A child of the Federation: Human starpilots, #4

By F Stephan

When you are named Child of the Federation, the Federation gives you a fresh beginning and your past is erased from all databases. But Isara was named when she was barely a year old with nothing to erase.

Or so she thought until forty years later, now a confirmed starpilot, she finds out that she comes from Filb, the planet which witnessed the worst catastrophe the Federation has ever known. And murders accumulate around her as she tries to dig into her own past?

With no clues on why she is shot at, she must unravel her past to face present threats... How do you come of age when you are already an adult?

Don't miss this stand-alone story in the Human Federation Universe

• Language: English
• Publisher: F Stephan
• Release date: Feb 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798700286237

F Stephan

Depuis mon enfance, je suis passionné par la science-fiction et la fantasy, autant par les grands classiques que les auteurs modernes. En 2015, j’ai décidé d’écrire les livres que j’avais envie de proposer mes propres histoires pour explorer des mondes nouveaux et étranges. Découvrez la Fédération qui relie tant bien que mal les mondes humains en utilisant des technologies qu’elle maitrise à peine. La Terre vient à peine de la rejoindre et ses habitants cherchent à se forger une place dans cet univers. Découvrez la République d’Antiago et la Ière Légion. Elle vient de franchir les frontières du Nord pour aider le royaume voisin de Lician face à une invasion de géants. Avant d’écrire, j’ai traversé la moitié du monde. Né aux USA, j’ai grandi en France. J’ai travaillé en France, au Danemark, et en Australie avant de m’installer près de Macon.

Book preview

1

Filb, central plains, 21st January 2148

Larkin woke up to the buzzing sound of alarm of his bracelet. His head ached and searing flashes of light ran through his skull. A dense fog blocked his sight just a few yards from his face. He took a deep breath and puked from the stench. Rotten egg. Sulfurous mist. His training took over. He felt the surrounding ground. Solid rock. He rolled onto his back and checked his body. The heat was intense, and he felt soaked in sweat. A deep cut on my left leg and another on the head. No running. He pushed himself to sit, vision blurred under the effort, and looked around him.

A sizzling hot gust of wind blew over him and the mists cleared, just long enough to allow him to see his surface glider ten yards from him. Why am I here? Where was I headed? Questions piled up in his mind, but he pushed them away. Not now. Instead, he tried to link to the small ship with his bracelet. No results. Fried electronics. Cannot call for help.

He fell back, flat on the ground, and crawled to the glider, gritting his teeth. He had to stop several times under the pain and his throat ached now from thirst. The ship was his only hope. Yard after yard, he forced himself forward until he reached it at last. He pushed himself inside and sank into the pilot’s chair, breathing hard. After a minute of panting, he retrieved the medikit under the copilot seat and the bottle of water. He gulped a large ration of water and two painkillers. Then he bandaged his most severe wounds. He felt weak from the blood loss and gulped a nutribar. Now that he had stopped the worst wounds, the nanorobots in his blood would repair his body. If he survived long enough for them to work their magic. And if he ate enough to give the nanites the energy they required.

With the ache in his mind subsiding, his thoughts cleared a little. He had left the monitoring base by the lava lake after a fight with Oliar. But why? What for? His memories felt foggy. A deeper training took over, reflexes from a past when he wasn’t a quiet planetologist. I’m in shock. Later. He inventoried the command console of the glider, but its lack of answer, of any answer, only confirmed his suspicions. The ship was dead, all electronics useless.

On Filb, reinforced gliders didn’t break like this. It had been hit with crippling damage. Odd, so rare.

He found a travel ration, meat and beans, drank a full bottle of water and began eating while inventorying his possessions. All gliders had rations and water for a week. He could wait on that spot for the rescue. I was going to the Capitol City. Naosa. To see the Envoy Puil. I left Oliar Bissan at the monitoring base by the lava lake. So, I’m in the western's midst volcanic nightmares. The nickname wasn’t even close to reality. A deadland of poisonous mists, lava lake, and rising volcanoes. If he survived, Naosa would launch search parties within twelve hours of his departure from the monitoring base. Organize yourself. Prepare the wait.

