Collision of Worlds - Chapter 2

The speakers of the little box-shaped freighter, Cudgel, chimed. It made a high pitched whistling sound, alerting the two men sitting inside the haphazardly-converted shipping bay that they had received a new message.

“Another one?” Jim Crater muttered, not looking up from the stack of papers resting in front of him.

He was a grizzled man in his late forties with leathery skin and gray hair. He moved slowly and with a pronounced limp from a wound sustained a few years earlier in a shootout. It was a shootout, in fact, that he’d helped to incite. He was also, Oliver had learned, a very intense man in everything he did.

Which was a polite way of saying he got angry at the drop of a hat.

That wasn’t all bad, though. He wasn’t physical with his anger, more prone to sulking and complaining than lashing out, and it gave him a presence that made people stop and take notice.

Right now, however, he just looked tired and old. He hadn’t slept much in the last few weeks since everything in his life had started to fall apart. He just moved around the Cudgel like a phantom, refusing to go out in public for fear of being recognized or mocked.

Oliver, on the other hand, loved to go out and get recognized. That was why he spent so much money on clothing and accessories; he wanted to stand out. It wasn’t necessarily why he spent so much time grooming or visiting day spas, but it was a contributing factor to be sure.

Jim had been poring over these incoming messages for the last several hours, and Oliver could tell that his friend was exhausted and running on fumes. He was overwhelmed by the sheer scale of what he was trying to accomplish, especially when there was nothing he could actually do in his current position. It was eating away at him.

“Looks like,” Oliver agreed. “More people who want to join the crew of Admiral Jim Crater.”

Jim winced at the title, Oliver noticed. It had been a badge of honor for him during the first months of his Admiralty, but now it had become something of a mockery. Reality had finally settled in for him, and he was coming to terms with the truth of his situation.

Oliver flicked open his lighter and held the flame to his pipe. He puffed a few times, watching the glow inside the bowl until the tobacco was lit just right. His was an exquisite and expensive pipe, gaudy and pristine, and certainly one of his most expensive possessions.

He considered the purchase to be well worth it, though. Buying expensive things—especially when the right people knew they were expensive—was a mark of station in many circles.

Those were the circles he wanted to be a member of. Like his clothes—fiber cloth that shimmered as he walked—the ostentatious pipe was a testament to his newfound status in life.

2

He hadn’t grown up around wealth or privilege, but he had studied it for many years. He understood that ninety percent of what separated the privileged from the masses was affectation—with enough money and ambition, he could fake anything.

“How am I supposed to go through all of these?” Jim asked, rubbing his face with his hands. “There are hundreds of applications here.”

“You aren’t supposed to,” Oliver replied. “That’s the point. If you don’t have the means to hire any of these people, then don’t torture yourself by acknowledging them.”

“These are the very people I should acknowledge,” Jim argued. “They are seeking me out because I mean something to them. They are personally offering their services, and many of them chose me directly out of school and basic training rather than Hektor Menshen and his fleet.”

“They chose you because they think there is a future with your fleet,” Oliver replied. “If you just admitted you weren’t recruiting, people would stop applying.”

“I can’t do that. If I admit that I don’t have a fleet, then Hektor has already won.”

Oliver shrugged. “Sometimes that’s what it comes down to. You can’t keep playing the game when the other team won’t share the ball.”

“I didn’t even post a bulletin to say we were opening up recruitment. Why would so many people send in their applications now?”

“If I had to guess, I would say Hektor had something to do with it. He wants to embarrass you.”

“You think he would stoop so low?”

“I don’t think it’s stooping for him. This is just who he is.”

It had been just under two years since Jim and Oliver had stumbled into the wealth and power of their new positions. They had been the first citizen responders to the ‘attack’ from the Republic. They helped chase Vivian and the Republic fleet away from the planet.

Their faces had been emblazoned on every news outlet and vid screen for weeks, and they were instantly turned into heroes.

Oliver would be forever grateful to Jim for bringing him along that day.

Even after Jim shot him in the chest.

3

It didn’t hurt anymore, but it was rather embarrassing. Sure, he took the shot on behalf of the Royal Family and to save all of Jaril (so they thought), but it was still difficult dealing with the jokes at his expense. Jim was the folk hero, and Oliver was just the sidekick who could take a shot to the chest and live to tell about it.

The Royal Family had spared no expense in thanking and congratulating the two men, parading them around the entire planet and showering them in accolades. They lived on cloud nine for several months after the events.

But, whereas Oliver understood that what they achieved was temporary fame, Jim was of the opinion that they would be able to springboard their newfound status and recognition into something greater.

And, for a while, he had been right. He had reached for the clouds, scooped up a handful, and was watching it disintegrate between his fingers.

The speakers chimed as another message was logged onto the system. It sounded—almost—like it was taunting them.

