Two Souls

Chapter 1

Captain Piea’s eyes narrowed as she stared out the Jiejue’s viewer. Black stretched endlessly before them. Some races called it the Null Zone, but she’d always known it as the Empty. And empty it was. She’d traveled this route a hundred times in the course of her career and never got over her unease at the uninterrupted stretch of nothingness.

But this time she was positive that something was wrong beyond her usual anxiety. Her gut had tightened as her freighter had entered the Actil Belt, and never loosened as they’d left the asteroid field behind. The Empty was where the planetary systems that made up the twenty sectors ended. Nothing beyond the occasional comet appeared in a blackness that stretched for hundreds of thousands of light years. To reach the other side of the Empty would require using the Fold, which meant using a jump gate.

There was no jump gate here. There had never been a need for one. No one had ever bothered to venture all the way through the endless sea of darkness or beyond. Probes hadn’t discovered anything of interest a few light years into the Empty. It was just too vast to warrant the expense of further exploration.

Maybe someday, when technology expanded the Fold distance and the costs to construct the gates were reduced. Until then this was just vacant space—well, vacant space except for the freighters who avoided tariffs and transit taxes by skirting the neighboring four sectors with their greedy governments.

What’s that? LSoo slowed the ship as they approached something that appeared to be a chunk of space debris.

Except that out here, there shouldn’t be any space debris.

Take it down to three and close in, Piea told her pilot.

Was it the Dark? They were widely known as pirates, although they tended to concentrate their salvage efforts in the shipping corridors between sectors ten and fifteen. Few survived to tell tales of Dark raids. The only evidence left was usually a stripped hull, barren of anything living. Still, there were rumors they occasionally used wounded-bird techniques as bait.

Any distress calls? Piea asked.

Her pilot shook her head. Is that…is that a piece of cargo?

Piea tapped the controls to open a magnified window and stared in amazement at the mangled shipping container spinning lazily against the dark background of empty space.

There’s another. And another. LSoo’s voice rose to a squeak.

Some of the containers were torn in half, their contents hovering nearby, a collection of storage cylinders and broken crates. Just past them was the object that had originally caught their gaze.

No, this wasn’t the Dark. They were clean and efficient in their operations. They never would have left valuable product to drift around space. And as far as Piea knew, the Dark didn’t have the firepower necessary to rip a freighter into pieces.

It’s a hull section, LSoo commented breathlessly. But where’s the rest of the ship?

There was nothing out here to collide with. The only reason Piea could think of for such a disaster was an internal explosion. Perhaps a catastrophic mechanical failure, a hull breach, or improperly contained cargo.

It’s a Shani ship. Piea recognized the markings on the jagged remnant of the hull.

From the war? LSoo asked.

It couldn’t be. There had been a cease fire and treaty announced just last week. And besides, freight vessels were off-limits when it came to warfare. The humans and Shani might kill each other over the right to colonize key planets in sector nineteen but no one would interfere with the flow of almighty commerce.

No. Anything this extensive would take a warship and fighting never expanded beyond sector nineteen. This has to have been a cargo explosion or a problem with the ship.

LSoo shook her head. That was some massive problem. Hope they were getting hazardous duty pay if they were carrying explosive freight.

Hazardous duty pay didn’t do dead crewmembers any good, Piea thought.

Although they might not be dead. A Shani ship meant Shani crew, but that didn’t matter to her. Transporters stuck together no matter what happened in the political world. She had to make sure. It was her duty as a decent person as well as a member of the Freighters Union. There was only one action Piea could take.

We need to alter course and see if there are any survivors.

There was a slim chance that the two to three person crew would have been able to eject. The escape pod would have given them a few days of environmental controls. Piea had no idea how long it had been since this explosion had occurred, but she couldn’t in good conscience keep going without a search.

