Ofira

Archives Volume 2519

 

Ofira was called to the Command Center to answer Commander Dard’s questions about the brothel she operated. Though six stations for crewmen existed, Ofira noticed they were all empty. Only Dard awaited her, for which she was grateful. Her business shouldn’t be blatant in everyone’s consciousness.

Without preamble, the portly command began. “Your employees are a bit too blatant.” He scowled, but a sense of unease colored his words. “Everyone knows, but they don’t want it flaunted.”

Ofira nodded, looking out the vast portal into star-speckled infinity. Somewhere out there were the defensive platforms which protected the star system of Tihas from raiders and pirates.

And the Avudelians. According to reports they were headed toward Tihas, and fear spread before them.

“Do you hear me?” Dard snapped.

After shaking off the awe of the vista outside, Ofira said, “Yes. It’s only that I’m always impressed with the immensity of the universe.”

The commander wasn’t deterred. “The entrance there,” he pointed in the direction of her salon, “has a rendition of Breboa’s wife, a clear sign of what your business is!”

Ofira was positive nobody was offended except Dard. This meeting seemed an overreaction to the situation. Maybe he was worked up about something else, like fear of the Avudelians. They’d crushed all opponents. So far.

Ofira wondered if Dard was a bit of a prude. Probably worshiped Sidu. Besides, Ofira knew Breboa and his wife, despite being quite real, weren’t ultimate, so who would be hurt by putting her symbol there? “Have you received any complaints?”

Dard swayed, as if dizzy, and grabbed the back of a crewman’s chair. He sat, sweating profusely, and pivoted to face her. “Yes.” He made a sign behind his back which Ofira saw only half way. Thumb and index finger squeezed together, with middle finger reinforcing the index, symbolized the pinching off of life-giving fluids.

Ofira nodded. Certainly Sidu. As for complaints, there would only be one, and that by the commander telling himself he was offended. “I see. Perhaps I can do something to placate the offended party.”

Avarice might be Dard’s motivation. She sent a communication to the station’s AI. <Kamor, is he looking for a bribe?>

<I’m duty bound to not answer that question,> he sent back. <Regardless of the answer I cannot tell you.>

Ofira’s gaze went to the scene outside again, toward where the invaders would come from. After a moment the commander snapped a control and the portal switched to a desert scene from a fictional canister habitat. Nobody had succeeded in building a canister – yet.

Ofira decided to try offering him money. “Maybe ten thousand credits would help ease the complainant's conscious.” She had the money, but barely.

Dard stood so violently the chair he’d been sitting in toppled and shot from the control panel to the door leading to the commander’s office. He turned an apoplectic visage to Ofira. “You’re trying to bribe me?” A sheen of sweat erupted from his forehead.

Ofira held up placating hands, but before she could speak a minor alarm bleeped. “What is that?”

The commander switched the portal to a sensor hologram. A fuzzy mass approached the Yardain Wall from the opposite side. “The Avudelians. They’re here.” Dard’s expression turned to panic. “They’ll kill us all!” He grunted in pain and clutched his chest. Face flushed, eyes bulging, he collapsed to the deck.

“Calling a medical team,” Kamor said. “The commander has died. Massive coronary. They might save him if they hurry.”

For five minutes Ofira stood aside, staring at Dard’s lifeless figure, wondering what was happening. How could a medical team take so long to arrive? Shouldn’t there be someone closer for this sort of thing? Where was the crew? Someone needed to be in charge, and Dard wasn’t going to be for quite a long time, if ever.

Above all, Ofira wondered if she’d be blamed.

Kamor intoned, “Commander Dard is beyond rescue. As you are the only other person present, command of station 34E997A is transferred to you until further notice.”

The medics arrived and cut Dard’s blue shirt apart so they could work on the man, their first step taking a blood sample.

Ofira argued against taking command. First off, she was a woman. Kamor laughed at the self evident nature of the argument, but otherwise ignored it. Secondly, there had to be a second in command.

