Prologue
Wolshu Kemon loved the law.
It wasn’t perfect, but even its failings served greater purposes worth preserving.
Nakrumum had been a savage planet for centuries. Some Casti held that their people’s greatest leap was the firearm. They held that weapons surpassing nature had allowed the Casti to rise above the myriad of predators that had harangued their species’ evolution.
Others believed it was paper. That breaking away from oral traditions had enabled them to better preserve information, organization, and strategies to survive.
Kemon liked that idea much more, but in his eyes it still fell short.
Something earlier in history, like etchings on clay tablets, laws predated writing, it was true. But that could only be called law’s conception.
The laws written and preserved on that paper…the first code put to ink…that was the birth of civilization. It made law accessible, something to reach all people and bind them together. In that moment, the Casti had truly begun to forge a true civilization.
What would those earliest Casti have thought, if they’d known other alien civilizations had been using paper for ages?
There was never a shortage of people ready to lambast bureaucracy, but documents and permissions were the lifeblood of any legal system. It was the heartbeat of an organized and orderly society, on any planet, no matter what alien form those laws took.
Those rules brought Kemon clarity through all points of his life. From when he was young enough to read, he’d been inspired by the consistency law yearned for. It was little wonder what he would choose to study.
His attorney’s certification had been one of his proudest achievements. It gave him purpose and belonging. With it came a certainty that he was working for a cause greater than himself, than anyone.
That surety made it easy to shrug off detractors.
No system was perfect, but the legitimacy of law was better than any alternative savage nature had ever proposed. Law was his darling. It was no exaggeration to say he’d devoted his life to uphold the lawful order that made right and wrong navigable. He’d even been planning to qualify for a magistrate’s office. The Coalition systems had declared their secession.
A few weeks later, more than half the planet of Hexiam was under the farce of martial law.
A year after that, Kemon shot someone for the first time in his life.
It had been a long time since his life felt anything close to ‘lawful’. He had not given up hope though. Every day, he dedicated a brief couple minutes to imagining his own future, to be once again upholding proper and lawful structures for the good of everyone involved.
But for the time being, he and millions of others had no choice but to contend with the lawlessness of war.
New fronts had broken out; new systems were seeing deployments. V3 and C6 had both seen skirmishes ignited in the last few weeks. C2 was heating back up after several months of limited contact.
Kemon was keeping his ears to the ground for anything worth hearing about.
He didn’t realize it at first, but he received three messages that had the potential to redefine the Coalition’s war.
The first was totally anonymous.
The contents were just a list of orbital coordinates in three different systems. The only part of the message that caught Kemon’s attention was how it had even been received in the first place.
The Fafin wasn’t some common freight sloop. It was a fully outfitted military-grade frigate. Its comm arrays wouldn’t route just any public traffic to its captain. In order for something to make it into his mailbox, it needed exact digital codes to pass muster.
And yet the message had no indication who sent it.
Besides, none of the coordinates referenced were in Kemon’s operational zone. He could have slipped into the V4 system to check, but that would have been risking the wrath of Admiral Hakho.
No, Kemon wouldn’t upset Coalition leadership at a time like this. There were too many questions of status and formality still up in the air. No need to give them more reason to scrutinize his operation.
But…there was a chance they might swing through C7 in the next few weeks. The Mummar system’s colonies could be deeply aggravating to Kemon’s fastidious sensibilities, but he’d learned to swallow his displeasure in those circles.
It wouldn’t be the last time he had to go into unsavory places for a good cause.
This was all speculation though.
Kemon and his frigate had another three weeks of scouting fleet cargo lines before they would need to visit somewhere friendly for resupply.
Still…the strange message and its coordinates picked at his brain.
·····
The Coalition’s war didn’t touch every system equally. So far, no violence had broken out in any homeworld system. Aside from an isolated deep space engagement a few years ago in F5, the Farnata systems hadn’t seen any fighting.
The Askior and Gogashi systems had been the war’s forefronts. Fleets were deployed to half a dozen more systems, but those two had seen the worst of the fighting. Those systems’ colonies had been assaulted back and forth so many times that whole cities had been reduced to hollowed out metal shells.
Keeping the war out of their own territory had been a priority for the Assembly fleets. So far they’d been successful, but Kemon suspected there was an effort in the Coalition to counter-invade—the Paz system, if he understood the balance between the Coalition’s military and civilian leadership.
If the Coalition managed to take the war to a Vorak system, there might be a shift. Coalition-aligned systems had languished under occupation for years now. The war could quickly become less popular if Vorak were made to see their own kind being occupied.
