Curved Space to Corsair

By Jemima Pett

Big Pete and the Swede, together with Maggie and Dolores, who is training to qualify as a space pilot, take a holiday in the miners’ new spacecraft while some building work goes on at their villa. “Maybe ten weeks will do it,” Maggie estimates. Pete has been summoned to his home planet, Corsair, to save them from disaster, so they set off in that direction to give Dolores more space hours, only to make a slight course error which leaves them hundreds of light-years from civilisation.

Meanwhile the Imperium declares war on the Federation, while a little personal business by one of the senators leads him off in the direction of the Viridian System to start a canny land grab.

The second in the Viridian System series takes our heroes far far from their home area, and delays Pete's urgent summons. Strange aliens cross their path, only to show that sometimes the curves in spacetime really are the quickest routes to your destination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Princelings Publications
• Release date: Jan 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781370569366

Jemima Pett

Jemima Pett has been living in a world of her own for many years. Writing stories since she was eight, drawing maps of fantasy islands with train systems and timetables at ten. Unfortunately no-one wanted a fantasy island designer, so she tried a few careers, getting great experiences in business, environmental research and social work. She finally got back to building her own worlds, and wrote about them. Her business background enabled her to become an independent author, responsible for her own publications.Her first series, the Princelings of the East, mystery adventures for advanced readers set in a world of tunnels and castles entirely populated by guinea pigs, is now complete. The tenth and final book, Princelings Revolution, came out in October 2020. Jemima does chapter illustrations for these. She has also edited two volumes of Christmas stories for young readers, the BookElves Anthologies, and her father's memoirs White Water Landings, about the Imperial Airways flying boat service in Africa. She has compiled four collections of flash fiction tales, publishing in the first half of 2021. She is now writing the third in her science fiction series set in the Viridian System, in which the aliens include sentient trees.Jemima lived in a village in Norfolk with her guinea pigs, the first of whom, Fred, George, Victor and Hugo, provided the inspiration for her first stories, The Princelings of the East. She is now living in Hampshire, writing science fiction for grown-ups, hatching plans for a new series, and writing more short stories for anthologies.

Book preview

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

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Acknowledgements and comments

About Jemima Pett

The Perihelix — excerpt

For discussions on world-building for the Viridian System series, and more revelations from the Cavalieri-Chang Modern Universal Word Usage, 2822 edition , please see the website viridianseries.uk



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Chapter 1

~~~

wormhole , n. A short-cut across the quadrant, maintained by the SSNS, but only for the very needy and those with strong stomachs. Only permanent wormholes guarded by border stations should be used by inter-stellar travellers. (Cavalieri-Chang, Modern Universal Word Usage, 2822 edition)

~~~

We’ve never been this far out of the galactic plane before. Have we? Lars Nilsson frowned as he viewed the flight plan displayed in front of the co-pilot.

I thought we should be away from prying eyes. It’s probably safer than anywhere else. The co-pilot, Pete Garcia, grinned. The two asteroid miners were enjoying their downtime, but not in their lovely villa on the sun-kissed slopes next to the sea on Sunset Strip. To pass the time while restoration work was being carried out on it, they were playing with their new custom-built space cruiser. It was a far cry from the cramped quarters of their mining craft. All mod cons, a biome to grow fresh vegetables, and two spacious cabins for them to relax with some privacy with their partners.

Pete’s partner, Dolores Azulzambi, studied the console in front of her. The courses Pete was giving her to plan for her pilot training were anything but straightforward.

I mean, Pete continued, there’s nothing around here for Dolores to bump into when she practices her hops.

Lars flicked a glance at Dolores, but she was not reacting to Pete’s teasing. She ran through a routine check of her course and systems, and sat back again. When do you want me to hop, and where to?

Try setting a course to go to Balkh from here that swings around the Beehive Cluster.

Oooh, Balkh! You mean we can go visit some of those amazing temples they’ve got? Ancient civilisations had been Dolores’ major, before her planet had been over-run by the Imperium.

