutter away from the Sovereign, which was running slow to harvest energy from the cloud formation.
Designed for speed and maneuverability, the cutter was slim and as lightly armed as it was armored. It took a maximum crew of four, with just enough excess space for two passengers, but a crew of two was all that it often required.
One of three such craft, the cutters were used for scouting and protecting the longboats, of which there were two, during boarding actions. Granger, and not a small number of the crew, at times referred to the cutters as whiskers - feeling out and finding the hazards in the dark.
Armed with two bow chasers, their barrels extending from within prow's hull, they could be synced for dual firing or set to alternate from the tiller controls. Located amidships and built into the rotational rigging array for the sails so that its firing line was never impeded, was a swivel gun. If only one person was crewing the cutter, a rare possibility, it could be synced to match targets with the chasers.
When serving with the Master-At-Arms and then again with the Master Gunner, Romain had trained on the cutter. He was quite familiar with its armaments and controls, and both masters had even taken him out for target practice on multiple occasions.
This, however, was the first time that he had been sent out scouting with Hurkel. Allowed to tag along on other runs, he'd only ever been present as an observer before, with the crew pointing things out to him, explaining how this or that worked, or sharing the what and the why of their various tasks. During such excursions he hadn't done much but watch the stars and ogle the nebulae.
So, this time was sure to be different. An excursion with the ship's navigator had to be, but so far Hurkel had given no other order beyond minding the sails. Romain did his best to relax, attempting patience by letting his vision blur.
When he could no longer distinguish the Sovereign from the other motes of light peppering the black, and the constant humming and buzzing of the engine and the sails were naught but the steady gnawing of tedium, he got up to examine the navigation console just aft of the rigging array controls.
The small, etheric sphere glowed, displaying the cutter's position relative to the Sovereign's. They'd gone out much farther from the ship than he'd ever been before. In fact, they were close to exceeding the recommended operational range of the cutter by a full fifth. That couldn't be right. He checked Hurkel's face for confirmation.
The navigator continued to work the tiller in silence, a small smirk playing across his painted features, but betraying nothing else. Without iris or pupil, it was difficult to discern where his white eyes were focused. Romain considered trying to match the gaze, but the drift was empty of anything but stars.
Well, empty of anything he could see, he reminded himself. It was said that Five-Eye, Amarillion, and several other non-idaltus aboard the Sovereign, whose visible spectrums were not so limited, saw a great deal more when they looked out across the drift. That for them, it was never empty. Romain envied them that.
With a huff he returned to his station beside the rigging controls. He wanted his mind to empty and wander so that idleness would overtake him as Hurkel sailed them out to wherever it was that he was sailing them out to, but his mind wouldn't cooperate. As if in rebellion to his desire for lethargy, it kept thinking about the star map, and the zigzagging course that would take them to Port Tridium.
Nine rotations? Why should the voyage take so long? Romain considered the distance, the Soveriegn's fuel and power reserves, as well the available supplies. With a crew of thirty-six, accounting for stellar drift, traveling in as straight a line as possible.... He worked the calculations out in his head, checking his sums on his fingers twice just to be sure. Four rotations. No. That couldn't possibly be right. That was five whole rotations shorter!
He thought through the numbers yet again, this time using the pocket abacus he carried in a pouch on his belt. Four rotations. Same as before. His arithmetic was sound.
The cutter began to slow, banking into a broad and gradual starboard-leaning curve.
Romain sat up, stuffing the abacus back into its pouch. Hurkel was still sort of smirking, like always, as he eased the tiller over. With his chin, he pointed toward the sails.
Romain waited for an explanation, but none appeared to be forthcoming. Frowning, but nodding in acknowledgment, he turned his attention to the controls. He adjusted the trim of the sails, shortening them somewhat based on the new speed, and rotated the array a quarter turn below the cutter's keel.
Hurkel locked the tiller in place, then stood and moved to the bow, brushing past Romain without a word. At the very edge, and just between the chasers, he sat down and stared out into the drift. As far as Romain could tell, he carried no instrumentation with him whatsoever.
What were they doing way out here? He opened his mouth to speak, but Hurkel raised his hand in anticipation of Romain's question. He shook his head and tapped his ears. Then he laid his arms in his lap, the robotic one elevated a finger's width above the organic.
