The Deep Black Space Opera Boxed Set

by James David Victor

  Wilco noticed then that the second-most talkative and flippant among them had been uncharacteristically quiet. “Bigby, what do you have to say on the matter?”

  Bigby’s knuckles turned white as he squeezed his blaster. “I understand your desire to get the Blue back, Mao. But I don’t see how we get you to your ship and me to mine and still get off this rock.” Before Mao could interrupt, Bigby said, “I’m not saying you don’t go for it. It’s a solid plan that makes a lot of sense. I’m just saying, I’m not leaving my ship.”

  Mao seemed at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to speak but found nothing to say.

  Bigby continued. “Like you said, the moment they realize we aren’t going for the Glinthawk, they’ll change course. So, we go for the Glinthawk. Or I do at least. Buy you some time.”

  Wilco scoffed. “You won’t buy us any time because you will be dead. They’ll gun you down before you can board your stupid ship.”

  “Not if you have backup,” Amelia said.

  “Are you volunteering?” Wilco asked.

  “I don’t want to sound egotistical, but if I died here, my father would never agree to a ceasefire. He would escalate the war. But my men are up to the task.” Each of the two Byers men nodded.

  “I will go as well,” Trapper said.

  “No,” Wilco said immediately. “You won’t.”

  “They are unarmed. I can guide them through the safest route. And I am the most skilled here at hand-to-hand combat.”

  “No,” was all Wilco could bring himself to say. He offered no justification. He had none that he allowed himself to be conscious of, just a sick feeling in his gut.

  “This is the only way it works,” Trapper said defiantly.

  “No.” This didn’t come from Wilco, but from Bigby. “You get them to the Blue. We’ll take both blasters. Besides, we need to make a little noise on our way or they won’t believe us.”

  Mao’s face tightened. Trapper’s matched it. Wilco recognized what it meant. “You having doubts? Because this is your last chance to air them.”

  “I don’t know,” Mao said, his voice wavering. “Maybe we should stick together. Move as one unit. We might have a better chance at overpowering them and taking a ship. It doesn’t need to be the Blue. Maybe I’m just being selfish.”

  “No,” Bigby said. “We’re unarmed. If we run up on them like this, we all get gunned down, no matter how many of us there are. This is our best chance.” He stuck out his hand.

  Reluctantly, Wilco put the blaster in it. “Been a pleasure.”

  Bigby nodded and turned to Mao. “Been my honor to sail with you, Captain Mao.”

  “And mine,” Mao said, clasping Bigby’s hand. “Your ship needs a captain. I’ll see you out there.”

  With a nod and his youthful smile, Bigby took off at a run. The Byers men followed, each offering Amelia a simple nod as well.

  Trapper locked Wilco in a vicious stare. Wilco knew it was the monk’s pure emotion, not tainted by anyone else’s. “You’re a selfish man.”

  “I’ve never claimed to be anything but.”

  Trapper pushed past Wilco and led the remaining team back toward the shack where they began. Patrols of Void soldiers now roamed the area. Keeping a mental tally, Wilco calculated at least a dozen in the general vicinity. That meant at least that many were headed toward the Glinthawk, if they weren’t there already.

  They saw the pillar of smoke before they saw the shack. The fire Wilco had started had spread to engulf the entire structure. The sound and blanket of smoke would provide excellent cover. They squatted in some thick growth just meters from the fire. The heat was intense. They struggled to not cough.

  Trapper pointed past the building. “There. I’m picking up some anxiety.”

  “Real, live people,” Wilco said. “That must be Mr. Grey.”

  Trapper led them alongside the building, taking them close enough to it that Wilco could feel the hairs on the back of his neck shrivel. As they neared the front of the building, they spotted Mr. Grey and his remaining three operatives. They looked confused. Mr. Grey routinely flailed his arms, like he was trying to shake his exasperation out of his muscles. There were no Void soldiers in sight. The Void had no allegiance to business arrangements, apparently.

  “Perfect.” Wilco clapped his hands and smiled like a fox stumbling upon an unguarded henhouse. He pointed to a crate at Mr. Grey’s feet. “Our weapons.”

