The Immortal Empire – Episode 9: The Niburu Boribori
When the patrol ships on the Terran side of the demilitarized zone moved to interdict the Outlaw Star, Gene did the first thing to came to mind: he ran. His instinctual course of action being the same as Jim's own recommendations wasn't a common occurrence.
"Melfina, plot us a course away from the DMZ and into that dust cloud! Everyone else, strap yourselves in!"
"You're not going to do anything stupid, Gene?" Suzuka asked, tugging on her seat's restraints.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Suzuka! Giliam!"
"Newton rector at full power! While I do appreciate your course of action, Gene, I would ask you not to…" Giliam II began.
"Shut up Giliam!" he screamed, opening the throttle to full.
One thing the XGP-15A-II had on even the most modern patrol ships on the border was acceleration: with grappler arms stowed and a clear vector, no ship could catch them, especially those far into their patrol routes. What they could do was fire on them with machine cannons.
"They're firing Gene!"
"You don't think I've noticed?"
"Entering the cosmic dust cloud around that white dwarf! Sensors will be compromised!"
"That's what I'm counting on!"
They'd entered the product of the white dwarf's tidal forces on passing comets. Descending deeper into the comet-induced dust cloud surrounding the diminutive star, the Outlaw Star's sensor signature gradually shrank to the pursuing ships until it they had to rely on visual targeting to guide their missile salvos and autocannon fire.
"Seems like the last thing you'd want in the area of a secure border!" Jim observed as he braced himself against his seat.
"Yeah, well, I'm guessing they didn't get to choose where the border was, the Ctarl-Ctarl did!" A salvo of small but numerous missiles exploded mere kilometers behind them, their shockwaves unmistakable.
"Gene!"
"Melfina!"
"Munchausen reactors within safe temperatures for operation! We're coming up on a workable sub-ether jump vector!" Melfina announced.
"For goodness sake, Gene, deploy chaff and flare already!" Suzuka commanded angrily.
"Hey Suzuka, you don't do the budget, okay? We do!" Gene countered. The remark was so unexpected it left Jim staring at them as Melfina counted down and the Outlaw Star vanished in a flash into sub-ether space, escaping its pursuers.
As sub-ether space roared past them through the bridge's large viewports, Jim kept staring at Gene. Gilliam II's voice chirped precisely over the speakers.
"Damage from the patrol ships is minimal, with some stress on the number four engine. I'll continue to monitor it for any irregular behavior."
"'You don't do the budget'?" Jim repeated finally.
"Just let it go, Jim," Gene warned stiffly, climbing out of his seat. "Gilliam, take control. Everyone else, company meeting in five minutes."
"Pertaining to what?" Suzuka asked, already the image of calm again.
"How Aisha Clan-Clan just screwed us out of our border pass, and what we're gonna' do about it," Gene immediately answered, not missing a beat as he left the bridge.
Even Suzuka was a little surprised by the quickness of his response. "You wanted him to take things more seriously," she told an equally-surprised Jim.
"Yeah, I'm almost regretting that."
In reality it was ten minutes before Melfina, Suzuka, and Jim congregated in the main hold, shocked to find Gene very slowly picking up the blackboard that had been knocked over. Jim ran over to help him.
"Okay, who are you and what have you done with my bro?"
"Very funny, Jim. I thought you'd appreciate my decision."
"I do, I do…really, I thought you'd stay and fight."
"As did I," Suzuka confessed.
Gene and Jim righted the blackboard. "Well, I like to keep you guys guessing. How 'bout we look at our current problem."
Jim gave a sober nod and sat down in a folding chair, Suzuka and Melfina quickly following suit. Gene crossed his arms pursed his lips in somber silence for almost a minute.
"Okay, James, what's our plan?"
He almost fell from his chair. "Oh geeze, Gene, really?"
"What, I came up with all the plans up to this point, is it so wrong for me to delegate?"
Jim was about to fire back when Suzuka raised a commanding hand. "We call all appreciate Gene's wisdom in fleeing the border patrol, but we do need to consider our remaining options." She glanced at them. "Unless…"
"We're not scrubbing this job, Suzuka. You'll just have to buckle down and regret coming with us in the first place." He turned to Jim. "Come on, you know how this works—something goes wrong, Jim figures a way out of it, and I use my equal amounts of skill and luck to get us through it."
Jim signed. "Gene, I…I don't know if it's just me getting older..."
Gene gave an exaggerating, barking laugh.
Jim pouted. "I'm just saying maybe we should quit while we're ahead. Don't forget, Gene, Melfina and I are 'busters—we don't have your ridiculous luck. We were born under a bad sign," he joked darkly.