Plans and information percolated in Kemon’s mind while his ship sat in Askior system deep space, silently watching Vorak fleet traffic.
The more fleet movements he was able to spy on, the more valuable his compiled data would be. He wanted to negotiate from a position of strength the next time he approached the Coalition.
It wasn’t just fleet positions though. Equally as valuable were the commercial ships moving through and between systems and how the fleets reacted to them.
A commercial ship with an outdated transponder code that went unmolested by Vorak fleet patrols?
That was a pirate vessel, given free pass by the Assembly’s forces in exchange for aiming their piracy at Coalition aligned systems.
Kemon’s interest in the Vorak fleets was antagonistic, but ultimately calculated. Even if he wasn’t entirely welcome in their ranks, Kemon wholeheartedly supported the Coalition’s cause. He compiled the data on their enemies with dispassionate precision. It was a cause he believed in, but fighting the fleets wasn’t personal.
But the pirates?
They were the very picture of lawlessness.
Kemon complied data on pirate operations for his own satisfaction.
He didn’t plan on passing this to the Coalition—at least not without acting on it first. His allies were not always timely, but the Admiralty board shared every problem with pirates Kemon did. They just couldn’t act in a reasonable timeframe.
But Kemon’s ship?
If they found intelligence worth pursuing, they could follow its lead in a matter of days if need be. That kind of freedom made it so tempting to investigate the mysterious coordinates Kemon had received.
But he held fast, srveying the Vorak and their pirate allies.
It wasn’t until the Fafin picked up the second, much more informative message that Kemon realized he had something special.
Once again, the transmission lacked any identifying characteristics, but it still found its way to the personal terminal Kemon kept in his captain’s quarters.
It read, ‘At the previously relayed orbital coordinates are a stranded group of First Contacts. Coalition leadership would be, no doubt, interested in their rescue. It’s estimated that roughly sixty percent of their number are Adept.’
“…Thulter,” Kemon said. “There’s another message…what do you know about this First Contact in Shirao?”
“Abductees,” his first officer said. “The Org says they don’t know where there homeworld is or how they got out here. What I’ve read says it’s still early days, just a few dozen contacts.”
“All in C2?” Kemon asked.
“As far as I’ve heard,” his first officer nodded.
That got the gears turning.
No wonder the messages held no identifying characteristics. The whole thing could be a ruse of some kind, but Kemon’s instincts whispered otherwise.
Someone knew something exclusive. And for some reason they were sharing it with Kemon.
“We’ve got another, what, forty-six hours in this position?” Kemon asked.
“Give or take,” Thulter nodded. “I doubt we’ll see anything though.”
“We have plenty of data already,” Kemon nodded. “If we redeploy early, I don’t think we’d be missing anything.”
“You’re thinking of poking into those coordinates?”
“I am,” Kemon nodded. “Those coordinates weren’t sent by accident. Whoever sent them must know exactly to whom they were sending them. If we’re the ones being told, there’s probably a reason.”
“Something in it for us?”
“A rather reasonable hope,” Kemon agreed.
·····
The message had said ‘stranded’, but that had only been half true.
Upon traversing into the Mummar system, the Fafin trained every passive scan it had on their target. By the time their scopes had a good resolution image of the vector coordinates, it was clear Kemon wasn’t the only one aware of these First Contacts.
“Two ships don’t have transponders,” Kemon’s tactical officer said. “Five do. One of the ships running dark is being towed. How’d we know these people were out here again?”
“That’s need to know,” Kemon said.
The five vessels were recognized formats. The other three were…odd. The rockets were smaller than he’d been expecting, but they seemed to have some form of auxiliary assembly toward their base. Reactor reinforcements maybe?
He would have to ask someone with more engineering knowledge.
Their own frigate was holding a perpendicular line of travel several million kilometers away. Judging by the profiles of the ships, none of them possessed the scopes to know the Fafin was lurking. His crew was proving a bit antsy.
Making sense of the scene was a chore, but Kemon saw no reason not to take their time.
“Well, we humored this message of yours, but what are we actually planning to do?” Thulter asked.
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“I am thinking…” Kemon said, “…a noble rescue is called for.”
Thulter was not the only officer blinking in confusion at his declaration.
“Is there not one already underway?”
“I think not,” Kemon said. “The five ships with recognized profiles and transponders, what are their declared registration?”
“Four cargo haulers—stamped from a food supplier on Cammo-Caddo—and one survey vessel,” the comm officer replied.
“Ooh…” Thulter clicked understandingly.
“Don’t be coy now,” Win, the lone Farnata on the ship grumbled.