Romain closed his mouth, his eyebrows pressing in on the bridge of his nose. He crossed his arms over his chest, his unused breath pushed out through flared nostrils. Tapping his fingers against his arm he did the only thing he could and examined his surroundings.
The cutter was traveling in what appeared to be a large circle, but they orbited nothing. He flopped his arms to his sides and moved back over to the navigational console to examine the map once more.
He was right. They were making a large circle around an expanse of nothing. Even after he applied several sensory filters to the map of the immediate area, he still found nothing. The ambient radiation was so minimal as to barely register on the sensors. They weren't even sailing through a cosmic haze or fog to gather more power with the sails. So, his question remained. What were they doing here?
Oppressed by the silence and the unknown, Romain was unsure of what to do with himself, and when nothing presented itself as the obvious thing to do, he resigned himself to sitting down an arm's length from Hurkel. He recreated the navigator's pose and posture as best he could.
Apparently, they were waiting.
After the cutter completed its third revolution, Hurkel turned to face Romain. The navigator flashed him a toothy grin, stretching as if waking from a long slumber.
"Sometimes, my young Romain, it is good to appreciate the silence and stillness of the drift. For from the drift were we made, and to the drift we will return."
Romain blinked at Hurkel. Philosophy? Religion? That's why they were out here? He knew Hurkel was spiritual, considering himself some sort of witch or seer or... whatever, but as open as he was about all that, he was also rather private about the specifics. Which left Romain to wonder if it wasn't all just for show. Something to do to put the crew on edge when he was about, and more so when he wasn't. Speak ill of Hurkel and he just might put a hex on you!
Hurkel chuckled. "I assume you are wondering both the why and the what of what it is we are doing out here. I shall tell you. We are waiting."
Romain strained his eyes to keep from rolling them. "Aye, but what are we waiting for?"
Again, Hurkel chuckled. "A sign."
"A sign? What manner of sign? The dying flash of a distant star? The random blink of a stellar vortex? What? The sensors are empty. This spot is empty."
Hurkel shook his head, putting a stopper on Romain's whining with a dark and serious glance. "You must learn patience, my young Romain. You will have much need of it in the coming cycles."
Romain cocked his head to the side, admonished but unrelenting. "What do you mean?"
Hurkel shrugged, the crooked smirk returning. "I mean what I say, and I say what I mean. Patience: you must master it. Things will be difficult for you otherwise."
"Are you talking about my future?"
Hurkel canted his head to the side, and then nodded. "Aye, I speak of the future."
"You've seen my future?" asked Romain, astonished.
Hurkel laughed, sighing. "I have glimpsed many a soul's future, my young Romain, but I think what you ask and what I say are somewhat different things."
"Then you aren't really a seer?"
"I see a great many things. My eyes are always open, how can I not?"
"I don't understand." Disappointment sagged his shoulders. For a moment, for just a moment, he'd really believed that there was something magical about Hurkel. It would be so wonderful for real magic to exist. What an adventure that would be!
"Hm. Clarification: I cannot look through space and time, nor past the deep blackness of the great, vast drift to find the signs and the portents of a soul's existence. No, this I cannot do. I have only my eyes and my wits for reading people, and with a bit of patience, I find they serve me well for such things. I can, however, do other things and see other things."
His curiosity once again piqued, Romain smiled, anxious to hear more. "Like what? Can you really hex people for speaking ill of you?"
Hurkel laughed, his grin turning wicked. "Been speaking to Juno, have you?" He winked, tapping the side of his head. "The mind be a powerful thing, young Romain, and a dangerous thing. Sometimes it needs only a little encouragement."
"That's not really an answer," said Romain.
"It's not the answer you wanted to hear."
"You speak in riddles."
"I speak how I speak."
"Ugh!" Romain tossed his hands up in the air, giving in to his frustration. He brought his arms to his chest, glaring at Hurkel.
Hurkel shrugged. "I don't know how else to speak, young Romain. Have patience. Otherwise, more such frustration for you."
Romain grunted. Much to his dismay, his brain set about the task of dismantling Hurkel's words. He sighed, exasperation turning to understanding. Hurkel was asking Romain to be patient with him, specifically.
"Apologies," said Romain, his voice soft.
Hurkel again shrugged, and then smiled. "Life. Much patience is required for it."
Romain couldn't help but smile back. There was something fulfilling in reaching that understanding with Hurkel.