If you pass my test, yes. Pete grinned, with an evil twinkle in his eye. Lars moved from his seat behind him into the gangway, and opened the locker where the spacesuits were stored.

What are you doing? Pete asked.

Just tidying up. Shall I ask Maggie about lunch? Carry on, Dolores. Lars went along to the galley smuggling a silver box and two masks in front of him.

Okay, Dolores. Have you got your route set?

Dolores showed him the track she’d laid in, where her waypoints were, and her estimated positions for the start and end of warpshift.

Very good. Anything you’re not sure of?

Dolores looked over her route again. No, I’m fine.

She wondered whether there was something about this route Pete wasn’t telling her. The first exercises had been simple point to points; then she’d had to avoid some nova debris. Last time she’d had to navigate by waypoints. Now she was combining these things together. She went over them again, just to make sure.

Okay, when you’re ready.

Dolores flicked a comlink: Prepare for warpshift in ten, nine, eight… She flicked the comlink off again, since Lars and Pete told her they never bothered to count down out loud. They all did it in their heads instead. Dolores watched the timer hit zero, and held on to her seat, clenching her muscles to keep her stomach stable. The unsettling effect of warpshift turned her inside out, then settled again. Then the cabin lights went red and an emergency klaxon sounded.

What? she gasped, as the computer voice said: Warning, hull breach imminent, warning… and repeated its message on continuous loop.

Raise shields! she ordered, trying to remember the drill she’d repeated during her booklearning.

Shields inoperative, the computer responded, while continuing its emergency alarm.

What? er—all hands to spacesuits! she ordered.

Pete was already reaching for the locker door, but nodded in approval as she got the essential order out. He pulled suits out for her and himself, climbing into his own, while Dolores checked three routine engine procedures. They were all inoperative. She climbed into her own suit, as the computer changed its tone: Warning, air loss in five seconds, warning, air loss in three seconds, warning…

She clipped down Pete’s helmet while he clipped hers. She mouthed things at him and he tapped her control unit.

Oh, sorry. Pete, what’s happening? What do I do next?

You’re doing fine. Hand over to your most experienced pilot, that’s your next step.

Handing over to you, then. What do I do?

Take your seat again. Let me sort some things out.

Pete tapped some widgets and the warning stopped. Let’s see how our passengers did.

Are they all right?

Oh, look, they’ve just got their oxygen masks, they’ve cheated. Lars, how dare you risk Maggie’s life like that!

Yeah, right. Lars voice echoed through the suit intercomms, but he took off his facemask and started up to the office to join them.

Pete shook his head. Okay, Maggie, false alarm, you can get back to what you were doing now. Well done, Dolores. He unclipped his own helmet and hers, and took his own off.

Well done? What happened? Now that the need to focus on doing things right had passed, she started to tremble.

Breach drill. It can happen anywhere, but more likely in thick space, or if you land in a debris field. You did well. Saved your crew and your ship. He reached over and patted her on the leg, then got up and scrambled out of his suit. Need a hand?

She stood and let him help her out of the ungainly suits, meant for full space protection, although without the extra facilities of a miner’s suit. He gave her a hug and a cuddle as she stepped free.

I suppose you rigged that, she said, when she wriggled out of his grasp.

Of course. I thought you might notice that Lars took his emergency mask with him. We haven’t had any drills for years, and we ought to really.

Would the emergency mask be enough?

Not in a breach. The pressure change would ruin his ears, eyes and general well-being. He was cheating, but at least Maggie would get the idea.

Well, I didn’t fancy climbing into the damn suit, Lars added as he came back in. You did well, Dolores. You’ll have to spring one on him some time and see how he handles it!

Dolores sat back on her seat and relaxed, checking over the status panels as she did so. We’re on course in warpshift, anyway. Would that happen in reality?

Could do, Lars replied. Depends on the cause of the breach.

Sometimes you fall out of warp and you’re left with your inertia, which can also have you in a spin—very uncomfortable till you get your gimbals back. Pete added with a grin. Lars, you really need to practice getting Maggie into her suit. No fumbling.

