Second interim, p.1
Second Interim, page 1
SECOND INTERIM
by
P.K. Lentz
Text copyright 2021 P.K. Lentz
All rights reserved.
The Story So Far / Cast of Characters
While investigating a derelict ship, the civilian freighter Lucifer’s Halo, captained by Mayweather Kearn, was thrown off-course by a catastrophic systems failure. Halo ended up at an unexplored system where its crew discovered what seemed to be a long-abandoned alien shipyard, the Artifact. After harvesting the main components from the engines of alien ships, Kearn returned to inhabited space at the planet Reissa.
The Reissans imprisoned Kearn and his crew and seized Halo’s cargo. The alien drive components became the basis for the translight drive, finally making possible faster-than-light travel, and the void engine, capable of converting dark matter into thrust.
Reissan authorities feared that the sudden introduction of FTL posed an existential threat to far-flung human civilizations marked by centuries of independent development. Thus was created the Interim, a body tasked with maintaining a monopoly on translight while ushering humanity between the eras of slower-than-light and FTL travel. The Interim’s Fleet would travel in newly commissioned voidships to research and evaluate the fitness of inhabited planets, and if deemed sufficiently stable and advanced, induct them into a peaceful Commonwealth. On worlds deemed unfit, Interim bureaus such as the Social Engineering Service would undertake covertly to guide its society toward eventual inclusion by methods that more often than not included assassination and slaughter.
Striking a deal to depart Reissa, Kearn left one member of his crew, Serenity Martijn (Mar-TEEN)—pregnant with his child against his wishes—behind as a prisoner on Reissa, where she was kept in hibernation. Exchanging his old ship and name for new ones, Kearn reneged on his deal and started a new life on the run from the Interim.
Almost 300 objective years later, the Interim picked up Kearn’s trail when three fugitives made his new ship, Lady of Chaos, their chosen refuge: Jilan Zerouali, a Commonwealth academic in possession of secret knowledge about the Artifact, along with Erich Fyat and Valerie Coleridge, assassins of the Social Engineering Service who had broken free of the mental controls the SES uses to ensure its operatives’ obedience.
Determined to kill or capture Kearn, the Interim revived Serenity, still pregnant with Kearn’s child, from hibernation to use as bait. With Fyat’s help, Kearn thwarted the plot and rescued Serenity. Lady escaped Fleet pursuit by employing a primitive translight drive built from parts Kearn managed to keep secret from the Reissans.
Meanwhile, a technological virus dubbed Embassy began to spread among citizens of the Commonwealth through the ubiquitous biotech implants known as neurilace. Though Embassy’s precise effects could never be determined, it coincided with a fear-driven shift in Commonwealth politics, culminating in the election of a new leader, Karina Althauser. Althauser initiated Freedom’s Reign, a military campaign to preemptively exterminate human civilizations that could one day pose a threat to the Commonwealth were they ever to obtain translight capability.
Aboard Lady of Chaos, Zerouali shared with Kearn the knowledge that had made her a fugitive. As a researcher on the Artifact, she concluded that the translight cores could not be the products of legitimate technological advancement but rather were ‘planted’ in our universe by some higher being or beings. Were evidence of this to spread, the Interim feared, its claims to a translight monopoly might be undermined and the stability of the Commonwealth threatened.
At Ona, a theocratically governed moon, Lady’s crew finds itself in the middle of a battle between an Interim voidship sent to cleanse Ona as part of Freedoms Reign, and a rogue ship, Whisper of Death, commanded by Daniel Sallat. Guided by a mysterious presence in Whisper’s systems, Sallat had previously saved several inhabited planets from destruction by Freedom’s Reign. At Ona, Sallat defeated the Fleet voidship, but not before the planet was bombarded. Lady’s engineer, Aprile, barely escaped Ona’s surface before its population was wiped out.
During Lady’s voyage to Ona, a fully-formed human body had grown out of a genetic sample Kearn kept in storage. It was Lisset Hawthorne, sole survivor of the derelict ship found by Kearn just before his seemingly accidental discovery of translight cores, hundreds of years earlier. Questioning the barely coherent young woman, Kearn and Zerouali learned of a conflict between Lisset and a power she calls the Six Hundred. Before they could get much more, Lisset’s body died in Kearn’s arms.