LSoo’s hand shook as she guided the ship around the jagged section of hull and away from their original course toward sector twenty and the Sol system. They cruised for half an hour before finally seeing something in the distance. Piea magnified as much as the ship’s view would go, but still couldn’t make out what was ahead.

Do you think that’s them? LSoo asked.

That tight feeling was back in her midsection. Maybe it was them. Maybe not. Ready emergency eject, she told the pilot.

"Of the bridge, captain?"

Piea knew it was a strange order. All freighters had an escape pod for emergencies, but it was back near the cargo loading area. A bridge eject was only for extreme cases—so extreme that the function had been disabled in most of the ships. This was most likely the scene of a devastating mechanical failure, or the result of dangerous cargo transport, but the captain just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

The ship slowed as they approached what appeared to be yet another piece of shipping container. Piea pursed her lips, uncertain how much farther they should go. They had a responsibility to get this cargo to port on time and within budget, but she didn’t want to leave survivors out in empty space to die. Just as she was about to tell LSoo to come about, there was a vibration that shook the freighter and a narrow band of light appeared ahead. The band widened into a rectangle that spun a few rotations before halting.

A jump gate? LSoo asked.

It didn’t resemble any of the jump gates Piea had used in her thirty year career, but she couldn’t see how this could be anything else.

I think it’s a new construction. LSoo tapped the controls to zoom in and they both watched as diamond-shaped objects circled the gateway. The rectangle flashed with light and the front of a ship began to appear. A cruiser? No, it was bigger. It looked like a small carrier or a super freighter. But who would build a jump gate out here? And why?

They see us, LSoo commented as a grouping of small ships disgorged from the larger one and headed toward them.

Piea’s heart thumped. Who was this? Remembering the sheared section of hull debris they’d just passed, the captain slammed her hands on the controls. The ship spun about, going into a roll as the weight of the cargo and unwieldy design hindered their turn.

Go! Go! Get us out of here! Piea shouted. She reached down to grab the data box from its mounting, bending the bracket as she twisted it free. They’d need this. And if the worst happened, someone else would need this.

LSoo accelerated and the captain clenched her teeth as the heavy freighter slowly gained speed. The pilot was throwing everything they had into an emergency acceleration while Piea’s fingers flew over the controls to lock out the cargo sections and isolate the bridge.

Full power to the bridge for eject, she ordered.

LSoo reacted, diverting power as she spoke. We’re boosted. The thrust is going to knock us out with the g-force.

Unconscious wouldn’t matter if those ships caught up with them. They’d never outrun them in the huge slow-moving freighter, but if they threw every bit of power into a boost, they might be able to escape by leaving the main part of the ship behind.

Now. Piea launched the bridge apart from the freighter as LSoo punched in a series of guidance codes. Blinking, the captain held her breath, pushing hard on her diaphragm to keep conscious. The pressure dropped her to one knee. Just as everything began to blur, she heard a roar and saw the red-orange of an explosion on the rear viewer. The bridge section rocked to the side, chunks of debris from the main ship slamming into it.

Faster, Piea urged. She doubted it would do any good. These ships were moving at a speed she’d never seen before, and the freighter was without weaponry.

The pilot gasped, firing the only rocket boost they had in an attempt to outrun their attackers. The force of their acceleration pushed them back and downward. Piea slumped, her vision dimming. She hoped this last burst of speed would allow them to get away. And if not, she hoped they were still unconscious when the attacking ship caught up with them.

Chapter 2

"The Jiejue is missing. Full freight load. Gone. Just gone."

Tnall-Drake Lokenmran, third Son of Sol and Admiral of the Fleet for sectors twenty and nineteen put his face in his hands and took a calming breath. Normally he would have shown less emotion and more confidence, but the messenger was Gyan. If he couldn’t show his distress in front of his best friend, a man he’d known since the Nursery, then there truly was no one left in the universe to trust.

Last contact?

How Gyan managed to know these things before anyone else did was beyond him. It’s like his friend was psychic. Or had the sort of connections that resulted from old money and extended family all over the colonies.

