Chapter Two

August 5, 2940

The traffic around Falm’shma was relatively light but Noah refused to let the lack of potential dangers influence his tactical preparedness. He scanned each vessel, noting speeds and vectors while compiling a detailed threat analysis he knew would only be casually reviewed by the captain as the Grace slid into her assigned orbit. Considering the strange circumstances that stranded the ship in this unknown galaxy, Ó Faoláin had done well in her leadership role but she was a bit too cavalier for Noah’s liking. He’d privately voiced his concerns to her but she still seemed content to meet new species, enter ports unknown, and find ways to aggravate her Chief of Security by way of her overly optimistic evaluation of their situation.

“The planet’s trade bureau is hailing, Captain,” Lieutenant Uba said from across the Bridge.

“Put them on the viewscreen,” Captain Ó Faoláin ordered as she stood from her chair. Noah watched as the image on the screen changed from a dusty brown planet to a disheveled office and a lizard-like creature blinking its four eyes at them. “Falm’shma trade bureau, this is Captain Cait Ó Faoláin of the Grace O’Malley.”

“I am Rasskeet,” the alien said, his voice being efficiently translated by the ship’s AI subroutines thanks to the data provided to the Grace by their friends at the Syndicate. The past few weeks had seen the Grace’s computers incorporating many thousands of alien languages into its translation database so as to make communications with others easier. “You are here to trade?”

“We are,” Captain Ó Faoláin responded.

“I see you are in our registry. Insured. Bonded. You maintain Associate status with the Syndicate.”

“Correct. Our information suggests that a buyer on your planet is looking for farming equipment. We have such equipment in our hold.”

The alien bureaucrat grunted while tapping away at its console. “Yes. I see. I am sending you the coordinates to land. You have permission to walk upon Falm’shma. Break no rules.” The screen cut out.

“Sounds… good,” Captain Ó Faoláin said to the image of the planet. “Hiromi, can you land the ship?” Noah saw the pilot's eyes light up.

“For sure,” she responded and Noah had to stifle a snort. Had the captain asked if their Second Officer could fly the ship through an imploding star, Hiromi would have answered in the affirmative. “Taking us down.”

It took only a few moments for the ship to dip into the atmosphere and Noah was amazed as the world’s rocky landscape came into view. Much of the planet was a barren desert but several small seas created a string of oases where the population congregated. He could see why farming equipment might be necessary; cultivating the soil here must be quite the endeavor.

Though the Grace was a massive bulky transport vessel, she did have the capacity to land on a planet and Hiromi quickly settled the ship into her allotted hanger in the spaceport on the outskirts of a small outlying city. Noah quickly sent various commands to his security division, assigning personnel to different hatches by which the locals might try to board. With orders to arm themselves appropriately and for teams to begin patrolling the most vulnerable decks, Noah made sure to follow protocol to the letter.

“Bastien,” Captain Ó Faoláin said as she looked at the ship’s First Officer. Commander Devereaux, standing near the science station, turned to regard their commanding officer. “Take a team and see if you can meet this merchant. Sell off the goods. Spencer and I will begin looking for more trade opportunities. Try to get us a good price?”

“Will do,” Commander Devereaux answered. “Noah. Natasha. You’re with me.”

Noah, already expecting that he would be joining the commander, finished imputing the final few commands into his console and, once satisfied, turned the station over to a junior member of his team before following Bastien and Natasha off of the Bridge. “You have the information on the merchant we need to meet?” he asked as the three of them headed toward the airlock designated for ground departures.

“I do,” Commander Devereaux answered. “Mr. Cusseet. My IBP indicates his import-export business is not too far from here. I’ve already sent him a message asking to meet.”

“We are expecting fifty-thousand credits?” Specialist Ivanov inquired and Noah thought that the number sounded right. When the Grace had made her purchase of twenty-five thousand credits worth of farming equipment at Freeport Mauve, they had expected – based on the market data provided by their association with the Syndicate – to make double their initial investment. “Or has the market changed?”

“It looked to be roughly that a couple of hours ago when we entered the system,” Commander Devereaux responded. “I think we should be good.”

