Sector 6 - Mali
Vivian Drowel
The blocky merchant class spaceship Cudgel lowered slowly to the surface of the barren brown planet, landing with an audible plop that made Vivian wince. She’d searched for over an hour for a landing spot that wasn’t a mud pit, but the best she could find would still leave her landing gear deep in sludge.
It had rained within the last few days, and with the planet’s slow evaporation rate, water would sit on the ground as a muddy paste for at least a month. It didn’t rain often, but when it did, it left things a mess.
Dry deserts, mud, and incredibly powerful winds were all the planet had to offer. It had been stripped of its resources hundreds of years earlier by extensive mining operations and could barely sustain its modest population.
Vivian rose from her seat in the cockpit and stretched out her back. A day, she decided. Maybe two. With a sigh, she headed farther into her ship to find Traq.
2
“Why is it so muddy?” Traq asked. They were standing on top of the ship’s ramp, looking out at the desert below.
“No foliage or evaporation,” she replied, “so the water just mixes with the dirt and stays.”
“Why aren’t there any trees?”
“They were cut down.”
“All of them?”
Vivian nodded. Whoever owned this planet years ago hadn’t been concerned with preserving it. They stripped it bare of anything of value and left it a floating husk. They also left the workers who moved here years ago behind, those too poor to afford passage off this world.
In the Republic, many did the same thing. They would create enormous stations orbiting these planets, ship supplies up from the surface, and then leave once the planet ran out of resources.
The only urban center left on Mali was an outpost-turned-city named Garran’s Ridge. Population just over two million. Every other city and mining facility was either buried by constant sandstorms or destroyed.
“Why are we here?”
“To talk to the locals,” she said. “Find out what they need so we can hopefully trade with them.”
“What do they need?”
It was only a guess, but Vivian was confident in it:
“Water.”
3
Vivian didn’t even like pets, so what the hell was she going to do with a kid? Every step of the way, she felt his eyes on her. Watching her. And he wouldn’t say anything, he would just stare and then run away, making her feel like maybe she had something on her face. It was infuriating, but she knew she would have to maintain her calm. He would grow out of it.
At least, that’s what the books told her.
Wade’s stupid, stupid books.
The funny thing was just how many there were. He sent her basically every parenting book they could offer. There were thousands of them. Some claimed children were little treasures, and others that they were little monsters. Each book had a silver bullet solution to raising kids, and none of them were the same. For the most part, all she had learned was that raising kids was difficult, and no one really knew how to do it.
Which meant, at the very least, if she screwed up, it wouldn’t matter too much.
The worst part was, her experience being a child wasn’t much to draw upon either. From as early as she could remember, she’d lived at the Ministry. It hadn’t taken her long to realize she was different, that something was wrong with her, and that her ‘teachers’ didn’t care much for her. To them, she was an animal.
They beat her with whips when she disobeyed, training her to use her modest gifts and studying her. That was something she never wanted Traq to experience, and she resolved herself to take care of Traq in the best way possible.
Unfortunately, she was fairly certain that locking the kid in the cargo hold of her ship because he annoyed her was in the ‘don’t’ section of most parenting books.
“I…” she said, then sighed. “We need to leave the ship for a little bit. We need to talk to some people.”
His eyes went wide.
“We’re on a different planet?” he asked.
Vivian grated her teeth.
“Yes. This is Mali. We’re about two kilometers from a city called Garran’s Ridge. We need to ask them about some things.”
“What kind of planet is it?”
“The gravity is ninety-eight percent Axis norm; the star is a Solar Analog to a K class star…”
His expression was blank. Oh, this is going to be fun, she thought. He doesn’t even know basic science.
“We’re going to have to walk, you might get muddy,” said Vivian, turning and striding to the exit hatch. She did a quick check of her gear and punched the button to lower the ramp. She turned and glanced down the hall at the cockpit.
“We’ll only be gone a few hours, TM. Just radio me if you run into trouble.”
