Diaspora Ad Astra Read Free Page A

years and it has served him faithfully—it has never failed, never wavered, never frozen in all the time he has been in service. Captain Delgado will—during times of extreme
peril—confide in Konstantin as a friend, a lone confessor in unknown territory, a partner in policy-driven crimes against the enemies of the Republic.
    He checks his Konstantin’s signal for the seventeenth time, the tenth since he sent the TARGO signal to the
R.P.S. Artemis
via Omniwave channels, and this time
is shocked to find that his tracker reads four signals. One is his, bright and strong and dead-center on the screen of his hand-held tracker. The other three flare erratically and appear to
originate from Sanction’s target arena—the slaver stronghold twenty kilometers inland, just beyond the range of hills along the edge of a treacherous ravine. Captain Delgado hesitates
for a fraction of a fraction of an instant. Then he boosts the output of his Omniskin and pours all his will into the next few seconds attempting to overpower the interloping signals that have
chosen this astoundingly inconvenient instant to reveal themselves.
    One hundred fifty kilometers above Captain Delgado and dropping, Captain Aharad sees the four signals throb in green and yellow mere centimeters in front of his right eye,
curses his fortune as he considers an emergency abort, then selects Delgado’s signal when it flares brightly on his screen.
    Seven pods lance down from the swirling, lightning filled skies above Captain Delgado and impact the water just below the cliff, sending up a wall of surf and clouds of
steaming vapor.
    Captain Delgado masks Konstatin’s signal with a thought and a grin, runs over to the cliff’s edge and gets ready to activate the pull-cable turbines at Captain
Arahad’s command.
     
    OMNIANS
    It is an hour earlier, and Captain Arahad airs his concerns on the Omnian signal tracker. Captain Arahad—normally tight-lipped about his distrust of Omnian
technology—argues openly with Oplan Sanction’s chief architects on the
R.P.S. Artemis
.
    The chief architects—two physically present and a score in Omnian mindspace—concede to many of the observations of Captain Arahad. Yes, Captain Arahad, little is
known about the Omnian Imperial Shroudskins and except that they were powerful, long-lived, and nearly extinct. Yes, Captain Arahad, the first three Presidents of the fledgling Republic,
constitutionally mandated bearers of the last Imperial-class Omniskin, complained of a stiffness in the skin, occasional lapses in the maintenance of the Omnian mindspace, and a steady degradation
of power. Yes, Captain Arahad, we cannot ascertain why a small number Omniskins fail and wither. No, Captain Arahad, the mission will not be scrubbed or postponed. Our decision is final.
    Captain Arahad regards his audience, all Omniskin bearers—some barely expressed, appearing as thin gauzy gloves clinging tightly to delicate fingers; some nearly fully
expressed, covering every exposed surface of skin with writhing multi-hued fibers—and resigns himself to his course of action.
     
    INTELLIGENCE
    It is 08-08-2108 at 0820 and eight soldiers are silently cutting their way through the heavy jungle that covers the hills. Matte black Moroblades slice easily through bark and
vine, stealth suit boots clamp down heavily on leaves and twigs underfoot, muffling the team’s steady progress through the hills.
    Finally, a clearing halfway through the hills. Railpistols are raised and fusion blades are primed as Captain Delgado and Lt. Marako perform a perimeter sweep.
    CLEAR, signs Lt. Marako. CLEAR, signs Captain Delgado. And the soldiers enter the clearing.
    They swiftly bury most of their kit and packs—their rations, supplies, dropsuits, climbing gear, pullropes, bivouac tubes and mess tins—taking only weapons,
ammunition, and signalgear.
    Finally, Captain Delgado briefs them.
    The slavers are keeping all their human cargo, all 1207 of them, in