“Quite the busy day,” Oliver offered, breaking the silence. “That’s the fourth application in so many minutes. Are you sure you want to read them all?”

Jim only groaned in response.

“Why not take a break? Get some fresh air and forget about this for a while. The applications won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”

“They help distract me.”

“From what?”

“From remembering how great things were months ago.”

Oliver didn’t have a good answer for that. He still remembered those first few weeks. Dozens of spectators saw him get blasted in the market. He’d been in the hospital, and everyone thought the attack had come from the Republican operative. He was even awarded a medal for being wounded in the line of duty. 

Then everything went terribly wrong. Jim decided to press too hard and asked for a ranking position in the military. He’d served for years before leaving on less-than-honorable terms, and he wanted all of that respect back. He leveraged his public support by demanding that the Royal Family reinstate him at a higher rank than he left despite his injuries.

The public had backed him. Millions came out to support him in his bid as he gained the backing of a separatist movement that felt they should elect officials, not honor the Royal Family. Jim got enough support that getting reinstated became an inevitability.

Which would have been where it ended, but meanwhile the Royal Family had quietly investigated the circumstances around the attack in the market. It didn’t take them long to discover exactly what had happened, and that Jim had been the one to orchestrate everything.

That’s when the men in black suits paid them a visit.

4

Not a gentle visit, either. Both of them had spent nearly a month locked in a secret prison while the Royal Family tried to decide what to do with them. Oliver had been fairly certain that they would be quietly eliminated.

Public opinion was on their side, and the Royals knew that exposing the pair as frauds would create backlash, as some people would believe it was a conspiracy. They couldn’t make Jim Crater into an enemy without angering the lay people, so they did the next best thing.

They made him family.

It would have been a public relations fiasco if they admitted that the Republic had never initiated a conflict in the market. Instead, the Royal Family decided to take credit for what happened.

After a series of back room discussions and blackmail, the Royal Family officially adopted Jim Crater. They tied his fate to theirs and quieted all of the naysayers who felt that the Royal Family was ignoring the voice of the people.

More importantly, they filled a vacant position of great importance that they knew would excite Jim. They didn’t just give him his position in the military back: they made him an Admiral.

The new position hypothetically made Jim one of the three most important military leaders in the entire Kingdom, but only figuratively. The problem was, the positions were not supported monetarily by the Royal Family but rather independently. The armies were loyal to the Indeil Kingdom but maintained and controlled by the Admirals themselves.

The title meant nothing without support and funding. Jim didn’t have a fleet, and he didn’t have enough money to build or buy a fleet. Worse, considering everything that had happened, he certainly couldn’t ask anyone who did have money for help.

Worse still, it angered the other Admirals and put Jim in the awkward position of being powerless but with powerful enemies. Jim didn’t have any family ties or political background to maintain this new position. It didn’t take long for him to realize that although money could buy influence, it was only a small piece of the puzzle in the larger political arena.

Oliver knew that his friend had no idea the Royal Family was manipulating him. Jim had been thrilled about everything, but he floundered under the weight of his new position and gradually slipped into obscurity.

Now, unbeknownst to Jim, he was about to lose it all.

5

Oliver puffed on his pipe, watching the flame spread deeper into the dried leaves. He looked at his friend on the opposite side of the table through a cloud of hazy smoke.

He’d heard the rumors from a few of his high-powered friends that Jim Crater’s days were numbered. The Royal Family was considering revoking his position as Admiral, which would basically be a death sentence for Jim.

He had reached for the stars but had only managed to burn his hand.

Oblivious, Jim simply kept looking over the resumes of soldiers he could never enlist.

“Are you almost finished?” Oliver asked. 

Jim looked up, his eyes angry and bloodshot. “Not even close. I’ve got at least two dozen more to look at, and they just keep coming in.”

“You should at least turn the sound off,” Oliver said as it chimed again.

Each time the speakers made their little noise, Jim winced. It was psychological torture.

“You could help,” Jim said, narrowing his eyes.

“I am,” Oliver replied.

“You haven’t looked at a single dossier since they started coming in.”

Oliver shrugged. “Emotional support?”

Jim sighed, turning back to the data pad he was looking at. 

“You know you can’t hire any of them, right?” Oliver explained, trying to reach through and wake Jim up from his delusions. “You don’t have the funds to pay them, nor a single job to actually keep any of them busy. This is a wasted effort.”

“Once I buy a Verdana class ship, I’ll be able to—”

“You won’t get one,” Oliver argued. “The Cudgel is probably the only ship you’ll ever own, and I still own half of it.”

“I have enough money to purchase a Verdana. Maybe even a Capital.”

“Do you? Most of your funds were expended last year solidifying the Admiralty. How much money could you have left?”

“I have plenty, and if I need more, I can get a loan. No bank would refuse to loan money to an Admiral.”