The encounter left Kearn and Zerouali certain that Lisset not only orchestrated Kearn’s improbable discovery of the Artifact, but also was the entity responsible for creating it and thus having given humanity the translight drive.
Upon the death of Lisset’s body, translight cores everywhere ceased to function, restoring the pre-Interim status quo of slower-than-light travel between disparate human societies.
During one such voyage, aboard Lady of Chaos, the child of Kearn and Serenity, conceived long before the Interim, is born at last.
Her name is Coura Martijn.
Chapter One
SEVENTY-NINE SHIP-YEARS AFTER THE END OF THE INTERIM
“Coura!”
At the sound of her name being called just after closing time, Coura Martijn looked up from the cartons of fruit before her. She knew the voice. It belonged to her friend Banhli—her ride home.
Today, unlike most days, Coura wasn’t eager to see her friend. She resumed repacking oranges as Banhli entered through the open front of the market stall.
“I just got my answer,” Banhli said. Her subdued tone gave away the news, which could come as no surprise to either of them: “Rejected. What about you? Did you hear?”
“Yes.” Judging by Coura’s lack of enthusiasm, one might have thought she’d got the same answer as Banhli, and not the opposite.
“And?” Banhli swiped an orange from Coura’s hand and chucked it into a box of plums in a show of impatience.
“Accepted.”
Coura spoke the word as though it had no meaning.
Banhli gasped loudly. She slapped at Coura’s hands until Coura dropped more fruit and had no choice but to stop working.
“What! That’s—that’s unbelievable! I knew you had a better chance than me, but—Are you serious accepted? You’re not kidding me, are you?”
“Nope.”
Still, Coura didn’t crack a smile. It was no act. In spite of having received the best news of her twenty-three standard years of life—subjectively speaking—she didn’t feel like smiling.
“And you’re just standing there, like some... some...”
“Fruit-stand girl? It’s what I am.”
Banhli grabbed Coura’s arms as though to shake her. “Coura! Why aren’t you happy? That’s messed up!”
Coura shrugged off her friend’s grip and resumed the work of closing up shop. “You know why.”
“Ugh, Cor-cor, you’re an adult. Your mom doesn’t own you.”
“I know that. Maybe you don’t have a conscience, but I do. I’m all she has.” Coura’s eyes started to sting for not the first time today, and she rubbed them. “I was planning to cry later. You’re ruining my schedule.”
“Does she know yet?”
“No. Let’s not talk about this.”
Banhli refused to oblige. “I can’t believe you’re about to cry. The Academy accepts a quarter of one percent! If your mom can’t be proud of you, then—”
“Shut up, Banhli! If you want to help, put those—”
Before Coura could finish, Banhli whirled and shouted out the open stall-front, “Hey, everyone! My friend here just got into the Academy!”
After a brief tussle that left some fruit rolling on the floor, Coura clamped her hand over Banhli’s mouth. Too late. A few congratulatory cries came back from what few shoppers and sellers remained in the closing marketplace.
“Don’t let her take this away from you,” Banhli urged. “You’re amazing, Cor-cor, and what you did is amazing. You’re going to go, right?”
“I... I don’t know. It’s not that simple.”
Banhli gasped again. “You spoiled bitch! I could slap you! The literal opportunity of a lifetime comes, and you’re all, Hmm, I dunno! What about your dad? Does he know?” Immediately, Banhli caught her error. “Simon, I mean. Sorry.”
Coura returned to the task of closing up the stall. “It’s fine. He’ll always be my dad.”
Sixteen years of being raised by Simon Ascher couldn’t simply be erased by the knowledge that her true, biological father was another man who, if he lived, was somewhere out in space.
About seven years ago, Simon had been the one to tell her the truth, against Serenity’s wishes. The betrayal had been too much for Ren to forgive. It was why Simon no longer lived with them, or even near them.
