Chapter 3: New Leningrad
March 6th, 3237, 0012 hours
Exiting Slipspace 125 million kilometres from system center
12 million km from closest planetary body
Initiating thaw cycle. Please present authorization code.
***FISHMONGER***
Authorization code confirmed, PVT AI HMLT-2618. Raising internal temperature.
Crytotubes 1-3 Reporting nominal core temperature.
Subject 2 , increased brainwave activity, possible REM spike.
Subject 1, increased blood flow, within normal parameters.
Subject 3 shows nominal levels of activity.
Rise and shine, children.
Steam hissed through the exhaust ports of the cryotubes, and for a moment, the Plexiglas canopies frosted on the inside. The thawing procedure was now in full swing. This was a precise procedure, which was designed to minimize, and even negate what was known as "Freezer Burn", an effect of the cryostasis containment when skin bonded to polymers in clothing or when temperatures became imbalanced.
Hamlet ensured that this would not happen. He carefully monitored the individual temperatures of the pods, making up for anomalies if they showed up. So far, so good. The soldiers were coming out of sleep perfectly normal. Hamlet brightened the lights in a process known as "Sunrising". It was believed that a person was more likely to get up quickly if they sensed the sun rising. This could be interpreted by heat on the skin, or the retina registering the light behind the closed eyelids, even while in REM sleep.
Much to his delight, Jackson, Roan and Mallard all stirred from their slumber. Mallard was the first to respond, and sat straight up. He stretched his back, wincing from the cracking spine.
"Good morning, Mister Mallard!"
"Yeah." Charlie grunted. "What time is it?"
"Technically that is an irrelevant question. 'Time' has no meaning in interstellar space, as it is impossible to keep track on one set source of time."
"Look man, I'm cranky, I haven't had coffee, and I've been a naked popsicle."
"It is 12:13 AM on March, the sixth, thirty-two-thirty-seven."
"Why so early?"
"Well, it was our predicted arrival time. Turns out I was slightly off when it came to the minute factor. We actually arrived thirty four minutes ahead of schedule!"
"Stunning."
Allan was up second, stepping out of the cryopod lightly. "Well...that was refreshing." He blinked as he tried to stand the shining lights. "Hamlet, you mind turning those lights down?"
"I shall wait until Miss Jackson has recovered from her sleep cycle."
Sam started stirring.
"So, has it been five days?" Allen asked.
"It has, Mister Roan; five and a half, to be precise."
"So we're at our destination then."
The Prince of the Danes shrugged. "I would prefer that the remainder of the crew be conscious before I divulge that information."
At those words, Sam started to stir from her slumber. Her eyes creaked open, she shivered slightly and jumped out of the pod.
"I hate those things."
"Morning, sexy." Charlie joked.
Sam remembered she was naked.
"Shut up!"
"Ladies and gentlemen." Hamlet interjected. "Can we please be mature and civil for a moment?"
Banter died quickly in the cryobay.
"We have arrived at our destination, approximately twenty-six thousand kilometers off course, but we are in a good location. Welcome to the HD 1446 system! If you will proceed to the bridge, I can provide you with your mission briefing." With that, Hamlet's avatar dispersed, leaving the three to scramble to get dressed.
Sam tried not to make any...suggestive movements as she dressed up. By the time she had buckled her belt and slipped on a black cotton T-shirt, Mallard and Roan were ready to go.
"We all good?" She asked clipping a KK-24 pistol onto her belt. Mobian-made.
"Yeah." Allen said. "That your pea-shooter?"
"Had this weapon ever since I was on Mobius. Has a lot of history behind it."
"Like what?"
"Well, you see, my family lived on an ancestral farm since the colony started in 2290 or some time way back. My ancestors were adopted by the Human farmers that were there. They worked and were taken care of, and when a disease killed the homestead owners, they gave it to my family before they died. Anyway, the wilderness was a dangerous place. Creatures I can only assume were muted attacked us often, and we needed some form of defence. When I was 12, I got this gun."
She held up the KK-24 for them to see.
"Saved my life. A mutated mountain lion attacked me and I had to shoot it. I didn't think anything of it, but I am alive because of this weapon."
