Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  He shook the thoughts from his head. This wasn’t the time to go there.

  So when will it be time, Magnus?

  It was then that he remembered the piece of paper that Awen had handed to him when they’d said goodbye.

  “Ten seconds!” Nolan yelled.

  The proximity alarm began to wail as a red light warned against opening the hatch into vacuum. Magnus held the stock of his MAR30 with his left hand and reached into his small chest compartment with his right. He removed the paper and unfolded it with his gloved fingers.

  “Five seconds!”

  Magnus looked down. On that scrap of paper were three large letters handwritten in old-fashioned black ink: NMB. The ship jostled, and the paper slipped out of his fingers.

  “We have a lock!”

  * * *

  “Lieutenant?” the senator asked.

  “Adonis Olin Magnus, sir. Seventy-Ninth Recon Battalion, Marine Special Units.” The two men shook hands, Magnus holding his helmet under his arm and allowing his MAR30 to hang from its sling.

  “Senator Darin Stone. Thank you for coming.”

  “Our pleasure, Senator. I have orders from Brigadier General Lovell to assess your ship’s condition and then make necessary arrangements based on the situation.”

  “Remind me to recommend a promotion for you when I get back to Capriana.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Magnus replied, but inwardly, he rejected the comment, recognizing it as snarky political jargon. No Marine worth their boots wanted a promotion just because they showed up to a broken-down starship on the side of subspace. But Magnus had to hand it to the senator—the man had come to greet them himself. Most men of his status, at least in Magnus’s experience, never spoke to anyone below their station, especially troopers.

  Magnus and his team stood on a beige carpet inside Destiny’s vestibule. Off-white walls with baby-blue trim emitted a soft glow, exuding all the credits spent on a shipwide mood-lighting package. Polished wood rails ran along the corridors on either side, crystal-clear directional signs with frosted letters pointed toward the ship’s many destinations, and the vessel smelled like vanilla and jasmine. The scent of more credits than you’ll ever see, Magnus noted with some measure of jealousy.

  The man in front of him wore an impossibly white smile, manicured blond hair, and a luxuriant tan. Those features, combined with his radiant blue eyes, made Magnus wonder if the man was even real. The senator’s appearance was so perfect that he transcended age. Magnus couldn’t tell if he was old but spent a fortune to turn back the years or young but spent the same fortune to appear statelier.

  Magnus suddenly felt out of place. He still hadn’t let the medic look at his injuries. Moreover, he hadn’t even wiped his armor down. The senator could probably smell the Jujari saliva on his boots.

  Just then, a woman emerged in the corridor from around the corner. “Darling, who is it?”

  There were times in life when something so unexpected happened that it left an imprint on a person’s soul. Magnus had plenty of those—so many, in fact, that he often wondered if there was any substance left to mark. Most of his imprints, however, were of the sort he’d rather forget than remember. They’d come to him in the heat of battle or in the nightmares that followed. What happened when Lady Stone extended her hand to meet him was of another sort entirely.

  “My love, this is Lieutenant Magnus of the Galactic Republic Marines,” the senator said. “He and his Marines have come to rescue us.”

  “Rescue us?” she said with a wide smile. “How wonderful.” She continued holding her hand out until Magnus finally had enough sense to remove his glove and shake it.

  “Ma’am,” he said, instantly self-conscious about his voice—and his appearance, noting that if he’d felt out of place in front of the senator, he felt like a Jellataun snout fish on a frying pan in front of Lady Stone.

  “Please,” she said, “call me Valerie.”

  Magnus was pretty sure he forgot how to speak at that moment. Poetry replaced prose, and he cursed himself for what he was sure would be a failure to construct a coherent sentence in her presence.

  Valerie’s hair was the color of sunlight, and her eyes sparkled like the sea at high noon. Her skin was so smooth that Magnus suddenly wanted to know what it felt like. The white gown she wore was draped around a body that Magnus swore was some lost temple covered by a thin blanket of powdery snow.

  “I’m—here to take you,” Magnus said.