“Anyone hauling organics from Cammo-Caddo is going to be headed toward the other half of the star system. Right now, all the Beacons out this way go to Vorak and Assembly controlled systems. Plus, there’s nothing out here to survey. Not even an asteroid,” Thulter said.
“What we have here are some pirates flying false colors,” Kemon said, almost giddily. “They’ve found some First Contacts and are helping themselves to who knows what. The ship under tow, what’s its course?”
“…It’s going toward…oh wow, there actually is an asteroid out here,” Win said. “It’s rather far though. They won’t arrive for at least twenty hours.”
“Then all hands prepare for combat,” Kemon said. “If we want to learn anything more, we’re going to have to beat back the carrion eaters.”
For Casti, piracy was a Vorak loan word.
Throughout Nakrumum’s history, thieves tended to be so much more terrestrial. If an ill fate were to befall a sea vessel, it was always the same tale with no survivors. Some titan from the depths would snap the boat like a twig and the whole crew would drown. No witnesses.
It wasn’t until faring the void that any Casti came to understand piracy.
Of course, Kemon’s hatred of the activity stemmed from long and extensive research. So he was quite amused when he first learned that space-piracy operated quite differently than its predecessors on Kraknor and Farnata.
The biggest difference was in location.
Pirates shared the same problems as militaries hoping to shoot enemy voidcraft.
In space, it’s easy to run, and easy to hide.
If not for exotic materials, the latter might not have been so true. But blackout curtains made hiding at a distance trivial for a properly outfitted vessel. Not every craft would have one. Not even most. But some would.
Any pirate looking to steal from a ship in transit had to contend with obstacle after obstacle. Brutal marauders would like to kill a vessel’s occupants, but it was difficult to do that without destroying the very cargo and goods they would be after.
Even if an enemy ship was somehow incapacitated, boarding it was downright lethal. Even novice ship captains could rig access points, vent bulkheads, hide, the list went on. No, enemy vessels were the ultimate form of unknown hostile territory.
No, unlike in naval history, modern pirates didn’t often attack ships.
They attacked ports.
Bribes, (sometimes) publicly accessible blueprints, rigorous schedules…even with static defenses and entrenched positions, pirates loved picking on cargo-rich settlements more than anything else. Didn’t matter if the goods were coming or going, pirates’ work meant ports.
Of course that had implications most pirates didn’t think about, but most pirate hunters would be keenly aware of. Pirates wouldn’t be equipped to attack ships. Or defend against them . They just didn’t have the experience in that arena.
But the Fafin did.
“Surroundings?” Kemon called.
“No other ships for a hundred million kilometers.”
“Crew?”
“All fifty-two hands aboard to action stations.”
“Guns?”
“Preparing to lase targets on your command.”
Kemon smiled and took his crew to battle.
The Fafin wasn’t like most ships because it carried arms. But even among weaponized voidcraft, a pair of railguns and close range chatter-guns marked it as a rarity.
What torpedo weaponry the Fafin did have was the non-warhead variety. They were every bit as expensive as the exploding variety, and less effective too. But Kemon preferred leaving enemy vessels intact. The information they carried was often more valuable than the cargo.
And parading defeated pirate vessels in orbit above friendly colonies had earned him goodwill with the Coalition before.
Even if they didn’t board any vessels today, it would be worth leaving them whole for now.
They had to be careful with their fire to avoid the mysterious silent ships too. Whoever sent Kemon their coordinates likely didn’t intend them to be targets.
So the Fafin calculated its opening salvos carefully. More than an hour of math and calibration went into less than a heartbeat of combat.
Only when every firing solution and enemy position had been tracked and double checked did they fire. Simultaneous bursts of chattergun fire were followed almost a minute later by twin railgun shots.
At this distance, the muzzle flare of the chatterguns would be invisible, and railguns made no light to speak of.
The chatter-gun rounds were slower, so they were fired first. Then the much faster railgun slugs were launched such that all four attacks would strike the vessels in concert.
Three pirate vessels were hit. The second railgun shot had gone too far afield. At these firing distances it was to be expected. A fraction of a degree off target could represent missing by multiple kilometers.
The ship towing the vessel broke away less than a minute after seeing their allies were hit. The fourth ship might have evaded the railgun shot, but it took too long to change its pitch for a new vector.
Without a drastic change to its vector, firing its throttle would only take it in so many directions. it wasn’t hard to have a few more bursts of chatter-gun fire tear through a choice selection of those spots.
Four pirate vessels totally disabled. One escaped. Two mysterious silent craft untouched.
It was a good day for Kemon, but even he didn’t know how good yet.