I’ll keep the fumbling to the right occasion. Okay, I’ll help her practise a couple of times. Lars was almost cowed by Pete’s glare.

Pete sighed. When are we due at Balkh, then?

Fifty-six hours time.

Good. We can do some planning on the way.

*

Okay, Dolores, we’re round the Beehive Cluster by now, and for some unknown reason you decide you don’t want to go to Balkh after all. How do you change your course?

I can either lay in a course to take me from the next waypoint and stay in warp, or drop out of warp and lay in a new course entirely.

Correct. Want to change course for Bartelski, then?

All that way?

Well, we may not actually go there, unless Lars wants to visit his mother again—Lars?

Lars looked up from the book he was reading. Yeah?

If we go near Bartelski do you want to visit the oracle?

Lars rubbed his chin, which by now was covered in a fine layer of red hair. Um, maybe. Do we have to decide now?

No. Let us know within the hour though. Dolores wants to lay in her course.

Can’t she just ask the computer to do it?

I wondered that, said Maggie Ingleton, Lars’s partner, coming through from the living quarters. We didn’t have all this bother when we followed you round the galaxy.

The computer did it all for us, Maggie, said Dolores. I need to know how to do it myself for my pilot’s exams. And there’s a practical if you want to get a full licence.

Do you need a licence?

I assume so, don’t I? she looked at Pete.

It’s all in your Rules and Regs, was his unhelpful reply.

Maggie sighed and keyed up the Rules and Regs. Dolores joined her in reading through them.

While you’re reviewing them, remind yourself of the procedures for using wormholes, Pete added.

Why?

There are a couple not far off this route, and it would be good experience for you.

Oh, no, Lars groaned.

They’re only short ones. Promise.

I was ready for lunch. Now I’m not so sure.

You’re always ready for lunch, Maggie laughed, keeping her eyes on the screen, but she was always pleased how much these men enjoyed her food, and the home comforts they allowed her to pamper them with. It was very different from her former life as a slave. Oh, I don’t like the sound of those at all. A short-cut across the quadrant, maintained by the SSNS, but only for the very needy and those with strong stomachs.

We could take a three second one to Aldebaran-5, which must be how Con got to Brahe so quickly on the Doris Jury, Lars—

Dunno, I must have been asleep.

—or a five-second one to Margarita. Pete finished.

What’s that, apart from a cocktail? Maggie asked.

Oh, I went to Margarita once, Dolores paled at the memory. It’s a holiday planet, but I was working.

Pete glanced at her. Let’s try Aldebaran-5, then. Set her on a course through there, he added, pointing at the schematics on the screen. Strange…

What’s strange?

There’s a third wormhole signature appearing. Lars, look at this.

Lars joined the other three crowded over the schematic. Maggie, is everything secure in the biome?

I’ll check.

Best to strap yourself in when you’re done. I’ll join you.

Maggie went to set the shields over the growing plants they had in deep trays in the biome. They would keep the air and temperature reasonably stable during the procedure. Then she settled herself in the space chair in the galley. All done, she called through to the office, and smiled up at Lars as he joined her.

No, not this one!

Pete’s cry of anguish came too late to stop them slipping inexorably into the gravity well.

Why not? It’s just a wormhole, replied Dolores, puzzled at Pete’s over-reaction.

Lars! Zed zed five!

Dolores turned away from the console as Pete shot through the hatchway. She could hear Lars clattering around sounding like he was locking things up. Pete flew back into the control area, threw a switch on the stasis field and shoved Dolores sideways onto the next seat as his hands flew over the control panel in front of her.

Strap yourself in! he ordered, strapping his harness on as Lars joined them, pulling the hatch to, taking up the seat on Dolores’ other side and locking himself in the webbing. Dolores reached down to her sides for her straps. The two men lurched against her and grabbed her straps, yanking them across her body. She was just about to complain when…

Ooo-eeeeeer….

That feeling of your stomach coming out through your bottom when the policeman glares at you, and you know you did it.