The splitting of her family was a high price to pay for the truth, but Coura was glad she knew. Her earliest, dream-like memories were of living on a starship. It was never a secret that her parents had been spacers and that she’d been born out there. It was why she didn’t look like most people here on Houdos.
What had been a secret, Serenity’s secret, was that even though Simon had raised Coura, she didn’t share his DNA. That had come from another.
The secret was Mayweather Kearn.
Her biological father appeared in a few hazy memories of Coura’s earliest childhood, but the truth was she couldn’t know what was real and what her mind had filled in since learning the truth.
She couldn’t picture Kea rn’s face.
Coura answered Banhli’s question about Simon: “No, I haven’t told him yet.”
“Do it. Maybe he’ll talk some sense into you.”
Outrage melted from Banhli’s face to be replaced by a sincere look of empathy.
“Seriously, Cor-cor, don’t make a huge mistake. I know she’s your mother, but that’s not enough. You don’t think I’ll miss you like crazy if you go? But I love you enough to want what’s right for you, not for myself.”
Coura found an excuse to turn away while focusing on the dual tasks of closing shop and holding herself together. She’d done well at the latter before Banhli had come in and started blathering true things at her.
“I know,” Coura said quietly. “She’s just not going to take it well. I can’t even imagine telling her that I’m... I’m...”
“Leaving? You want me to do it? Cause I will!”
“No! I’ll manage. I can do it. It’s just gonna be ugly.”
“Tell Simon first. He can help you break it to her.”
“It’s my responsibility, Banhli,” Coura said. “She’d take it even worse from him, anyway. Now just be quiet and let me finish up so you can take me home to get the nightmare started.”
“Nightmare...” Banhli muttered while Coura stacked up empty crates. “‘Oh no! I got something that ninety-nine-and three-quarters percent of everyone can only dream of. Poor me!’”
“Hey, that’s not—well, fair enough,” Coura admitted. “I should be happy. I am. I will be.”
After spreading tarps over the fruit, she grabbed her jacket and hand-com then hugged Banhli before they walked to her scooter.
“Thank you,” Coura said. “You’re a good friend.”
“I know.”
* * *
After reassuring Banhli she didn’t need backup, whatever that entailed, Coura walked alone through the groves of Martijn Orchard on the unpaved path to the residence. Before she reached it, she started slightly at the not-too-distant report of a rifle firing. But the sound didn’t stop her. Her mother wouldn’t be aiming at her.
Yet.
It was probably just another nermeet. Coura entered through the unlocked door of the two-story, flat-roofed dwelling that was big enough for six but currently only housed two: Serenity and Coura Martijn.
Another shot rang out. If her mother was shooting at vermin, she would be upstairs in one bedroom or another. Shedding and hanging her jacket, Coura tried to make no sound, so as not to hurry arrival of the encounter that couldn’t realistically be delayed. Upon entry into the house, the weight on Coura’s chest had increased substantially. The thought of climbing the stairs made it heavier still, but she forced herself to go to the base and set a foot on the first step.
She paused there, but only for a moment before summoning the courage to push on. If she didn’t, if she even went first to the kitchen for water to wet a mouth suddenly desert-dry, who knew what other excuses she might manufacture? Maybe instead of working up her courage, she would work to convince herself she had the acting ability to hide the news another day. Maybe she could claim a headache and go straight to bed.
Halfway up, the stairs creaked, as they always did, signaling the point of no return.
Serenity called out from somewhere up top, “Coura, is that you?”
Within the Martijn household, a different language was spoken than Coura used with Banhli and other Houdos-born. Outside, it was Dyaans. Inside, it was Galactic, the tongue of spacers.
“Yes, mom,” Coura answered. “Hi.”
Seconds later, just as Coura reached the second floor, Ren appeared, rifle in hand. She extended the weapon butt-first toward Coura. “Hello, sweetie. That nermeet is back, or another one. Come take care of it. You’re the crack shot.”