She slotted it back into her holster.
"Well, I can't say that I have a big history with my gun or anything like that, but I was a big history buff. Ancient stuff, you know?" Allan smiled as he walked over to a weapons locker on the other side of the room. He opened it up to reveal a disassembled weapon. Neither Sam nor Charlie could make out what the gun was until he assembled it. It was a blast from the past.
"Allan, what is that thing?"
He finished by sliding the charging device back. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the M1928-A1 Thompson SMG."
"How old is that thing?" Sam asked.
Hamlet chimed in, his arms tucked behind his back. "That, madam, is well over a thousand years old. Well, the design is anyway. The Thompson was used as a submachine gun by American forces during World War II. It was also popular with gangsters and rumrunners during Prohibition in the 1930s."
"So, what's a gun like the Thompson doing in the 33rd?"
Allen answered that. "I found a person that made replicas of old weapons. This looks like a thousand year-old gun, but the interior is completely up to scratch with anything we have today. Kind of like a body-kit you have on a car. Sure, it looks like a Ferrari, but underneath the hood, you have a Civic or something like that."
"Wow." Sam said. "Got any other surprises for us?"
"Just my 1911." Allan answered, indicating a fairly old-looking pistol which had a silver finish.
"Ancient history, huh?" Charlie asked. "Fires .45s? Don't care how old it is. Baby has bite."
Hamlet cleared his throat insistently. "If I may, my subjects, I implore you to make your way to the bridge. We don't want to go into battle blind."
"Yes, I agree, Lord Hamlet." Sam said.
The ass-kissing factor was through the roof with her. No doubt she was trying to get brownie points with the corporation by complying with the AI.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear." Hamlet said with a sly smile. "However, I enjoy a title! Please proceed to the bridge."
Sam half-scowled as she was told off. Allan looked at her.
"Ha-hah."
The interior of the Start Running was cramped. Any ship her size would face a similar dilemma. In the main passageway, they had to make sure that they walked on the right side of the walkway, as further down the corridor, a pipe dipped ever so slightly lower. If they were to avert their gaze, one of them would get a nasty smack to the head.
Sam palmed the panel that opened the bridge door. A dual pressure seal slid open. It was eerily similar to an airlock design. In truth, it was. If the ship were to get holed, compromised sections of the ship could be sealed off to protect the rest of the crew. Not like the Start Running could absorb very much fire until she vaporized completely anyway.
Allan and Sam sat in the helmsmen seats. Prince Hamlet rose like a phoenix from ashes with the grace of a dancer. He certainly acted like he was royalty.
In the far distance, two bright orbs floated in space.
"HD 1446 is a binary star system with a series of three planets, all terrestrial, plus a ring of debris along the system's edge. Here is a representation of the system."
Hamlet's hologram disappeared and was replaced by that of the star system. Two slowly encircling stars were surrounded by four rings. Their ship was a red arrowhead just below the system equator.
The readout also showed that they were 15 million kilometres from a planet nearly one-and-a-half times the size of Earth. It was titled 'New Leningrad'.
"Mark me." Hamlet said. The trio looked at the computer. "Heed my words." Three holographic files covered the projector, each with the All-Seeing Eye that was the symbol of ONI. Since none of them were truly soldiers, they couldn't understand the full extent of ONI's cryptic nature.
They did, however, get an extremely bad vibe from the symbol.
"Our orders, as per Section 2, Office of Naval Intelligence Department of Propoganda. These were forwarded to me on day two of our slipstream jump. Our S-F transceivers picked up the message. It was fragmented, but I feel I reassembled it to a fair extent."
Hamlet waived his hand over the files. Red letters coursed over the programs. TOP SECRET – EYES ONLY.
Hamlet huffed. "Hmph. Paranoid fools. Pass-phrase: Rover-Juliet-12."
At once, the red letters became green and flashed. ACCESS GRANTED.
FWD to: Better Start Running (K-615), Lone-Wolf Team Bravo
CC: ORDERS
People, these came in before you left. I had them combed for any inconsistencies. Now, by the time you're getting this, I can only assume that you're on ice, barring a containment failure. ONI Operative, Codename: VIPER sent me the outline of your assignment. Looks like a zebra on text. You will get as much as they will allow, and even that is pushing it.
