Spoiler alert: This is the beginning of the 9th book in the Reckless Faith series. You may read the prologue here: https://devonai.wordpress.com/2024/10/17/reckless-faith-ix-prologue/

The Pit of Vipers was a claustrophobic space set apart from the main concourse of the Serpent, found down a flight of stairs and through a dim corridor barely large enough for a Rakhar to pass without ducking. Once inside, a patron would find a series of chambers that branched off every ten meters, with those spaces set in a distinctive four-leaf clover pattern. Each alcove offered a choice of gambling, drugs, and/or a host of other vices. It was the sort of place that attracted only those just as willing to accept having their limp corpses purged from an airlock as they were to draw their next breath, either through desperation or boredom.

Suffering from neither of those problems, Madet Peschiri didn’t want to be there at all. It was only in pursuit of the cause of the damage to the water storage tanks on the Fortuna that he ventured there. So far, his investigation had revealed nothing, and despite the generous allowance given to him by his superiors, his expenditures had done nothing but unjustly enrich a few residents with the presence of mind to tell a half-believable story. Still, enduring a cacophony of discordant musical tracks, accompanied badly by drunks who believed they were talented crooners, and a nearly-stifling atmosphere of tobacco smoke and who knew what else, Madet was left longing for clearer, more peaceful air.

He was ready to flee the ad-hoc labyrinth, and had made his way back to the central hallway, when he noticed the arrival of Biggles and the newcomers known as Cane, Becky (or some homophone thereof), and Richter. They consulted with the man that passed for a concierge for such a place, then disappeared into a room that Madet knew as a venue for card games. A small voice in the back of his head encouraged him to eavesdrop on them, but the strangers had arrived after his problem had begun, making it highly unlikely that they had anything to do with it.

Despite his certainly that the newcomers weren’t saboteurs, he couldn’t help but linger by the hastily-hung red velvet curtains and eavesdrop on the conversation. Cane had quickly earned himself a seat at a game of Five Gambit, offering something he called a Liberator as an ante. Though Madet didn’t know who else was at the table, he had to assume it was a handful of the Pit’s regulars. If Cane’s companions had any desire to participate, he didn’t hear them say anything. Cane evidently knew how to play, as all Madet could hear was the dealing of cards.

He exited the Pit, and walked down the main drag of the Serpent. Ben, a Carcali man, caught his eye and gestured toward him. Madet approached him. Ben owned a used electronics shop, and offered for him to come inside. The shop smelled like soldering metal. He found a place to sit among the collection of what appeared to be obsolete junk, and Ben took up a spot behind the counter.

“I assume our deal is still in place,” said Ben.

“It is. What’s going on?”

“Some of those people who were released from quarantine visited my shop earlier this morning. They were asking about an SRC transceiver. I told them, of course, that if I ever had one for sale, it would have been purchased long ago.”

Madet nodded. “Indeed. Did they say why they needed it?”

“No, but they did ask me if I had the technical skill to fix one.”

“And your response?”

“I said maybe, depending on the model. Then they asked where other than the Kestrel they could access one. I gave them the obvious answer: the other three ships.”

“And nothing else.”

Ben scowled. “Look, man, I don’t know why Strouth has never followed-up on his questions to me, or if his transceiver was fixed by someone else. Despite that our relationship is strictly transactional; I have honored it, even if certain things were implied rather than stated.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to…”

“Yeah, you did. It’s fine. I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing. In fact, I’ll even do you a favor, though my gut tells me not to. Everyone on the Serpent knows that the Kestrel went to Ibnal’saffar, and that the sudden comingling of our new guests is not a coincidence. If I were you, I’d reconsider letting them roam around without an escort.”

“That’s not my decision, and it’s a little late for that anyway.”

“Okay. I think we’re done here.”

Based on the expression on Ben’s face, Madet thought it best to leave. He stood up and exited to the concourse. He was divided on where to go next. While he had a small piece of info to relay to Strouth, it hardly seemed worth his time. He leaned up against the bulkhead, and immediately regretted doing so, as at least a decade’s worth of grime smeared onto his shoulder. Cursing, and resisting the urge to touch the mess on his favorite jacket, he almost missed the passing by of John Scherer, Ray Bailey, Malthus, and Kyrie Devonai. He stumbled forward, his heavy footfalls betraying his presence to them, and they stopped to look at him. Madet glanced around to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Peschiri,” said John.

“You people are making my life more difficult than it needs to be,” he began. “Your recklessness is drawing unneeded attention. You already know we’ll be at Tengshe soon enough; why can’t you just mind your own business until then?”

“Reckless is the right word,” replied John. “Anyway, Captain Strouth strongly implied that we had free rein of this place. Biggles said nothing to the contrary, either. If there are rules we’re not aware of, please, elucidate us.”

