Splintered Legend #1

Huh. This was supposed to publish Wednesday. Stupid thing.


This is the first chapter of my original space-opera work.

 By definition, bars and their cousins — taverns, dives, abbak-duras, etcetera — tend to be places one does not go to alone, even on the isolated world of Ildir, and especially when the visitor is young, female, and relatively attractive. This, of course, did not deter the lone woman entering the dilapidated watering hole on the spaceport’s main road.
The bar couldn’t be blamed for its state, after all. “Isolation,” when used in reference to Ildir, is known as one of the greatest understatements of the galaxy, and properly describing its isolation is impossible in all understood or translatable languages understandable by any known species.
Either way, it had a small, hardly-visited spaceport primarily servicing smugglers, criminal enterprises, people who were lost, and currently one of the few (if not only) anthropologists left in the galaxy.
The anthropologist in question sank down at the bar, dropping a small duffle and large, heavy black case onto the floor next to her stool. An unconscious hand smoothed down her dark black skirt and fitted jacket while the other signaled the man across the counter.
“Doctor Caedmon!” The bartender greeted, promptly producing and pushing towards her a glass of water. “I take it your work with the natives is done then?” She gave him a slight nod. “Did you find what you came for?”
She held up a recording stick. “Right here.”
He laughed. “Whatever it is you want with their music, I’ll never know.”
She tucked it back in her jacket. “Research. You wouldn’t happen to know of any ships leaving here today?”
“Where to?”
She half-shrugged. “Anywhere, really.”
He shook his head. “No ships leaving today that I know of. But there’s always one leaving somewhere. And you are something of a legend, so getting aboard shouldn’t be tough either.”
“You flatter me,” she replied with a humorless grin. “Legendary for squandering what was left of my family’s resources, perhaps, in pursuit of something no self-respecting university would touch with a torch. But,” she sighed. “What does that matter?”
Someone slid into the seat next to her, and a voice addressed the bartender and successfully silenced their conversation. “An Ildirian.” He moved off to pour, and the newcomer spun slightly in his seat. She looked him over out the corner of her eye. He had silver-gray hair in a smooth, military-style cut. It blended down into a black, fitted suit underlayed by a sapphire-colored vest. He seemed to be doing the same perusing to her, and their eyes met over her glass. “Excuse me, Miss —”
“Doctor,” she corrected.
“Doctor Lorainne Caedmon,” he corrected. “Forgive me for eavesdropping, but I’m under the impression you need a ship.”
“I was, Mister . . .”
“Forgive my rudeness. Philander. Philander Orson. I’m the . . . copilot on a . . . cargo vessel.”
Lorainne squinted. “And I can sell you a bridge on Smass, Mr. Orson.”
Smass, of course, was a barren world orbiting a blue supergiant with absolutely no need for bridges. It was an appropriate analogy.
He chuckled. “I’m sure you can, Doctor. Let’s just say that I have a vested interest in furthering your work.” He accepted his drink from the bartender as Lorainne straightened slightly.
“You’re familiar with my work?”
“I’m familiar with your entire family’s work,” he answered. “Dating all the way back to Doctor Wymond, part of the IEF.”
She studied him quietly, taking another swallow of her drink. “Who are you?”
“No one move! This is a raid!”
The duo whipped around as one to the door, where a group of navy-clad soldiers burst through the doorway with guns ready. Both Lorainne and Philander’s hands slid towards their sides, and he grinned. “Rumors are true, then.”
Lorainne withdrew her hand from the slit in her skirt, revealing a tiny one-shot pistol. “You learn to survive,” she replied casually.
“We have warrants for the arrest of the crew from Dock 19 and the woman known as Lorainne Caedmon. Step forward and we won’t need to scan.”
“Looks like you wore out your welcome,” Philander hissed, reaching down to grab her heavy case. “So did I. That’s my ship.”
Lorainne gripped the shoulder strap of her duffel. “Looks like I just found a ride.”
The bartender caught their eye and jerked his head towards a door. As the soldiers began to scan the hands and retinas of the bargoers, the duo carefully climbed to their feet. One of the men turned towards them when they were halfway to the door.
“Oi! Sit back down there!” He jerked his gun towards the chairs.
“Sorry,” Philander said, though he sounded anything but as he held up his communicator. “Just got this. It’s urgent.” Before the soldier could react he had grabbed Lorainne’s hand and they were out the door.
“Where’re we headed? Dock 19?”
Philander nodded. “We’ve got to beat them back and hope they didn’t leave guards.”
“Or locked out your ship.”
“Please. We wouldn’t dock if we’d get locked out.” He flicked his communicator on. “Oy. Shore to Homeworld, do you copy?”
::Shore, this is Homeworld.:: A woman’s voice answered him almost immediately. ::We read you. We registered a Collective ship entering the atmosphere — did things get a little hot?::
“Little more than hot. I found her. We’re on our way — make sure the doors are clear.”
::Roger.::
“You found me?!” Lorainne hissed, pulling her hand out of his to readjust her valise. “Were you looking for me?”
“Why else would we be in the ass-end of the galaxy?” He glanced back at her as they dodged into an alleyway. “Pardon my language, Doctor.”
“Last ship I traveled on was full of Kell traders,” she replied. “After five years out here I’ve picked up some unsavory language of my own.”