“According to my training,” the AI said, “anyone invited into the Command Center is a candidate for command, pending other qualifications. That’s only you. If a janitor was here, they’d be disqualified due to lack of experience – the second metric in your favor. You’ve kept your business operating with twenty employees, so you know how to command. Thirdly, the current crew would have been better candidates, but none of them have been on station for even six months. The most seasoned of the lot still struggles with which way gravity pulls.”

Kamor sent Ofira all the command codes she’d need. They were stored in her memory while she watched the medical team working to revive Dard. Injections, compressions, even electrical shock, nothing brought him back to life.

The crew arrived. No virtual name tags were presented, so she didn’t know their names. Kamor insisted he’d been unable to contact them earlier, which seemed unlikely to Ofira. These six were closest? And it took twenty minutes to get here? Couldn’t they have crossed the entire station in that time? And all of them were unreachable at the same time? None of it seemed plausible.

Long minutes passed while the staff continued to work on Dard. The crew sat at their assigned consoles and studiously ignored the commander and the medics. Finally they took him away to be recycled. Biological matter couldn’t be wasted. He’d end up being composted in some ring hab growing flax or cotton.

When Ofira remained standing behind the crew, they stole glances over their shoulders. She found it a trifle irritating. <What’s their issue, Kamor?>

<They’re asking who is in charge,> Kamor said, laughing. <I told them it was you but they don’t believe me.  Avio, the man on your right, thinks it should be him.>

<Then it’s time to set things straight.> Ofira spoke in a commanding tone, “It looks like the Avudelians have arrived across the Yardain Wall. Keep an eye on things. If the situation changes, contact me at once.”

None of the six had the courage to even acknowledge the order.

“I’ll be next door.” Ofira slipped through the door connecting the command center with the commander’s office.

Inside, there was room for an austere metal desk covered in the detritus of being in charge – actual paper, a mug half-full of cold tea, and writing implements. Ofira’s nose objected to the putrid stench of black licorice wafting from the tea and was grateful it was cold.

One corner of the desk was devoted to the entity Sidu – a shallow tray filled with sand upon which stood a thin humanoid representation of the entity, its right hand making the pinching sign. The left hand held a small scythe with which to cut down plants.

“Kamor,” Ofira said, “Is there someone who can take that away? I find him offensive.”

“I’ll have a staff member remove it.”

The desk stood at an angle in a corner, two straight-back chairs opposite the desk chair. A rather large portal, smaller than the control room’s window, dominated one wall to the right of anyone who sat behind the desk. An oval conference table with room for six dominated the rest of the room. She vowed to change the positioning of the furnature so she could look outside as she worked.

Ofira wanted more color, too. The Tupelo Tree green walls made her want to vomit. Perhaps Kiwi? Or maybe just a few potted ferns. They were nearly impossible to kill and would be more interesting than bare walls. They’d also help the life support system.

<Commander?> Even Avio’s internal voice quavered. <What should we do about the Avudelians?>

“He drew the short straw,” Kamor quipped.

<Is there something we can do?> Ofira asked, fully knowing the answer.

The man paused long enough to convince Ofira he asked the rest of the crew. <I guess not.>

<Then remain at your post and keep me informed.>

<Should we report to the king’s office?>

<You haven’t done that already?> Ofira asked. <Do so. Let me know if anything changes.>

“Just like a commander would say,” Kamor said. “You’re a natural.”

“Shut up.”

“Shutting up, Commander.”

“And have someone come in and clean this mess up.”

Ofira spend half an hour straightening things up and arranging things to her liking. Part of her wondered why she bothered, since she’d be replaced by the next day. Or the day after.

An orderly arrived. Maybe he should be called a yeoman, Ofira thought. His midnight blue shirt, with orange pinstriping along the cuffs of his sleeve, told her he was part of the permanent staff. A virtual name tag of Tigh Gerth floated in Ofira’s vision.