“Makes me nervous,” Noah said. “Getting those initial credits for helping out the Syndicate was a nice boon but immediately investing them into trade goods that may or may not be worth anything hundreds of lightyears away? I don’t trust it.”

“We’re better equipped for this kind of thing than anyone else,” Commander Devereaux said with a shrug and Noah knew it to be true. According to the Syndicate – a huge trade organization spanning thousands of systems – the ability to move goods quickly based on market trends and needs could net an entrepreneurial ship a hefty profit. The Grace, as far as her crew knew, was the fastest ship in the galaxy as they were the only vessel with faster-than-light engines and could cut across vast expanses of space far quicker than the Link-dependent vessels of all the other races.

A strange galaxy, Noah thought to himself for the millionth time since the Grace first learned she was no longer in the Milky Way. In humanity’s home galaxy, there were no sentient alien species and humanity had developed all her technology – including the faster-than-light Tachyonic Rill Drive – through ingenuity and experimentation. This galaxy, though, appeared to be the home of a galactic-spanning precursor species that created a network of data repositories called Links. These Links served to generate artificial wormholes between systems so as to allow space-fairing races to travel beyond their local system. The Links also provided sufficiently advanced species with scientific contributions so that new races on the galactic scene might be on an even footing with their neighbors. As such, Syndicate data seemed to suggest that most, if not all, species in the galaxy shared intrinsically similar technology.

Noah didn’t like it.

The apparent reliance on the knowledge from this precursor race meant that none had worked out the secret to faster-than-light travel. This oddity meant that, again and as far as the Grace knew, she was the only vessel unbound by the Link system. A byproduct of her speed was that the Grace could deliver goods far faster than any other trader and could respond near-instantaneously to market trends. An incredibly fast vessel might have loaded up on farming equipment at Freeport Mauve and taken a month or more to reach Falm’shma. The trip took the Grace only twelve days; a timeframe that would have been even shorter had the crew not specifically detoured deep into interstellar space so that they could scan a curious nebula.

The nebula hadn’t provided the crew with an answer to the question of how they found themselves so far from their home nor had it shown them a way back. This had been a disappointment, of course, but the crew bounced back from that letdown with admirable resilience. Noah hadn’t gotten his hopes up, though, as he knew that getting home would be far more challenging than simply finding a nebula that looked similar to the one within which the Grace had first found herself adrift.

Putting those thoughts aside, Noah nodded to Lieutenant Commander Saez as he joined the planet-bound party. Bastien had messaged him during the walk and asked if Dante had wanted to stretch his legs. The engineer had jumped at the chance. Preliminary evaluation of the planet’s surface – standard protocol whenever entering a new system – meant that the ship’s CMO was already waiting for the four when they arrived at the airlock with a dose of hydracomozine designed to counter the planet’s low oxygen and allow for the team to breathe. Moments later, the party climbed down the airlock’s ladder and stepped on the alien world.

*****

“I knew it was going to be hot,” Specialist Ivanov muttered to Noah as the four made their way through the narrow streets, “but I was not expecting it to be quite this bad.” Reaching into her suit, Noah watched as Natasha pulled out a cloth and began to wipe the sweat from her face. Noah used his hand.

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“The sensors need to be recalibrated,” he responded in agreement, loud enough for the Chief Engineer to hear. “They had to have underestimated the temperature out here by at least a few dozen degrees. Someone really dropped the ball in Engineering.”

Lieutenant Command Saez snorted at the needling as he looked over his shoulder at the now-drenched Noah and Natasha. He grinned. “I don’t find it too bad.” Noah frowned, seeing little sweat on the other young man’s face. “I’m rather enjoying it.”

“Sadist,” Ivanov murmured and Noah chuckled to himself.

“We’re here,” Commander Devereaux said, pointing to a business near the upcoming intersection. Noah saw it. One story and with tan sandstone-like walls, it had a large metal door and no windows. Checking his IBP, Noah noted that the markings on the business’s sign indicated an interstellar trade office. “Let’s get out of the heat.”