Good Luck, people.
CEO Gustaff.
From: Codename: VIPER
To: Codename: COALMINER
Subject: NEW LENINGRAD
Fwd Add: .com
File Code: Blue
Just received the long-range scans from [-] approximately twenty minutes ago. The results are just as we guessed. There seems to be a rogue colony out there, meaning that they are not under administration from the Colonial Administration or military governance. [-] and [-] assure me that this will not get out of hand.
According to what we were able to dig up, the HD 1446 system has three planets. One of which is our so-called rogue Communist state. Communism itself made a major impact in the early to late 20th Century on Earth with the great dictator Joseph Stalin, Mao, and even Castro. Come on, [-], you should know who these people are. [-].
Communism itself was thought to be flawed, as the entire world wouldn't be for the idea as many societies were founded under different principles. Democracy, or more accurately, a free-trade market is an example of this difference. This was why major tensions rose between the East and the West.
Now in space, it's a whole other ball game, more-so if you have your own planet. Here, there's nobody that can get in the way. You can effectively make your own government independent from everyone else.
In theory.
In practice, this is easier said than done. Normally, colonial construction and placement has to go through both the CAA and the UN. I checked with [-], and discovered that there was no papers or proof of any kind to suggest that there was any procedures that were followed.
I can count on my finger how many times that's happened. [-] times actually.
Our scans of the planet, which included one close flyby by an unmanned probe has revealed plenty about our target. The planet has only three major cities, all on the same mega-continent. The rest is all farmland.
Living conditions are terrible. This is the worst I've ever seen since [-]. People are starving, riots are common, and whatever military there is present has imposed martial law. On first glance, it would appear this is the old fashioned Socialist problem, that, on principle, it just cannot support a whole population. On closer inspection, one would discover that it is not the government, but the man who controls it.
A photo of a man in his mid fifties with silver hair, a jagged scar across his eye, and a strong mustache appeared.
Svalantina.
This is the supposed dictator of the New Leningrad society, Jorvich Svalantina, Supposed Socialist hardliner. Ancestors were devoted Stalinists back in the 20th Century, and has been arrested multiple times for public, and sometimes violent, protests.
We hypothesize that most of Svalantina`s flock is consisted of Insurrectionists, rebels, their sympathizers, and extreme leftists. Not a combination that I am comfortable with.
These people are dying, [-], and I for one cannot stand it. Despite what the public thinks of us, god damn it, we're here to help people! We'll be sending agents in to try and assassinate Svalantina. Hopefully, his little politburo will fall apart after.
Don't want an egg running the show that's more rotten than he is.
Agents will be dispatched at [-], from [-]
Wish them luck, old friend.
We'll meet later, and discuss in greater detail. No need to spur the censors over paper.
-Codename: VIPER
Office Of Naval Intelligence, Section II
[Press ENTER to continue]
They each read the letter and were silent for a second. Alan was the first to speak up. "This is bullshit by the way!"
"I agree with Alan on this one." Sam said. "Those agents are dead. The Lone Wolves that were sent before us are dead. Our chances don't look very good."
"Think Vanguard has something against us?" Charlie asked.
"Irrelevant, Mister Mallard." Hamlet responded. "Whether you believe Vanguard has a personally vendetta against you is not pertaining to our current situation."
"Hmph. Sorry I asked." Charlie said leaning back.
Hamlet gestured to the windshield. "That ball out there is New Leningrad, the home-world of this new Soviet Union. If I bring us closer, they will hail us and question us."
"Will they recognize the hull design?" Sam asked, frantically looking around for ships, even though an act like that would be pointless in space.
Hamlet stroked his holographic beard. "Hmm...I do not believe so. For all intents and purposes, we've never been to this system before. Also, judging from the derelict around here, such as this Cleopatra - class Star Liner, thirty kilometres off starboard..."
A stripped-down version of a passenger liner coasted by, trailing frozen coolant and deck plating into the vacuum.