Fourteen eighteen on day two ninety-three.

Yesterday. Drake punched a button on the desk’s console. "Captain Brant. Send three scouts to search for the freighter Jiejue. Pull last known coordinates and have them track it down and report. Priority two. All ships are authorized to use the Fold."

If they hurried, they might actually catch the culprits who’d stolen two—no three ships in as many weeks. Three-two-eight class freighters weren’t the sort of ship that would be simple to disable and drag across the galaxy, and the two crewmembers wouldn’t have been easy to subdue. Yesterday. The hijackers couldn’t have gotten far.

Aye, Admiral. The captain signed off.

What cost center do you plan to use? As usual, Gyan focused right in on the unspoken problem. Protecting their mining and merchant ships from piracy should be a priority, but with each success of the military, Drake’s budget had been reduced. He’d scraped and borrowed to fund the war against the Shani and secure the colonies in sector nineteen. Winning that war meant he was now counting every credit.

Military. It’s not like they’d even had a real military before the war. A few ships, some old uniforms, and crew that were primarily tasked with organizing medical evacuations and breaking up the equivalent of a bar fight. He’d doubled the ships and the staff in the last three years, but still couldn’t get used to thinking of them as an actual fleet.

Or himself as an actual admiral.

I’ll have to use cost center eighty-two. Drake raised his head and met Gyan’s eyes just as the man was about to protest. I’ll make sure there’s enough there.

It turned his stomach to pull some of the things he’d had to do recently to raise funds, but Drake refused to let his eldest brother, the crown prince, bully him into financial submission. He’d won this war, and now he was going to find out what had happened to these freighters if he had to beg, borrow, and steal to do it.

"Can you send a message to Arya-Bhata about the Jiejue? Let him know I’m on it."

Bhata was the second Son of Sol, and thus the Minister of Commerce. He’d need to know that another freighter had gone missing. Drake’s stomach twisted further at the thought. Two elder brothers, one doing everything in his power to see him disgraced, and the other struggling to keep the economy afloat with the expansion initiatives, new colonies, and increase in research and development projects. Poor Bhata was drowning in the same waters he was.

Sure. Gyan sat on the edge of Drake’s desk with a casual familiarity no one else would dare. Drake had offered him a command post more times than he could count. The other man was qualified, and had pretty much acted as his right hand throughout the war. It mystified him why Gyan always refused. If the guy was going to spend years of his life hanging out on a carrier, acting as an intermediary and intelligence liaison, he might as well get paid for it, in Drake’s opinion.

I heard the unions want hazard pay, Gyan continued. It’s three ships missing now; they are calling this a level four dangerous duty assignment under the contract.

This kind of information was why Drake quashed every complaint about a noncommissioned civilian on his carrier and in possession of classified knowledge. Well, that and the fact that he trusted Gyan. They’d grown up together. They’d gone to University together. They’d graduated Academy together. Though he’d never put on a uniform, Gyan had always been by his side, had always had his back—more so than even Drake’s own brothers.

Level four dangerous duty assignment. Yep. Bhata was going to have a tantrum over this news. Trying to find the money for scouts was nothing compared to hazard duty pay, especially level four. Poor Bhata.

I’ll be sure the minister knows. Damn. Any more freighters lost and his brother might need to suspend that trade route—which would be blamed on Drake. If the admiral couldn’t protect their business interests, what good was he?

I’ll send your brother the message, then I’m heading out. See you in a few days when you get back?

Drake was supposed to be on his way to Earth right now. The fleet would stay here, guarding against any further attacks on the colonies in sector nineteen. Drake would go home to give a speech to an excited populace about the treaty and the end of the war. He was a hero. Speeches were the sort of thing heroes did.

