Saturnalia, p.1
Saturnalia, page 1
SATURNALIA
T.W.M. ASHFORD
Copyright © 2023 by T.W.M. Ashford
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Any characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Tom Ashford
DARK STAR PANORAMA
The Dark Star Panorama is the shared universe of sci-fi stories in which Saturnalia takes place. Other series include Final Dawn and War for New Terra.
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BOOKS IN THE “DARK STAR PANORAMA” UNIVERSE
Final Dawn Series
The Final Dawn
Thief of Stars
A Dark Horizon
The New World
The Tin Soldiers
Ghost of the Father
The Stellar Abyss
The Edge of Night
The Fatal Dark
War for New Terra Series
Sigma
Iron Nest
Royal Blood
Standalone Novels
Saturnalia
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
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SATURNALIA
CHAPTER
ONE
Holly Bloom sat bolt upright in her swivel chair as soon as the email landed in her inbox.
It wasn’t addressed to her. It wasn’t technically addressed to anyone, in fact, only the anonymous audience labelled Upper Management. Holly had got Talbot down in IT to set up an alert on her computer so that any communication concerning the Saturnalia space station got flagged for her attention – including any confidential correspondence regular employees weren’t supposed to see. She wasn’t technically breaking any company rules, but she highly doubted Flynn Industries would share her entrepreneurial outlook on the matter.
Normally she deleted the emails almost as quickly as they appeared. But not this one. This one tightened her chest and made her skin itch. It was only six words long.
saturnalia comms offline. send security team.
This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for.
Pausing only long enough to take a deep breath, she swiped the email from her company computer onto her personal data pad. Another company no-no. Everybody did it, though. It was the only way to stay on top of your tasks without permanently setting up camp inside the office. That this was the first time Holly had done it spoke wonders of her usual work ethic.
She rose from her cramped cubicle, ignoring the arrival of another urgent message that actually was marked for her attention. Brian Edwards glanced up from his desk opposite hers, then went back to lethargically prodding his touch screen with a pair of greasy, snack-stained fingers. Holly shuddered. Why humanity hadn’t developed affordable holo-screen technology yet was a mystery the world’s germaphobes continued to ponder.
Oh well. One way or another, she’d be out of this place soon enough.
Her supervisor’s door lurked at the far end of the office. It was closed to the rest of the floor, as always. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was locked. Neither did she blame her supervisor for keeping it shut. Who in their right mind would want an eight by eight grid of grey, laminate, chest-high cubicles filled with spotty, burnt-out corporate grunts for a view? There weren’t even any motivational posters pinned to the walls. The paper was too expensive.
She marched down the meagre aisle separating one cluster of booths from the other, clutching her data pad to her chest as if afraid one of her co-workers might catch a glimpse of its screen and steal her idea. Brian’s certainly wasn’t the last stare she received along the way. The bathrooms were in the opposite direction and anyone not at their desk was not contributing to the bottom line. Everyone was replaceable, as the company endlessly reminded them. If they didn’t want the job, someone else would gladly take it.
Holly paused outside the door. Last chance to bury this mad plan before she got into any real trouble. She could return to her desk, crack on with her work and nobody would be any the wiser.
No. She couldn’t let the last three years be for nothing.
She gave the door two quick raps with the back of her knuckles and then inched it open.
“Excuse me, Ms. Nicholson? Can I have a word?”
Her supervisor craned her already elongated neck to see through the gap, sighed like a deflating air mattress and waved her inside. Her windowless office was lined with fake oak panels and smelled strongly of artificial pine cone.
“Yes, Bloom, fine. Is this about the Leviathan report? It’s due today, you know.”
“I’ll have it finished by the end of business.” Holly found herself standing almost to attention in front of Ms. Nicholson’s desk. “No, this is about the, erm… the Saturnalia. You’re sending a team to fix their communications issue, right?”
“How do you know about that?” Frowning, Aria Nicholson gave her own workstation a quick check. “That order’s barely been in my inbox three minutes. Are you sticking your nose places it doesn’t belong, Bloom?”
Holly swallowed hard and tried to keep her hands from fidgeting.
“I was rather hoping I could volunteer for the assignment, Ms. Nicholson.”
“Volunteer? Why on earth would you want to do that?”
“You are sending an analyst, aren’t you?”
“Of course we are. How else is the company supposed to know how much this is going to cost us? I’m just questioning why you, of all people, should want the assignment. You’re not exactly the zealous type, let’s be honest.”
Aria Nicholson leaned across her desk and fixed Holly with an expectant glare capable of wilting the hardiest thistle. It was like staring into a heat lamp. Holly cast her eyes down to her shoes before she could stop herself and prayed she didn’t start sweating.