TM, her little robot assistant, walked out of the cockpit on her reverse-jointed legs. She clicked an affirmative response.
Suddenly Vivian felt something clutch her leg. Her body went rigid.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she removed her hand from the hilt of her half-drawn sword. The Vibro blade was slung over her right shoulder—careful, Vivian—and she looked down at the creature clutching her thigh.
Traq was shivering and staring at the robot, a look between shock and terror plastered on his face.
Vivian had never thought of TM as particularly scary. She was a service robot, insanely useful, but without combat skills. True, TM had a small flamethrower mounted on her shoulder, but she insisted it was only for welding. Welding, and killing bugs. Vivian had never known a robot to have an aversion to bugs and assumed her engineer had a sardonic personality.
Gently, she extricated the child from her leg and looked at the robot.
“He didn’t know you were on board?”
TM streamed a series of binary clicks. The robot’s voice software was turned off—Vivian didn’t like having other people listening in on unencrypted conversations—and it sounded like a hundred or so chickadees singing. Her internal translator decoded the message for her.
“Good job then. Hiding was an admiral decision, TM. Now he’s not only scared of you, he’s petrified.”
TM clicked angrily in response.
Traq mumbled something incoherent and reached out to touch the robot, as though afraid it would scorch him. His eyes were wide, but the fear was replaced by curiosity.
“It is not my job to introduce you two,” Vivian retorted. “Just watch the damn ship.”
This time, TM clicked a high-pitched long response.
“No, you would not do a better job watching Traq…yes, but…I mean, I know I forgot to feed him, but he found that packet of crackers and…I can say whatever I damned well want in front of my passengers and—Oh, forget it!”
Vivian turned and strode down the ramp, forgetting about the mud. She stepped ankle deep in a puddle just at the bottom and cursed in frustration.
4
Angrily, Vivian trudged off in the direction of the city her scanners had picked up. She walked lightly on the slick surface but set a brisk pace, her boots scrunching uncomfortably from the mud. She didn’t know, or particularly care, if Traq was keeping up.
The sun was hot, but without intense humidity, it was quite a mild day.
Gale-force winds blew across the landscape every few minutes. Each time, she staggered to keep her feet and once slipped to her knee, muddying it. She knew that if the wind was hard on her, Traq didn’t stand a chance. Think of it as a training exercise, she decided. A really cruel training exercise.
5
When she’d first radioed the planet from orbit, a man named Quinton informed her they didn’t have a landing pad. Anywhere outside the city would do for landing, and they would meet her nearby.
There was a group of about twenty locals waiting for them just inside the city limits. They were all smiling, which was kind of unsettling. When people were this happy about Vivian’s arrival, they either weren’t used to off-world travelers or they were planning to kill her.
In her current mood, she wasn’t sure which one she would prefer.
“Welcome to Mali,” a man who could only be Quinton said, gesturing grandly. He had deep green eyes and white hair, though he didn’t appear that old. Probably bleached by the sun. He was wearing a purple flannel shirt, blue denim pants, and a pair of sandals that made him look kind of like a piñata as he waved his arms.
It’s a mud hole, she thought, glancing around. Not that impressive.
“It’s windy,” she said instead.
“You should see it at night,” Quinton said, laughing heartily. “We don’t receive many visitors, so this is a very special occasion.”
Vivian glanced back and used her hand to deflect the sun from her eyes, trying to spot Traq.
Traq was about fifty meters back, head down and leaning into the wind.
The gale let up suddenly, and he collapsed face first into the mud. Vivian stifled a laugh and then shrugged away the shame it elicited.
Traq picked himself up and hurried to reach them before the wind whipped up again. He was wiping his face off with his shirt, smearing it more than cleaning it. Vivian introduced them and listened vaguely as Quinton ticked off the list of names of the others gathered around.
“You must be hungry. Would you like something to eat?” Quinton asked.
“We would love a meal,” Vivian said, glancing down at her side. Traq was covered in mud from head to toe. “And a place to clean up.”
“Of course, please, right this way.”