“No Admiral would stoop so low as to beg for money.”

“Not from a bank,” Jim said.

The words hung in the air. Oliver laughed, resting his pipe on the table.

“You mean from me?”

“You’ve been doing quite well, by all reports, with your trading business.”

Smuggling, actually.

But Oliver wasn’t about to correct him. He certainly was doing well, and had made a fortune these last two years, but that was because he was a shrewd businessman who didn’t make bad investments.

Jim was a good friend but a bad investment.

“I don’t have any cash on hand. It’s all funneling back into the business. In five years’ time, the assets will mature and I’ll have a lot of capital, but right now I can barely rub two credits together.”

“In five years, you’re going to have a fortune? And what will I have? We’re in this together, remember.”

“You have an invested stake in all of my profits, and you are an Admiral, remember? I think you were quite well compensated.”

“An Admiral without a fleet. The Cudgel is half mine, too,” Jim said. “You’ve been using it to trade with Terminus, and I haven’t seen any profits.”

“Because it’s all invested,” Oliver reiterated. “I’ll pay you your fair share once we are able to cash out, but not yet. I hired four new pilots and contracted two more trading vessels in the last month. Right now, I’m building demand by selling cheap, but it won’t be long until we’re raking in the credits.”

“And then you’ll try to cheat me out of my cut?”

The words stung, and Oliver felt a burst of anger.

“I’m your only friend and the only contact you have with the outside world. Are you sure you want to sever that tie, too?”

“You cheat everyone,” Jim replied. “Why wouldn’t you try to steal from me?”

“I’ve never cheated you, and I think you’ve fared pretty damn well since we met.”

“So I’m supposed to trust you?”

“I’m willing to buy out your stake in the Cudgel the very second you decide to sell,” Oliver replied angrily. “And when I do, you can pack your bags and get the hell off my ship. But, while we are business partners, I’m not going to cheat you, and I’m offended you would even suggest it.”

Jim let out a sigh. “I know, Olly. I’m just…I’m just frustrated. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

Oliver leaned back in his chair and let out a breath of air. He knew that Jim meant every word of it, but it wasn’t worth holding grudges over petty words.

The thing was, Jim was right: Oliver wouldn’t necessarily cheat him, but he would find ways to make sure numbers worked out in his favor. Oliver wasn’t going to cheat Jim out of his entire share…just, you know, part of it.

“No worries, Jim. It’s fine.”

“I just desperately wanted for all of this to work,” Jim continued. “The Admiralty. I see all of these people who want to join our crew and the potential of what we could do, and then the sobering reality of where we are hits me, and I start to feel sick. I mean, you’ve been able to make some money and we’ve done well, but imagine what we could really do. We could change the entire damn Kingdom.”

“But we can’t,” Oliver said. “No one is going to help us.”

“Which is why I keep sending these recruits, a ‘Thanks, but no thanks’ response after viewing their application. But, just once, I’d like to be able to respond by saying, ‘Yes, you can start tomorrow’ instead of turning them all away.”

“Maybe you just need to relax. Take a break and get some fresh air. It’s beautiful today.”

“I thought it was raining.”

“It did overnight, but it stopped this morning. Now it’s sunny but not too hot. You should go get a breath of fresh air. Take a walk.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Jim agreed. “I can barely even think straight anymore.”

“You’ve been cooped up for days.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jim looked up at Oliver. “Wait, this last message wasn’t an application. It is one of those party invitations.”

“Oh? Haven’t seen one of those in ages.”

Jim handed the data pad across the table to Oliver. He read it over quickly. “A banquet invitation from Sir Fergus Cortet.”

“They want you to go?” Jim asked.

Oliver shook his head. “They want you to go. The letter is for the Captain of the Cudgel. Though, it does mention that the First Officer is also invited. First Officer, eh? I like that. Can I be your First Officer?”

“Sure, why the hell not?”

“The invitation looks legitimate. It bears the Cortet family seal,” Oliver said.

“I thought Fergus Cortet was dead?”

“Not quite, but I think he’s close. He has a daughter, so maybe this is actually a gathering for her.”

“A daughter? How old is she?”

Oliver pulled out a data pad and ran a quick search. “Doesn’t say anywhere online. They must be monitoring and curating information about the family.”

“Must be a reclusive bunch.”

“Yep. Your kind of people. They are powerful, though, if they’re able to remove information from the web and keep themselves hidden from the public. The only news report I can find about her at all says she’s twelve, but that was a few years ago and is doubtless intentional misinformation.”

“So she’s probably just a kid?” Jim asked.

“It’s possible. Maybe this is her birthday party,” Oliver offered.

“Then why invite me?”

“Maybe they don’t know that you stopped getting invitations like this several months ago.”

“Could be.”

