Opus X Series Boxed Set One

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

May 15, 2228, Civilian transport Ithaca near Alpha Centauri Hyperspace Transfer Point

“Attention, passengers,” said a soft female voice over the intercom, a transport attendant. “We are now on our final approach to the transfer point. Please remember you will experience discomfort, including vertigo, multisensory hallucinations, and possibly pain during the FTL transfer process. For your safety, and in full compliance with UTC regulations, please sit or lie down during the transfer. We anticipate initiation in two minutes.”

Erik laid down on the small bed in his cabin.

It’d been a bit cramped for his bulky frame during his time on the ship. The rest of the cabin was small too, containing nothing more than a small shelf masquerading as a desk and the tiny lavatory.

He didn’t mind. He’d stayed in far worse conditions during his military career, and there was no reason to waste money on a fancy room on his trip back.

It’d been a long jaunt from colony to colony and transport to transport, but now he was almost there. The final transfer before Earth, and then just one month of in-system cruising to get to the planet and Neo SoCal.

Erik reached under his shirt and pulled out his bent dog tag, the symbol of both his survival and the deaths of the soldiers under his command.

It was warm from his body heat. He tucked it back under his shirt. Somewhere in Neo SoCal was someone who knew why his men had been killed, and maybe even ordered it, and he would find them.

“Attention, passengers.” The attendant came over the speakers once more. “Hyperspace transfer will initiate in one minute.”

Erik stared at the gray metal ceiling. He had checked on his police application at his last port of call, and everything seemed to be in order. All he would need to do was show up, and he would become Detective Erik Blackwell.

Technically, the law required that veterans taking a law enforcement position practice “due diligence in acquiring the necessary skills for the position.” Since he’d spent most of the last year on transports, he had used that time to read up on local police procedures.

He might not step into his new station as the most experienced cop on the force, but he wouldn’t be a clueless i***t, either.

“Hyperspace transfer will initiate in thirty seconds. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight…”

He closed his eyes. “And they say you can’t go home.”

“Ten, nine, eight…”

Erik took a deep breath and held it.

Here we go.

“Five, four, three, two, one. Initiating hyperspace transfer.”

Erik’s stomach flipflopped. The colors of the world inverted.

His left arm rippled, suddenly looking far closer than his right.

A few seconds later, both arms returned to normal size, but not normal color.

A riot of particles danced in his vision, spinning around him like tiny drunken faeries.

Swirls of patterned light circled him.

According to scientists, the things people thought they saw during a transfer were nothing more than neurological tricks, hallucinations that were a function of the brain trying to process bizarre sensory inputs it had not evolved to handle.

External recordings of the jump process seemed to support that conclusion. Energy readings, of course, spiked, but the recorded human range of visual and auditory experience revealed nothing more than flickering lights most of the time on the inside of a ship.

From the outside, a ship slid into the open transfer point, was enveloped by a blue-white energy web, and was spit out a minute or two later from an exit point.

How can they say this is all not real? I’m traveling over four light-years in a minute, and they say anything I’m seeing is in my head?

Sinister shadows skulked across the room, writhing and changing with each step.

An almost ethereal hum filled the air, growing in volume. Pain crawled from Erik’s extremities up his arms and toward his chest.

Everything snapped back to normal.

“WWWWWWuuuughhh.” Erik let out his breath and blinked a few times.

“Attention, passengers,” the attendant called. “We have completed our transfer. Welcome to the Sol System.”

Just to be disagreeable, Erik lifted up a single finger in salute to the voice while he got over his transition issues.

A moment later, Erik groaned as he sat up and ran his hands through his hair, then stood and stretched. They might be in the Sol System, but they still had a good month before they would reach Earth.

Due to complicated physics Erik couldn’t even pretend to understand, all HTPs had to be built a decent distance from the main gravity well in a system.

The Sol HTP was far from both the Sun and Earth, and while plenty of passengers might be departing at other planets and stations, he only cared about Earth.