  Mao grabbed Wilco by the shoulder, stopping him before he could run off. “They are still armed. And we are still not.”

  “We only need a brief opening,” Wilco said. “Trapper, if you would?”

  Trapper gritted his teeth and breathed out through is nose, like a frustrated dragon expelling his heat before he burst from the inside. Then he closed his eyes and focused on the men standing in the open, the masses of anxiety and worry and fear. He latched onto those emotions, felt them swirl inside him. He held them in his hands and molded them like clay—made them bigger, more pronounced, more volatile—and then he shoved them back into the men’s bodies.

  It was a trick he’d learned during his time with the monks, one of the very tricks that got him expelled from the order. He crossed the line from sensing emotions to manipulating them, from using his gifts as a means of helping others to using it as a weapon. He did not like employing this particular skill.

  The men suddenly seemed set upon by a swarm of bees. They spun around, looking for an enemy that had surely come for them, the bogeyman lurking in the shadows. Wilco darted out from cover, closing the thirty meters between him and Mr. Grey before any of the men could realize what was happening. Without slowing, Wilco drove his fist into Mr. Grey’s face. Mao and Akari were on his heels. Mao lowered his shoulders and tackled one operative. Akari leapt into the air and drove her knee into another man’s chest.

  Manipulating emotions left Trapper dazed. He shook it off and followed them but was depleted enough to be no use in the fight. Akari seemed to bounce from one man to the other, her feet barely touching the ground before she leapt at the last man. She stunned him with a quick jab to the nose, then wrapped around him and pressed her forearm to his throat until he went limp.

  Wilco kicked open the crate. Energy shot through his body at the sight of his sword. He hadn’t realized how naked he felt without it.

  The comms buzzed and immediately filled the air with the sounds of battle. “If you aren’t on that ship, you better get your asses on it now,” Bigby yelled from the other end. “We can’t keep this up long.”

  “We’re on our way,” Mao said. “We have our weapons and a clear lane to the Blue. Board your ship and get clear.”

  “Wish it were that simple,” Bigby said. Someone screamed nearby. “Tell Amelia her men fought well.”

  The comm went dead.

  A cloud fell over Amelia’s face. Mao yelled for Bigby to respond, but he was met with silence. He stood frozen in place. The grief on his face washed over Trapper’s. Both seemed overwhelmed by it. Wilco darted in the direction of the Royal Blue. He made it a few meters before stopping. He turned back, looked at the others stuck in place, listened to the blaster fire in the distance. It would have been easy to run on without them. If he couldn’t pilot the Blue alone, he’d find a place to lay low and wait for the fighting to blow over. A piece of him wanted to. Another piece of him tugged him in the direction of the Void soldiers, called for him to join them.

  Wilco ran to Trapper’s side. He smacked the monk across the face. Trapper looked like he’d just woken from a dream. “Get your ass moving,” Wilco said. “Remember your training. Tune out what you don’t need right now. Focus on what you do.” Wilco repeated the mantra he’d heard Trapper recite dozens of times when he got overwhelmed by the emotions of others.

  It wasn’t the words that spurred Trapper to move, but the fact that Wilco knew them. He always assumed Wilco was focused on himself and his mission, his need for vengeance and blood, and couldn’t be bothered with those
on his team. Trapper slapped Mao on the shoulder, offering the captain a jolt of energy, a slight manipulation of his grief. They all ran together toward the Blue.

  They did slow as they approached the patrol of Void soldiers just meters in front of their ship. Trapper twirled his staff, moving like a whirling top and smacking the blasters from two soldiers’ hands. Mao, Amelia, and Akari dropped several with shots to their chests and heads. Wilco sliced through several more, leaving a trail of severed limbs.

  As the landing ramp lowered, the comms sparked to life. “Hope you took my advice.”

  Mao’s face lit up. “Bigby!”

  “I’m aboard the Glinthawk. The AI is firing up the engines. I’ll be airborne in less than a minute. Scans show the atmosphere is clear. Once I’m up, I’ll have a clear path out of here. What about you?”

  “Boarding now,” Mao said. “We’ll be right behind you.”