The other three entered but Noah took a moment to scan the street before following. Serving as their security detail, it was important to ensure that everything appeared normal before he followed his team to a location that had few potential escape routes. The dust-covered street seemed calm, the alien residents – mostly lizard-like individuals but with a few off-world sentients scattered here and there – meandering this way and that as they went about their business. The café next door seemed a popular spot and Noah caught a whiff of some grilled meat coming from the open-air restaurant. A mechanic shop. Some sort of grocery store. An electronics bay. An arms dealer. Nothing strange and no one appearing to give him and his crewmates any suspicious glances. Satisfied, Noah turned to enter the office.

“—and we are here to meet with Mr. Cusseet,” Commander Devereaux was saying to the receptionist.

“Of course,” the small bear-like alien responded, his artificially generated voice appearing in Noah's mind and overlaying the series of clicks and whistles coming from the creature. “He is expecting you. Right this way.” Noah fell in behind the others as they were led through the back of the office, past several rooms filled with boxes and containers that seemed overstuffed with an assortment of goods. The hall was brightly lit, though, and Noah suspected that it saw a lot of foot traffic. Mr. Cusseet appeared to be well-stocked.

“Hello travelers,” Mr. Cusseet said as the team was directed into a small cluttered office. “You are from the ship that just landed? With the farming supplies?”

“We are,” Commander Devereaux said as he took the lead. “You’re Mr. Cusseet?”

“That is me,” the lizard creature answered as he stood and bowed. His voice was sharp and crisp thanks to the IBP but concentrating on the actual sounds suggested a different language from the bear-like receptionist; one filled with hissing and chirps. He indicated the two chairs in front of his desk with a wave of his scaly hand. “Please take a seat.” Bastien and Natasha took up the offer while Noah and Dante remained standing. Bastien offered up some pleasantries. They were returned in kind. Then, in the blink of an eye, the haggling began.

Noah wasn’t particularly interested in commerce so he tuned out much of the discussion. The credits that the Grace might acquire utilizing her huge cargo holds would be useful for ship repairs and the acquisition of supplies but the actual mechanics of buying and selling was not something that elicited any excitement from the ship’s head of security. As prices were negotiated and delivery times coordinated – with Commander Devereaux sending group texts through his IBP both to the team on the planet and the other senior staff still on board the ship – Noah took the time to look over the office. Cabinets filled with paperwork, walls covered in star charts, and even a few small cargo crates tucked away in corners demonstrated that Mr. Cusseet was no slouch when it came to trade.

“Commander,” Noah said during a brief pause in the discussion. “Mind if I step outside?”

His commanding officer glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Don’t wander too far. Dante, go with him.”

“Yes, Ser.” Lieutenant Commander Saez answered as he gestured for Noah to take the lead. They slipped out of the office and headed back toward the reception area, with Dante asking Noah about their destination. “I don’t really feel like wandering in that heat for too long.”

“I thought you liked the heat,” Noah asked.

“I do. It’s just really hot out there,” Dante responded with mock exhaustion.

“Yeah,” Noah responded. “But I’m not really interested in the trade stuff and I figure getting a lay of the land might be a good idea.”

“Makes sense,” Dante answered. “Where to?”

The two nodded to the receptionist as they passed, opening the door and slipping outside as the wave of heat hit them hard. “I’d like to take a look at the arms dealer over there,” Noah said as he pointed down the street.

The two crossed the narrow lane, weaving between residents and keeping an eye out for any trouble, before opening the door to the merchant shop which displayed an assortment of weapons in its window. The shop was small but stocked with all kinds of handheld weapons; from knives and bows to energy disrupters and chemically propelled firearms. Noah immediately directed questions to the shopkeeper and the fellow, perhaps sensing a potential sale and without any other customers in the business, answered with enthusiasm.

“But does this disrupter’s charge hold in a vacuum or do you need an exterior plating to shield from interstellar radiation?” Noah asked, his fifth question about the pulser that was currently sitting on the glass counter.

“No need for shielding,” the lizard-like alien responded as he shifted the weapon about. “The charge does decrease point seven two percent faster without an atmosphere but that is seen as a worthy tradeoff if the user is not required to install the bulky plating.”

“Interesting…” Noah said mildly as he let his eyes wander the shop a bit in an attempt to demonstrate a reserved interest in the weapon. “My colleagues are across the street coordinating some cargo matters. If I wanted to make a bulk order, are you able to handle that?”