He was well aware how lucky he was that they’d won the war. Up until three years ago the main duties of the military were to deliver priority medical supplies, assist in evacuation of colonies if something went wrong, and provide a deterrent against piracy. War was something in his history books. Admiral had been an empty title and busywork for a third Son of the emperor.

If the Shani hadn’t been worse off in terms of weaponry and ships, he’d still be fighting them. If his budget had been reduced any further, he might have been forced to go to war with rocks and clubs. He’d been lucky. And if he ever needed to protect the colonists from an enemy with a decent military…who knows what he’d do.

But try telling his tight-fisted eldest brother that. If he’d beaten the Shani with the shoestring budget he’d been given, then according to the crown prince there was hardly need for more funding in peacetime.

Yeah. See you in two or three days tops. Have fun and watch out for Churri pickpockets.

Gyan stood and saluted. Will do. I promise not to bring back any diseases or alien prostitutes either.

Drake watched his friend leave, knowing that he was only partially teasing. Gyan did enjoy the occasional pleasures of the flesh, but never with anyone outside the human race. In all honesty, Drake was often envious of his carefree friend. It was a sad day when a Son of Sol couldn’t get away for a little relaxation. It wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, though.

The timing of these hijackings was disastrous. His recent military success would be overshadowed by these three stolen freighters. His eldest brother would have fun with that one. Hero today, incompetent fool tomorrow.

It was Drake’s own fault. Never celebrate a win. Never think you’ve come out on top. Never think that light at the end of the tunnel is anything more than a star about to supernova. It just gives the fates an opening to punch you right in the face.

High priority call from Crown Prince Salyn-Patel.

This was about to be his second punch in the face today. His eldest brother, who never hesitated to rub bad news into Drake’s face. The title Salyn meant crown prince, just as Arya meant second born, and Tnall meant third. Was he the only one who found it ridiculously arrogant that Patel had insisted everyone call him the equivalent of Crown Prince Crown Prince?

He might be pompous, he might be arrogant, but Patel controlled the money. And if their father ever decided to give up on all the medical enhancements and actually die, Patel would control a whole lot more.

Connect, he told the computer, straightening up and composing his face into a mask of blank neutrality. His eldest brother was not someone to show weakness in front of, or any emotion at all. Drake had learned early on how quickly Patel would pounce and exploit any chink in his armor.

I need you to go to Limbo in ten turns, Patel instructed without preamble or greeting.

Limbo was in sector thirteen, empty of native life since the Pta had exterminated themselves a few centuries back. It had become a sort of neutral territory for exchanges, black market commerce, and meetings. It had also attracted a score of entrepreneurs who’d taken advantage of the lack of governance and brought casinos, bars, and entertainment ships where any vice was welcome. Rumors were that the Graha-Es were about to pounce on the sector to clean it up. Drake shuddered at the thought. Graha-Es. He had enough problems dealing with the Shani and now the missing freighters; aliens that looked like gigantic wasps complete with mandibles and exoskeletons were something he hoped he’d avoid.

Why? he asked his brother. Is there a problem? It would be just like Patel to send him and half the fleet off to Limbo to settle a mild punch-up. But although his initial impulse was to tell his brother to stuff-it, he needed to play nice with the man who held the purse strings.

There’s a Kui dignitary passing through the area. I want you to meet with her in my stead. It would be rude not to show our respects.

No, rude would be for a third Son to show his respects to a representative of the race who controlled three sectors and was so tightly allied with the dreaded Graha-Es that they practically walked with synchronized movements.

Why?

There was a moment of silence following Drake’s one-word response. He knew his brother was debating whether to angrily demand that Drake do as he, the crown prince, demanded or to actually explain the situation. Thankfully he chose the latter.

Because they are finally willing to sell some of their secure long-range communications systems. We need to get an exclusive contract before the Shani or the Ruil can get their hands on it.

They really did need that tech. Classified communication and messaging was a joke right now. A toddler could break their encrypted codes in a matter of seconds. This sort of deal would benefit Drake’s military as well as overall sector security. But there was a problem with Patel’s demand.