“C-com-commander?” Gerth stammered her title as a question, as if reluctant to defer to a woman.

“Gerth, I’d like you to get rid of some of these things I won’t be needing. You’ll need something to carry everything away, but when you go, take this tea away. It’s smelling up the room.” She shuddered.

“Right away, C-commander.” He plucked the cup from the desk and hastily retreated to the corridor, the hatch closing behind him.

While Ofira waited for Gerth to return, at least two hours, orders arrived from in-system to activate defenses the moment Avudel ships crossed the Yardain Wall. Eventually she gave up on waiting for Gerth to appear and stalked into the corridor to visit her girls.

In the packed salon, every display showed holographic sensor images instead of the expensive artwork she’d bought the rights to. A dozen men, with another dozen women, watched with slack jaws. Millions of Avudelian ships hovered a fraction of a light year away from the Yardain Wall opposite the Tihas star system. They were coming, and Tihas couldn’t stop them. Rumors told what had happened to Enban and Mikar when they’d attacked the cruising ships of Avudel. The reports stretched most people’s credulity, since local entities were supposed to be more powerful than foreign ones. Since Avudel’s Entity was able to defeat them, this proved which was supreme.

To be sure, none of the ships were large. Each was reportedly barely big enough to hold a family, but even pinpricks could hurt when a million were inflicted.

“What’ll we do, Ofira?” one of her girls asked.

“How would I know, Hebla?” Ofira’s acerbic response did little to chasten her. A woman had no standing with the king, despite her ad hoc command of the station. If married, perhaps a husband could find out something, but the trillions residing in the system would make his voice one among a massive chorus.

But Ofira had no husband.

Hebla appeared confused. “I heard you are now in charge. Doesn’t mean you know things?”

Ofira shook her head. “No, it doesn’t mean that.”

“What do they even want?” a client wondered aloud. “And what are they waiting for?”

The Yardain Wall was a region of tangled space which averaged about a light year thick. When the tangle writhed, the Wall could expand to more than triple that width, or thin out to nothing. More than likely they were waiting for a writhe. Ofira told him that, and he ignored her as if she hadn’t spoken.

After a half hour Ofira sent a message to all the girls. <Is anyone going to work today? If you serve nobody, you’ll not eat.>

One by one, as their in-eye display showed the message, the girls perked up and turned their attention to the men. Distracting them from the sensor holos took more effort than usual, but eventually the men were led off to private rooms down one of the two hallways.

Ofira breathed a sigh of relief. Without income she couldn’t afford to bribe regulators who could close her down. Even though profits were high, the bribes nearly matched that. Someday the king’s office would exert enough influence this far away to regulate her side business to death.

“Ofira,” the station’s AI called. “A prospecting ship is returning from the Machuv Cloud. They request permission to dock for inspection.”

“Granted. And thank you, Kamor.”

All the material inside the system’s terminal shock had already been harvested. Only the cloud of comets held unused resources which could be processed and used. Despite those who insisted star lifting could solve any system resource problem, nobody had found an economical way to pull the needed material from the star itself. To that end, prospectors went out daily to look for comets in the Machuv Cloud. Anyone trying to enter the system without approval would run afoul of a defensive platforms, of which there were more than a billion.

Ofira switched the monitor from sensor readings of the Avudelians to the approaching ship. The bulbous craft had a pimple of a control room and a proboscis of a docking tube protruding ahead of it. As the ship neared the station that pipette extended further. The craft’s AI docked them, and the station’s shielding extended to hold the craft in place.

“Kamor,” Ofira ordered, “after they’re cleared I’d like to meet with the captain.”

“Sure thing.”

“And connect me with security. Those men have been Out for months and may be a bit randy.”

Kamor confirmed the order, then Ofira spoke at length to the station’s peacekeepers.