  Valerie smirked. The senator held his smile but cocked his head in question. And Magnus was almost sure he could hear the privates’ thoughts behind him: You tell her, Lieutenant! That’s how it’s done!

  Magnus cringed. “I’m here to take you all to the nearest Republic substation if we’re unable to get you underway again.”

  “See there, my love?” the senator said.

  “Yes, dear,” Valerie replied, withdrawing her hand. “We are most grateful for your assistance, Lieutenant.”

  “There are six souls on board?” Haney asked, stepping to the side.

  “Yes,” the senator said. “My wife, our daughter, and myself. Then our ship’s captain, our chief engineer, and our steward.”

  “Do any of them require medical attention?” Haney asked, apparently eager to ply his trade for what Magnus could only assume was the first time in the field.

  “All of them seem to be in good health,” the senator replied. “I will introduce you to them nonetheless, and you may judge for yourself.”

  “And the engine room?” Gilder asked.

  “Yes, of course,” the senator said. “I’ll introduce you to our engineer, and he’ll take you personally.”

  “Thank you, Senator,” Magnus replied. “And this is Corporal Dutch, our ranking NCO and weapons specialist.”

  Dutch nodded to the senator and his wife.

  “Is this everyone, then?” Valerie asked.

  “We have three more crew on the bridge of our ship, but they’ll remain in place,” Magnus replied.

  “Very well,” Valerie said. “Let’s move to the lounge and get everyone acquainted. I’ll have some refreshments brought as well.”

  Magnus tipped his head and gestured forward with his hand, hoping he wouldn’t have to use more words with Lady Stone. Yet for some unknown reason, as he followed behind her, he said, “Acquainting is great,” and cursed himself for even opening his mouth.

  * * *

  Senator Stone introduced his crew to Magnus’s troops, and the steward offered the troopers beverages and a light snack. Gilder declined and insisted that he head straight for the engine room with the ship’s engineer. He was young and enthusiastic, but that counted for something in moments like this.

  As much as the whole situation had taken a peculiar turn for the best, Magnus still wanted to get off the cruiser as fast as possible. She’s married, for galaxy’s sake!

  The senator invited the others to sit, but the troopers waved him off, Magnus insisting that their armor would mar their furniture.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” the senator replied. “Please make yourselves at home.”

  “You said you had a daughter on board?” Haney asked, taking a seat.

  “Yes, yes. She’s sleeping,” Valerie replied. “I’ll fetch her right away. She will absolutely love meeting some real-life Marines.”

  Magnus watched, perhaps a little too long, as Lady Stone exited the lounge and walked down a hallway that led to the staterooms.

  “So, Lieutenant…” the senator said, handing him a cup of tea.

  What was it with everyone serving him tea lately? At least this guy didn’t have a wall of buckets.

  “Where did our distress signal summon you from?” continued the senator.

  “We were on Worru, sir, making for Oorajee.”

  “Oorajee?” The senator’s eyes lit up, lips held a few centimeters from the edge of his cup. “I hear that’s become quite the hot spot in recent days.”

  “You could sa
y that,” Magnus replied.

  “I’m eager to hear how the negotiations went.”

  Magnus lowered his cup and held the man’s eyes, suddenly unsure if he should say anything. Didn’t he know? “Senator Stone, if you would permit me, when was the last time you were in touch with the Republic?”

  “Just before we jumped into subspace three days ago. Whatever disabled our drive core also took out our long-range sensors. It was all we could do to send a subspace distress communiqué.” The senator placed his cup on his saucer and set them both down on the table. “Why? I sense you have something to tell me.”

  “Senator…” Magnus hesitated. “The negotiations were…” His mind flashed back to the explosion in the mwadim’s palace. He saw the bodies flying, heard the screams, saw the flames.

  “Say it straight, trooper. You’re talking to a Republic senator.”

  “Someone sabotaged them.”

  “They what?”

  “Someone bombed the mwadim’s palace just as the meeting got underway.”

  The senator looked bewildered, blinking as he processed the information. “You’re absolutely sure of this?”