The rollercoaster you swore you’d never go on again.

The night you drank seven ebelzer and rums for a dare.

The time you realised that Fanwester was a Pavanian. And you remembered what a Pavanian really likes most from his female attendants.

None of those came anywhere near the feeling of being drawn down a natural wormhole.

And if Dolores had realised that this uncharted, natural wormhole was not even guaranteed to have an end, she’d have felt even worse.

Pete did what he had done before during a trip down a charted natural wormhole. He counted. 1, 2, 3… Spaghettification took hold, stretching, extruding, deforming his whole body as it went through the space warp one inch at a time.

The pain merged with the effect of lights flashing past, threatening a hallucination, then swirling into a vision of his home planet, Corsair. People were running, screaming. Behind them, huge machines strode through the fields over the hedges and ditches, spewing fire at the crops, at the people, at their homes. To the hills! someone cried, and they followed him up the fallen rocks and into the gorge leading to the caverns. Somehow Pete was now at the radio console, showing someone the codes, how to send the message they’d been taught in school, alongside the legend of the Perihelix drummed into them, and the man from Corsair named George who would save them from their oppressors. Coded messages to call for help in their dire need. …127, 128… Now Pete was being bundled into a shuttle, others dragging at him, people inside pulling him, pushing packages into his pockets, shoving him into a crate. The hours of darkness, the cold, the sickness that came and went, until he climbed out in desperation, needing to find someone, anyone, to feed him. The Doris Jury. Tycho Grazki and his son Con. Learning from them, and through them gaining a place at Farsight Academy. …243, 244… The scrawny introverted roommate. The laughs, the girls, the choices that brought them to the mining planets. …268, 269… to the Viridian System and to orichalcum. What were riches if Corsair was still enslaved? Finding the Perihelix, receiving a coded message on Scania, the drive to set out on this trip, only for it to all end in an uncharted wormhole…. 362, 363… perhaps it would never end.

Lars did what he always did to endure a trip down a wormhole. He swore. It didn’t matter, since nobody could hear him, or was there intelligence in the warpspace around them? Could they hear him—would they punish him? His father loomed over him, beating him, sneering, and forcing him to do other things… ‘don’t tell your mother, you sniveller’ … arriving at Farsight, desperate to fit in, to find some way to lose his heritage… Reinventing himself as the Swede to account for his unnaturally pale colouring; fighting with his new strength and skill. The mines of Excelsior, the girl who became his wife, killing the man who raped her and left her broken, suicidal before he could comfort her… the agony of loss, the support from the stumpy roommate who stuck with him through thick and thin, through vein after vein of orichalcum. His father tracking him down, escaping from him, the trees who spoke in his head, the secret guilt of the attraction of power… The ruins of their villa on Sunset Strip after the Federation razed it chasing the Perihelix—Maggie’s warmth and tenderness, but fear of being enslaved again, the days at Scania with the Persson family, wishing he and Maggie could raise a child—too late for either of them. Pete insisting they needed to go to Corsair with the Perihelix. The physical pain of spaghettification stretching his body too far—he kept swearing. Whatever the gods did would be several zillion times better than this.

Since Dolores had no real idea what was going on, she imagined she must have taken some illegal substances by mistake, and maybe this was dying. Her past was flashing through her brain, disjointed, strangely coloured. Her feet were flying through space miles ahead of her, miles of convoys, freighters packed with slaves for the markets of the Imperium. Standing in her nakedness being prodded by toothless ancient humanoids and slimy mucoids. The utter impossibility of communicating with the mucoid who bought her as a toy. The relief of the market of Paradisio, and being owned by a human, Zito, despite being rented out to all-comers. Entertaining the arrogant bastards of the universe while looking forward to the next time with Pete and the Swede… but freedom ultimately meant death by wormhole…