The shopkeeper sniffed. “Yes, I can. It might take a few days to coordinate depending on how many of these disruptors you wish to purchase, though. I have worked with Mr. Cusseet before. He will take a small percentage as a fee but it is reasonable.”

“Do you have another exporter you’d prefer to work with?” Noah asked.

“Mr. Cusseet is fair. I have no issues with him.”

“Well, I will need to speak with my captain. The price is good and I'm going to recommend we extend an offer. How about if I reach out to you later today?”

“That will be fine,” the arms dealer said as he slid the weapon back into its case. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

Noah and Dante left the shop a moment later and Dante flashed Noah a grin. “That was smooth,” he said.

Noah grunted as he sent a text via IBP to Commander Devereaux. “Thanks.”

“Where did you learn to do that?” Dante continued as they wandered over to the open-air café. They couldn’t purchase anything since neither had credits but the smell wafting through the street was enough to start their feet moving in that direction.

“Learned to do what?” Noah asked as he glanced about, checking the rooftops and mentally comparing the number of people about to the number that had been shopping earlier.

“To… you know… see if Mr. Cusseet is trustworthy and fair by asking a nearby merchant.”

“Common sense,” Noah responded with a shrug.

“Common sense?” Dante asked in surprise.

Noah let out a grunt. “Well, yes and no. I grew up on Avernus III and being suspicious of people was the norm. If someone operated a business dealing in imports and exports, it would make sense to see if they had a good reputation among those they did business with.”

Dante paused. “Educated guess that the arms dealer did business with Mr. Cusseet?”

“They’re across the street from one another so, yeah.”

“What was Avernus III like?” Dante probed and Noah glanced at him. The two had gotten to know each other some since finding themselves on the Grace but they weren’t particularly social.

“It was fine. The Avernus system has a rough reputation since it’s so close to the Lucifern Expanse but my father always said that most Avalonians based their opinion of the Avernus system on outdated stereotypes. We have infrastructure. We have Union Defense Force patrols. We’re like most of the rest of the UDAS.”

“But you were still suspicious of people?” Dante asked, repeating Noah’s own words.

Noah smirked. “Sure. That close to wild space and with the planet having originally been settled by pirate clans? It’s always good to be suspicious.”

Dante dropped the topic and Noah didn’t offer any more insights into his home. He valued his time on Avernus III and knew that his interest in security and tactics likely stemmed from watching his father – head of security for the Botswan Collective – deal with the challenges of keeping a world-spanning mining and precious metals cooperative running smoothly in a system situated right next to lawless space. But home was very far away, Noah reminded himself, and reminiscing on the red skies above the Cliffs of Ornax wouldn’t help him protect the Grace and keep her crew safe. Noah had to stay in the here and now if he was going to contribute to their successful return home.

And even if I do everything right, he thought to himself, the odds of us reaching UDAS space is… low.

Noah was a realist. While the senior staff projected an air of certainty that the Grace would find her way home and the crew chatted optimistically about the inevitable success of their unexpected journey, Noah quietly prepared for the worst. They were a crew of cadets. They were on board a military transport vessel that had suffered near catastrophic damage. They were in a galaxy that was not their own. Could they make it back UDAS space? Sure. Was it likely, especially considering they had no idea how they got to this distant galaxy in the first place? No.

Hope was essential. Hope was the starting point for all human endeavors. Hope allowed one to get out of bed in the morning, work toward a goal, conceptualize happiness. Without hope, failure was inevitable because one would never bother to seek success. The Grace would never get home unless her crew held onto hope that they would see their homeworlds once more. But hope alone wouldn’t suffice. Hope alone was a path through the wilderness when one had no map to plan for breaks, no weapon to deal with predators, no umbrella should the downpour fall from heaven. Hope alone was a roll of the dice, subject to the whims of chance. Hope alone was dangerous.

Integrity – the strength of character to honestly evaluate and truthfully articulate reality – was the answer. Integrity was the map, the weapon, the umbrella. Hope had to be tempered with integrity if the Grace would ever safely make it home. Of this, Noah was certain.