***

As the station commander, Ofira exercised as much authority as any ship’s captain. Only the king’s administrators in the inner system could countermand anything she ordered, but with the communication lag of hours, they never did. That’s why her girls could ply their trade with only a modicum of restraint. That kind of business would never withstand the scrutiny of the inner system unless connected with a temple of Breboa’s unnamed wife.

Ofira entered the commander’s office and Covon Navre, captain of the prospecting ship, stood up from one of the straight back chairs. She closed the hatch and said, “Relax, Navre. I’m not exactly a stickler for protocol.”

“Couldn’t be,” Navre said, a backhanded reference to a woman being in charge. He sat again and stretched his legs out and gestured to the monochromatic bulkheads. “Not much for decorations, either. What’s the meeting about?”

Ofira sat in her office chair behind the gray metal desk, the top of which was empty now, so Gerth must have come back. “You may have heard there’s an Avudelian fleet across the Wall.”

“Avudelians?” Navre scoffed. “That bunch of nomads who ran off from Erub?”

“That bunch of nomads caused an economical collapse in Erub.” Ofira couldn’t believe Navre was that ignorant. Perhaps that was willful. “From what I’ve heard, they took every gram of precious metals from the whole Domain.”

“Hyperbole.” Navre interlaced his fingers across his flat belly. “There’s no way to actually do that. You really should have someone put up some kind of fresco in here.”

Ignoring the attempted change in topic, Ofira’s reply brought them back toward what she wanted. “Maybe it is an exaggeration, but exports from Erub stopped overnight, and they fed thousands of star systems in this whole galactic arm. When in the last few decades has the Erubite military been heard from?”

Navre frowned. “What are you saying? Besides the fact you don’t like color on your walls.”

Ofira leaned forward. “These Avudelians were slaves. They built the ring habs Erub was famous for, they planted and harvested the crops. They mined the cometary clouds of all those stars, and the Erubites were lost without their free labor. That’s why we don’t hear about Erub nowadays.”

Again Navre scoffed. “There were invaders from across the Great Tangle. They destroyed economies all over the galactic arm.”

“Yes, the Tangle Folk devastated whole star systems, but that doesn’t explain Erub. They had the best military in the galaxy.”

“Enough of the history lesson, Ofira. Why are you telling me all this.”

Ofira wondered if she detected a trace of dislike in the man. She brought up a small hologram of the Avudelian fleet. “There they are, right across the Yardain Wall, Navre. Millions of space ships, ready to invade. They’ve devastated every Domain which stood in their way, and now they’re two light years away from Tihas.”

“This is the most logical place to cross the Wall.” Navre still dismissed the notion of an Avudelian attack.

“True. I’ve been ordered to activate defenses the moment they cross the Wall.” Ofira stood, signifying the end of the meeting. “You’ve been informed. If you leave the system, it’s at your own risk. We won’t wait for you to return.”

Navre sneered and pushed himself to his feet. “I’m going in-system with a cargo of ore. It’ll be weeks before I go Out again. In the meantime, we’re taking some leave on the station.”

Nobody liked being dismissed so summarily, and Ofira was no exception. “Are you?”

Finally Navre’s expression grew serious, maybe even hostile. “With the commander’s permission, that is.” He bowed his head to show a minimum of deference.

“Granted. See to it your people aren’t too boisterous.”

A pensive Navre asked, “Are there areas which are off limits? I’m talking about places normally not prohibited.”

“For the moment, no.” Ofira guided her guest to the hatch leading to the corridor. “If your crew becomes too spirited, we may have to revisit that question.”

“Very well.” After a brief pause to look at Ofira’s bare walls, Navre said, “Seriously. You need some color here.” Then he turned away and sauntered down the corridor.

Ofira had no doubt the man’s crew would be visiting her unofficial enterprise within minutes.

She returned to the control room to monitor the Avudelian fleet.

If such a ragtag collection of space craft could be construed as a fleet. Still, they had accomplished miracles.

***

The largest room aboard the massive station was the cafeteria. With sage green walls and holographic scenery outside of false windows, the cafeteria was capable of seating a thousand at a time. As usual, it was packed.