  The ramp hit the ground. As Mao planted his foot on it, he felt like Wilco had when he picked up his sword, like he’d reconnected with a piece of himself he didn’t know he’d lost. Before he could take another step, a blaster shot struck the hull just above his head.

  A new patrol of Void soldiers appeared, twice the size of the last. Mao and the others fired back, forcing the approaching enemy to pause, but only for a moment. They regrouped, took aim—

  —and stopped. They all froze in place.

  Trapper’s face turned a violent shade of red. “Go,” he managed with great effort. “Can’t…hold…”

  “What the hell are you doing?” Wilco demanded.

  Each of the Void soldiers struggled to step forward. They looked to be moving in slow motion, fighting against whatever Trapper was doing to them.

  Trapper fought to get out each word. “Still got some…human deep down. Just…enough.”

  “You can’t hold them all for long. The strain will kill you.”

  “Long enough.”

  Wilco understood then what Trapper was planning to do. He would throw his life away. He would willingly lay down and die here, in this abandoned hole, surrounded by rust and rot, a project deemed to be without value. So Wilco could escape. Just like Kurda had done.

  “No.” Wilco grabbed Trapper’s arm. “You’re coming.”

  “They will…kill you before you board.” As if sensing Wilco’s guilt, Trapper said, “Not just so you can live. So you can save everyone. You…have a part.” Sweat rolled down Trapper’s face. “Not the monster…you think you are.”

  Wilco pulled on him, but the monk would not budge.

  “Akari,” Trapper said.

  Akari moved without hesitation. She took Wilco by the wrist, breaking his hold on Trapper, and dragged him up the ramp.

  “Goddam you, you selfish bastard!” Wilco screamed at the monk, his voice constricting with anger and fear and grief, the words cutting their way out of him. “Don’t put your death on me!”

  “Make it mean something,” Trapper Mayne said.

  The ramp raised, and the monk slowly faded from view. Wilco stared at the blank section of wall where Trapper once stood. He felt the ship lurch as the engines fired and it lifted off. Above the sound of the Royal Blue coming to life, he heard the sudden explosion of blaster fire, a dozen guns firing at once, and a good man dying.

  The weight that left him when Wilco took up his sword had returned, and it pushed him into the ground.

  8

  The nanites Dr. Hauser treated Hep with had completed their work by the time the Fair Wind returned to the Mjolnir. They repaired the damage done to his spine. He was still sore as he stood in docking bay, waiting for the others to return. Byrne’s leg had also been patched up, and she stood there along with him. The others went to brief Admiral Jeska on the mission.

  After hearing what had happened with the other team, Hep refused to join them. Delphyne understood and didn’t pressure him, didn’t remind him that as mission leader, it was protocol. She, as his first officer, offered to brief them before he said anything.

  The Glinthawk returned first. Bigby was in rough shape as he descended the ramp. Being the only crew member aboard, he hadn’t had the luxury of tending to his wounds, even with an AI program doing the bulk of the sailing.

  Med techs greeted him, taking him by both arms and lowering him onto a stretcher. He had a blaster wound to his abdomen that he’d patched with some med-spray but was still bleeding a little around the edges. As they carted him off to the med-bay, he insisted they stop at Hep’s side.

  “Two bodies on board,” Bigby said. “Byers men. Wouldn’t have made it without them. See they get returned to their people.”

  Hep nodded. He watched as Bigby was carted away, and then he watched as more med techs boarded the Glinthawk and came out with the lifeless bodies of two men he’d never met. A wave of sadness hit him, watching these two men whose names he did not know. Bigby would be dead without them. The others would probably be dead without them. And without the others, the systems would be lost. These two men would be footnotes in Navy history. Hep may not ever learn their names, and he would assuredly forget their faces. That thought overwhelmed him.

  Byrne must have sensed it. She put a hand on his shoulder. Hep felt like a child then. Selfish.

  The Royal Blue was a sight to see as the docking bay doors opened. Silhouetted against the black of space, Hep was surprised at the emotion that welled up in him. He’d never expected to see that ship again. That ship was where his new life had begun. The life that had led to him being a captain of his own, commanding his crew and destiny. But the excitement at seeing the ship faded upon seeing the people step off it.