“There aren’t many opportunities to travel off-world for a woman in my position,” she replied, lifting her eyes slightly. “And, well… I was rather hoping it might elevate my position within the company. I’ve always fancied moving into the Defence division one day.”
Ms. Nicholson continued staring at Holly and tapped a manicured fingernail against the faux-leather mat covering her side of the desk.
“Hmm. It’s not a comfortable journey, you know. And you won’t get treated like a resident while you’re there.”
“I understand that.”
“I was going to send Glasspool. The boy’s been before. Knows his way around the station, gets on well with the administrator. Smart lad.”
Presently there came a knock at the office door. A spectacled man with fluffy pumpkin-coloured hair poked his head through the frame.
“You asked to see me, Ms. Nicholson?”
Their supervisor studied the young man without word, turned her attention back to Holly while chewing her bottom lip, and then waved Glasspool away.
“False alarm, Glasspool. Back to your desk.”
“Right you are, miss.”
The man eagerly retracted his head from the doorway. Holly’s stomach tied itself into a double fisherman’s knot. Was she actually being given the assignment? Not knowing whether to feel thrilled or frightened, she settled for mild nausea instead.
Aria Nicholson broke into a wry smile.
“I always knew you had the spark,” she said, waggling a finger at Holly with one hand and swiping through the messages on her monitor with the other. “One day, I told myself, that girl’s gonna realise her true potential at Flynn. Would sure be good to see another woman leading a team. How much do you know about Saturnalia?”
“The space station?” Holly pouted as she feigned ignorance. “Only what everyone else knows – it’s a haven for the hyper-rich that shares an orbit around Saturn with its moon, Titan. Founded by a conglomerate formed of the richest families on Earth. Wasn’t Flynn Industries the majority shareholder?”
“Second largest,” Nicholson corrected her, “but Albert Flynn, God rest his soul, was given charge of the shared assets, yes. These days most of the company’s focus is on constructing New Terran settlements, of course, but it also has contracts for the UEC military and we coordinate regular supply shipments to Saturnalia. You remember how much hassle the Bradley delivery caused us.”
“That was only last week. Is this comms blackout something we should be concerned about?”
“Not in the slightest.” Nicholson shut her eyes and shook her head. “Happens all the time. Something about the rotation of Saturn distorts the signal. Don’t ask me why – the company’s looking into it. Normally it sorts itself out after a few hours, but it’s been a full day since anyone heard from the crew. Could be a glitch, could be a comm array malfunction. That’s why we send a team in to check everyone’s safe and ensure those rich bigwigs don’t think we’ve forgotten about them. And while that’s going on, you compile a report on what really needs fixing and what it’ll cost the company. Still think you can handle it?”
“Seems no harder than my regular work,” Holly said, risking a shrug.
“Speaking of which,” Nicholson said, squinting at her monitor, “hand all of your ongoing projects to Edwards. You shouldn’t be gone more than three days. Four, tops. He can reassign them to you once you’re back.”
“All of them? When do I leave?”
“Six am tomorrow morning. Hammerton Spaceport. Can’t leave those VIPs waiting, Bloom. Now go on, get back to your desk. I can’t for the life of me figure out why you’d want to put yourself through the trip, but you won’t see me pulling the ladder away from a corporate climber.”
Holly smiled politely and turned to leave. She was already halfway through the door when Nicholson cleared her throat rather deliberately.
“Oh, and Bloom?”
“Yes?”
“Leviathan report. My inbox by five or I’m sending Glasspool.”
Holly shut the door behind her, listened for the satisfying thunk sound of its latch. She paused, pursed her lips and let out a long, quavering sigh of relief.
It was done. She could hardly believe it.
Three years, and she was finally headed to Saturnalia.
She hurried back to her desk. Though she lowered her gaze to avoid making eye contact with her colleagues, she could feel their beady-eyed scrutiny on the back of her neck as they asked themselves what she could possibly have been doing in Nicholson’s office for so long that wasn’t getting fired. Or, alternatively, what it was she’d been fired for.
The funny thing was, if any of them found out she’d been given the Saturnalia assignment they’d more likely feel sympathy towards her than suspicion. For all the mystique surrounding the luxurious and isolated space station, nobody wanted to go there. And not just because it was a joyless reminder of a world no mere mortal could ever hope to experience – the last time someone returned from an off-world contract, he spent almost as long in the district infirmary recovering from his travel sickness as he had on the trip itself.
Holly burrowed into her cubicle, collapsed into her chair and stared numbly at the blank screen in front of her. Her mind seemed equally devoid of content.