  “Sir, I was there.”

  “You were there?”

  “Yes, sir,” Magnus said. “As far as I know, I’m one of two survivors. Right now, my entire platoon is MIA. That’s who I was headed back to help find before… before I—”

  “Before you were tasked with helping some nobody senator and his family on a broken-down yacht who have enough environment and food to last them months while your men remain unaccounted for on a hostile world.”

  Magnus froze, staring at the man. He resisted the urge to say, You’re damn right, yet he honored the senator’s attempt at straight talk. It was refreshing.

  “It’s all right, Lieutenant. I said it, so you don’t have to. And if it were me, I’d be thinking the same thing.”

  “Thank you, Senator.”

  “We’re not all power-hungry buffoons on Capriana, you know. Some of us are almost tolerable. You, on the other hand”—the senator reached over and placed a hand on Magnus’s shoulder—“are the spearpoint of all our decisions. And if I wasn’t aware of that before, I certainly am now. I’m sorry for your losses, Lieutenant.”

  Magnus knew a player when he met one. But as much as he wanted to hate this man for his perfect face—and even more for marrying the most beautiful woman Magnus had ever met—he simply couldn’t bring himself to mistrust this senator’s words. Which made Magnus hate himself, of all people. I’ve already been hating myself for so long; it can’t make much difference if I keep it up a little longer.

  “Thank you, sir,” Magnus replied. “But until I personally confirm their status, I haven’t lost a soul.”

  “As you’ve said.” The senator raised his cup to salute Magnus.

  Just then, Lady Stone reappeared, holding hands with a small blond girl. Everyone stood and watched as the tiny waif entered the lounge. Her eyes were puffy from being awakened long before it was time, and the girl squeezed a small stuffed animal against her pajamas. Lady Stone brought the girl to stand in the circle of adults and introduced her.

  “Everyone, this is Piper.” Valerie held the little girl’s shoulders. “Piper, this is—”

  “Him,” Piper said suddenly, pointing a finger at Magnus. “It’s him.”

  21

  “Buckle in!” Ezo yelled as he and TO-96 raced through Geronimo’s startup sequence. Awen took a seat behind the two command chairs and fumbled with the harness buckles. Her hands shook due to equal parts nerves and fatigue. The cockpit hummed with activity as switches flipped, screens glowed, and systems cycled on.

  “Geronimo Nine, Geronimo Nine, this is Plumeria Tower. We’re reading drive-core initiation on platform thirty-nine. You do not have clearance for startup sequence or takeoff.”

  TO-96 looked at Ezo. “What would you like to do, sir?”

  “Put me through.”

  The bot touched the dashboard. “You’re good to go, sir.”

  “Tower, this is Geronimo Nine. Not sure what you’re reading. Systems here are nominal.”

  “Negative, Geronimo. Sensors clearly indicate that—”

  “Sorry, come again?” interrupted Ezo.

  The tower comms operator let out an exasperated sigh. “I said, our sensors—”

  “Still can’t read you, Tower. This must be really irritating.” Ezo glanced at TO-96. “How we doing, Ninety-Six?”

  “Thirty-seconds, sir.”

  The tower operator’s voice was hard now. “Geronimo, we are sending a control crew to board your vessel and initiate the suspension of your credentials until such time as the—”

  “Suspend my credentials?” Ezo said in mock surprise. “But then, how can Ezo fly his ship?” He waited as the tower operator hesitated.

  “You… He. No one will be able to fly the ship. That is the whole point of suspension!”

  “Can you explain that to Ezo’s wife, then? She is not gonna be happy when she hears this.”

  “Actually sir,” TO-96 said, muting the comm. “My records show that—”

  Ezo cast him a mirthless smirk. “Not now, Ninety-Six.”

  The bot looked away then back at Ezo. “Ah. I see. You are attempting to engage in witty banter with the tower operator through the use of sarcastic falsities in order to delay their confiscation of our ship. However—”

  “Sometimes, your brilliance amazes even me.”

