1 - Maxon

Maxon

Maxon Davis could always tell when Veciennes cut the FTL drive on the Supersoul as it sounded very much like a large container of loosely packed scrap metal colliding with an even larger container of glass baubles. It was disquieting at first – something had to be wrong with that racket – but Maxon learned to appreciate the noise. It meant the boredom of FTL space had ended and another mission was to begin.

Not that the recent missions were much to talk about. With talk of the old trade routes being reopened, Captain Wheeler was focused on making a name for herself in the salvage business. This meant frog hopping across the dead ends of space, finding planets ruined by the old Galactic War, left to rot, and hoping there was something of value. Given that some fifty odd years had passed since the Dzenghar Empire had been torn apart, the odds were higher that anything that could have been of worth had been picked clean long before Maxon was born. It has been easier when they were pirates.

The crash-boom-crash orchestra subsiding, Maxon slid out of his berth and steadied himself on his feet. Even after three years, the FTL transition left him feeling wobbly and unbalanced. It reminded him of his place on the ship, as the last-on. He was hired as an apprentice – rescued if he was being honest, considering the dead end existence he had been sleepwalking through - and by all measures had proven his worth. But despite graduating to full-time crew member, an almost-equal, he remained at the bottom of the rank, the first-out. The only way that would change would be if Veciennes or Kongh left, either on their own volition or jettisoned into the dead of space. He couldn’t see either choosing the former or Captain Wheeler opting for the latter. They were too good a team.

“Maxon!” the captain’s voice squealed from the comm. It needed repair, as did most of the Supersoul. And like most of the ship, it did not receive any. There was always something more important that was breaking. “Come to the ready room.”

“On it,” Maxon replied. Wheeler sounded excited, a rarity for the last handful of cycles. Might be that they weren’t heading out on another garbage slog.

Maxon exited his cabin and made his way to what was either lovingly or laughingly called the “ready room.” The Supersoul was a pirate ship and space not dedicated to flying, eating, or sleeping was reserved for scavenged goods. The exception was the small boxy area that intersected the ship’s quarters, the engine room, the actual cargo hold, and the cockpit. It had enough room for a table, three chairs, a couple of overstuffed storage lockers, and, as of late, arguments.

Wheeler and Kongh were seated; Veciennes remained higher up in the cockpit. As an Augmented, she typically jacked into the ship’s comms and made her opinions known when she deemed necessary. Maxon had heard of her type prior to joining the Supersoul, but his knowledge was third- and fourth-hand rumor – they lacked emotion, they needed expensive drugs to prevent their bodies from rejecting the cybernetic implants, they suffered psychotic breaks and could turn on you at any moment. In truth, Veciennes was comfortingly mundane.

“What’s the name of this place?” Kongh asked, motioning for Maxon to sit down. He was Maxon’s handler and mentor when Maxon joined the Supersoul (another reason to be grateful for Wheeler – the idea of training apprentices was laughable to most of the piracy guild). The early days were tense, with Maxon knowing little more than the difference between his ass and his elbow and Kongh feeling the best way to learn was to fail often and painfully. But now Maxon viewed him as an older, gruffer brother, one just as quick to share a drink as cuff him in the back of the head. The two were the forward team, the ones responsible for finding profit in a guess.

Veciennes rattled off a quick hit of facts. “Iken IV. Terra class planet. Deemed historical and off limits. It’s an isolated planet broken down by three major geographical groups, all of them with varying degrees of mistrust to anyone who’s not them. They don’t trade off planet and they don’t tolerate off worlders.”

“Historical?” Maxon asked.

“Battle of Tyrant’s Fall. Did you learn anything in school?” Wheeler quipped.

“The school closed shortly after third year. Was converted into the merc recruitment center you found me.”

Like most kids with little to no prospects on a planet with even less, sanctioned, legal career choices typically were limited to prostitute or mercenary. Whores made more money, but life expectancy was about as bad as that of a hired gun, especially on a broken-down dirt world like Maxon’s. As a merc, there was at least the luxury of wearing clothes when being shot at.

Wheeler continued. “So you learned something, just not this. Right. Tyrant’s Fall was when the Dzenghar Empire tapped out. Not the first major battle that they lost but it was the one that made everyone realize that the snake had no head. One of their ships – The Instigator if this file is right – damn near ruined the planet when it crashed. Apparently, it was the shitshow of all shitshows.”

“That’s all good and fine, but why is it off limits?” Kongh asked. The inflection showed how little he thought of that designation. For him, things were off limits only if he didn’t care about them.

“The wreck of The Instigator caused major ecological damage,” Veciennes replied. “The ship did a hell of a number when it hit the earth. Grassland turned to sand, and the sand turned to glass. Once a year the atmosphere freaks out and pretends it belongs to a different planet. When the empire surrendered, the major governments of Iken IV came together for the single time in its history to demand they be left alone. The empire and the Resistance both agreed. It’s still one of the few laws left in place following dissolution of the Resistance.”

“And still obeyed,” Maxon marveled.

“Mostly obeyed,” Wheeler said. “Which means odds are high that there’s something better than the usual scrap down there. Still, no promises – we’re not the only lawless ship out there.”

Kongh grunted. “No, we’re not. So why are the odds so much better for this than any of the others we’ve wasted time on?” Another question Maxon was glad Kongh asked. Their last few missions cost more than they could earn.