The mist cleared further more, and he saw the lava running in the valley around the glider. The heat would suffocate him in a matter of hours. He might have a day, but not much more.

Time to think. Could Oliar reach him before Naosa? He recalled their last talk together. Envoy Puil believes in my work, Oliar had said, his voice both mellow and menacing, his two Nerens perched on his shoulder. Larkin usually liked the avian creatures, intelligent hunters linked mind to mind with their human counterparts. But he distrusted those two round alien faces, wings glowing purple, sharp hunting teeth and eyes glinting with malevolent intelligence. Oliar had found them after his return from space, but they felt odd. We will bring this world back to its previous glory and restore the work of the Ancient Empire.

What you want to do is too dangerous. The world is barely stable. You will destroy it instead. I need to see Envoy Puil.

Do as you wish, Larkin. I won’t keep you. We are a peaceful enterprise.

He had left then, heading straight to Naosa. Fool, how could I trust him to keep his word? The glider wasn’t hit by a rock. Hacked, more likely.

He didn’t have much time, he realized. Whoever tried to kill me will come and finish the job. The wind cleared again the mist, and he saw two dark winged creatures approaching in the distance. Oliar’s Nerens. Hunters, capable of finding their prey across half the continent. Ten minutes before they arrive.

He saw in his mind the discussion that would play. Radio only with the interferences in the volcanic area. Oliar sweet and mad with worry. Naosa, we have found his glider. He crashed close to a lava river. We’re landing. Oliar. Immediate evacuation. Repeat. Immediate evacuation. Grab him and return at max speed. We’ll assemble a medical team. Don’t take any risks. He would be dead by then, even before Oliar called. They will bring destroy the glider and only bring my body back. No risk of evidences.

The solution struck him. He had once flown with master Loupiac. The old fox would make sure his death didn’t go unpunished. If only he could warn him. He grinned. Nanites had many uses. Oliar, there is one card we kept from you. He closed his eyes and prepared his dead’s man switch.

2

Alkath Central, in orbit around Alkath, 15th April 2148

Isara took out her ceremony uniform from the cupboard of the transient quarter. Neatly ironed as she had asked. The pilot insignia shone brightly on her collar. Few wore that badge. Even fewer piloted their own spaceships. The Federation couldn’t build new ships and relied on the relics found from the Ancient Empire for all its interstellar transports. And on that day, the Federation’s committee would decide if she could fly one of those relics. Or not.

You’ve braided your hair? called Dolom from the door. He barked a brief laugh. Her hair was short, nearly not long enough, but braids made her look sterner.

A reasonable, serious Captain, my friend. She answered with a grim smile.

The huge Baolan smiled at her. No one would contest that, Isara. I came to tell you that all Children of Federation stand beside you. We all hope the Committee will allow one of us to fly one of their prized spaceships.

You know the equation. She sighed. Children of the Federation like us only belong to the Council. When each planet maintains their own starships, we threaten them, and the Council doesn’t want to further their fears.

True enough. But the same Council created us for a reason. Our pasts erased from all databanks. A fresh start only linked to the Federation itself. No ties to the planets. They have to acknowledge our work. His words were light, but Isara knew it represented the opinion of their community. All worked hard to be respected in their new lives. But she had been found as a baby, named a Child of the Federation before she had a past to erase.

I have worked all the required years, Dolom. Twenty years as repayment for my training. I have excellent records. I should be judged like anyone else and I should get a ship. Why couldn’t I be tied to a planet like other pilots? I didn’t choose to become a Child of the Federation.

He laughed again. Then, let’s move. You don’t want to be late. The Committee doesn’t assemble often. They need to see you in person. And Master Loupiac will kill me if you’re late.

He will be there? She drew her breath in. Master Loupiac, her mentor and former teacher. A loyal friend.