“It’s just that after all you’ve been through, I had hoped you’d be content to lay low until our next port of call.”

Kyrie said, “You were there for that conversation. You already know we have people we want to contact. I think it’s time you level with us about the SRC situation.”

Madet huffed in frustration. “Between what Strouth told you, and your conversation with Ben, I think you have your answer already.”

“The problem,” began Ray, “is that an SRC transceiver isn’t exactly a super-complicated piece of technology, relatively speaking. The Serpent has four ships with functional FTL drives, which are a lot tougher to keep running than a radio. We’re asking questions around here because all of the excuses we’ve been offered so far sound like bullshit.”

“You’re not going to get the answers you want from me.” Madet folded his arms across his chest. “Either take it up with Strouth, or wait until we get to Tengshe. And if you choose the former, don’t be surprised if you get confined to quarters for the rest of the trip. Is this place really so bad? You can get anything you want here, as your friends Venator, Kitsune, and the guy with eight fingers have already figured out. Shit, I can get you some stuff that’ll have you chasing dragons until you forget your own name.”

“That sounds nice,” said Malthus.

“You know what, forget it. I’ve already said my piece. You can put two lapras together but you can’t make them mate.”

Without another word, Madet walked away.

_____

“That guy should take his own advice and smoke some weed, or something.”

John’s comment came after he and his group had seated themselves at a nearby café. The tables were outside the café, on the concourse, and while they didn’t know if a waiter would approach them, they weren’t interested in purchasing beverages. Amidst the bustle of noontime activity, it seemed to offer a good place to have a conversation, albeit in low tones. They had been able to gather some intel about the water situation on the Serpent easily enough, mostly by just listening to chatter on the street.

While Captain Strouth had implied that the Kestrel’s trips to Ibnal’saffar were a routine resupply mission, they had since learned otherwise. Something had happened to the main storage tanks for the convoy, necessitating repairs and a fresh source of water. As chief engineer, this was undoubtedly the source of Madet’s stress. Exactly what had happened to the tanks was unknown to the residents there, or at least anyone John’s group had overheard. However, superstition about Ibnal’saffar and possible consequences for visiting it were a very popular topic.

“He’s right, though,” replied Kyrie. “Waiting another three weeks to get out of here isn’t the end of the world. We should just lay low and enjoy ourselves with whatever funds Venator is about to win for us.”

“I agree,” said Malthus. “I’m just glad to have basic luxuries back.”

Ray nodded. “What concerns me is that Strouth mentioned that he hoped some of us would decide to become permanent residents. After the story we told him, how could he think any of us would want to stay here?”

“It’s vaguely ominous, for sure,” said John. “While I’m sure we looked like space hobos when we first met, he knows we were on a mission that got interrupted. Malthus, you’re the only one I can imagine deciding to stay here.”

Malthus scoffed. “I’ll take planetside and fresh, open air for the rest of my life, thanks.”

“Of course. Sorry.”

“We’ve managed to gather a lot of intel in just half a day,” said Kyrie. “I say we keep our mouths shut and act like any other resident until we have a reason to do otherwise.”

The sound of drums in the distance met their ears. As the noise drew closer, the crowd on the concourse moved to the sides, leaving a clear path in the middle. A group in purple robes was coming through, some with drums, and others with wooden signs in an unknown language. They had hoods pulled up over their heads, so it was difficult to see what race they were or any other commonality between them. Though apparently being respectful of the procession, other than moving out of the way, most people continued what they’d been doing before. John and his team watched them pass by until they were out of sight.

“I haven’t heard anything about a religious sect here,” said John.

“Yeah,” said Ray. “It hardly seems like the type of place for one.”

A Carcali man wearing an apron came out of the café with his hands on his hips.

“Are you going to order anything?” he asked. “You have to come inside to order. Otherwise stop taking up table space out here.”

“We’ll be on our way,” replied John. “Who were those people that just passed by?”

“You must be part of that group that was in quarantine. They’re the Order of Andromeda. They’re ascetics or something like that. They keep to themselves except once a day to march down the concourse.”

“How long have they been here?” asked Kyrie.

“Not that long, actually. A year or two. They grew from a single man who either founded the cult or brought his beliefs with him. New members immediately take an oath of silence so I can’t tell you which.”

“Cult?”

“Cult, sect, whatever.”

Ray asked, “What did their signs say?”

“No fucking idea. I don’t recognize the script.”

“Has anyone ever changed their mind and left the group?”

“One woman, Helena, she owns the bar across the street, Nepenthe.” He gestured at the storefront. “Even though she’s moved on, she still takes her vow of secrecy seriously. I wouldn’t bother trying to ask her questions about the cult. Anyway, order something or move along.”

