Pax Galactica - A Space Opera

Chapter 6 - 1,472,803 Pax Galactica Boulevard

The partiers on the Social Butterfly were happy to see the end of Decker when the ship arrived at Eridani Ring and he disembarked. He took a shuttle to the ring exterior, rode the underground maglev to Bimarian plate, and came back up to a maglev station right on Pax Galactica Boulevard.

Pax Galactica ran the entire length of the plate, and then some, and the strip of buildings along either side of it represented the most highly built-up area on the ring. In classic Cooperative style the buildings were all as much individual works of art as they were utilitarian spaces.

The maglev station connecting to the underground was at address 1,500,000 so Decker still had a ways to go. He flagged down a flier with a signal from his brain implant and the self-driving pill-shaped vehicle swooped down to pick him up. He gave the flier the address and it deposited him in front of a domed learning annex. Numbers beside the front door indicated it was 1,472,800 Pax Galactica Blvd.

That meant Decker was only three off. He was sure he would find the place from here no problem.

As it turned out, there was a problem. He couldn't find 803. He could 802 easily, 804 was exactly where he expected it to be. 801 and 805 were also easily accessible. But 803 was nowhere to be found.

Decker asked around but nobody had heard of anything at that address. It was like they just skipped that number.

Decker didn't come all this way to be discouraged by something simple like a missing address. Although he was starting to get a bit worried if the place existed at all. If that beansplitter sent him on a wild goose chase he would have his revenge. Just see that he didn't.

Decker checked out all the buildings bordering what should have been the address. 804 was a restaurant and didn't contain any clues whatsoever. 802 was a tall tower of art studios with a museum on the ground floor. Decker explored all the way to the top floor of the tower. Here he found the roof access.

Built directly onto the roof of 1,472,802 Pax Galactica was a small expansion, it couldn't be larger than one or two rooms, with one unassuming looking door on the front. Right beside the door, taking up literally all the available room, the address 1,472,803 had been crammed on.

Decker knocked. No one answered. He signaled for the door to open and it did. He stepped inside.

Inside was, as he had guessed, a single room. In the center of the room a white circle had been painted in luminescent paint. Floating nearby was a round drone with a cluster of lenses on one side like a spider's eye.

"Can I help you?" asked the drone.

"I'm, ah, here to meet someone," said Decker. "I'm expected I believe."

"Is that so?" asked the drone. "Who would you be here to meet?"

"Aranarth," said Decker. "I take it he isn't here?"

"Did he give you a password?" asked the drone.

"No," admitted Decker.

"Good," said the drone, "because there isn't one. Please step into the white circle."

"Why?" asked Decker.

"It marks the target area for a displacement field. If you wish to meet with Mr. Aranarth you will need to please step into the white circle," said the drone.

Decker shrugged and did as he was asked.

"Before we continue I need your consent to undergo the process of displacement, which has a one in seven trillion and eight chance, rounded down, of scattering your atoms across hyperspace," warned the drone.

"I like those odds," said Decker, "you have my consent."

"Please prepare yourself for mild discomfort," said the drone.

Suddenly the world outside the bubble defined by the white circle went pitch black, like a black hole. Somehow there was still light inside the bubble. Decker felt a horrific sense of vertigo unlike anything he had ever known. His body wanted to throw up but he overrode the reaction.

A second later he was somewhere else entirely. He was standing on a circular metal pad inside what looked to be the displacement bay of a starship of some kind. A very advanced starship given the hardware they had available.

There was a man standing at the control console, wearing a black military uniform. It looked exactly like the uniforms the Three Rings Cooperative used during the war, over 500 years ago.

"We've got him," he said, obviously not to Decker.

"Welcome aboard Mr. Decker," came a familiar voice. It was the old woman from the peacekeeper office. "I'll be with you shortly."

* * *

The door slid open and the old woman stepped into the displacement bay. She was dressed the same as she had been before, except this time she was wearing a black cloak with the hood down.

She walked up to Decker. She was shorter than him but in Decker's mind she was taller.

"Welcome to the A.R.C.S. Sic Semper Tyrannis," the old woman said with a wave, "one of the last fully loaded Universe-class Battleships left in the galaxy. It's a Universe III actually. Built during the last days of the war but never saw action. Well, not against the Old Ones at least."

The starship, as it turned out, was massive. The main body was a long, ellipsoid, rocket-like structure with two nacelles on the port and starboard sides that held its hefty torchdrives and allowed them to be individually rotated and adjusted for increased maneuverability. A large heavily armored section on the bow contained the majority of the ship's weapons and other war materials. The stern, where the nacelles connected to the main body, was similarly thickened by additional armor.

The entire ship was made of a material so black it was nearly invisible against the night sky. The red streaks from its twin torchdrives, however, were unmistakable.

"Wait just a minute," said Decker. "A.R.C.S.? You're saying you're the space rangers?"

"A.R.C. Rangers, Mr. Decker," said the woman, "you're not six."

"What's going on?" asked Decker.

"Haven't you figured it out?" asked the woman. "We've been considering you as a candidate to join us. You've passed the preliminary phase. Congratulations."

"I don't remember applying," said Decker, crossing his arms.

"We find it works best if the applicants are kept unaware of the evaluation process," said the woman. "We get more useful results."

"So you want me to be a space- an A.R.C. Ranger?" asked Decker.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," said the woman. "You've qualified to take the training, which 90% of applicants wash out of. Complete that and you can squire under an experienced ranger. If, and only if, they nominate you to join their lodge after you prove yourself, then you will be permitted to join the Corps."

"What if I don't want to join?" asked Decker.

"Then you can return to your home ring and wallow in nihilism. You're no one's prisoner."

"What do I get out of it if I do join? What incentivizes me to stay after all the babbleskite you people put me through?"

"I think a man who engages in Deathracing without a deathward knows exactly what you get out of it."

The woman tented her fingers in front of her mouth.

"Why did you cross interstellar distances, spend all day finding an obscure building, and then consent to be displaced to an unknown location?" she asked. "Because a man beat you in a fight and then left a note about a rematch? Or because there's something missing in your life and you have no idea how to fill the void. I'm offering you meaning, Mr. Decker. Purpose. That's what you get out of it. If that proves to be inadequate incentive you can quit at any time."

Decker nodded.

"Alright," he said, "I'm in."