Accepting the rifle, Coura followed her mother into the guest bedroom. Dread caused her to walk numbly and in silence. If she felt anything recognizable, it was gratitude that her mother didn’t try to talk to her yet. She wasn’t sure she could have answered even a simple question like ‘How are you?’
Ren pointed out an open window overlooking the twilit tops of leafy apricot, plum and satris trees. “It was over there a minute ago.”
Mechanically, Coura knelt, put the weapon’s barrel through the window and sighted down it in the direction her mother indicated. As soon as she did, she understood the charade was over before it had begun. Even with her elbow propped on the sill, she failed to keep the rifle from shaking in her usually rock-steady grip.
Ren didn’t call attention to it right away. Instead, she granted Coura some time to make it stop. Coura tried, but in vain. Under pressure, she only shook more until finally left with no recourse but to lower the barrel, flick the safety on and draw the rifle back inside.
“I don’t see it, mom.” Leaning the firearm on the wall, she avoided Ren’s gaze. “Light’s pretty bad.”
After a brief silence, Coura’s mother asked the inevitable: “Something wrong, sweetie?”
Sitting against the wall under the window, Coura worked to distribute some moisture in her arid mouth. “I’m... anxious about something.”
Ren knelt and lifted Coura’s chin, forcing eye contact. Nervously, Coura regarded her mother’s face: the blue eyes, pale complexion, smooth black hair—all traits passed on to her daughter. Even if the Martijns hadn’t settled in a place where they looked different from everyone else, no one would have mistaken their resemblance, in spite of the various streaks of colored dye Coura often put in her hair. For now, it was ultramarine. If she was going to look different, she figured, she might as well call even more attention to it.
Even with a rifle within reach, Serenity wasn’t the kind of mother a daughter needed to fear. There was nothing scary or severe in Ren’s look. There never was, not even when she got mad. And right now, there was only love in her eyes.
That, and a hint of acknowledgment that what her daughter said next might be the knife in her chest she suspected was coming. Coura looked back, desperately wishing she could drop the blade instead of sinking it in. The tear she’d succeeded in holding back all day finally coursed down the side of her nose.
A gentle thumb smeared the wetness across Coura’s cheek. Ren drew a nervous breath and asked, “What is it?”
No reassuring preface, no term of endearment, just the bare minimum of words. Because she knew.
“I...” Coura started. There was no hiding it now, no changing course. “I got in.” She stared at the floor so she wouldn’t have to watch her mother wince as the words sliced her.
“Oh.”
For long seconds after that, Ren said nothing. Coura shut her eyes against new tears that sprang up for a simple reason: Her mother couldn’t even congratulate her, couldn’t even say she was proud.
Coura had expected as much, but couldn’t help holding out hope she’d been wrong. But she wasn’t. Selfishness was the blade that Coura’s mother pointed back at her, and it cut Coura deeply.
“That’s incredible,” Ren said belatedly, sounding exactly like she didn’t mean it. It was clearly only a prelude. “But... please consider staying here, sweetie. We have a good life. I love you.”
The sound of her mother’s plea distilled the red hurt in Coura’s heart into black rage. She didn’t hide it as she looked back up at Ren with tear-filled eyes.
She hadn’t planned to scream at her mother. She hadn’t planned anything, but in retrospect, she should have known that even though they never fought and almost never raised voices at each other, this particular interaction could not have ended any other way. The wall between them was such that you could pretend it didn’t exist, most of the time. But so thin was it that even a well-placed look could bring it down.
This day’s knives were more than enough to do it in. From Coura’s side, fury came spilling forth.
“How can you be so selfish?” she raged. “You’re my mother! You’re supposed to be happy when good things happen to me! You’re supposed to want good things for me!”
Shutting the open window against eavesdroppers, Ren received the berating from her daughter with panic on her soft features. “Coura, please—”
“No! You want me to stay here and do nothing, be nothing! You want me to die in that fruit stand and never do anything that matters! Do you know how much you’ve messed me up, mom? I was even hoping for a no from the Academy, just like you were—don’t deny it—because then the choice wouldn’t be mine. I could keep on doing nothing and being nobody, just like you want for me!”
