by Leslie Chase
Auric
A Crashland Colony Romance
Leslie Chase
AURIC
Editing by Sennah Tate
Copyright 2019 Leslie Chase
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences. All names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. Tamara
2. Auric
3. Tamara
4. Auric
5. Tamara
6. Auric
7. Tamara
8. Auric
9. Tamara
10. Auric
11. Tamara
12. Auric
13. Tamara
14. Auric
15. Tamara
16. Auric
17. Tamara
18. Auric
19. Tamara
20. Auric
21. Tamara
22. Auric
23. Tamara
24. Auric
25. Tamara
Epilogue
About Leslie Chase
Sci Fi Romance by Leslie Chase
Paranormal Romance by Leslie Chase
1
Tamara
Above the deck of the Wandering Star, a sunrise blossomed. Beautiful, eternal, shining. A vast bright light dominating the sky, far larger and brighter than any sunrise seen on Earth. The first time I’d seen it, I’d thought it was beautiful.
Now it just meant I was late. I grumbled under my breath as I stepped out onto the deck, protected from the vacuum by the ship’s forcefield, hurrying across the open space towards the tower of the bridge.
I’d spent too long trying to work on my actual job in the engine room and now I’d be in trouble when I didn’t arrive for the pointless make-work on time.
Bright white light shone through the invisible dome of the forcefield that kept in the air aboard the Wandering Star. The old ship’s solar collector wings were spread wide, charging the ship’s batteries until we had enough to jump to the next star on our course. After each jump we needed weeks to recharge our ancient, rented hyperdrive. A newer, smaller model could charge in days or even hours, but there was no way that the Arcadia Colony Company could afford something like that.
Once we arrived at our destination, the deck would be full of life. I’d seen the plans, back on Earth before we set out — the Wandering Star would set down on Arcadia and form the center of the new colony. A market, a forum, a gathering place, somewhere for the colonists and their families to gather and talk. Somewhere they could enjoy themselves.
All of that was packed away for the trip. There were only five of us awake to crew the giant ship and the vast deck felt empty. Was empty, with the colonists in stasis in their colony pods, stored like so much cargo, waiting for Arrival Day. Then the pods would land all around our new home while the Wandering Star itself became the colony’s hub.
The pods ranged from small, single-family ships to giant craft carrying thousands of colonists. Altogether the Wandering Star carried over a hundred thousand human souls, and the five crew were responsible for getting them to Arcadia safe and sound. No pressure there, then.
“Only another six months,” I muttered to myself as I reached the door to the bridge. “Six months and we set down on a planet and I can put all this behind me. Maybe I’ll even find a friend to talk to.”
Beside me, Mr. Mews meowed a plaintive noise and I looked down at him, half-grumpy and half-amused. The holographic cat was the colony program’s concession to the psychological pressures of deep space, and while I didn’t want to admit it, it helped. As a computer interface, he was supremely annoying — but at least he gave me someone to talk to.
“You’re better company than anyone else aboard,” I told him, feeling silly about reassuring a computer program. “Don’t take it personally, but I’m looking forward to having some other humans to talk to. This trip’s taking far too long.”
Mr. Mews purred an acknowledgment, a soothing noise that made me instantly feel a little better. Using ultrasound to manipulate my emotions made me uncomfortable, but there was no denying that it worked. And we all needed something to clear our minds and keep us from killing each other.
It was the same technology that the companion holograms would use to keep the dangerous animals of Arcadia at bay when we arrived. I wasn’t sure I liked the fact that the Colony Company treated its own employees the same way it treated predators, but that was a complaint that could wait until we’d arrived.
The journey to Arcadia was a long and winding one, jumping from star to star and skirting the edge of taveshi space. The Tavesh Empire was an enigmatic power, dangerous and uncommunicative. No one wanted to risk angering them by cutting through their borders — which meant, the colony’s planners assured us, that this was a safe path to travel. No space pirates would risk their wrath, and that meant we were less likely to meet any of them in this region.
Honestly, I’d have traded a risk of space pirates for shaving a few months off our travel time. We were slowly going crazy on our own here, but there was nothing we could do about it.
Straightening my uniform, I plastered a smile on my face and pushed open the door. Best foot forward.
“Morning, McKenzie,” I said as brightly as I could. The navigator looked up at me from the sensor station, glowering. It was never a good morning for him, and the end of a night shift would be worse than most.
“Tamara. You’re late.” His eyes narrowed, tiny in his fat face, and he pushed himself up from his chair. It creaked under his weight, and his own virtual cat hissed at me before he dismissed it. Every member of the crew had a virtual pet, and they took on elements of our personalities.
“Come on, McKenzie, it’s only five minutes,” I protested. “What difference does it make? Don’t make a big deal about it.”