With fifty thousand people to feed, keeping the place clean was a constant struggle. One table after another, in continuous rotation, was off limits for a deep clean. Otherwise they simply received a token wipe-down.

Ofira, as ad hoc base commander, for the first time used a small private dining room in a nook farthest from the serving line. She retreated there immediately to avoid getting cornered by the inevitable sycophants. She chose a seat in that nook hidden from the commissary at large.

Someone must have noticed Ofira’s arrival and been notified of her change in status, since a staff member brought her a plate of food. Now an appointee, Ofira no longer had to pay. Those not a member of the crew paid a high price. Shipping in enough food was a constant struggle. So was the removal of sewage, but that was used in part to buy the food.

The dish of the moment was a vegetable stew. A few shreds of meat, but more than that would be an indulgence. “Thank you,” Ofira said to the plump woman who had brought her food. Ofira suspected the woman was heavy enough that she did more than sample the cooking. That woman retreated without a word. Perhaps she didn’t like a woman commander any more than men did.

Ofira tried the stew. Typically bland. Few people wasted the effort to grow seasonings in the Tihas system. Bringing it in from other systems was prohibitively expensive. She wondered why nobody here on the station used container gardening to produce seasonings, seeing how much could be charged. There was one man whom she suspected of raising small plants, but she had no direct evidence.

Sipping another spoonful of broth, Ofira considered trying her hand at some horticulture. Surely she could siphon off enough fertilizer and other materials for a patch of savory, thyme, bay, maybe even something spicy.

“Commander?”

Ofira looked up to see Sinay, one of her girls. Sinay and the others would refer to her by her temporary title when in public. Only in the confines of her side business would they use her name.

“What is it, Sinay?” If the girls had a de facto leader other than Ofira, it was Sinay. For her to come to Ofira in the cafeteria meant something was going on. “Have something to eat. You can talk while we wait for the food.” She sent a message to the commissary’s node to have another meal brought. This one she’d be charged for.

Sinay sat across from Ofira. “The blue suits you,” she said, referencing the uniform Ofira now wore. Then Sinay looked out into the large room. “There are a pair of men in the salon.”

Laughing, Ofira said, “I’d hope more than a pair.”

“They don’t look like our regular patrons.” Sinay paused while the same woman as before brought stew.

“Thank you,” Sinay and Ofira said in unison. As before, the woman left without a word.

“What’s different about them?” Ofira asked.

“You know Obreth?” Sinay tried some of the stew, then blew on the spoonful and stirred it into the rest.

“Yes. Big fellow. Smells of garlic.” Breboa alone knew where that man found enough garlic to constantly smell of it. That was the only evidence the man grew garlic in his quarters.

“These two followed Obreth in, but acted like they didn’t know him.”

Ofira pondered. “Did anyone ask Obreth about them?”

“He said he’d noticed them in the agora on level six.” Sinay sipped some broth. “Obreth swore he didn’t know them, and I believe him.”

Ofira’s girls had to be good at reading a man’s body language. The occupation didn’t have much forgiveness built in. One woman could rely on the rest to warn her if some man didn’t seem safe to be around, but too many without the skill made the whole system dangerous.

“Were these two men dangerous?”

After swallowing, Sinay said, “Not unless beards are dangerous. They entered, looked around, loitered for a few minutes, then left. It’s like they didn’t know what the salon was for.”

Everyone on the station knew what the salon was for. A sigil of Breboa’s wife graced the main entrance and should remove any doubt. Nobody hid that purpose, though many simply pretended it didn’t exist.

“Kamor?” Ofira called out.

“Yes, Ofira?”

“Where are those two men Sinay mentioned?”

The AI paused. “One moment.”

Ofira finished her stew before the station replied. Sinay was halfway done and pushed the remainder away from her. Ofira was nearly offended at someone not finishing a meal she’d paid for. Then again, there was a reason Sinay was slender and Ofira wasn’t.