"Wait…what the hell's a buster?"
"God, bro, do you not read anything?"
Suzuka interjected. "It's the name given to people born in the baby bust after the last Terran-Ctarl-Ctarl War."
"It was one of the smallest generations in Terran history. Birth rates plummeted across the empires." He shrugged. "I mean, Gene, have you ever wondered why everyone seems to be your age or older? Why you don't meet any people my age?"
"You mean little children?" Gene teased.
Jim rolled his eyes again.
"So you think you're unlucky," he mumbled. "Kind of funny, considering everything we've gone through."
Gene put his arm on a corner of the blackboard. "Melfina and you can't be that unlucky."
Melfina smiled. Jim gave a deep sigh. "You done, Gene?"
Sitting in a folding chair between Suzuka and Melfina, he nodded.
"So we can rule out catching Aisha at the border, if that was ever a possibility," Jim reflected. "And we may need to abandon the idea of crossing into the empire with the Outlaw Star entirely."
He looked up at Gene, expected a verbal objection. Gene remained silent, hand on his chin.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Gene asked.
"Aren't you going to complain?"
Gene gave him a look. "James, our job was to deliver a briefcase of gold ingots to the seller in the Empire. We don't need a whole ship to do that."
A look of blatant suspicion immediately came over Jim's face as Gene continued his pitch. "Once we're able to secure Gilliam and the Outlaw Star, crossing the border by ourselves becomes a lot easier."
"Why didn't we do that in the first place?" Melfina asked.
Suzuka noticed Jim impatiently tapping his foot now and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
"I thought we might have a chance to cut Aisha off at the border of her ride was slow enough," Gene replied with a shrug. "That didn't work out."
Jim finally snapped, raising both hands over his head. "Enough with the sales pitch, Gene! Then what's your brilliant plan?"
It was apparent Gene was enjoying himself enormously. "Well I thought it was about time I put that enormous amount of luck that I was apparently born with to good use. The Ctarl-Ctarl Empire have the biggest navy out there, right?"
Lady Kalin Clan-Clan watched the Orta Tomoyotomoyo grow smaller and smaller in one of her cockpit mirrors. In a few hours, the navy's new flagship would begin its maneuvers to establish orbit around a small planet orbiting around a binary system in the empire's Outer Periphery—the so-called "neutral ground" between the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire and the Kata-Kata Democratic Republic, a cold, frozen world that barely passed as habitable. It was there the crown princess would meet with the Kata-Kata government's envoys, including their new foreign minister—the first step in an invariably long process of negotiations between the only two Ctarl-Ctarl nations in the universe.
The democrats and the imperialists. She didn't think this would go anywhere, there'd been a half-dozen other summits with the Kata-Kata in her lifetime and none of them had gone anywhere.
Her formfitting bodysuit had no pockets, so she reached into one of the small pouches on the utility belt she wore over her flight suit, then took out the small comm cube given to her by the crown princess.
Well, that's different. Word had reached her from the one or two friends she'd made on the crew on the bridge how the crown princess's staff had done research on her: they'd consulted the 'Who's Who' website of the Imperial Central University, wher she was enrolled. A website edit done as a good-natured joke from one of her so-called friends described her as Kalin Clan-Clan: a blue-haired, stern-looking but well-endowed student of biology and Navy Fighter Corps pilot.
She didn't find it all that funny, though she confessed it could've been worse. Watching the heading marker on her HUD, it took a few minutes of travel before she visually confirmed the presence of a lone merchantman, the Niburu Boribori. A few minutes later and she could make out the details, its familiar dark brown umbrella structure with communication spires and a single large engine thruster, its identifying green hull flourish.
"Attention trade vessel Niburu Boribori. This is Captain Kalin Clan-Clan of the Imperial Navy Fighter Corps. I request permission to begin my scheduled rendezvous and government passenger transfer."
The response came back very quick. "Oh thank god, ma'am! We were afraid you wouldn't show."
"Excuse me?"
"I mean, this is Nubata Kunono, captain of the Niburu Boribori. Thank you for being so punctual with your orders, Lady Kalin. We're sending over our orbit data now, and are ready to rendezvous at your earliest convenience." The voice sounded more normal that second time, but put unusual emphasis on the word 'earliest'. She just shrugged in her cockpit and began making course corrections to intercept within 40 meters of the merchantman, then set another correction to match its velocity. It took about ten minutes for her to drift to the Niburu Boribori and about six seconds to burn to match its orbit. The ship wasn't large enough to have a hangar of its own, much less one massive enough to carry a Type 2 fighter trainer. What it did have was an exterior cargo crane folded into a recess behind the forward superstructure, which the crew was extending to hold her fighter in place roughly twenty-five meters from the ship's hull. With surprising care, it clamped onto her fighter's nosecone.