  “Why, thank you, sir,” the bot said as Awen chuckled. “But—"

  “Don’t mention it. Time?” Ezo asked.

  “All systems are ready for takeoff, sir,” TO-96 said.

  “Open the line again.”

  TO-96 unmuted the link just in time for them to hear the tower operator spitting orders into the microphone, seasoned with enough vulgarities to make him unprofessional but not enough to get him dismissed from his post.

  “Tower, your attempts to threaten us are truly appreciated. It’s exemplary. However, we are leaving nonetheless and wish you the very best. Oh, and please give our regards to”—Ezo leaned back to Awen—“what was his name again?”

  “Master So-Elku,” she answered, cringing as she spoke the traitor’s name.

  “Master Su-Echo,” Ezo said. “Geronimo Nine, out.” He turned to his copilot. “Take her up.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Awen felt the ship lift off and bank sharply to the left. She reached out to steady herself, leaning against the turn.

  “You expecting any pursuers, Star Queen?” Ezo asked over his shoulder.

  “No, I—wait. Star Queen?”

  “Sure. You probably still have that stardrive on you, right?”

  Awen instinctively placed a hand on the satchel. “Maybe.”

  “That’s a yes. Which means you didn’t give it to your big boss man, which means he’s pissed at you. That means you’re a big somebody now—a big somebody with information about something in the ’verse that people want. Big somebodies with stuff other people want are royalty. So you’re the Star Queen.”

  “Sir, sensors show energy-disruption cannons powering up. They’re going to fire on us,” TO-96 said.

  “Power to the rear shields.”

  “Right away.” The bot tapped faster than Awen could see. “Power redirected.” Just then, two blasts of energy slammed against the hull, shoving the ship forward. Awen’s head hit the back of her seat.

  “They’re pulling out the big guns for you, Star Queen,” Ezo said.

  “They’re—they’re shooting at us?” Awen asked, bewildered.

  “Like Ezo already said, you pissed somebody off. Fortunately, they want what you have, and they want you alive.”

  “Those were energy-disruption pulses,” TO-96 added, his head rotating to look at her. “They are meant to disable us while simultaneously opening our command interface to an extra-local takeover. They are powerful, but they will not kill you, Awen.”

  “Thank you for
the reassurance,” she said, eyes wide.

  “This also means you haven’t opened the stardrive yet,” Ezo concluded.

  “Maybe,” she said less confidently. “Where are we going?”

  “Deep space. Ninety-Six, course laid in?”

  “Affirmative, sir. However, I might remind you that jumping while in atmosphere not only poses significant risks to the local population but lessens our jump success to seventy-one percent, given Worru’s substantial gravity well.”

  “And what are the chances that those cannons disrupt our shields before we reach a safe distance?”

  “I calculate a forty-three percent chance, sir.”

  As if on cue, another pair of disruption pulses struck the aft shields. This time, the cockpit lights went out.

  “And now?” Ezo asked.

  “One-hundred percent, sir,” the bot replied in a forlorn tone.

  “Punch it, ’Six!”

  Awen watched as the sky outside the ship stretched away from them as if pulled by elastic bands. Then it snapped the ship forward into a sea of elongated starlight.

  * * *

  Awen had excused herself from the bridge and gone to her quarters to wash her hands and face. She was on the edge of exhaustion and knew that if she didn’t get sleep right away, she was going to cause harm to her body. Yet she wondered if she’d be able to sleep, given all that had happened.

  Awen felt as though her life had gone from normal to light speed, just like the ship. Acting as the emissary to the Jujari had been enough excitement for one lifetime. But being captured by a warlord, transported by a bounty hunter, betrayed by her master, and then surviving a desperate escape from Plumeria… she’d hardly had time to take a breath let alone process it all.

  The worst of it, however, was that she felt alone. Her parents were light-years away, the Order was no longer safe, and she was on some random trading vessel with a narcissistic bounty hunter and his improvised robot. All at once, she found herself wishing Magnus hadn’t gone back to his unit. Maybe there was a way he could have stayed. But that’s just silly.