How I Got Here: "Domina"
30 Jan 2024Columbuss
Commander Justin Estok. Stardate 30-JAN-3310."She wasn't the kind of person people chose to know..."
Holding on to the exterior of The Chelsie Grin, I look out toward the asteroid hanging enormous in the void like a small planet, as the Suijin system, and the galaxy beyond, spin behind it in great swirls of light. I close my eyes while I acclimate to the motion and listen. Concentrating. Focusing on breathing. Taking air in and letting air out. Listening to the sound of the air valve opening and closing. Filling and emptying the atmosphere inside the helmet of oxygen and CO2. The carbon dioxide leaves the helmet in long jet streams out of a small vent at the top that makes a noise like the word "vent" sounds. Opening my eyes again, the spin of the stars and the space behind my destination doesn't seem so daunting. Looking down at my wrist, I check my vitals, making sure my heartbeat is stable and my endorphins are, relatively, under control.
"Tell me again why we're doing this Boss," Brandson says over the comm in my helmet. "There must be a dozen other ways to find this 'Purple Council'. Why are we out here searching a derelict asteroid? I mean, look at this place. How do we know the power plant will even turn back on?"
"How many times do we have to do this Brand?" Finn chimes back.
"You don't think that's a valid question?" Brandson fires back. "We're out here in an unpredictable asteroid belt, hanging on the word of a girl no one knows, or has heard from in months. How can we know any of what we heard in those tapes is true?"
"We can't," I say into the helmet mic. "And you're right. There's a hundred other ways to find the Purple Council and most of them involve very dangerous, very much alive, gangsters. The one who used to live here has been dead for a long time, kid."
"Who was she anyway?" Brandson asks.
"Didn't you read the brief?" Finn asks, in typical Finn fashion.
"I thought it was going to be a holofac..."
"For fuck sake Brand," Finn replies, disappointingly.
"Octavia Quinton was a vicious criminal and warlord who controlled this sector of space from this hollowed out asteroid," I reply, pressing the release for the ships exterior umbilical and attaching it to my suit. "Given it's location, she played the Federation and The Empire against each other... until it caught up with her."
"Caught up with her how?' Brandson asks.
"She died in the Prism system, years ago. It was a whole... rebellion thing gone wrong," Finn replies, a bit annoyed.
"Okay, so this Octavia Quinton was a badass. That still doesn't explain why we're taking the word of a girl on some recovered tapes that THIS is the place to find what we're looking for," Brandson says.
"Can we focus on the task at hand please," I say into the mic. "Primary and back up umbilical's are attached. How's my O2?"
"All system's look nominal Boss," Brandson replies.
"Roger that," I reply. "Activating RCS and Preparing for disembark."
Turning my body, I prop my feet up against The Chelsie's hull, preparing the RCS thrust stabilizer in my right hand while holding onto the ships exterior with the other. The stars still spin behind the derelict asteroid ahead, bending and warping with the crease in the helmet glass before returning to normal once they come back to the center. Looking out toward the asteroid, The Chelsie's head lamps reflect back off of distant windows and shut down landing bays. Inside, empty rooms, cargo bays and habitation chambers lie dormant, left in whatever condition they were in when the last occupants shut the lights off for the last time.
Holding on to The Chelsie's hull, preparing to let go, Brandson's words echo inside my head. "How can we know any of what we heard in those tapes is true?"
Rewind a week, to me sitting in Aly's office at Ito Orbital in Rhea, when she walks in from the hallway and places a stack of files in front of me. Sitting in the chair behind her desk, she slides a disc into her computer which projects the color image of a blonde haired girl, highlighted with blue holographic light, out in the space between us.
"Her name is Sassia," she says. "Sassia Bianci. She's the daughter of the late Antoni Bianci."
"So this Antoni Bianci is dead then? Who was he?" I ask.
"Presumably," she says. "He was a low level Federal magistrate from the core worlds. Tau Ceti if memory serves. He was, allegedly, ferrying his family to Mars High when the ship he was on was attacked by 'unknown assailants'. He was killed, along with everyone else on board, save for his daughter. She survived, somehow. Managed to gain quite a following over the past few months before going silent. Made a bit of noise trying to track down what happened to her. She did have the good sense to maintain a running record of her journey though, which I've taken the liberty of procuring for you."
Aly removes the disc from her computer, the image of the blonde haired girl disappearing from the projection, and slides it across her desk before reaching down and taking a sip from the coffee cup, still steaming, in her other hand. I reach down, picking up the disc and taking a long hard look at it.
"Have you seen this already?" I ask, holding the disc up.
"I have," she says. "I'd pay particularly close attention to the bits about The Purple Council."
"Who are the Purple Council?" I ask.
"Criminal outfit," she says. "From The Empire I believe. I'm not entirely sure. Not my jurisdiction. For the moment, they're The Empires problem. I'll start to worry when they cross the border."
"I've heard the name before," I say. "From Kevin Malloy."
"Kevin Malloy?" She says. "The terrorist, Kevin Malloy?"
"The very same," I reply. "I met with him, briefly, when the investigation into the bombing started. Said Rising Damp tried to recruit him to do the Al Mina job. He said Rising Damp worked for some organization called The Purple Council."
"Interesting," Aly said.
"Any idea where I should start looking at least?" I ask. "This can't be a coincidence."
"Have you ever heard the name Octavia Quinton?"
"I don't think so," I reply. "Should I have?"
"She wasn't the kind of person people chose to know," Aly says. "There was a bit of commotion out in the Prism system some seven or so years ago. Imperial Senator Algreb Loren and his family met their end there in some... attempted coup. One of his daughters survived and laid claim to the system. Unfortunately, The Federation and the Independents on the surface did too. Naturally, there was a battle. Octavia was reported KIA on the list of casualties."
"Fighting for which side?" I ask.
"Her own side, I'd assume," she replied. "Never the less, I pulled some old Federal wire tap recordings. They have Octavia mentioning business dealings with people she referred to as The Purple Council. I would assume any records she might have had would still be where she held court."
"A base?" I asked. "She still has a base somewhere?"
"A hollowed out asteroid in the Suijin system. I've included the location on the disc I gave you. Watch the tapes. Pick up the relevant bits this, Sassia, left behind and you should find what you're looking for."
Fast forward, to me floating away from The Chelsie Grin, with her lights at my back, using the RCS thruster control to keep myself on target with the asteroid out ahead. The air intake valve clicks open and shut with each breath, the echoing, tunnel like sound of my lungs at work, surrounding me like trying to breathe with your head in a bucket. As I float, correcting my course with short bursts of monopropellant from the tank on my back, I count each click of the valve, trying to time it with the drop off of each meter from the digital distance readout projected in the facemask glass.
"Fifteen meters Boss," Brandson says in my helmet. "Not far now. Can you see the hatch?"
"I can see it," I reply. The headlamps from my suit zero in on a small hatch next to the closed off mail slot in the asteroid's face. What used to be the entry point for any ships coming or going from this place, is now a closed off, shielded wall, meant to keep out anyone who might want inside. As I approach, I reach out, grabbing onto the support near the hatch and pull myself in.
"Contact," I say into my comm. "I have reached the hatch. Attaching umbilical and preparing for entry."
"Roger that," Finn says. "Be careful in there."