"Attachment achieved, Lady Kalin. Unlocking the dorsal airlock."
"Thank you." She glanced at the indicator on her wrist. "Suit is secure." Even a fighter as large as hers couldn't fit two adult Ctarl-Ctarl in bulky civilian-grade space suit in the small cockpit—the aggressive tight flight suit she wore had a practical purpose. A screen press followed by pulling a lever, and air rapidly escaped her cockpit as the canopy folded open, exposing her to vacuum. Kalin felt the thick synthetic material of her suit flex slightly as the small amount of air inside it underneath her collar expanded against the vacuum.
"And here I thought it was just someone's fetish," she heard herself say, almost to her surprise, as a small backpack and a leather folder floated by. She quickly snatched them and ignoring the normal procedure of attaching a tether, stood on the top of her seat, spotted the nearby airlock, and launched herself in its direction. Despite having a reputation for having a high tolerance for vacuum, the Ctarl-Ctarl were probably less comfortable with extravehicular operations than the Corbono, if only because they didn't live their entire lives in self-contained suits.
Closing her ship's canopy, she pulled out the recessed lever on the airlock door and then twisted it, letting it swing inwards. As soon as pulled herself inside, she immediate felt the effects of the ship's full-sized gravity cycle on her muscular body, simulating near-normal gravity. The muscles in her legs and back flexed and tightened as she quickly acclimated itself.
The door mechanically shut behind her and the atmosphere was restored—a green light indicated it was safe to remove her helmet, as she did. A merchant marine sailor in a work uniform entered through the door just as she was pulling her long hair out of the helmet.
He looked a little embarrassed and quickly stood at attention. "Sorry, I…Lady Kalin?" She nodded. "Welcome aboard the Niburu Boribori. The captain's waiting for you on the bridge, if you'd follow me."
With her helmet under her arm by the backpack, she followed the sailor through the ship's fairly Spartan, copper-colored corridors until they came to the small bridge. Through the doors two male officers were waiting in the green military-style overcoats of merchant marine officers. Waiting behind them with arms crossed and her back against the bridge's aquarium was a genuine naval officer in a familiar green minidress and white breastplate.
Wow, you look terrible. She shook the distraction out of her mind and stood as commandingly as she could manage, which was a great deal given she was the tallest person on the bridge, and possibly in the ship.
"Lady Kalin, welcome aboard the Niburu Boribori." Though she recognized his voice, Kunono nonetheless coolly introduced both himself and his executive officer, and the two immediately exchanged the paperwork that accompanied everything that happened anywhere in the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire, albeit in physical form on this occasion.
Kunono dutifully glanced at packet after she returned it to him. "Lady Aisha!" he sputtered, all the calm evaporating from his voice.
"Yes, I get it, you want me off your ship." Aisha Clan-Clan stood up straight, hands behind her head, and grinned at her cousin. Kalin grinned back, trying to match her mischievous cattiness. "Two years and you still have your hair like that?"
Kalin shook her head and her two long tails of dark hair. "You're one to talk. You know that ring's starting to tarnish, right?"
Aisha grin only grew as she passed the two impatient officers. "Yeah, but I don't wear a bodysuit."
"Remember that," she snickered. "It's been…two years, right?"
"At least." Aisha seemed to scan her with one eye, stopping at her chest. "Surprise those things haven't started drooping yet."
Kalin gave her a loving shove with one arm. "I see living with the Terrans hasn't helped your teeth."
Aisha ran her tongue over her pronounced canines, then smiled less mischievously. "Hi Kalin."
"Hello Aisha."
"Are you two quite done?" Kunono blurted out impatiently. He was there when the ship's crew slammed shut the door into the airlock behind them, their last stop off the merchantman.
Kalin raised an eyebrow. "What's his problem?"
"Who the hell knows? They're all weirdos," Aisha replied as she caught the backpack tossed to her. She peered inside and, as expected, found an identical fighter pilot flight suit, in white, blue and green rather than white, blue and magenta. She dropped the pack and began undoing her shoulder guards.
Kunono's executive officer turned to see his captain reenter the bridge and sit in the station next to him. "Well?"
"They're about to disembark."