Quinton led them through the city, and the congregation followed. A few were carrying weapons, she noted, but they were old-model projectile pistols and rifles that had been put through extended use. She had the Vibro blade slung over her shoulder in easy reach and a heavy pistol tucked under her black tunic, but she wasn’t concerned about safety.
Right now, she was concerned about information. Something she could give to Wade to justify her absence.
Most of the buildings were primitive, patchwork monstrosities. Newer lean-tos created semi-shelters, butting up against the older structures.
The people lived in abject poverty. A lot of windows were boarded up and people were crammed in close together. They walked slowly, hopelessly, eyes down.
Quinton led the group alongside an open sewer, high from the rain water. The smell curled her nose.
Every corner she passed, she saw large ceramic basins overflowing. She saw locals dumping it on themselves and scrubbing their bodies with it, but she didn’t see anyone drinking it. Could be dangerous, she thought. Maybe acidic rainfall.
All in all, her impression of the city wasn’t positive. It was dingy and would have been nothing more than a pimple in a sector closer to the Core. Yet, to hear Quinton talk of it, this was one of the most beautiful and lively places to grow up in the entire galaxy.
After about twenty minutes, Traq asked if he could have something to drink. All conversation ground to a halt and a few people exchanged glances.
Quinton met Vivian’s gaze and then his eyes flicked down to Traq. There was a brief pause and then he said, “Of course you can,” and pulled a slim bottle from his pocket.
“We can’t—”
Quinton shot the speaking man a look, which shut him up. The man was taller than Quinton, though not a lot, with ruddy skin and pale eyes. Vivian thought back and remembered that his name was Ralph.
He had a look about him that bespoke confidence and arrogance. He remained silent as the bottle was handed over to Traq, staring pointedly off down the road and patting his hand absently against his leg.
The spot he was patting was where a gun would be, she realized, but right now he was unarmed. Traq guzzled half the small bottle in two swigs, oblivious to the dirty looks their escort was giving him.
Traq slipped the bottle into his pocket and Quinton began walking again, talking more about the city. The atmosphere of the entire group was more subdued.
They traveled another ten minutes to their destination. At least half the buildings were derelict, but even these had people living inside them, curled up in entryways with tattered clothing. High population density with low quality of life.
Quinton led them to a large apartment building and stopped outside. Dust swirled in the air around them as the wind picked up, turning the road into a howling tunnel. It was getting dark.
“This is my home,” Quinton said, then turned to the rest of the group, raising his voice. “Unfortunately, my wife would panic if I tried to feed you all!”
They chuckled and began to disperse. Quinton was left alone with Vivian, Traq, and Ralph.
“It’s going to be a big one tonight,” Ralph said. He was practically shouting to be heard over the wind. Quinton nodded.
“Make sure everyone gets inside on time. Send the men on rounds.”
“You got it, boss,” Ralph replied, turning to face Vivian. “Ma’am.”
The look on his face was casually hidden disrespect. He turned and left, disappearing down the street the way they’d come.
The sun had all but disappeared, she realized. She couldn’t believe it happened so fast. One moment it was a bright sunny day, the next the sun was gone. Already it was dark and forbidding, with shadows climbing up the walls.
The wind whipped at them in sharp gusts. She held onto Traq’s coat and all three moved into the lobby. The wind died down, whistling through little cracks in the walls.
“You ration water?” Vivian said once it was quiet enough to speak. Quinton nodded, heading into a stairwell. He started up the stairs, talking over his shoulder. The inside was dimly lit.
“We have to. Some people,” he said, “think we should be stricter. Keep population growth from outpacing our water and food supplies. For now, water rationing is enough.”
“They want to use the water to control the population? Enforce eugenics for a better future?”
“Basically,” Quinton said with a frown.
“I think most cultures have people who think that’s a good idea,” Vivian offered.
“We couldn’t do that if we wanted,” Quinton said. “People would revolt.”
“What makes the water supply so low? Everywhere within an eighty-mile radius is drenched.”