“They appear to be exploring. Neither of them are attempting to go where they’re not allowed, but they’re checking every entry.”

Ofira pondered a moment. “Where did they come in?”

“They came into the main docking area and were assigned an oriel.” The AI paused again. “According to sensor records they came from the region of the Yardain Wall.”

Sinay and Ofira exchanged a surprised glance.

Kamor continued. “They’re headed in the direction of their ship. Maybe they plan to leave?”

“Lock them down!” Ofira bolted for the cafeteria’s exit, elbowing people out of the way, yelling for everyone to make room for her. Eventually she cleared the mob and sprinted down the corridor toward the main docking facilities. She heard someone pounding after her, and at a corner managed to catch a glimpse of Sinay.

“Kamor,” Ofira gasped. “Which oriel?”

“G,” came the reply from an overhead sound inducer, indicating one of the smallest of the sixteen available docking areas. There were more than a hundred docking ports, only two score of oriels, and ten actual bays.

Ofira turned right, ran to the last intersection, and down the ramp to where the hatches to two oriels were across the corridor from each other. An observation port for G let her look inside as a small fish-shaped craft slid out the doors. She muttered an oath as Sinay caught up to her.

***

For days Ofira sat in the commander’s office and reviewed every sensor reading, every recording, and every shadow connected with the two strangers. She even took meals there, seldom acknowledging those who tried to engage her in conversation.

The men had done nothing, which in and of itself raised Ofira’s suspicion. Everyone had something to hide. That they didn’t produce electronic picks to open forbidden doors and hatches was suspect. Did they already know what was hidden from their sight? All they did was keep quiet and listen when others were around. Questioning people only revealed they didn’t notice the strangers.

At one point Ofira looked up from her desk’s new position and stared at the stars. They called to her in a way she couldn’t define.

“Maybe they had help,” Kamor said, interrupting her reverie. “After all, I wasn’t able to keep them from leaving.”

“If you don’t know already who helped them, how could we find out?” Ofira fumed. She itched to discuss the Avudelian invasion with them. Their Entity seemed greater than Breboa, and that spoke volumes. That the younger of the two men was somewhat attractive meant nothing. She’d lingered more than once on a holo frame of him.

Ofira stood, stretched, and paced the perimeter of the office. Perhaps Navre was right. That color of green did get tiresome to look at unless one kept busy. But it’s not like the salon, where she needed to keep a pleasant scene for the men to look at while waiting for their appointments.

The AI hesitantly said, “I’m not sure if this means anything, but at the same time you were running with abandon, Navre was in the Temple of Breboa.”

Ofira pondered. Their local entities did have some power. There were some who believed the stars themselves were entities, and that’s how they held back the interstellar medium. Certain tangle storms could come into star systems and disrupt transport and communication, but incidental donations to Breboa were supposed to keep the terminal shock in place. Everyone gave small coins to that end, dropped into a box outside the entrance to the temple. What harm could it do? Even Ofira dropped a bit of money in Breboa’s coffers from time to time.

“Do you know what he sacrificed, and what he was asking for?”

Kamor said, “AIs aren’t supposed to record that kind of information.”

Ofira stopped at the desk and sat again. “But you did, right?”

“Since it had to do with you and the well being of this outpost, of course I did.”

“Are you going to tell me, you collection of spare parts?”

The station’s voice conveyed humor more than any person’s laugh could. “A meat bag like you might not be able to handle what he asked for. Navre was irked at you, for some reason.”

“You know good and well why he was upset with me.” Ofira’s fingers tapped her frustration on the desk. “Out with it.”

“He promised half of his share of the cargo to, I quote, ‘Thwart the plot Ofira has going on right now.’ He dropped a clipping of pallum into the statue’s mouth where it disintegrated.”

“That’s an acceptance.” Ofira had personal experience of offerings not being accepted. In fact, none ever was for her. “Why does that have anything to do with the survival of the station?”