"So, what did you mean... about minds being powerful and dangerous?"
Hurkel shook his head. "Just that." He held up a hand, calling for Romain's silence and patience. He nodded. "Mm. Yes. Someday I tell you my side of Juno's story, but not today. Right now, you have other questions. More relevant questions."
Mostly satisfied, Romain nodded.
"So?"
"We could make the voyage to Port Tridium in four rotations, but the course you've plotted will take nine. Why?"
"Mm." Hurkel nodded, smiling. "You've got a sharp eye and a sharp mind. Aye, we could make Port Tridium in four rotations instead of nine. This be true, but what's between us and Port Tridium? What else did you see when you were plotting the course?"
What else had he seen? What else had he seen? The answer had been apparent then, and he had missed it. Had it been obvious? Would it have been obvious to him? He racked his brain for the information but found little worthy of much consideration. The task had been menial and frustrating, and his hands had hurt so badly that he had stopped paying close attention to everything else he'd been seeing on the map.
"A few planets?" There were at least three systems between the Sovereign's present location and Port Tridium. More than a few planets, but did any of those planets matter? It wasn't much of a guess.
"Aye, planets," Hurkel said with a pleased smile.
Romain smiled back. He'd guessed right!
"What about those planets?"
Romain's smile vanished. He shook his head, not even bothering to feign thinking. "I don't know. I didn't recognize them."
"An acceptable answer. For now. In time, you must recognize all the planets, all the stars, all the nebulae. You must become familiar with the drift in its entirety. We carry no navigation computer aboard the Sovereign of the Stars. You cannot simply input the name of a thing and tell the ship to plot the course. All this, we do ourselves. It is harder, takes longer, but it is safer. You understand, aye?"
"Aye," said Romain with a nod. He did understand. Five-Eye had drilled the idea into him since he'd come aboard. Navi-computers were dangerous. They allowed others to discover where you had gone and when. How much time you spent here or there. Worst of all, they made navigators lazy and pilots lazier. Sailing the drift was a thing to be done with one's wits, not one's computer.
"Good. Now. One of the planets that we would pass, should we choose the most direct path to Port Tridium, is Irridian Commerce Planet Six. You know of the Irridians, aye?"
"Aye. Servants of the Hith, mostly."
"Aye, at times, but not as the Irridians care to say it," said Hurkel with a wink. "What do you know of the Captain's past with regards to the Hith and the Irridians?"
Romain shook his head, his shoulders bobbing. He didn't know that the captain had had much of a past with either besides having raided their vessels and ports, much like any other pirate.
"Mm. Aye, like all pirates on the drift... we've had our share of encounters with both the Hith and the Irridians. Profitable for us, less so for them, but the Hith... they have become less reasonable of late. Placed a bounty on the captain's head. Make a poor soul into a rich one if a soul had a mind and a will keen enough to take the captain."
So, the captain had a bounty on his head, what pirate didn't? He was certain that even the Gardai had a warrant for each and every member of the crew, what was so much more dangerous about a hith bounty? Never mind sailing past an Irridian Commerce Planet. Those were everywhere. If anything, they were likely to find it a sympathetic port. Perhaps even sell off some of their cargo and take on fresh supplies. The Irridians believed in trade and profit. Pirates did both. No harm, no foul.
"Mm. I can tell by your face you need more... there's a one on that planet with mind and will thrice keen enough to take the captain," stated Hurkel, an edge of danger in his voice.
Romain balked. "Impossible!"
Hurkel grinned but didn't smile. "Your admiration for the captain is well placed, but even he knows when he's outmatched. This one, this Rone. He's a match. He and his crew, maybe more than a match."
"Rone? Is he a pirate? I've never heard of him."
"Is he a pirate? Never heard of Rone?" Hurkel guffawed, shaking his head. "No. Rone Ikeda, he's no pirate. He's... well, he's...." A dumbfounded expression snapped his mouth shut. "What you do all day in that bunk of yours that you've not heard of Rone Ikeda?"
At first offended and then ashamed, and then some odd mixture of embarrassed and confused Romain pursed his lips and bowed his head.
"You spending all that time looking for things Earth, eh? Things to distract yourself and the crew, eh?" Hurkel nodded, snorting. "Next time, you dig for Rone. He's one to know. He's one to watch."
Romain nodded. More work for his free time.