“Yes, but the water is undrinkable without filtration. Even when caught in basins. Too many chemicals in the air at higher altitudes. “
“Can’t you drill for water?”
“We do, but that needs to be filtered as well. We have a few reservoirs that are safe, but what water is clean and drinkable is strictly regulated.”
“I’m sorry,” Vivian said, glancing at Traq. “We didn’t know.”
Quinton waved her concern away. “It’s no issue. As mayor, I get a slightly larger ration anyway.”
The ceiling was a lot lower than Vivian was used to, forcing her to bend as he led her through a dark and dirty hallway. Trash littered the sides. The lights—mostly cheap incandescent bulbs—flickered as the storm picked up in intensity, shaking the walls.
He stopped in front of a small door. “And here we are.”
The door wasn’t locked. A trusting man, considering his position. Trusting men rarely stayed in power for long.
The apartment was small and cramped, and there was a strong odor of sickness in the air. The first sound she heard was a crying child in a separate room.
“Excuse me,” Quinton said, disappearing into the back.
Traq moved to follow, but Vivian caught his shoulder. A groan came from the other room. It was the groan of a woman in anguish, struggling for a life that was slipping away. Vivian knew the sound better than she would have liked.
She scanned the apartment. It was sparse, with a pair of oil lamps on opposite corners. She didn’t see any refrigeration units, but she did spot a small gas stove along the left wall.
“It smells bad,” Traq whispered. Vivian shushed him and took a seat on the floor, beckoning for Traq to take one of the chairs. He did, and after about ten minutes Quinton appeared, followed by what could only be his daughter. She looked to be about two years old with curly, honey-colored hair.
She hid timidly behind her father’s leg at first, then ran out suddenly and began hitting Traq repeatedly in the shoulder, giggling. Traq had no idea what to do and looked to Vivian for help. When the little girl noticed Vivian, she squealed and ran behind her father again, sucking her thumb and clutching his pants.
“This is Aliza,” Quinton said, smiling sadly. “And my wife is Patricia, but she won’t be joining us.”
“We have medicine on my ship,” Vivian said softly. Quinton shook his head.
“You have my thanks, but she’s received the best possible care we can afford and it’s too late to save her. Now, I just want her to have a peaceful goodbye.” He rolled up his sleeves and opened a cupboard under the stove, pulling out a few wrapped packages. “I wasn’t planning on visitors today, so the meal will be spare.”
“That would be perfect,” Vivian said.
It took about twenty minutes to prepare the food, which consisted of some sort of soft grain noodle and a meat she’d never tasted along with a sprinkling of spices. Vivian sat on the floor, afraid if she used the chair she would hit her head on the ceiling fan. Aliza sat on the opposite side of the room, eyeing her throughout the entire meal. The food was disgusting, but Vivian forced it down.
Traq didn’t seem to agree, devouring his helping in a matter of minutes. No water was served, and when Traq pulled his bottle out of his pocket, Aliza reached for it, making ‘ugh’ sounds and clenching her fingers repeatedly. Traq passed it over to her and she quickly emptied the bottle, making smacking sounds with her lips.
Once the meal was complete, Quinton pulled out a package of cigarettes, offering one to Vivian. She shook her head and he lit up, standing near the window with it cracked just an inch. It was dark outside, but they could hear the wind howling its way down the street. It threw dust against the wall and glass. The repetition of the sound was quite soothing, threatening to lull her to sleep.
They sat in silence.
“I suppose it’s best that I explain why we’re on this planet,” Vivian said. “We came here looking for any information you have about warships.”
Quinton took a puff on his cigarette and leaned back. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“You used to make them.”
“Well, not me personally. They were made here, in orbit around this planet. But that was hundreds of years ago. Thousands maybe. More like a legend now. I wouldn’t believe it myself, but look around. We live on a world that’s been depleted.”