“If you were plotting something which would protect me, his sacrifice would endanger everyone aboard.” The AI actually sounded concerned. “I’ve been observing him since your meeting, and hadn’t decided on how much of a threat he was.”

“I appreciate your candor.” Ofira leaned back in the chair. “Where did those two men in the fish ship go?”

Kamor cleared his non-existent throat. “They headed In. Would they do that if they were Avudelian?”

“They would if they were spies.” Ofira asked, “Would you recognize their ship if it came back?”

“You have to ask?” Kamor chided.

The commander grinned. “Let me know the instant they show up on sensors, okay?”

“With a billion sectors, what are the chances they’d come back here?”

Ofira admitted Kamor had a point. Only to herself, though. No sense in the AI getting arrogant. She stared out her window and pondered.

***

The three minute walk to the salon took Ofira a full hour. Word had spread that she was in charge, so one person after another stopped to speak with her. One crewman wanted the right to more rations, a resident wanted lower prices for life support taxes, another thought he should have larger quarters. She’d have been upset with the delays, but it was part of being in charge of anything. Even a junior officer on a feculence transport would have the same issue, provided there were enough people aboard.

The door with a sigil of Breboa’s wife slid aside and Ofira entered the main salon. A pair of girls lounged provocatively on one end of the room, while five young men from a visiting ship waited at the other end for their appointments. For some reason a few of the girls were in much more demand than the others. Ofira never understood why. They were all beautiful.

The viewers were all set to sensor readings of the Yardain Wall and the Avudelian fleet again. At least business wasn’t being interrupted, Ofira mused.

The scan images hadn’t changed much since the fleet first appeared. Interstellar space swallowed up translight sensor energy, so any signal returns from two light years fell off to nothing. Only the fact that there were millions of ships in the fleet made them visible, a great fuzzy cloud at the edge of sensor range.

“How are things going?” Ofira asked Hebla, the darker of the two girls.

“It’s as if the men are nervous.” Hebla stretched in an enticing way. One of the five young men ogled, but the others ignored her. “We’ve seen more business than normal, as if they want to get what they can while it’s still available.”

The other girl, Vanle, shifted her posture to elicit another leer. “They’re more than nervous. They’ve all heard what the Avudelians have accomplished. Even if Erub wasn’t enough, everything since then would scare anyone. Especially when they’re parked in open space two light years away.”

“They want more action.” Hebla grinned, then whispered, “It’s good for our accounts.”

Ofira nodded, then activated a sound suppression system. Keeping her back to the men she said, “Kamor, what is the latest analysis of profits here?”

“Hebla is right. Income has nearly doubled since the Avudelians arrived.”

The darker girl grinned at the station proving her right. Vanle also smiled. They were all getting wealthier because of the increased visitation here. Ofira’s bribes wouldn’t increase, so everyone profited.

Ofira canceled the suppressor, but Kamor left it on as it said, “Ofira, the Avudelian spy is returning. So is Navre, about an hour behind him.”

Ofira turned to a corner and scowled. Navre was going to force her hand. That man was trouble. “When those two contact us for docking, have them fly Out for a few moments. When they’re out of view of Navre, have them dock in the biggest bay we have.”

Kamor acknowledged the instruction.

“I’m going to my rooms.”

***

Ofira found Sinay waiting for her in the spacious, wood-paneled living area of her personal quarters. The slender woman’s face was grim.

Sinay stood up from the divan she’d been seated in. “We have new orders from Tihas Statite.”

Taken aback, Ofira asked, “Why would you know and not me?” She lowered herself onto a comfortable chair and put her feet on a cushioned hassock. A wide portal, stretching nearly from deck to overhead, showed the starscape outside the station.

“Navre reported you to the king’s office.” Sinay glanced at the deck, as if she couldn’t keep eye contact. “They’ve told me to assume command of the station. They want me to put you in custody. They know about your bribes, Ofira. I think they were upset with not getting their share.”