After he tapped a code into the wall, a small panel slid back, revealing the two stored metal cases which contained Erik’s things. He pulled one out and entered the access code on the side, and it clicked and popped open. He tugged on the edges of the lining and pulled up gently to reveal a hidden compartment underneath.

The TR-7 laid there, nestled away from prying eyes. Governor Anders had recovered the weapon, but transporting a heavy assault rifle on a civilian liner in luggage violated more than a few transit laws.

“Just one of many laws I will be ignoring,” he mused.

There was also the small matter of him not bothering to get the relevant arms control permits for civilian transfer of assault weapons. It would have delayed him for months, and he already faced a year-long trip.

“Damn, going to need to source ammo.” Erik covered the hidden compartment and closed the suitcase. His stomach rumbled. Transfers always made him hungry.

It was time to hit the dining room.

Erik waited in line as the white-uniformed staff of the dining room dispensed the current meal, something approximating chicken alfredo. He wasn’t the only person to get hungry after a jump, and during his time on the Ithaca, it was rare that the dining room wasn’t busy anyway.

Long-distance space travel disrupted people’s rhythms, especially in cramped passenger transports, even with the healthy use of VR.

This situation resulted in people keeping all hours and a general need to be able to supply food to passengers regardless of shipboard time.

A man in a rumpled suit stood in front of Erik. He sighed and shook his head, glancing at the former major. “I know we’re still pretty far from the good old Big Blue, but it feels good to be back in-system, at least. I’ve been away for almost three months. How about you?”

“Thirty years,” Erik answered.

The man blinked and stared at him, this time for a bit longer. “Thirty years? Honestly?”

Erik grunted. “Yeah. I wasn’t necessarily planning for that, but it kind of worked out that way.” He shrugged. “You know how life goes.”

“Wow. When did you leave? I mean, how old were you?” the man asked as he stepped forward with the line.

Erik followed him. “Twenty-one.”

The man eyed him with a hint of surprise. “Apparently, you’ve got decent money or amazing genes. You don’t look like you’re in your fifties.” He gestured at Erik’s gray hair with a chuckle. “Except for that.”

Erik smiled. “Yeah, I got the de-aging treatment about eight months back. They told me it’d take a while for it to fully work, but my hair’s being stubborn for some reason.”

Reaching up, he ruffled it. “New look for the return home, or whatever.” He smiled once more, even if he didn’t feel it.

The de-aging treatment was part of a plan he’d hatched in his first month of travel.

If he showed up and was too obvious about his intentions, whoever was responsible for killing his unit might catch on, or they might not care whatsoever.

He needed everyone to think he was a retired military man who was bored and moving on with life. Maybe even having a little midlife existential crisis—get younger, buy a car, date hot babes.

The more they underestimated him, the better.

The businessman ran a hand through his own thinning hair. “I keep thinking about getting it, but it’s so expensive. I mean, these days, de-aging is one of the few things you can do without people thinking you’re a total freak.” He laughed. “All that Purist garbage goes out the window once it comes to staying younger for longer, huh?”

Erik shrugged in agreement.

“You ever worry about how things have changed back home?” the man asked, taking another step forward, a curious look in his eye.

“Not really. People are people. Sure, they’ll have some new gadgets and that kind of crap.” Erik looked around at those eating. “But Earth’s just a colony with nicer buildings and more people.”

The businessman laughed, this time looking forward as he stepped but still carrying on the conversation. “I went on a business trip to New Pacifica in Ross 128, and I was ready to go home after two days. And that’s supposed to be a core world. Something about the food. It just doesn’t taste right.” He shook his head. “But I’ll need to get over the food issues.”

The line moved forward again before Erik responded. “Why is that?”

“My company’s trying to get in on some UTC trade negotiations, like the expansion of trade with some of the Local Neighborhood races. Not the Zitarks, of course, but I’m trying to raise my profile in my company to get selected as part of that effort.” He grimaced. “You know, it’s kind of funny, we found all those Navigator artifacts on Mars, and they reverse-engineered them so we can have HTPs and grav fields and the like; everything we needed to take us to the stars.” He patted his ample stomach. “You wouldn’t want to see me floating around in zero-gee. I guarantee that, so I’m grateful every time I take a trip for grav fields, even if it’s just in-system.”