He paused, scratching his left eyelid with his thumb. “This used to be a beautiful world. We have images from millennia ago. It was vibrant and green. Dangerous chemicals were brought and used for mineral leeching. Species died off one by one. After a time, the damage was irreparable.”
“Why don’t you leave?”
Quinton chuckled. “Who would take us? What do we have to offer? We make do as best we can. Our vegetation has a harder and harder time surviving. With our water supply so dangerously low, I’m afraid that one day we’ll just start dying off. And no one off-world will even know about it.”
“Why not ask for water purifiers?”
“From who? Our satellites are down so we can’t contact other worlds, and we haven’t had a space-faring vessel land here in months. When people do show up, they take our metals and trade supplies or credits we can’t spend. Our requests for aid fall on deaf ears. The merchants don’t care about our plight as long as they get our minerals to sell on Terminus and Jaril.”
Vivian glanced over as the room fell once more into silence. Traq was sleeping on the rug, and Aliza had curled up next to him, sucking her thumb and watching Vivian, bleary eyed. Doesn’t trust me in the slightest, but Traq might as well be her big brother, she thought. Traq must have forgotten about the smell.
It was a horrible thing, to get used to the smell of death.
“One day, this planet will be nothing more than a husk,” Quinton said, puffing on his cigarette and dropping the butt out the window. It disappeared with the wind down the street and he slid the window closed. “But you asked about warships. Space stations would be more accurate.”
“What?”
“They only made six of them, from what I heard, and it was several hundred years ago. All six were lost or destroyed.”
“How big?”
“Each had a minimum crew of one million,” he replied.
She hesitated. “What?”
“That was just what they required to operate. The biggest could manage twenty million at full capacity.”
“Holy hell,” Vivian murmured. The biggest Capital ship she’d seen held a crew of three hundred thousand. At full capacity. If what he was saying was true, then Wade and the Ministry would be very interested in acquiring schematics.
“Are the records classified?” she asked. He shook his head.
“Not many people even remember the stations. It was so long ago, and they didn’t last. Must not have been built very well.”
“Can I take a look at anything you have?”
“I can pull it and make you a copy. They assembled most of the components in space. All of those records were lost with the ships, but we did put some of the frameworks together down here. You can have all of it.”
Vivian nodded. “You have my thanks.”
“If I can ask for something in return, I would ask that you deliver a message to Jaril and the Royal family. Things are…getting worse. And if we don’t get water purifiers soon…”
He left the thought unfinished.
She hesitated. “I’m not sure what I can do. I can deliver your message to people in Jaril, but I doubt they will care.”
Quinton nodded, though his expression was downcast.
Another few minutes passed, and Vivian felt the patter of the wind lulling her to sleep. Quinton yawned and stood. “You can sleep here tonight, if you don’t mind, or I can ask for other arrangements to be made. I’m sorry that we don’t have set accommodations for outsiders, but people rarely stay overnight. They don’t like associating with locals,” he added sadly. “This is one of the few buildings that maintains consistent power during night storms.”
“Here is fine,” Vivian said, glancing down. Aliza was passed out as well, still curled against Traq. They looked peaceful and she didn’t want to disturb them, but that meant she would only have the corner of the room to herself. She wouldn’t have much space to stretch out.
Quinton nodded to her and disappeared into the back. He returned a moment later with two blankets and a pillow. Vivian helped him gently put the pillow under the heads of the sleeping children and then draped one blanket over them. Quinton offered to get her a second pillow, but she declined. She doubted she would sleep long anyway.
Satisfied, Quinton turned off the lights, locked the door, and disappeared into the room with his wife.
Vivian folded the other blanket and leaned it against the wall. She thought over the new information, wondering what it might be worth. A sinister thought had started creeping into her mind. If the ships ever existed, they were missing. But that didn’t mean the same thing as destroyed. If Darius knew about enormous warships sitting on his doorstep…
Something like that could turn the tide of any battle against the Republic.
Doubtful, of course. Doubtful that the ships existed at all, and even more doubtful that Darius would know of them. Vivian fell asleep, worried what the future would bring.