I’m not a diplomat. You know I’m lousy at that sort of thing. If you can’t go, then send Bhata.

Patel sighed, like he was a parent patiently trying to convince a stubborn child to eat his vegetable gel. Bhata is going to be busy for the next thirty turns auditing industry taxation. I realize that sending a Tnall to a diplomatic meeting in hopes of furthering a trade agreement isn’t the best solution, but it’s the only one I have. If we don’t get in there and meet with the Kui next week, we’ll lose our chance for exclusivity.

The way Patel said Tnall as if the third-son title conveyed with it a low intellect made Drake want to reach through the comm system and punch his brother. Violence had been his solution when they were children, but as an adult he could hardly hit his crown prince. Besides, striking Patel would only confirm his elder brother’s opinion of Drake as stupid and brutish. It might also land him in solitary for a few turns.

He reined in his temper as Patel continued. Because I don’t want to insult the Kui by sending a third Son to meet with them, you’ll need to present yourself as if you’re me. I’ll provide appropriate clothing and funding. All you’ll have to do is smile and nod, and be polite and deliver our proposal. You do think that’s possible? You do think you can restrain yourself from brawling or punching the Kui diplomat in the face during your meeting with her?

Drake ground his teeth. This was ridiculous. It was an insulting demand, demeaning everything that Drake had accomplished as the Tnall and as an admiral. He’d been at war for three years. He needed to find these missing freighters. He didn’t need to do his brother’s job for him.

But Patel had mentioned funding—funding that could possibly be siphoned away from this insane charade and into the depleted pension funds, or used for much needed ship repairs. Not that Drake was going to give in easily, though. You seriously expect me to put on court dress, sip ambrosia, and make small talk with the Kui? Go screw yourself, Patel!

His brother winced dramatically. I’m hoping you won’t use that language with her, Drake. You picked up some horrible arcane phrases hanging around with your technophobe friends as a child. It’s vulgar, and not befitting a member of the royal family to speak that way.

Screw him. They weren’t technophobes. The Harmonists just didn’t feel that purchasing the latest robotics and implants was the best use of their funds.

You’re docking today, and the welcome celebration is this evening. You’ve already completed the Shani surrender paperwork for sector nineteen. Do what you need to do here on Earth, take care of business, then go make nice with the Kui. You’ll be in Limbo. Take a few extra days off and enjoy the offerings of a pleasure ship. It’s been, what, three years? You’re overdue for some relaxation.

Way overdue, but there had to be a reason his brother was willing to bribe him with a few days on a pleasure ship—not that he had the time to take advantage of the offer with the missing freighters on his mind.

What’s the truth behind all this, Patel? Is she going to make me bathe in hot tar as part of her culture’s welcome ritual? Am I going to need to eat three pounds of fried tongues? Shove a jeweled scepter up my ass?

Stop acting like a commoner from two millennia ago, Drake. I’m busy right now and you just wrapped up a war, so you clearly have time on your hands. I don’t want to offend the Kui. I’m hoping to trade them raw materials for their enhanced jump tech in the next few years if things work out with this communication system licensing. Just go.

He didn’t want to go. And no, he didn’t have time on his hands. They’re not passing through our sectors, Drake complained. They’re in the middle of the Unified Territory. Why are you expected to jump all the way to Limbo to say hi to them? If they’re looking for buyers among the Shani and Ruil, they should be coming farther in the territories than Limbo.

Because I want their tech, and I want to get to them first—before the Shani and the Ruil. Patel was beginning to speak through clenched teeth. I’ll shift three million back into your budget. It’s one day, Drake. One day.

Three million. His brother must be desperate. Drake had a feeling there was some unpleasant custom he was about to endure for this three million. But he needed the money to cover payroll, repairs, fuel, and those ships he was sending after the lost freighter. Oh, what that money could do. And three million…he’d have a surplus for the first time since he’d assumed control of the fleet.