“Or maybe they do know about your situation, and she wants you to come and entertain them.”

Jim chuckled and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. “So she wants me to come so they can mock me? Am I supposed to be her clown?”

Oliver laughed. “Maybe if you go wearing a red nose, she’ll give you a ship.”

“Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“They must have grown tired of mocking me behind my back and want to put me down face to face.”

“Or maybe they have a business proposal for you.”

Jim thought about that. “Not likely,” he said. “Why not just tell me in the letter instead of inviting me to a gathering?”

“You really have no idea how high culture works, do you?”

“In any case, I’m too busy to attend.”

“Busy doing what? Looking through your overqualified applicants?”

Jim picked up the data pad and scrolled to the application he was currently looking at. “Dramatically overqualified. This guy is trained to operate planetary weaponry.”

“The kind of weapons the Cudgel could fly inside the barrel of?”

“Yep.”

“We should buy one of those.”

Jim ignored him, scrolling to another application. “And this guy is a master ranked pilot up to Verdana class ships.”

“A pilot would be nice,” Oliver said. “I mean, I’m serviceable, but I’m always afraid I’m going to crash.”

“How long do you think he would stick around when he found out what he was going to be flying? As soon as he signed on and saw this pile of junk, he would turn and run the other way.”

Oliver couldn’t disagree. So far, most people didn’t know how bad things were for Jim as an Admiral and member of the Royal Family. They still thought he had the support of the king and queen and was in charge of a fleet of ships.

That was the fairytale version of events. Jim couldn’t exactly tell everyone that his fleet consisted of a single ship. If someone came aboard and reported back how bad things really were…

Well, that would end Jim’s aspirations very quickly.

Might be worth looking into, Oliver decided. Better to crush his dreams now than let him continue floundering in despair.

“But look at these,” Jim added, grabbing up another data pad with its own list of applicants. “Martin here says he spent four years training to be a veterinarian before he realized his education was just God’s way of teaching him to kill people. Sally is a ballerina who  repeatedly compares herself to a praying mantis.”

“Not exactly an encouraging image,” Oliver agreed.

“And Steve,” Jim continued, grabbing another and thrusting it across the table at Oliver. “Steve here wrote a goddamn poem! About me!”

Oliver glanced at it and burst out laughing. “He compares you to an Esson.”

“What the hell is an Esson?”

“A type of flower,” Oliver said, laughing again. “One that smells like blueberries.”

“What is wrong with these people?” Jim asked, sighing again.

“They just really want to serve on your ships,” Oliver explained. “You are an Admiral who came from nothing: proof that everyone’s wish can come true if they just work hard enough.”

“It isn’t true, though,” Jim argued. “I’m a farce.”

“But you serve the purpose of cajoling the masses. People look up to you, and it’s better than having them rebel against the Royal Family.”

“Why would they look up to me?”

“Because you’re not an arrogant asshole and off-putting like Hektor Menschen or Brutus Volt. Those Admirals have reputations for being elitist and looking down on people. People don’t see you that way. You’re a man of the people and for the people.”

“Sure,” Jim said, sighing. “At the very least, I’m way down here with the people.”

Oliver stood up and grabbed his overcoat, tamping out his pipe and slipping it into his pocket.

“Where are you going?” Jim asked.

Oliver pointed to the data pad with the invitation to the Cortet gathering.

“I have a party to go to at the Cortet residence. You know, since I am your First Officer and all,” Oliver said. “I’ll just tell them I’m there representing your interests.”

“Oh God, I take it back. You aren’t my First Officer, and you sure as hell don’t represent me.”

“Too late,” Oliver said. “No takebacks.”

Jim sighed. “Fine. Do you really want to go, though, knowing what we know about these bloodsuckers?”

Oliver shrugged. “If they want a clown, then I’ll go be the best damn clown I can be. Who knows, maybe I’ll get something useful in return. You can’t succeed if you don’t try.”

“You also can’t fail.”

Oliver paused in the doorway before looking back at his miserable friend. He missed the vitality of Jim in those early days when he first became an Admiral. He’d been hopeful and driven, ready to seize his place in the world and overcome all obstacles.

And now he was a shell of that man, a pitiful middle-aged failure waiting for people he had learned were his betters to take their gifts back. He’d been completely and utterly defeated.

“That’s a sad way to live your life,” Oliver said, disappearing from the cargo hold.

Of course, it wasn’t that Oliver considered himself much better. He wasn’t going to this party as a noble gesture or to push back against the oppressors trying to hold him down. Oliver didn’t like lying to Jim about his motives for going to the Cortet residence, but he knew that if he mentioned the reason, Jim would be furious and inconsolable.

His own desires about what he might achieve, unlike his friend’s, were enticed by this invitation, but for a completely different reason than monetary gain.

He just hoped she would be there.