“Report?” he asked his ship.
The pirates had no weapons ready to respond to such an assault. The Fafin was untouched.
“Hail the remaining vessels,” he said.
“The pirates or the other two?”
“Both,” Kemon shrugged. “Let’s find out exactly what we’ve been pointed at here.”
The pirate vessels were uninteresting. The survivors of the attack were quick to snarl and threaten, but they knew there was nothing they could do. There were feeble claims that they were undertaking a legitimate salvage operation, but it was plain to Kemon they hadn’t even checked the ships for survivors. As anticipated, Kemon didn’t deem the risk of boarding the pirate vessels worthwhile.
The same could not be said of the other two ships though. The pirates had been unable to elicit a response from either craft, and neither could the Fafin’s broadcasts.
They floated in the far reaches of Mummar space for close to two days towing the two ships back together and trying to pin down exactly what was going on.
Kemon was leery to try cracking the silent vessels open. The message he’d received had claimed First Contacts were in need of rescue. Damaging the vessels might harm them, if they were in fact present.
In the end, it was the day Kemon received the third message that he began to understand what an opportunity he had in his grasp.
With absolutely no warning whatsoever, the dark shriek of a lonely god tore through space. Kemon had never felt the intense neurological damage that could be experienced traversing a Beacon while unconscious, but he imagined it would feel something like this shriek.
If three other people on the Fafin hadn’t experienced something identical at the same moment, Kemon would have thought he was imagining the episode: some delirious break, or psychosis.
“
“What? I don’t know. What—” an alert popped up on a console.
Coinciding with the strange cosmic shriek, the previously silent vessels had awoken, spilling an automated distress message in every direction…or at least their message said they would have…if not for proximity checks.
More messages scrolled out, and the ship began altering its positioning with short bursts of gas.
“…It’s automated,” Kemon heard someone say.
At least one other crew member on the bridge was still screaming about something being in their head. Kemon blinked past his own brand-new splitting headache, trying to sort out the chaos that had suddenly reared up.
“
The two ships maneuvering was the most pressing matter, but as the minutes of confusion dragged on it was clear they were only aligning themselves to the Fafin’s orientation.
“We’re getting an automated hail from both vessels, sir,” Thulter said.
“
another voice shouted. It sounded familiar. One of the new systems engineers, Dansi, if he wasn’t mistaken.
“
“Who’s who?” Thulter asked next to him.
“
They gave an ‘eep!’. “<…Sorry sir?> she said.
Kemon had no idea.
But sure enough, adjusting the passive scans for much closer range revealed a neat picture of the mysterious ships floating next to the Fafin. And just like she’d said, figures were visible through large windows on the ship’s middle third.
Piling onto the confusion was a fresh notification in his console’s mail. Once again, no sender’s marking.
‘There’s more pirates and Terrans.’
Kemon’s eyes narrowed at the word.
‘Terran’.
The gears in his mind turned slowly, trying to catch up with everything that had happened.
Kemon still couldn’t see the voice’s source. She would be on a far lower deck, one with windows.
But as he tried to cut through the chaos on the bridge, he found he could hear something more too. Words in a language he didn’t understand.
<[What the shit?]>
<[That ship blew up the others!]>
<[Help!]>
But…he could somehow sense a direction of those sounds…
They were coming from the previously silent ships: the Terrans.
Every sound he picked up overlapped with every other. There was no back and forth, no responsiveness to anything being said, not unlike his own bridge.
They were experiencing the same chaos his ship was. It was that realization that finally let Kemon decide on a proper course of action.
He tapped his console button for the ship wide intercom, saying, “All hands be silent. Anyone who says a single word aloud without being directly addressed will be confined to quarters. Even if you are alone at your ready stations, not a word. Senior Bacor, you and medical staff excepted. Report to the bridge immediately.”
Cutting through the panic would be essential. Something had just affected the whole of the ship, and it seemed to be affecting the Terran ship too. Were they the source?
Whatever the case, Kemon was slowly becoming sure of one thing: it wasn’t an attack.
No one was hurt, not even bleeding. No alarms were blaring, no safeguards tripped. As far as he could tell, the ship itself was perfectly fine, so this wasn’t an oblique counter attack by the pirates.
Only certain personnel were being affected, seemingly at random. Kemon and his command staff would be asking questions for weeks about today…
But even as he dreaded wading through the bizarre events unfolding around him, the mysterious notes and their contents lingered in his mind. Someone had pointed them here.
Kemon smiled.
Because, for all the chaos surrounding him and the events, for he saw it for what it was: an opportunity.