Chapter 2
Wyodreth Antagean was sitting at his father’s desk when the blue-legged-and-mustard-coated DSOD people strode through his executive office door. There were five of them, three male and two female. Having done an obligatory stint with the DSOD right out of prep school, Wyodreth knew their type, and didn’t need to be told their ranks. He himself still held a reserve commission, though it had been a long time since Wyodreth had set foot onboard an active-duty warship. These days he was up to his neck in the family business—a task he found more challenging than anything the military had ever thrown at him.
As the five DSOD folk took up positions around the office, sidearms prominently displayed in pistol-belted, cross-draw holsters, Wyodreth had the distinct impression that his day would shortly be taking a turn for the worse.
He cleared his throat. “If you’re here to renegotiate military bulk-cargo rates—”
The oldest DSOD officer cut Wyodreth off. “Can this office be fully secured?”
Wyodreth eyed the man who had addressed him. “Yes. Why?”
“Do it,” the officer ordered, as one of the junior DSOD people went to activate the electronic lock on the door. Outside, Wyodreth’s administrative assistant kept glancing sidelong through the wall of glass—no doubt wondering why the military had taken a sudden interest in her boss.
Wyodreth gave his assistant a smile and a nod, then tapped the small control panel on the desk, which opaqued the glass and activated a localized sonic distorter to neutralize listening devices.
“This had better be good,” Wyodreth said testily. “I’m a very busy man. Since my father took ill, much of his day-to-day work has fallen into my lap. What can Antagean Starlines do for Constellar’s office of Deep Space Operations and Defense?”
The oldest officer removed a thin hardcopy folder from his impact-proof valise, and dropped the folder onto Wyodreth’s desk.
“Antagean has three Slipway-capable ships currently in dock,” the man said. “As of now, their itineraries are to be scrubbed. They’re being called up, per Article Nineteen of the First Families Compact. DSOD compensation terms are standard, and generous—with bonuses included. It’s all in the paperwork.”
Wyodreth stared at the officer for several seconds, then picked up the folder and opened it. Inside were sheets with the Deep Space Operations and Defense seal at the top, and the grand coat of arms of Starstate Constellar watermarked into each page. Scanning the verbiage, Wyodreth could see that the officer’s estimation was accurate: the terms were generous indeed.
But there was a second group of papers in the folder, also with a DSOD seal at the top.
Wyodreth dropped the folder to his desk.
“My ships aren’t the only things being called up,” he said, exasperated. “Do you have any idea how horrible your timing is?”
“Couldn’t be helped, sir,” the officer said. “Your orders come from the desk of Admiral Mikton herself. If you look at the bottom, sir, you’ll also see that they include a brevet promotion for the duration of the mission.”
“Mission?” Wyodreth said, shoving the folder away from him. “My ‘mission’ is to keep the company running until my father’s latest battery of treatments is complete. I can’t just disengage from corporate oversight at the drop of a hat. What’s this all about, anyway? Why does DSOD need my ships so suddenly that you can’t bring in your own craft from one of the other systems?”
The DSOD people all eyed each other, then the oldest officer pointed to the holographic control unit on the office wall.
“May I?”
Wyodreth waved his hand at them, and reclined in his father’s leather chair—Wyo’s chin and mouth obscured by a clenched fist.
Of all the stupid, silly, harebrained…
But Wyodreth kept his composure, and allowed the officer to slide a data card into the holographic control unit’s slot. Hitting a few of the glowing buttons on the control unit’s surface—his fingers moving deftly—the officer then stepped back, and suddenly the center of the office was glowing with a life-sized recording of a trim, gray-haired DSOD woman wearing the clusters of a flag officer on her collar.
“Mister Antagean,” the visage spoke, “you must forgive the abrupt nature of this communication, and these two sets of orders. One of our DSOD monitors in this system became aware of a situation which required immediate action, and we need not only your available starliners, but yourself as well. Ordinarily, if the DSOD presses civilian ships into the fleet, we crew them with DSOD personnel. But since we don’t have time for that, I believe it’s best if we put an Antagean corporate man in charge of those ships. Somebody the civilian crews will take orders from, and who can seamlessly interface with DSOD chain of command as well.
“Your reserve commission is hereby upgraded to the active rank of lieutenant commander, effective immediately. You are to report for duty at once.
“Don’t bother heading home to pack. Your file says you have no dependents. A message can be sent to your sister’s office, letting her know that you’re detached for the duration. Since she’s been helping you run Antagean Starlines in your father’s stead, I am sure she has a contingency plan in place—in case you’re unavailable for normal work.”
“What the hell’s so urgent that I can’t even—!”
But the recording continued, oblivious to Wyodreth’s outburst.
“These men and women standing in your office are under my personal orders to escort you to DSOD reception. Everything you need, including travel kit and uniforms, has already been prepared for you. As for the question foremost in your mind—what’s it all about?—pay close attention.”
The image of Admiral Mikton dissolved, and was replaced with the familiar lines of human space. Antagean made its money on those lines. It was one of the few civilian space operators in Starstate Constellar with authority from the First Families to own and operate Keys. Wyodreth himself had spent a fair amount of his youth moving along those lines. His father had thought it necessary that Wyodreth learn the job from the ground up. Just as Wyograd Antagean himself had done at the company’s inception.
Wyodreth stared at the blinking Waypoint which stood apart from the rest of the Waywork, roughly on the border between Starstate Nautilan and Starstate Constellar—if the border extended that far, which it never had.
“By the Exodus…” Wyodreth breathed, instantly recognizing the significance of that blinking light.
“Something’s happened which hasn’t ever happened before,” Admiral Mikton said. “There’s a new Waypoint on Constellar’s flank. Uncharted territory. Our system—though not a strategic focus in the war until now—is the closest known Constellar Waypoint within striking distance of the new Waypoint. There is a Nautilan system within reach as well, but just barely. A DSOD monitor ship went ahead, on its own initiative. To reconnoiter. Now we’re moving every available Slipway-capable ship, as quickly as it can be moved. This means your starliners. We intend to put down the Constellar flag on whatever real estate we might find at the new location. Planet-finder telescopes give us a general idea of what to expect. But as you know, nobody has visited a truly unexplored system since the initial settling of the Waywork. Opportunities like this do not come even within the span of a dozen lifetimes. That’s all I can tell you for now, Lieutenant Commander Antagean. I look forward to meeting you at the spaceport in one hour.”
The holographic map of the Waywork faded out. And the office lights automatically came back up.
Wyodreth sat, stunned—staring into the air where the map had previously been.
“Sir?” the DSOD officer said. “We should get moving.”
“Right,” Wyodreth said, puffing his cheeks as he exhaled. “Everybody out, and leave me be—for five minutes. I’ve got to alert my father, my sister, and the company board.”
“Yessir,” the officer said, nodding his chin to his chest—a sign of obeisance, since Wyodreth now officially outranked him.
Then the officer was waving both himself and his people out of the room.
Wyodreth sat in silence, staring at the computer built into his father’s desk. Then he reluctantly reached for the keyboard, and started to punch in company communication codes.