Without answering, Dolom pushed her into the main street of Alkath Central. The station comprised two immense cylinders rotating around each other to create gravity, and Isara loved the place. It felt so empty compared to the usual cramped quarters on the ships. As a trainee and later as a pilot, she had spent countless hours in those streets. Many Alkathian, workers, traders and farmers, were hurrying to their jobs on this morning. Yet, few among them recognized her. Like all Pilots, she was more often among the stars than on station.

In a few minutes, they reached the Federation headquarter. On that day, the main news was a space route found to an unknown inhabited system. Those discoveries were few and far apart since, during the fall of the Ancient, most maps had been lost. A giant 3D on top of the building showed records of this new planet, orbiting a gas giant. Stunning.

Dolom stopped at the entrance. I leave you here. I have to join my team on the wharf. He laid his large hand on her shoulder. We are behind you today. Whatever happens, you are the first ever who could be assigned to a spaceship.

I will do my best. She took a deep breath, and the door slid to let her in. She walked into a large open space area.

Pilot Isara Al’Nak? A young woman sprang to her feet. If you could follow me?

She didn’t wait, just turned, and, at an almost run, went inside through the desks. Logistics, crew management, maintenance, the Federation’s administration wasn’t large but held a strong power over the crews. Many didn’t so much as look at her, but Isara saw a few officers holding a discrete thumbs-up as she passed their desks. Within minutes, they reached the meeting room, and the assistant opened the door with the briefest of knocks.

We cannot show any special favors for the Children of the Federation. A stern old voice. She knew it only too well. Noter’al’Latol. The Councilor for the Core Worlds around Alkath. An old politician obsessed by the balance between the members of the Federation.

Why? Because they are ours and only ours? Because they do not belong to any federated worlds? Is that why we are always giving them the worst jobs? Is this why the Council created them? Master Loupiac might be old, one of the oldest men in the Federation, but his voice was sharp and biting. She walked in holding a breath. He wasn’t physically present, being too old to attend, and appeared only through a 3D. Despite his age, he heard her come in. Welcome, Pilot, please have a seat. You heard us?

Isara took one of the empty seats, scanning the room. No one else attended. Not even in 3D. The Committee should have included the Pilot Guild representative for the Core Worlds, the head of the Academy or the master of the repair yard on Alkath Central. Loupiac, her former master, was only present as an advisor. She faced Noter. The Councilor would decide her fate alone.

Yes, Master, answered Isara with a smile. Keep calm. Bitterness won’t help you. A starpilot was special. Should be. Only one person in a hundred million could withstand the nanite injection required. The Committee was special. But no one attended the present the meeting.  A Child of the Federation isn’t worth your precious time?

Welcome, Pilot. As you know, fairness to all is the paramount aim of the Federation. She had heard of the Councilor’s judgements, and fair hadn’t been part of the rumors.

I understand, sir. I always try to uphold the values of the Federation in all my actions.  

The old councilor pretended to review her file. Pilot Isara, you have repaid your education to the Federation. First, I’d like to thank you for your work. Starpilots are key to our worlds, a vital link among the stars, and your help didn’t go unnoticed.

Isara bent her head in acknowledgement. Standard words. Nothing specific there. And yet, she was now forty, and she had finished repaying for her training. The words should mean more. Freedom? Freedom to do what?

Today is important. From now on, you will be free to choose your own path. He activated another 3D, still avoiding her eyes. You have skills to navigate the databanks of our beloved CoreDataSphere. Data analyst could earn you a comfortable living. Your skills at navigation are great and some captains would welcome your help. Many pilots change their careers at this juncture in their lives.

She answered in a respectful tone. Honored councilor. I have submitted a plan for a research ship. I believe my path lies in the stars, if the Federation assigns a ship to me, that is. Loupiac winked at her from the side with a quick grin.

Unfortunately, Winglady Leil doesn’t seem to agree with you. She is off to the other side of the sector but was kind enough to send a report. The Councilor opened a new 3D, cluttering the space between them. You spent five years as her assistant, I believe?

Isara winced. She had served the strange Pilot from Raml, often covering her mistakes, but the Winglady, a guild representative for her sector, despised her.