Alone in the galley, Maggie assumed she had died. Proved right at last. Space was the wrong place to be. Home was what mattered, a home where you could cook good food, make life comfortable for your loved ones, and maybe even have children. No, no children, she could never have children. Watching Agneta’s children on Scania, and discussing the pros and cons. Too many cons, too much time in space, and anyway, the slave owner had made sure his merchandise would not reproduce. Screams of the dying, the mutilated, the sounds she associated with space; floating through the galaxy made her physically sick, let alone this distortion, twisting, inside-out world in the corner of a spacecraft with all the comforts she could imagine save for a rock to stand on. Pete and the Swede’s lovely villa, she’d spent so much time on it, and the builders… surely they needn’t go so far away? She hated space—she yearned to be home. She gave in to the contortions of her body fluids and passed out.

Time. Space. Places where they are one.

At three hundred and seventy-two, Pete opened his eyes, since his body appeared to be weightless. Lars did the same. They locked on to each other’s faces across Dolores’ slumped form. Pete’s eyeballs bulged slightly, until he rubbed them gently. Lars ran his hands over his head, gently manipulating things that felt out of place. They may not have been, but they felt like it.

Pete’s lungs started working again a centi-second before Lars’s. Each drew in a deep breath fighting with an audible gasp and let it out again, coughing and choking on what felt like foreign matter in their lungs. Pete leaned against Dolores again and felt her neck. He nodded to Lars, who started rubbing the arm on his side, while Pete massaged the other one. Lars moved to her head while Pete reached to rub her abdomen.

Dolores came to with a huge indraught of air. That prompted a paroxysm, which Lars merely watched while he continued to massage her shoulders.

Pete pulled back and massaged his own abdomen. Ow.

It was a comment that reflected the enormity of what they’d been through. Dolores looked at him, at first blankly and then with recognition, like she had been away for a long time and forgotten who these people were. She turned to Lars and nodded, satisfying herself that she was who she thought she was, and she knew these people, even if she couldn’t remember anything else about them at present.

Lars pulled back, and loosened his harness. The chart is confused.

Not surprised.

He shook his head some more, and said: Maggie. He lurched to his feet and staggered down to the galley.

Where are we? Dolores squeaked.

Do you know your name? Pete asked her.

Yes, she replied, nodding to herself. Remind me, she admitted after a pause.

You’re Dolores, I’m Pete, and that was Lars.

Of course you are. How come I don’t remember?

You passed out, Pete said, reaching under the console for two beakers of liquid. Here.

What—

Restorative. Drink!

In the galley, Lars brought Maggie round, and applied the same restorative to her. He slapped on the galley viewscreen to see what the others were looking at.

Four survivors of the longest uncontrolled, uncharted, and unstable wormhole anyone had so far encountered sat and gazed at their confused screens, drinking hot sweet tea, while the effects of spaghettification wore off.

They’d be fine. As long as they could get home.

Chapter 2

~~~

Senate; Senators , n. The governing house of the Imperium, which manages all regulatory and policy matters, is the Senate, based on Nusa Dusa (Terzan E). Each member planet is entitled to send one official Senator to represent it. There are also sixteen permanent Senators elected by and representing the Inner Board. (Cavalieri-Chang, Modern Universal Word Usage, 2822 edition)

~~~

Kaa Birith of the Imperium Senate waited in the luxury of the Imperium Crystal suite while his cruiser was serviced. It was a minor inconvenience, one he had suggested to his personal captain when he realised that they would pass close enough to the Endymion system to offer G’rath Mdogne a lift to the next Senate meeting. Since he and G’rath had rounded on the rash expenditure of so many senators at the last meeting, the opportunity to demonstrate their frugality pleased them both.

He toyed with a glass of vintage Bollenger champagne while he considered the range of things he would like G’Rath’s support on—preferably support while appearing to take the lead. Birith played a canny game, one where he preferred to be seen, but not heard unless it suited him.