“It’s lunchtime,” said Malthus. “This place looks as good as any, why don’t we stay?”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I meant that we haven’t tried any of the establishments here yet.”

“Fine. Come inside to order.”

__________

Colonel Colette Brockway drove her car down a dark and desolate road that snaked its way to a far corner of Malmstrom Air Force Base, Montana. She had already passed through several layers of security before being allowed to continue, and while her destination appeared to be nothing but a wide, empty field with a few outbuildings, she knew better. Underground was a decommissioned missile silo, and above it, hidden by an invisibility shield, was the Valkyrie.

The ship, which was quite close to being able to make its first test flight into space, was an almost exact copy of the other two V-series ships that had preceded it. A full battleship, the trio, along with Colette’s own ship, the Percheron, would fare well in protecting the Earth from smaller threats from beyond their solar system. The Valkyrie was not to be the last of its kind, but once it was completed, a new design would go into production; a ship meant to fill the gap between a true fighter like the F-40 Warhawk II, and the cruiser class of the Percheron. It would be more like the Reckless Faith than anything else, an irony not lost on Colette and her crew.

For now, the excitement over adding the Valkyrie to Earth’s fleet was palpable, despite the fact that it had to be outfitted with the same Cooper engine as the others. While their scientists had discovered how to greatly increase their production of the special breed of neptunium they so desperately needed, a true Umberian FTL drive would have to wait until the next ship off of the production line. There were just a few other things to work out first, one of which was the reason for Colette’s visit.

Strapped into the seat next to her, as well as two in the back, were three carriers containing a total of nine eight-week-old kittens. Though they were totally unremarkable as far as kittens go, greatness might await one or more of them. Every one of their ships needed a sentient being to occupy the orb at its center, and they were running awfully short of human volunteers. Though Colonel Drake Campbell’s consciousness had been successfully integrated into the Vanguard upon his death, two further human subjects on the Vigilance had not. It was then, after carefully analyzing the data about the emergence of Friday’s sentience, the cat aboard the Reckless Faith, that Christie Tolliver had suggested using a cat instead of a human.

It was because of this that the brain of the Vigilance was occupied not by a person, but by a three-month-old tuxedo cat named Renée, plucked from a nearby shelter. While the physical orb itself was still doing the heavy computational lifting, Renée provided the ability for the crew to have a verbal conversation with the orb, a detail that preceding crews had found indispensable. So, the search had begun for a backup for Renée, as well as two viable candidates for the Valkyrie. Renée had been the third kitten to be so tested, with the first two failing to reach the level of aptitude required. If none of the nine that Colette was escorting made the cut, they’d start over again with a new batch. Fortunately for all of the unwitting candidates, the testing and training was harmless.

Colette parked her car and approached one of the outbuildings, which was the entrance to the silo, and made contact with the Security Forces personnel at the door. She had her ID checked and retina scanned yet another time, then asked the guards to help her unload her cargo. One of them volunteered to carry two of the carriers of tiny screaming furballs, while she grabbed the other. They entered the building, descended an elevator to sub-level 3, and disembarked. This was the main research level. Like the similar facility in New Mexico, the scientists and engineers here were working on several different projects.

Colette and her charges made a right turn and entered a room that had been named the Companion Laboratory. They brought the carriers to a fenced-off area that contained food, water, litter boxes, beds, and about a hundred toys. Also there were Elijah and Elisha, the two rejects that had quickly become beloved pets in the silo. While the pair were free to roam most of the other areas, they had been brought in to ease the transition of the kittens into their new home. As hoped, once the kittens were free from their cages and had begun to explore the area, the older cats took to them as if they were kin. Colette said hello to a woman named Tina, the NASA flight veterinarian assigned to the silo.

“You have the best job in the EDF,” Colette said, smiling at the scene before her.

Tina grinned. “I have to agree, though we do have a lot of work ahead. How are things on the Percheron? Are you enjoying being in command?”

Colette grabbed a rat-on-a-stick and got the attention of a couple of kittens. “It’s fine. I wish I hadn’t gotten there the way I did, but I’m proud of my ship and her crew.”

“How’s it going with Christie?”

The rat jingled as the kittens clumsily attacked it. “No change. Her android is still gathering dust in the cargo hold. At least she still chooses to present herself as human in video calls. Other than that, she prefers to stay in the orb.”

“After everything she’s been through, I can’t say I blame her.”

“She would be the last person to admit that her state is in response to trauma, but what other explanation is there? Though I’ve been party to plenty of my own horror, I can’t imagine giving up my humanity in response.”

Tina nodded solemnly. “Me neither. Well, assuming the Percheron survives whatever the galaxy has to throw at us, she has the rest of eternity to figure it out. That’s something most of us won’t have the luxury of doing.”

“I’m well aware.”