Let me read you a few lines of her report. ‘Pilot Isara Al’Nak could be promising. If she showed some regularity in her skills. Until she does, the Federation cannot trust her.’ This doesn’t help you.  

Master Loupiac countered. The Lel’Kin trade clan is backing young Isara here. This counts. Isara’s heart tightened.

Noter looked up. Devam Lel’Kin? He fostered you when you were found, wasn’t it? They are an old trading family and strong supporters of the Federation on Ullem.

Yes, sir. She answered, her eyes shining. She had left Ullem and Devam thirty years before for the Academy, and after all this time, he was once again supporting her.

I know, I know. And as Master Loupiac says, it counts for a lot. Ullem was the heart of the Ancient Empire, and it remains still powerful. The Councilor couldn’t offend the strongest planet behind Alkath in his sector. He paused to think, although Isara suspected it was more for effect than anything else. Pilot, you would like to try new data gathering techniques in the Ancient artefact hunt? She nodded, not allowing herself to breathe. Like spaceships, ancient artefacts were priceless. Any found belonged to the planet of the finder. And for her, a Child of the Federation, that meant the Federation itself. She hoped that would tilt the balance in her favor. And you suggested Libra System, is it?

Yes, sir. According to the star maps, the Ancient relied heavily on this system in their trade routes. No planets have requested rights to research there. The radiation levels are low. I am sure we will find artefacts and we could even find undamaged core memories. You won’t offend members and you have a chance to find the holy grail of treasure hunters.

A thin sardonic smile crossed the lips of the Councilor. I am sure I will receive their petitions as soon as you find artefacts. Still, we can’t miss a chance to understand how the Ancients fell. Within two centuries a civilization capable of harnessing the power of stars reverted to non-technological primitives. Sure, we can’t miss a chance to understand how they could fall so fast.

He assembled his papers and closed his file, looking straight at her. Your plan is sound and serious. Still, I have the feeling that your place isn’t in Libra. Something in your profile doesn’t match what I have seen in treasure hunters. He raised his hand when she stood. "The committee has decided. You have one year to prove your techniques. One year and hull number seven-two-two, called the Littleone, a magnificent ship perfectly fit for your purpose." Isara was so stunned she couldn’t answer at first. Littleone was the smallest scout of the entire fleet, barely usable for scout activities, even less for trade. It would satisfy Winglady Leil, seeing this gift as another slap to Isara. The smallest ship maybe, she felt a grin building inside, but hers for a year.

We are grateful, Councilor. Hull seven-two-two will be perfect. We are sure Isara will prove you wrong, answered Master Loupiac for her, using the formal Ancient numbering system for the ships.

Isara bowed low. Thank you, Councilor. I won’t...

A knock at the door stopped her. The assistant was back, breathless. Councilor, Master, a scout just jumped in. Priority news from Filb. For both of you.

Noter asserted himself. Pilot, once again congratulations. But we have to shorten this meeting. We have apparently a situation.

I understand. She made a quick sign of thanks to her former teacher and left with a smile. She would party with Dolom and her friends that night. I have a ship.

3

Libra System, 10th October 2148

Isara checked a last time her calculation. After twenty jumps through the Libra system, she had found two Ancient artefacts and this jump would tell if her findings came from the same wreck. Or if they had no relation at all and the plan she had shared with the Committee was just wrong. She winced. Let’s hope I’m right. Ship, we are jumping.

Handing over all controls to you, Pilot, answered the onboard computer, voice devoid of emotions.

Silence until completion now. She closed her eyes and activated her nanites. With the help of the nanorobots in her blood, she changed the shape of her hands and her fingers morphed into thin tendrils, extending into the bridge’s console. In seconds, through the neural link, she became the ship itself. To the front of the ovoid, the bridge, her quarters and the environmental system. In the rear, the singularity, a tiny anomaly in space and time hosted at the back of the ship which powered it, provided normal gravity inside the living quarters and could create rifts between weak points in space. In the middle, the engineering section which controlled the entire ship and the storage facility. All sections appeared green through the neural link.