"Thank the God of the Ctarl-Ctarl," he muttered dramatically. "Do you think it's impossible to be reassigned from the Heifong trade routes, somewhere farther away from the Empire. Or her?"
He scratched his cheek. "You know, it is that Empire that pays us a great deal of money to take this ship back and forth across the border with valuable cargo." He then rested propped his chin against his hand. "But I really could do without ever being drawn into the schemes of Aisha Clan-Clan again."
The two men sat in silence before Kunono pressed his hand against a switch at his station. "Have Lady Kalin and Lady Aisha disembarked the ship yet?"
In the airlock, it took almost ten minutes for Aisha to put her long hair into a different hairstyle that would fit inside the flight suit's helmet, as well as change out of her minidress, breastplate and leggings, and store those articles, along with her hair ring, boots and shoulder guards in the pack.
After zipping up and pulling at the uncomfortably tight collar, Aisha glanced around her arms. "Where's the vacuum switch?"
"Left wrist, under your chronograph."
"Huh?"
"Your watch, dear cousin."
Aisha blushed. "I knew that," she muttered, taking her left wrist and pressing on the large switch. There was a hiss of air and her life support system rapidly sucked the remaining air out of the suit—it shrank mostly under her narrow, muscular shoulders and biceps, as she demonstrated by flexing her arms back and forth noisily.
Kalin watched her muscles expand and contract underneath the suit, and briefly considered if, despite her advantage of height, she was the flabby one.
"Not bad."
"Probably beats the suits you wore with the Terrans," she replied, donning her helmet.
Aisha did the same. "I actually didn't spend as much time in vacuum as you'd think," she told her before confirming her conditioning with a thumbs up.
Kalin used the nearby control panel to empty the atmosphere out of the chamber before opening the outer door, and Aisha followed closely behind her to her waiting fighter, still grasped by the loading crane. They clamored into the tandem cockpit and the canopy closed behind them.
In the pilot's seat, Kalin powered up her controls, while Aisha leaned forward in the instructor's seat to get a better look past the seat in front of her. "Niburu Boribori, this is Captain…" she began, only to be cut off by the loud, audible clang of the crane releasing the ship.
"What did you do to them?" Kalin repeated.
"Nothing, I swear! They're just weirdos!" she insisted.
Kalin imagined she could feel the anxiety of the merchant marine crew as her fighter turned direction and accelerated away.
"Have you spoken to Uncle Dawid and Aunt Ayesha?" Kalin asked her as Aisha settled into her seat.
"Not since before I got my orders to return." By the tone of her voice, it sounded like Aisha had been dodging that particular issue. "I'm not sure what I'm going to say to them when I get back."
"Tell them the truth."'
"Oh, like you know what the truth is," Aisha moaned.
Kalin glanced at Aisha's reflection in one of her mirrors. "Actually, I meant something else entirely," she admitted with a deep chuckle, reaching into one of her belt's pouches and producing a small comm cube.
"What the heck's that?" she asked superstitiously.
"A comm cube from the Crown Princess Fatima Marin."
"What?" Aisha snapped, immediately reaching forward past the seat, groping ineffectually for the cube but instead mostly knocking around her cousin's helmet. "Give it!"
"So I'm wondering why the heir to the crystal throne would want to leave a private message for an ambassador plenipotentiary who's been out of the Empire for two years," Kalin surmised, easily holding the cube just beyond her reach in the cockpot.
"Give it give it!" Aisha barked.
With a laugh, Kalin let her snatch the cube out of her hand. Despite not having any means to actual play said cube—the fighter lacked the necessary system—Aisha clutched the cube between her gloves and stared at it through the glass in her helmet.
Kalin marveled at the silence as she prepared the ship to enter sub-ether space. "Welcome back, Aisha."
Terms to Know:
Baby Busters – Also called busters, they refer to people born in the Terran postwar baby bust that coincided with the economic collapse across the whole of the Orion Arm of the galaxy. In Terran space, the interstellar depression lasted past T.S. 160.
Ctarl-Ctarl Merchant Marine – Also called the Imperial Merchant Navy, it encompasses all civilian merchant vessels registered to the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire and is staffed largely by demobilized sailors and officers from the Imperial Navy. As such, it retains some military appearances, and operate in Corbono, Silgrian and Terran space.
Gravity Cycle – A basic system aboard large spaceships, making use of exotic matter to generate artificial gravity within the confines of a vessel.
Imperial Central University – Actually a series of institutions located throughout on the Ctarl-Ctarl homeworld, many active-duty military officers remain enrolled in it, taking periodic classes throughout the length of their commissions.