“What remains of the local population near the impact site view the ship as a religious icon,” Veciennes said. “If you wanted to know who on the planet hated strangers the most, those are them.”

Wheeler added, “Remember The Heart of Every Country? Evans took on a salvage commission a year ago. They got close to the site, but they were meet with surface to space missiles and a small fleet of fighters, if you can believe that. He figured it wasn’t worth the headache and took off.”

“Evans thought that?” Kongh responded. “Huh. I don’t figure him as someone to turn tail without reason.”

“He probably didn’t expect a buttoned-up planet to be that well-armed,” Maxon quipped.

“Religious belief can lead to mania,” Veciennes said. “Zealotry’s not that far off.”

“It usually is,” Wheeler said softly, as if to herself.

“Zealots. With weapons.” Maxon said. “Kongh, do you want me to do a weapon’s check?”

“Smart thinking, kid. VC, what’s the crash site like?”

“It’s on the southern hemisphere of the planet and is mostly desert, with the Glass Sea being at the center of the crash. Radiation levels are on the low end of safe so nothing that would kill us in the short term. Right outside the Glass Sea is the pilgrimage encampment, but that’s a bit of an understatement. It grows from the ruins of the cities in that area and runs all the way around the circumference of the Glass Sea. Locally it’s known as the Iris.”

“So the entire area is surrounded,” Wheeler noted.

“Mostly. While the Iris is huge, there are uninhabited sections. There are a couple where we can land with a reasonable expectation of not being found.”

“Reasonable?” Maxon asked.

”Within an acceptable margin of error. It’s just math,” Veciennes replied.

Just math. Maxon’s education started and stopped with counting packages of imported goods and the longer he did it, the lower the total became. The galaxy had run out of things to tally by the time Wheeler scooped him up.

“If we can find a good spot, we can use any abandoned shelters as cover,” the augmented continued. “But since the Iris overall is still makeshift with more temporary structures than there are not, it’s also very easy to hide munitions and warriors from drones. If we’re hiding ourselves, they’re hiding even more.”

“Are we talking one religion or is it a bunch of competing oddballs?” Wheeler asked.

“Mostly a single unified belief system – their god threw the ship into the earth as a warning of going off-world – but there are offshoots of varying extremism. Therein lie the pockets in the Iris.”

“And they’re all isolated, right? This isn’t a unified planet.” Maxon said.

“There is no centralized government, but like I said, there’s a deep-rooted mistrust of outsiders. The exception would be tourists,” Veciennes replied.

“Tourists?” Kongh asked.

“Correct. During the dry season, which they’re in, there’s a high likelihood of volcanic activity around the equator. Turns the skies red. It’s apparently quite the sight. The inhabitants relate significant religious meaning to it. It draws its share of acolytes, which the local governments mostly condone. Money talks.”

“And fervor travels,” Wheeler said.

“I’m sure it does.” Kongh shook his head. “So we’re going to an off-limits planet to steal some old tech that may or may not still be there and if we have time, take in the sights amidst a bunch of whack-jobs and off worlders. How we getting in?”

Wheeler sighed. “Given the size of the planet, there’s no way we can land in a less crazy area and get to the wreck without hiring local transport. That’ll take time and money, neither of which we have. I don’t have to tell you we’ve been bleeding coin. We need a good, fast change in luck, so going direct is the plan. Anything else is more trouble than its worth.”

“More trouble that STSs?” Maxon asked. This was unbelievable.

“More trouble than I want.” Something in Wheeler’s voice told Maxon to drop it.

Kongh muttered a curse in his native tongue. Maxon wasn’t sure of the direct translation but it was something along the lines of “Your mother’s wasteful and sad teats.” Normally such colloquialisms made Maxon smile, but nothing about this plan sounded easy or safe, even by piracy standards. There were risks, and then there was outright stupidity.

Wheeler glanced at Kongh, frowned, and carried on. “It’ll be tough, but I have faith Veciennes can get us down. STSs are a bitch if you don’t know they’re coming. Or if you go it alone.”

“Ship leaving FTL space, Captain” Veciennes said. “It’s The Arkon.” She didn’t seem surprised.

“Captain, what the ever-loving hell is going on?” Kongh asked.

“I made a deal with Captain Statner. He’s running interference in exchange for half the profits.”

“Half? We’re the ones going planet-side and doing the work!” Maxon cried. This was unbelievable. Statner had a reputation for being less than trustworthy.

“You think flying around the atmosphere trying not to get shot down is easy work?” Wheeler countered. Again, what was unsaid was Drop it.

“I gotta side with the kid, Captain. No offense, but Statner’s no good. I can’t see an upside to this.”

“You’re right, Kongh. He’s an asshole and normally I’d want him as far away as possible. Even on the other side of the galaxy he’s too close. But if we can’t land without some lunatic priest trying to shoot us out of the sky, why not let the self-proclaimed best pilot in the galaxy take the heat off us? We do our work, they do theirs, and if things work out, we profit handsomely. Veciennes, you have anything you want to add?”

“Nothing that would change your mind, Captain.” Maxon noted that her nanotattoos swirled anxiously about her exposed arms. Veciennes had something to say, just not vocally.

“That’s the right answer. Open a com to The Arkon. Let’s get this over and done with.”