"So, that's why we take the longer course. Also, more favorable currents mean less drain on the engines, less drain on power, which means more profit goes to the crew when we sell our cargo at Port Tridium and less to resupplying. Understand?"
Taking the longer course to provide bigger shares to the crew? Now that made sense. Romain nodded. Avoiding some name on some forgotten backwater that didn't even know the Sovereign was there? That didn't.
The hull of the cutter shuddered, and a great flash of light exploded just out of the corner of Romain's eyes. Blinking through his fingers, he was glad that he hadn't been looking toward the center of the cutter's orbit.
"Ha! Our sign!" hollered Hurkel.
The navigator leapt to his feet and rushed to the tiller.
"What?!" Romain shouted after him, still rubbing at his eyes. He stood up as Hurkel unlocked the tiller and powered up the cutter's engines. Romain stumbled a step as the cutter lurched forward. "What do you mean that's our sign? I don't see anything. It was just... a flash."
Romain did see something, though, and it floated dead center of the large circle the cutter had been tracing. He leaned over the edge, pressing the end of his nose against the membranous energy envelope. The static sent a buzzing tickle up through his nostrils.
The object looked roughly spherical, perhaps a bit oblong, and maybe the size of a person's head. Romain guessed that it was made of metal from the way the ambient light from the cutter's sails shimmered off its surface.
Hurkel eased the cutter closer, careful to keep the energy envelope from popping the spinning object out of its stable position. Hurkel hissed and chuckled as the object bounced, skipping a few lengths against the cutter's bubble, but the craft's gravitational pull proved strong enough to the keep it in tow.
Romain opened one of the nearby footlockers and pulled out a pair of large gauntlets designed to protect the wearer against the vacuous hazards of the drift. He shoved his arms inside, the insulating gel adhering to his skin. Heavy and cumbersome, they reached all the way up to his armpits. Pressing his hands against the envelope, the membrane expanded and then snapped around the contours of the gauntlets. He grabbed the object and pulled it through. Static popped in his ears.
Romain toppled over onto his rear; the object heavy in his lap. Without removing the gauntlets, he turned it over in his hands.
Romain looked up at Hurkel with a quizzical expression.
"What is our sign?" asked the navigator, smirking.
"A head." Romain, as perplexed as ever, clarified, "A droid's head." He offered it to Hurkel.
With ease, Hurkel lifted it with his robotic arm. Shiny as its metal surface was, it was also covered in electrical scoring and pockmarked with scratches and abrasions. The hazards of traveling through foldspace without protection warranted Romain.
Hurkel smiled at it and then at Romain. With a quiet chuckle he tapped a small switch on the side of the droid's head. One of its two eyes lit up bright crimson and then projected an image into the air.
Floating between Hurkel and Romain was the image of a man, idaltu as far as Romain could tell. Older and well-built with broad shoulders, he wore a stern expression beneath a groomed beard. His coat was long with thick cuffs and a high collar. He glowered past them at some unseen object of irritation.
"Captain Baldassaré Five-Eye. I am calling in all your debts. All of them. The Montressor Shipyards. Three Rotations."
The image fluttered and then repeated the message.
"...who?"
Hurkel hissed, his expression stricken. He tapped the switch on the side the droid's head and the image faded away. With some care, he placed the head into the open footlocker.
"I don't understand. That looked like... but, why would he... Was that who I think it is?"
Hurkel turned his milky eyes on Romain. "Aye. That be Captain Fermian Hargaris."
Without another word, Hurkel opened the sails to full and then rushed aft to the tiller. He maneuvered the cutter to come about and powered the engine to full. It surged forward, speeding its way back to the Sovereign of the Stars.
"The Fermian Hargaris?" asked Romain, bewildered.
"Captain. Captain Fermian Hargaris," corrected Hurkel.
Romain pulled off the gauntlets and stuffed them back into the footlocker, as he heaved the droid's head out and onto the bench beside him. He gave it a quick once over, and then realization dawned. This was the head of one of Captain Fermian Hargaris' droid crew! From the Tempest Wrath, a ship said to be impossible to take.
"The Montressor Shipyards? So, not Port Tridium?" He'd never been to Montressor either, and it was as infamous as Port Tridium. Romain didn't know whether he ought to be disappointed, excited, or worried. Then Captain Hargaris' words hit him.
"What does Captain Five-Eye owe Captain Hargaris?"
"Too much."