  Sullen faces. Bloodied clothes. Mao was first, shoulders slumped. His eyes were dark and empty of the things that made him Taliesin Mao—the eagerness, the discipline. He looked broken. Akari and a woman Hep did not know soon followed. Akari was as stoic as ever, though Hep was sure she was a little unsteady in her movement. The woman, who Hep assumed was Amelia Byers, carried herself like royalty, emanating an aura of authority, though not seeming overly concerned with decorum. She was a wartime queen.

  “My men,” Amelia said. Not so much a question but a declaration of their importance.

  “I can show you to them,” Byrne said. She led Amelia away.

  Mao stopped in front of Hep, eyes on the floor. Hep felt the burden of leadership, like both men were holding magnets, touching the opposing poles, an invisible force pushing against them both.

  “Your mission was successful?” Mao asked.

  “Yes,” Hep said. “Yours?”

  Mao shook his head. “That remains to be determined. We shall see after Amelia Byers pays her respects to her men.” Mao stared off into the distance. “They…” His voice trailed off.

  “Fought bravely, from what Bigby says. They saved his life. Probably saved yours. If we can move forward, if we can do what we need to do, then they’ll have saved everybody’s.”

  Mao nodded. His eyes remained unfocused.

  Wilco appeared at the top of the ramp.

  “How is he?” Hep said.

  Mao looked over his shoulder. “Unhappy.” Without offering more, Mao left the docking bay. Everyone remaining in the vicinity followed, leaving just Hep and Wilco. They stared at each other, silent, but somehow feeling like they knew what the other was thinking.

  “It’s not his fault,” Hep said.

  “He risked our lives to get his ship back.”

  “You won’t touch him,” Hep said in warning. Silence stretched between them. “It’s not your fault either.”

  That struck something. Wilco grabbed his mask and threw it like a dagger at Hep. Hep dodged with a quick sidestep, quick enough to notice Wilco had already drawn his sword and was charging at him. Hep unsheathed the blue blade and raised it just in time to block a vicious downstroke.

  The anger radiating from Wilco was so thick Hep could feel it around him like heavy swamp air. Wilco snarled, like a wild creature, no attempt at making words. He kick
ed Hep in the chest, knocking him back several paces and leaving him winded.

  Hep widened his stance and raised his sword.

  Neither man spoke. They eyed each other, studied their opponent over the gulf between who they once were and who they were now. That gulf was wide enough to consume the Deep Black.

  The Void in Wilco’s mind screamed at him. It clawed at the inside of his soul, stretching its black, shadowy fingers through his muscles and moving him like a puppet. But Wilco allowed it. He could have fought it as he had been for years, but he didn’t want to anymore.

  Wilco charged.

  Hep was ready this time. He brought his sword up as he rolled to the side, deflecting Wilco’s attack while putting some distance between them. Allowing his momentum to carry him, Hep pivoted on his front foot and darted around to Wilco’s blindside. He swung low at the back of Wilco’s knee. With his cybernetic leg, Wilco kicked the blade away.

  The two crossed blades again. They pressed against each other, each trying to shove their sword into the other’s chest as a decade of rage came pouring out of each.

  Wilco jerked forward, slamming his forehead into the space between Hep’s eyes. Hep stumbled back and squared his stance, trying to see through the tears and double-vision. Sensing an opening, Wilco thrust forward. Hep anticipated the move. He spun in a tight formation, barely moving to the side, parrying Wilco’s attack while slamming his elbow into the side of his former friend’s head.

  Both men reeling, they took a moment to catch their breath.

  “I’m sorry about your friend,” Hep said.

  “He wasn’t my friend. I was his captain.”

  “And the woman. Kurda. I’m sorry about her, too.”

  “Shut up.”

  “We asked people to follow us. And they died.”

  “I never asked them.”

  “Then they chose to,” Hep said. “That’s worse, isn’t it?”

  Wilco shook. “Shut up.”

  “They willingly gave their lives for us. And now we have to live with that. Carry them around. Live up to their sacrifice. They hijacked our lives with their deaths.”