We’ll talk once I’m planet-side. Get me the information so I don’t make a fool of myself if I decide to do this. And you’ll need to let the delegate know I’d be there with one other human. He might as well take Gyan along. His friend would tease him mercilessly, but at least he’d have company. And if anyone knew his way around Limbo, it was Gyan.

Watch your manners and your language, Patel cautioned, obviously knowing that the deal was as good as done the moment he’d mentioned the money. And Drake? You won’t be presenting yourself as a third Son. You’ll be the crown prince, so don’t screw up.

Impersonating his brother. Oh, that was an irresistible temptation to screw up. But if he humiliated his brother, then that three million would vanish.

I’ll be downright regal, Patel, he promised with a grin.

Disconnecting with his brother, Drake immediately contacted Gyan. Wanna play guard to the crown prince next week?

Hell no, Gyan responded emphatically. Drake could hear the hum of his friend’s ship, the Flyboy, in the background.

Fair enough. Wanna watch some Kui diplomat shove a scepter up my ass next week?

Gyan laughed. "I wouldn’t miss that for the world."

Chapter 3

Xella listened to the message one more time before tapping the side of her head with one of her pincers. She’d been arbitrating disputes in ten of the twenty sectors for several millennia, as well as negotiating trade agreements. It was more than her job, it was her life. She’d excelled at every task that had been brought to her, been requested specifically time and time again when other races needed a mediator. Her recent success in adjudicating the Arach mining incident had resulting in her promotion to Grand Diplomat of the Graha-Es.

But this…this was an odd request. And it came from the Shani Star himself, asking her to work directly with the head of their military, their Doga, in this matter. They suspected foul play in the recent disappearance of two freighters. They wanted her to investigate the incidents, then negotiate reparations with the parties responsible.

Negotiation—now there was something she felt comfortable doing. Investigation? The prospect of something new and challenging sent a rush of hemolympth through her, but challenging assignments came with the risk of failure—and failure for one at her level would be more than career-ending. It would most likely be life-ending.

This close to the top, others longed to take Xella’s place. Discrediting her had become quite the pastime for a number of her sisters. True, she had supporters, but jealousy was a malignant beast of an emotion they all battled against.

Although honestly she wasn’t sure what her sisters had to be jealous of. As Grand Diplomat, she should be part of Mother’s inner circle, yet she hadn’t been summoned to appear in ages. And there was the fact that at nine thousand orbits old she still was one-souled.

The Mother found matches for most Graha-Es Tovenaressa within five millennia. These partners gave a breadth and depth to a sister’s knowledge and helped forge their strong political alliances with other races. Being one-souled at her age was cause for embarrassment. Others whispered that perhaps she wasn’t as favored by The Mother as her status would lead one to believe. Sisters who might have been supporters hesitated to ally themselves with her, just in case she was about to fall from grace. Millennia after millennia had passed and by this point Xella didn’t care anymore. Let them whisper. She’d gotten used to being on her own. She’d achieved more on her own than most two-souled Graha-Es sisters could ever hope for. At this point, she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to adjust to having a second soul.

Honestly, a part of her hoped that The Mother never found her a match.

The entry chimed and Xella turned to see Pey rush in.

She’d matured in the last thousand orbits, but Xella still thought of her as the young impressionable sister she’d mentored. Pey was so pretty with her copper-colored ridges accenting the black of her thorax. She’d embellished the peaks with a mosaic of colorful gems that twinkled in the artificial light. Xella smiled, greeting her favorite sister with an informal touch to her forearm. Pey had been by her side for three centuries, learning the customs of other races in the near sectors as well as diplomatic etiquette. The last century she’d been assigned to sector nine as an ambassador to the Venerans. As much as Xella missed her, she was proud of Pey. The girl had come so far in such a short time, and without all the jealousy that