He kept up the glare and I tried to look contrite. After a long, long moment, he sighed.
“You owe me one, then,” he said, stuffing the book he’d been reading into his pocket and stretching. He grinned at me, or maybe leered, and I winced as his gaze dropped from my face to my breasts.
Yeah, I know how you want me to pay you back. But he wouldn’t say it out loud. Captain Donovan might not be good for much, but there was one thing I’d say for him: he took harassment complaints seriously. This was his last command, and he didn’t want his record spoiled by something like that.
So I glared at McKenzie steadily until he looked away and pulled an unhappy face. “Fine. You take fifteen minutes of my next shift.”
I winced but didn’t protest. That would be annoying, but I could live with it. And I was late.
Satisfied, he stomped his feet back into his boots and pushed past me to start his walk back to the crew quarters. I slumped into the chair he’d vacated, still warm from his body heat, and glanced at the scanners.
This was the worst thing about the long journey. There was nothing to do unless something went wrong, and we were all keeping busy with make-work. McKenzie was the navigator, I was an engineer, and neither of us had any jobs that needed doing while the drive charged up. So we ended up taking shifts watching the scanners, which was at least marginally useful.
Someone had to watch them just in case, but our orbit around the bright star was clear. The odds of finding anything were tiny, hardly worth bothering with.
I started a full scan to be safe, though it seemed pointless. McKenzie had run one six hours ago, and nothing should have changed since then. Recharging the Wandering Star’s hyperdrive for the next jump would take weeks, and we were contractually obligated to keep a c
onstant eye out for trouble.
Why did I have to ship as crew? Why couldn’t I sleep my way to Arcadia? But that was an option for people wealthy enough to buy a share in the ACC or lucky enough to win a place in the colony lottery. Or those who had a patron to pay for their shipping — some of the colonists were shipping out under contract. Me, I didn’t have those connections. I could barely pay for my contribution to the colony at the far end. Paying for the flight there too? No way.
That was the problem. All of the crew were like me, only here to pay our way off Earth. All apart from the captain, an officer past his prime, ferrying colonists at the end of his career. No one on the crew wanted to be here, and we were all grumpy after months trapped together.
“At least I’m learning something this way. Anything in the logs I should know about?” I asked Mr. Mews. He purred something from my communicator wristband and I sighed. As much as I appreciated the cat’s company, whatever genius had decided that our interface with the ship should be a cute animal needed his head examined. Hearing him purr made me feel better, but it wasn’t a great way to talk to the ship’s computer.
It worked, though. The virtual cat scrolled through McKenzie’s log entries, showing nothing of interest. Exactly what I could expect from my shift.
“Right, Mr. Mews, time to brush up on my Galtrade,” I said, pulling out my phrasebook. The alien trade language fascinated me, especially since the ship’s technical manuals were written in it. If I was going to understand the alien machinery I babysat in the engine room, I needed to have some grasp of the language.
I worked my way through some exercises, Mr. Mews correcting my pronunciation. Hearing a cat speak in an alien language would never be normal, but it did help me learn. And so did the little nuzzles he gave me when I got something right. The forcefield projector built into my wrist computer was just strong enough that I could feel him, and it made me smile every time.
BING. The alert pulled me out of my studies with a start. It took a moment to realize what it meant.
Frowning, I looked at the display. Yes, the sensors had found something. Something small, fast, and most importantly, something headed in this direction.
No. Most importantly, it was changing course. My mouth went dry as I realized what that meant. There was no natural explanation, it had to be another ship. An alien ship.
Either that or the sensors were malfunctioning. They were as old as the rest of the ship, after all. “That’ll be it, won’t it, Mr. Mews? The sensor dish is playing up again. Right?”
Mr. Mews looked dubious, and I couldn’t blame him. The sensors were old, but this would be a weird way for them to malfunction. And I’d checked the dish a couple of days earlier.
Trying to control my excitement, I thought of other explanations. Maybe McKenzie had set this up as a prank. That seemed a more likely explanation than that we’d randomly met an alien spaceship. In the depths of space that would be as unlikely as winning the lottery every week for a year. I couldn’t be that lucky.
But the virtual cat meowed insistently. I couldn’t just ignore this even if it was probably nothing.
“Okay, okay, I’ll check it again.” Ordering another sensor sweep, I focused the Wandering Star’s sensors on the area of space the reading had come from.
Mr. Mews meowed again, and I glowered at him. “I am not waking the captain for this. Not till I’ve checked it.”
Just the thought of the chewing out I’d get if I woke Captain Donovan for nothing made me wince. He wasn’t a fan of being disturbed, even if the regulations said I should call him at the first sign of alien contact.
Of course, if it turned out to be real, he’d chew me out for not calling him right away. I was in trouble either way.
Bing. Crap. Time to find out.