“So I’m pulling double-duty while you’re off travelling? Cheers, love.”
Brian Edwards gave her a deadpan glare from the cubicle across the aisle. Holly flashed him a sympathetic smile in return.
“Sorry, Edwards. Nicholson’s orders.”
“Hey.” He rolled his eyes and resumed systematically jabbing his monitor. “Rather you than me. I can’t even take the shuttle to work without getting car sick…”
Holly ran her hands along the length of her cramped, plastic desk and soaked in the three-and-a-half walls of her drab, fluorescent-lit cage. Regardless of how things went on Saturnalia, this might be the last time she saw it. Pity. She’d almost grown accustomed to the captivity.
She rearranged her desk as subtly as possible. She had little in the way of employee rights, after all – no chance to clear out her desk and perform the walk of shame with a cardboard box full of keepsakes cradled in her arms, either. The violet she’d planted in a disposable cup went to one side where she wouldn’t forget it.
From its spot tucked into the cubicle wall to her left she retrieved a photograph – an old-fashioned physical picture on glossy paper that had cost her almost a week’s wages. A waste of money, probably, but looking at it was all that had kept her sane those past few years. A much younger version of herself – she couldn’t have been more than four – sat and grinned next to her parents on the living room floor while her baby sister made a desperate bid for freedom on her hands and knees. Mum and Dad were gone now, had been for a while, but it still made her smile. She stood it upright against the makeshift plant pot.
And a flaking Flynn Industries-branded stress ball. It wasn’t technically hers, but it was sure as hell coming with her anyway. It was pretty much the only company benefit she got.
Holly was keenly aware that while specific computer activity wasn’t monitored – if it was, she never would have received the message about Saturnalia to begin with – but the company definitely had ways of ensuring its employees weren’t slacking off. She’d been back at her desk for five whole minutes and not so much as disengaged her screensaver. The black eye of the security camera installed above the corner of the corridor couldn’t have made the target of its obsession more obvious if it had winked at her.
Casting all thought of tomorrow from her mind as best she could, Holly took a deep breath, flexed her fingers and got typing.
The Leviathan report wasn’t going to write itself.
CHAPTER
TWO
No matter what she did, the vomit just kept coming.
“Is this normal?” Holly asked between retches. “I don’t know what I’m even throwing up anymore. It’s not as if I had any appetite for breakfast this morning.”
“Happens to everyone the first time,” Carlson said as he pried the bucket away from her. “Well. Almost everyone.”
“Here.” Through a blurry film of tears, Holly saw some sort of pill being proffered in her direction. “Take this.”
“My brain feels like it’s splitting in half.”
“Yeah, that’s cranial fluid shift. The capsule will help with that.”
Holly navigated the pill into her mouth and washed it down with a gulp of water sucked from a straw-punctured pouch. It hurt to swallow – she must have burned her throat up something rotten.
“Good. Now eat this.” The same woman handed her a protein bar. “It’ll boost your sodium levels.”
“And that’s a good thing, is it?”
“Yes. Trust me. Our pay gets docked if we kill the company analyst.”
Holly forced herself to take a bite from the protein bar. The silver-foil wrapper was considerably more attractive than the supposed “foodstuff” inside. It was like chewing nougat. Or a tyre. The only consolation was that the snack was so salty she was spared the ordeal of finding out what the strange artificial material was actually supposed to taste like.
Sure enough, by the time she crushed the empty wrapper inside her fist her migraine had devolved to a mere searing headache. And it felt good to have something solid inside her stomach, too. She only hoped the rest of her in-flight meals boasted slightly better flavour.
Holly was pretty sure they’d taken off less than an hour ago – she hadn’t exactly been in a fit state to count the minutes since – and already she was starting to regret volunteering for the trip. She’d arrived at Hammerton Spaceport an hour before the shuttle was scheduled to depart, which was half an hour more than she needed. Commercial interstellar space-travel wasn’t a thriving industry yet, and the security desk had registered, scanned and cleared her for the flight within fifteen minutes.
The sun had been but a soft yellow sliver on the horizon. The first cry of birdsong peppered the sweet, dewy air. With no private lounge available – only someone with a few ice cubes short of a Moscow Mule would order a beer immediately before take-off – Holly anxiously made her away to the designated launch pad on foot. Though, like most citizens of New Terra, she’d never visited the spaceport before, finding the correct shuttle wasn’t hard. There were only three. Far more ships frequented the facilities on the northern side of the port – military transporters and gunships, for the most part. But even then, the larger UEC battlecruisers had to be built and docked in orbit.