No, not unless it suited him. It did not suit him to be connected in any way with the latest round of clearances on the grain planet Corsair. He’d acquired the planet cheaply enough, a transaction of convenience when the Imperium no longer wished to invest in the technology required for super-efficiency. He smiled as he recalled watching the chaos unleashed on the pestilential natives who insisted on staying there. It reminded him of termites in their dirt mounds he’d opened up with a stick when he was a child. Running here and there, mindlessly, save for grabbing eggs in the hope of making it to safety. The pleasure was much the same.

He had stood with the commander on the bridge of the Imperium spaceship, approving, imagining. Why not just blast the lot of them?

Clearance has a protocol, Senator, as you must know.

But who would live to tell the tale? It would be more efficient. The vidscreen covered a wrecked village in detail. Razed. How many will escape to the hills?

Maybe fifty percent. That would be a reasonable level for a future workforce.

As many as that? Surely that provides a large potential guerrilla movement.

The fit ones get to the caves, then we select from there. They’ll starve by winter if they don’t toe the line. Guerrillas don’t get enough support in these pogroms. Your investment will be quite safe, senator.

Kaa Birith had raised his head in that imperious way which enabled him to look down his nose at the commander, and sneer without changing his smile.

Back on Endymion, the doors swished open, and G’rath floated towards him, taking the rest of his seat and acquiring a glass of champagne in one elegant, flowing movement. Birith nodded in welcome.

Will your ship’s service take long? the Endymion senator asked, curling her eyebrow in the suggestive way that Birith found so hard to refuse.

I doubt it. Enjoy your drink, though. He softened his words with a caress of the purple-sheened skin of the senator’s thigh, elegantly displayed for his enjoyment through the slit in her sheer gown. He knew it was considered high fashion on Endymion, but G’rath liked to orchestrate the fashion to ensure her talents were displayed to the hilt. That display was carefully constructed to achieve maximum political effect. She enjoyed the game that she and Birith played, taking no undue advantage, since he seemed immune to sleaze. Over the past few years she and Birith had arrived at a position where mutual support engendered many benefits.

Have you picked up the wad for the next meeting? G’Rath asked. Birith shook his head. There is a transcript of an altercation in the Sleeve that will interest you. Also a report of subspace messages being scrambled indiscriminately by persons unknown, so that many senators have had communications disrupted.

Shame. These pirates get everywhere these days. I hope we have located them?

They appear to be in Pavanian space.

Birith nodded. His overseer at Corsair had reported subspace communication from the rebels, regrettably scrambled as well. Birith was intrigued as to whether some hero would respond anyway. His comms people would inform him by a very private channel, possibly bounced through Pavanian space for further disguise.

His captain appeared at the entrance to the suite, and Birith rose, extended his arm to G’rath and escorted her through to his cruiser. After resuming his journey to Nusa Dua, they dined, discussed several options for manoeuvring other senators to their way of thinking, and celebrated with several hours of energetic exercise in Birith’s bed. It would be four days till they arrived, which gave plenty of time for furthering their interests.

~~~

Mr Garelli of the Viridian System Exchange at Walton City, Pleasant Valley, steepled his fingers and looked across the antique desk at Zito, owner of Zito’s bar and various other enterprises on Walton City, as well as being what might be called a mayor in a more ordered society. Walton City had a small security office with a bright manager, which nominally dealt with any rules or regulations that applied to Pleasant Valley, mostly involved with keeping the peace and ensuring that Imperium, Federation and pirates didn’t come too close. Any decisions on rules were general taken by Garelli, Zito, and three other property owners, who were all of one mind regarding rules: the fewer the better. Order through consent could be a good motto for the planet.

Why should we worry? Zito asked.

I have a nose for these things. You have a nose for them too. I think Mr Heracles is Imperium. You haven’t met him. I find that strange, in itself.

Well, I wasn’t interested in those parcels of land he’s snapped up. Should I have been?

Depends on his intentions. A new landowner is always a threat to the status quo, you know that.

Zito nodded. The one thing the Pleasant Valley owners were united on was the status quo. Yes, the place was rough, there were fights, murders, even. But most of that stuff was confined to the mining crowd, dregs of the universe, and the gambling and entertainment industries were geared to their recreation. Most of the