“Yeah. What’s so funny about the Navigator artifacts?” Erik furrowed his brow in confusion. “Sorry, not following you.”

Both took another step forward.

The businessman sighed. “The point is, when we found the Zitarks, let alone the others, we answered the question people have wondered about forever: Are we alone in the universe? And then we basically didn’t do anything with them.” He looked out, as if into space. “You’d think we would talk more. We have so much to share.”

Erik grunted. “What’s to talk about? The Navigators have been dead and gone for a million years. Everyone found the same crap that let them make their own HTPs, but they were otherwise fine.” He thought for a moment about his time on the frontier. “Humanity doesn’t need the help of aliens, and aliens don’t want or need the help of humanity. By the time any species leaves their home system, it’s just not that important. Everyone’s got their own problems, and all of us have had centuries to figure out the best solutions.”

The other man laughed, the humor actually touching his eyes. “You’re not much of a romantic, are you?”

“Call me the King of Pragmatism,” Erik told him. “If they stay out of our way, I don’t see much point in trying to talk to them, and vice-versa.” He shrugged. “They’ve done their thing for a long time, and we’ve done ours. Anyone who can get this far into space probably doesn’t need help from some alien race that doesn’t know the people and their history.”

“I wonder if we’ll ever find an intelligent race that isn’t as advanced?” The man’s expression brightened at the possibility. “We could teach them so much.”

“Maybe.” Erik shrugged, not convinced that would go so well for the less-advanced species.

The businessman took another few steps forward. It was only a few more yards until they could collect a plate.

Erik inhaled deeply, the scent of the meat and pasta eliciting another rumble from his stomach.

“I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t want to at least exchange notes about the Navigators,” the businessman continued. “We have this ancient race that was far more advanced than any of the races we know about. I know some of the others claim they invented HTPs on their own, but I haven’t read about a single reputable engineer or scientist who believes that’s true.”

Erik nodded. “Probably. I don’t see what difference it makes. We’ve all gotten what we needed from the Navigators. That can be their legacy, but it doesn’t much matter otherwise. The younger races rule the stars now. Or maybe the Navigators ran off to some other galaxy on vacation once they saw the babies because they wanted nothing to do with raising a bunch of annoying species who wouldn’t appreciate the wisdom they had to share.”

The businessman stared at Erik, disappointment on his face. “You’re really not interested in meeting aliens, are you?”

Erik eyed him. “I’ve seen pictures of them. Good enough for me.”

“Might I ask why? I’ve been dying to meet an alien my entire life. I mean face-to-face, not in a recording from a distant border world.” The businessman frowned.

“Humans are varied enough for me,” Erik replied. “Once I’ve gotten used to the diversity of humanity, maybe I’ll care about a few little grays, toadstools, space raptors, or the others.”

“Okay, then. That’s…honest, I suppose.” The businessman shook his head. “I forgot to ask you…why the return to Earth after so long?”

Erik gave him a pleasant smile, but it did not reach his eyes. “I’ve been away for too long, and because of that, bad things happened. Now I need to take care of a few things.”

The other man swallowed, eyeing Erik before stepping forward and nodding at the tower of plates. “Well, uh, it looks like it’s time to get some food.” He tossed Erik a fake smile. “It was nice talking to you, but I think I’m going to go over some documents while I eat.”

“Fine by me. I’m just here for the food.”

Erik grabbed some chicken, a roll, and some sort of brown drink. He sniffed it and took a sip. Sweet. He put it on his tray. It had been a long time, and his challenge now would be to adjust to civilian life. All he had done during his adult life was follow orders and carry out missions.

For now, he’d settle for being a man eating some…he glanced at the chunks on his plate…chicken alfredo?