“I see. The main temple wants their cut.” The former commander hesitated for a moment. “Navre is on his way here. They’ll put him in command, if they haven’t already.”

Sinay blanched.

“What’s the problem with him?”

Finally the new commander met Ofira’s eyes. “He wants me.”

Ofira laughed. “All men want you. We charge a higher price for you than anyone else.”

“He wants to own me.” A rictus of hatred flashed on Sinay’s face for just one moment. “I’ve sacrificed many times, and with valuable items. Breboa spoke plainly to me. ‘Navre will one day rule over you. For now, I’ll keep him at bay.’” Sinay shuddered.

“That day won’t be today,” Ofira said. “Kamor? Are you still answering me?”

The sound inducer overhead gave a mechanical chuckle. “Nobody’s told me not to. As far as I’m concerned you’re the station commander.”

“How far away are the Avudelian spies?”

“Spies? I thought we didn’t know they were spies. We don’t even know they’re Avudelian.” Another laugh from Kamor.

“Assuming they are, how far away are they?”

“They’re about to dock, according to your earlier instructions. That bay has an oriel set aside for repairing small ships, and we’ll have them settle there. Of course we’ll have to close it off to sequester them.”

Ofira stared at Sinay. “Do you intend to follow your orders?”

“I have to, Ofira. I don’t have a choice.” A flare of red crept up Sinay’s neck. “I don’t want to, but I must.”

“Very well. May I make suggestions?”

“Please.” Sinay gasped the word as a sigh. “I’m not a commander. I’m only here to follow you.”

Ofira nodded. “Don’t tell anyone of these orders. Let me go to the temple to seek Breboa’s guidance.” She couldn’t help but wonder why she would do that. Perhaps habit.

“Also,” Ofira continued, “keep the Avudelians . . . suspected Avudelians,” she amended, knowing Kamor would correct her, “behind the bulkhead in their bay. When I’m done in the temple, put me in custody with them.”

“Consider it done.”

***

The darkened temple in the bowels of the station had no occupants when Ofira arrived. Unless invited, witnessing another’s sacrifice was considered gauche. People had been ostracized for violating that code.

Passing the initial offering box, Ofira entered the temple. She set an indicator to let others know someone was within and giving a sacrifice. She approached the statue and knelt. “Lord Breboa, I seek a favor.”

The steel statue was a representation of a normal human male from the waist up, two meters tall. The arms were stretched in front of it, as if reaching to hold something. This is where sacrifices were placed. If accepted, the items were engulfed in flames. A particularly devout sacrifice required the worshiper stand in those hands and place any items in the statue’s open mouth. If accepted, it would vaporize. If not, the worshiper would burst into flames and die.

Stand forward. The words thundered in her mind. Present your sacrifice as a true devotee.

Ofira collapsed to the deck in fear. She felt as if her bones would fall apart, and maybe they already had, since she could not stand. “Lord!” she cried. “Why do you speak now after all these years?”

That is not for you to know. Present your offering! Now!

From a wallet Ofira withdrew a credit chip holding all her material wealth. She scrambled to her feet and climbed into the hands which seemed to reach out to her. They lifted her so she could reach the gaping maw of the statue, and she threw the money in. The chip bounced off the teeth and fell back into her hands.

Why do you linger? Are you not a true worshiper?

Again Ofira tossed the small disk, and again it ricocheted out.

You are false. You will die.

At those words the statue’s hands erupted into flames, roaring around Ofira and cloaking her in a conflagration. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed again.

Then Ofira realized there was no heat. She wasn’t on fire, didn’t burn, and remained untouched. When the flames faded the voice in her head accused, You have turned to Him, haven’t you?

“I don’t know what you mean,” Ofira said. “Who is ‘Him’?” She received no answer.

Shaken, but otherwise unharmed, Ofira climbed down and left the the temple behind. There was no reason to be there, and no reason to return.

 

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