He held out his hand, encouraging her to stop as they reached the corner of the alley. “What is in this thing?” he hissed. She shrugged.
“Just some instruments. Nothing special.”
A large troop of the Collective troops searching for them trotted by. Lorainne rubbed the grip of her miniature energy revolver nervously. “I knew the university had gotten rid of anthropology,” she said quietly. “I was not aware they were going after the anthropologists.”
“I’ll explain on the ship,”
“I’d hope you would, Mr. Orson.”
As soon as the coast was clear, they hurried across the street and into the next alleyway. More troops ran by.
“All this for me?”
“No. I have a feeling most of this is for my ship.” Philander waited for the troops to disappear before leading the way across the next thoroughfare. “They must have followed us.”
“Or I’ve impressed them.”
“Your display on Aneff was impressive, but hardly what the CHD would consider dangerous.”
“I was proud of it,” she retorted.
“Let us focus on the difficulties at hand, Doctor Caedmon.” Philander glanced out at the street again and, determining that the way was clear, crossed into the next alleyway.
“We seem to be taking a rather roundabout way to the docking bays.”
“They expect us to take the shortest way possible. If we keep to the alleyways we will avoid suspicion.”
Lorainne sighed as they drew to a halt at another alleyway. “Then I suspect you know where you’re going.”
Philander held up a map. “I came prepared. Can you cease complaining?”
“I apologize, I’m not used to this sort of excitement.”
“Does everyone in your family have this dry sense of humor?”
“For the most —” It was Lorainne’s turn to stop, and she quickly moved into an empty door frame. Philander pressed himself into the other side of the alley, in another doorway. Seconds later, two Collective soldiers appeared in the end of the alley — in the direction they were heading.
“We have no signs of them on the main streets, sir,” one of the navy-clad men, wearing a commander’s stripe, spoke promptly to the other. “As far as we can tell, only Orson Senior and Caedmon are in the city. None of the others have left Dock 19.”
“Have we secured the ship?”
“We cannot even come close to Dock 19. They appear to have reverse interfaced with the docks’ electronics. We are attempting to hack the systems.”
“If Caedmon and Orson are not on the main streets, then they are traversing the alleyways. Station your men at the openings. We will hopefully net them that way.”
The commander saluted as the other man, who wore a captain’s stripe, stalked off. Lorainne looked back at Philander, who had his gun drawn and ready.
“Is that a regular XR Series?” she hissed. He nodded. “You hit him with that and everyone in this block is going to be on our heads!”
“We need to get past him,” Philander replied. “I don’t like it any more than you do, but —”
“Just stay still.” Lorainne fished in a pocket and produced her small palm-fire gun. “I’ve got this.”
“Doctor Caedmon!”
Lorainne quietly slipped out of her door, stepping up towards the soldier. He seemed not to notice, intent on listening to his communicator. She raised the weapon, held it inches from his neck, and squeezed.
A bolt of electricity jumped from the barrel of the weapon, held gently in between her ring and middle fingers, into the soldier’s neck. He jerked slightly, then collapsed, and Philander sprinted to her side.
“What is . . .” Lorainne opened her hand. “Is that a Model-Seven Palm-Gun?”
Lorainne nodded. “Specially modified to deliver an electric charge that is only fatal in a few circumstances. He’ll wake up in an hour.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one of these.”
“I picked it off a thug that tried to mug me on Tuexymo-Four.” After they verified that the street and their cross-alley were both clear, they hurried across. “I’m sure he picked it off some rich kid who got into the wrong part of town. Thought I was an easy mark. He won’t make that mistake again. Now I think we should risk the streets, if they’re searching the alleys. We’ll move faster and we can blend with the crowd easier.”
“And if they have checkpoints?”
She glanced back over at him. “I don’t believe they came into this expecting me to resist,” she said quietly. “And I doubt they planned for you and your crew to be here as well. It isn’t as if I worked to cover my tracks. They may not have followed you.”
He nodded. “It is a shoddy sort of operation, but I recognize the man in charge. Captain Briney-Heggie. He’ll have a large collection of men waiting as close to our docking bay as possible.”
“We can always use the rooftops.” Philander considered the option for a full second before delivering her a chilling and absolutely disbelieving look. “What? The natives who’ve moved into town do it all the time. The buildings are specifically connected to allow for it.”
“And how do we get up there? Neither of us are particularly capable of scaling these buildings.”
“There should be a ladder on the corner.”
Philander moved to the next alley corner and, sure enough, located a ladder that stretched to the top of the two-story buildings on either side of them. “Well,” he said, looking back at Lorainne. “I suppose this is better than what we were doing.”
“Indeed.”
Philander pulled her instrument case over his shoulder and hurriedly climbed the ladder, followed a little more slowly by Lorainne. “I can see the docks from here,” he said as he took her valise, letting her pull herself up onto the rooftop. “It won’t be far now.”
“I hope so.” She took back her valise. “Thanks.”
“I don’t see any CHD soldiers here either, so hopefully they haven’t had the same idea as you.”
“I doubt it.” He started forward towards the docking bays, and she followed. “I doubt, if they’re after the anthropologists, they took the time to study the culture.”
“Probably not.”