She took control of the singularity and distorted the fabric of the universe, unleashing its full powers. A rift to the other side of the asteroid belt opened in front of her, and she used a tiny part of the energy from the anomaly to nuzzle her ship toward it.

Still, forcing such a window through space was unnatural and distorted the energies around the ship, creating gravitational spikes in all directions. If the singularity lost its inner stability, it would collapse into a tiny black hole, swallowing the ship. With her enhanced reactions and her own nanites controlling the force fields generator of the engineering section, she countered each spike. As seconds ticked by, she lost contact with some of the nanites which created her neural link with the entire ship and had to strain to overcompensate, spending a lot more energy than the other pilots she knew. The spikes increased in intensity and sections turned orange all over the ship.

Isara focused all her will and within a minute, Littleone was through. She closed the rift, releasing the drain on the singularity. It went back to sleep, working under five percent of its potential power. When all sections returned to their green status, Isara released her nanites. She slumped on the chair behind her console, focusing her attention to the stray robots and calling them back in. She felt, with relief, her hands returning to their original form. Nanites were a glory and a curse at the same time.

From the side of the console, she took a bottle and swallowed a large swig of sugared water. After all those years, the words of her teachers resonated in her mind each time she jumped. Nanites are dangerous buggers, they give you superhuman powers, but only for a time. Eat. Drink. If she didn’t, they would take control of her, destroy her, and then spread like viruses to eat everything around. This was where the Winglady had been right. Other pilots had proven they controlled the nanorobots more easily than she did. Because of that extra-effort she had to put in, her jumps were less precise, less effective than other and this meant spaceships spent more time adjusting their courses after her jumps. If only... No time to feel sorry for yourself, Isara. You’ve got work to do.

Ship, put on 3-D our coordinates, all objects around us and the ship detailed schematics with all statuses. Confirm our coordinates of emergence. Data poured in the middle of the bridge. She got up and walked among the large representation, taking her time drinking.

We have arrived less than ten thousands klicks from your destination, pilot. Your vitals show you’re still low on energy.

Thank you, ship. Since she flew alone, the computer monitored constantly and, if her constants didn’t obey the strict Federation guidelines, could stop the entire ship. Now, let’s have a look around while I follow your advice.

She withdrew to the kitchen and heated a small meal. Eggs and veggies. Fresh from the environmental area. She ate on a tiny plastic table she had found at the last minute. This was one of the paradox of the pilot’s life. She had to care for the furniture of her ship, and she hadn’t been rich enough to afford classier items. At their beginnings, other pilots had been helped by their home planet, but a Child of the Federation like her couldn’t obtain such support. Now if she found artefacts, she would replace all the mismatched pieces in the ship...

When she walked back onto the bridge, feeling much better, images began pouring in from the external sensors. She paced, her feet echoing in the oval chamber, until the artefact appeared in front of her. It was small, two yards by three, low albedo, barely visible at this distance from the sun. Still, there was no mistaking her calculations had worked. She let out a whoop of delight.

Yes, pilot? answered the on-board computer, void of any emotion.

We did it. Please play the Alkathian music playlist. Discovery of the archipelago and space renaissance. Classic music fit for the occasion. A bit on the grandiose, slow passages and a grand final which, on the premiere, had involved a thousand choristers. She aligned Littleone toward her tiny target and pushed it with the ion thrusters. Slow now. The jets followed the rhythm of the music, helping focus, alternating speedy sequence with more sedate ones.

She had destroyed the first artefact she had found, a cylinder of roughly the same size, by pushing the ship into it and had learned caution the hard way. The second container had been empty and worthless. Maybe it had contained organics, burned by the radiations of the millennia. In that regard, the Councilor had chosen the perfect ship for her, small and maneuverable.

Two hours later, she activated her nanites again for a second and completed the course correction, using the singularity to distort gravity and place the ship where she wanted, a bare hundred yards from the small box, without disturbing it. She smiled to herself. The slow push had given her the time she needed to recover from the jump, and she felt much fresher.