The sensors told me three things. One: we’d spotted a small ship. Two: it wasn’t a human ship. And three: it was headed straight for the Wandering Star and accelerating hard.
“That can’t be a coincidence,” I said, hitting the alarm button and hoping I wasn’t the victim of a prank. “If this is McKenzie fucking around, I will kill him.”
2
Auric
Hours earlier, and light-years away
“You cannot be serious,” I said, staring in horror at the plan the other Alpha-Captains of the Silver Band presented. “The war may not be going as we would wish, but this plan goes against the Code. What use is victory if we win without honor?”
My fighter floated alongside the Silver Band’s fleet as we argued over its future. It was a depressing sight — not that long ago we’d been the terror of space, mighty and fearless. Now, our numbers shrinking, we were reduced to this. A ragged fleet huddling around a heartstar to recharge our drives and make our plans.
Seven captains in council, arguing about our future. And our soul.
I had the Council’s attention, at least. My reputation and my name won me that much, and my words made several of them uncomfortable. But with the situation this desperate, I couldn’t be sure that they would listen.
“Alpha-Captain Auric, I hear your words,” Zaren said formally. “None of us like this plan, but the halverans press us hard. If we cling to our Code and die, who will avenge our homeworld? The human colony ship has all that we need to make a planet our own.
“More than that, we need mates. You know as well as I that our warriors must find partners outside our species if the prytheen are to survive.”
The rest of the Alpha-Captains nodded along with that, and even I couldn’t argue. The halveran sneak attack had destroyed our homeworld, wiping out our civilians. All that remained were warriors and while we were more than a match for the helverans in equal numbers, we had no way to replenish our strength.
If there was a hope that we could find mates amongst the humans, that would be a powerful draw to our warriors. One that would tempt otherwise honorable warriors to dishonorable plans. And here was Zaren, just the man to push us into abandoning the Code our people had followed for centuries.
A hologram of his face floated above the controls of my fighter, cold-eyed and hungry. Beside him floated the other Alpha-Captains, joint leaders of the Silver Band. The seven of us were equals in theory, and our decision here would shape the Silver Band’s conduct in the war between our people and the halverans.
Some voices were more equal than others. Alpha-Captain Zaren’s influence had grown, and his voice carried more weight than most. It wasn’t completely unearned — his clan had fought well, winning victories we sorely needed. But they won them by abandoning honor and the heart of our people’s being, and threatened to pull the rest of us down that path.
Every warrior of the Band fought in battle, but each clan had its own specialty. Miira's pilots were the best in space, Vindar's warriors were famous for their ground combat skills. Terasi commanded our scouts.
The last two clans were different: Layol provided logistic and moral support to the rest of us, keeping the Silver Band together. And then there was Coran, whose clan's technicians kept half the fleet flying. Both were still warriors, but not front-line troops like the rest of us.
Gathered together, the remnants of the Silver Band’s fleet was ragged and battle-worn. The war was hard-fought, and year by grueling year our resources ran low. Without a home base, we were reduced to patching up what ships we had. It wasn’t enough — over time parts wore out and failed, despite Coran’s efforts. My own beloved fighter struggled and others had it worse. I could see the temptation in the eyes of my comrades, the desire for an easy win.
I shared it, but not at the cost of our honor. My father had raised me in the old ways of my people, ways that I was starting to suspect the rest of the Silver Band had forgotten. Or that they were willing to put aside when it was convenient, anyway.
“The humans are not our enemies. If we can find mates amongst their number, excellent. We should approach them as friends, as allies, and strengthen both our species,” I insisted. “Let them colo
nize their new world and we can meet as equals, offer them defense in a dangerous galaxy.”
Would they listen? The promise of a mate was a powerful incentive to follow Zaren’s plan. Even I felt it — the desire to find my khara, the one female fate had chosen for me. Though I had no desire to find her by attacking and stealing from her people.
Looking at the faces of my peers, I tried to judge their loyalties. Coran and Miira were both Zaren’s creatures now, more loyal to him than to the Code. They would back him for certain.
I needed the other three to vote with me. A lot to hope for, but from their faces they weren’t comfortable with what Zaren proposed. There was still a chance.
Coran snorted dismissively. “There is no time for diplomacy. Think what we could do with the resources they hold in their soft hands. We prytheen are warriors, not merchants to grovel before them. Let us take what we need.”
“They are new to space,” I argued, “and they have taken no hostile acts towards our people. Humans don’t even have their own starships, they lease their technology from the akedians. To attack them would be as dishonorable as attacking children.”
I was laying it on thick, but I had to. And it wasn’t far from the truth from what little I knew of humanity — they were an industrious race, and in a few generations they might be players on the galactic stage. For now they were still weak. An honorable warrior did not plunder a target simply because it was easy.