"I think that multiple vessels have been here, possibly even more. We're safe." He drew his rapier absent-mindedly. "At least, that's what my calculations say."
"Life in the hands of an AI who talks like a freak." Charlie said under his breath.
Hamlet snarled. "Tedious old fools."
Alan nodded his head. "Alright, too late to turn back. Let's fire her up and get closer."
"Yes, Mister Roan." Hamlet said cheerily. "Reactor to one hundred percent. Current heading one-eight-zero by zero-zero-zero. All ahead full!"
The Better Start Running pushed forward. Occasionally a small piece of micro-debris pinged off the hull. Hamlet assured that the Kinetic Barriers surrounding the ship would deflect the larger pieces, and even then, the Start Running had a 50mm PDW (Point Defence Weapon) at her disposal. A pinprick of light brighter than the stars went off and started to get closer.
"There's the border patrol." Sam noted.
Alan then realized something. "Oh wait! We need a background! A cover!"
"Shit! You're right!" Charlie agreed.
"Hamlet, can you help?" Roan asked.
Hamlet smugly smiled. "I actually anticipated this would happen. Not to worry, I have multiple covers on file. Oh, how about this one: László Kupec. You're a Hungarian farmer from Reach, seventy miles from Ócza. Sam, you're his wife Emília."
The two exchanged an uneasy look, but Sam said, "Alright. What about Charles?"
"Here we are. Mister Mallard, you are now Klaus Fudrich, the Kupec's farmhand."
Charles' mouth twitched. "You mean...like a slave?"
"Whoa now." Alan said getting up. "Now is not the time."
Mallard did calm down, but not before the ship got within ten kilometres.
"Act natural. Pretend like you're monitoring the systems." Hamlet advised, and disappeared.
A hail request blinked on the dashboard. Alan tapped it. "This is the Start Running. We are receiving you."
The voice on the other hand was probing, curious. "Private craft, we acknowledge your presence. Why are you here? Speak quickly. "
"My name is László Kupec. I've come all the way from Reach to join the commune."
"Hmm. That was out in the open. Where did you get the fancy ship, citizen pilot?"
"I received it at an auction. The previous pilots died and I obtained it."
"You don't mind then of we come in for a closer look?"
"Not at all."
Sam whispered in his ear, "What. Are you. Doing?"
"He's not going to let us go lightly. He will need to inspect the ship, ensure that we are who we say we are."
"What about our guns? We have a military grade MAC cannon on our ship!"
"Relax. Hamlet retracted the guns. They won't see anything."
"Who else is on the ship, citizen pilot?"
"My wife, and my assistant."
"There is nobody else aboard?"
"No-one else."
A searchlight flooded the bridge. Everybody shielded their eyes as the patrol craft dipped up and over the ship, surveying it for any suspicious signs. There were none.
"Alright. Everything here checks out. Can't believe a Hungarian farmer picked up this beast at an auction. Lucky man. You can go through...comrade."
"We're in." Sam whispered.
"We'll need to a secondary search once you land at New Leningrad spaceport in Volgovard. You will land at Pylon 7. You will be met by comrade Silverstein, the man in charge of your search. If we find anything that seems 'out of the ordinary', you will be confined. Might even send you to the gulag."
"What's a gulag?" Mallard asked.
"Don't know."Sam admitted. "It doesn't sound good though."
The Start Running broke through New Leningrad's atmosphere and coasted through the clouds. A fairly large city beckoned them forward. This was Volgovard, the capital city. Skyscrapers shot into the air and ground cars milled around in the streets. Here, an imitation of free-market economy ensured that money spent went to the state. All to further the socialist progress. There was farmland for miles around. Heavy combines ploughed through the fields of golden wheat and made neat bunches behind them.
"You know, this doesn't look like a bad racket." Sam admitted.
"It's not the politics; it's the ones pulling the strings." Alan said.
"Files relating to ONI or Vanguard have been deleted for your safety." Hamlet announced. "We're on our own now. Best get dressed before we land. There are some clothes in the closets to sell the deception."
The ship got near Pylon 7 and set down. The skids compressed under the weight and the engines shut down.
They were in their new home now.