Confirm gravitational lock?

Confirmed, answered the ship. the Artefact is now orbiting around us. The surrounding music dropped automatically. She had tried to reconfigure it, but the Ancient had made it a core feature, far beyond her tinkering skills. At least, she had changed the standard metallic voice into a melodious contralto. It eased their conversations. Why didn’t I accept Dolom’s suggestion to take a partner with me? This is so lonely. She knew the answers. She had let no one in her life since her previous relation with Nerem had turned into a debacle. And to admit the truth, no one had wanted to fly in such a small craft with an unknown captain and no planetary support.

Good. Which fish have we caught? She asked aloud, instantly clapping her mouth shut.

Fish not applicable to space object. Standard Ancient Container. Content unknown.

I know that already. The Federation had banned sentient AIs. Her computer was capable of incredibly complex calculations, but its learning capacities were limited. That left her with a dumb computer as her only partner. She zoomed in, but that didn’t reveal much. Still, it might be worth a lot for the Federation, depending on what she found inside.

Ship, I’m going out to grab it. In the meantime, refine our models based on exact location and determine other potential targets for investigation.

As she got up, the words of the Winglady Leil echoed in her mind. You’re worth nothing for the Federation. I’ll prove you wrong.

She suited in her grey deep space suit. It took a good hour, and she looked with regret at her lighter suit, used for close work around the ship. This one was heavy and included a small jetpack, not enough to survive for long, but in space seconds made the difference. Then, she activated a touch of nanites extending a new nerve from the base of her spinal cord into the suit controlling unit. She became the suit. Computer, confirm suit status, she subvocalized.

All green.

Please circle the airlock. The portal opened, and she emerged in the darkness. She was far out, and the sun was a small blot in the distance. Moving with care, she walked to the main crane and hooked her nanocable to the ship.

I am taking off toward the object, confirm hook. Engage security measure as appropriate if the hook disengage.

Confirmed. Good flight, Pilot.

Again, she launched her deep space playlist, quiet meditation themes from Ullem, and piloted to the rhythm of the bells. She was so immersed in her alliance of sounds and thruster impulses; she didn’t notice the surrounding void. Here, no one to scorn her or reject her. Still, she arrived in sweat after her lengthy flight. The suit dissipated the heat fast, but this level of concentration and nanite usage burned a lot of energy. She activated her magnetic boots, and with a resounding vibration, locked herself to the object. Again, she hooked the nanocable Computer, pull us back in.

Acknowledged. She sat cross-legged and watched her own ship while the container was repelled back inside. Like all Ancient ships, Littleone was a glimmering metal ovoid, but it was the smallest of them, only one hundred yard long. Since the singularity deformed gravity around it, moving an object to the cargo bay was hard work, requiring her to juggle with frequent gravity shifts and changes in the container's speed.

Three hours later, she finally rested in her cabin, chewing a nutribar. She had used a lot of nanites to maneuver the container and bring it back aboard, and her entire body shook from the effort. Not a good diet. She had secured the container in her cargo hold and had checked its content to find it to be a small nanogenerator. No core memories with it. Useful but not highly valued. Still, she would find one planet interested. And more than that, with one confirmed artefact in her hold, she was now sure that, when the Ancient civilization had crumbled ten millennia before, a ship had exploded here and spread his content all around. She would find other artefacts scattered all over the system. She called the plan she had submitted to the commission months before and reviewed it. I was right. Next one will prove all my assumptions.

Ship, I’ll cook tonight. Can you put Nazari out of cold storage? I will review the update on the models afterwards.

She had taken a lot of the precious alkathian fish left in her stores. After long months of work, her first unambiguous result required a real treat. She would also write to Loupiac, her old mentor. He had talked to her before her departure in a quick five-minute call, distraught, instead of their usual hour-long chat. She had wondered what news could have unsettled him so much. Anyway, he would rejoice to see her succeed. Her foster parents, Devam