Ten Tisht Schwan fighters were at twenty-thousand feet and were breaking formation. It was raining rounds of red and blue lasers over the area and the remaining fleet had already moved toward the Sea of Alum. Instincts kicked in as two of the Schwan targeted him. Honoré reversed the position of the yoke and sent the Stur Craft diving for the angry waters of the sea with the rest of the fleet as their weaponry gave them the advantage underwater. He made the turn just as the debris from Santini’s ship was splashing into the water. He knew that there was no way that Santini survived. A part of him wanted to jerk the yoke again and run the cowards down that had ambushed them, but there was no way he could take them out like this.
The Stur Craft was named due to its size. It was a larger ship than the more common Bru, which was named after the intergalactic thoroughfare called the Brune which it was designed for. The Stur Craft was twenty feet high and forty feet long and offered Honoré some of the conveniences of home on long journeys. He didn’t care to land and sleep on foreign planets or moons. It was too often that men disappeared when making that mistake. The maneuverability of the craft coupled with the long-range sonic bombs and laser cannons made getaways easier. The short-range micro-blast guns were his favorite feature. It was the first of its kind to harness the power of telenium and convert it into rapid-fire discharges. One round could destroy any ship equal to the size of the Stur Craft.
Its underwater capabilities were superior to other vessels its size. Often this would afford him and the crew the vast ocean floors of the planets as a place to hide as it was invisible to sonar. A feature that was a must in his line of business.
The Stur Craft impacted the water slamming him forward in the seat. Honoré knew that he was less than a mile from the coast. From his time in the waters exploring the deeper shoreline areas, he had found a series of huge tunnels about three hundred feet down that led directly to the sea. Concave sections had been dug into the rock leaving a large canopy which served as an entry point. After asking around, he learned that it was claimed by the government of Capetes to be for the purposes of escape, but most believed it was strategic in the event of a war with Viennin. He headed north to the deeper waters where he remembered seeing them. Two, three splashed down behind him and were in pursuit. The Schwan were not known to be effective in underwater conflicts. Honoré had half expected them to remain airborne and not follow him, but there they were on the radar two hundred yards aft.
To his right, he saw one of the cutouts, as he called them, and guided the craft toward it. A red flash was on his screen, “One is coming in hot!” he said noting that a live round was locked on him with only seconds to impact. He slid the Stur Craft into the overhang and nosed the vessel upward as the missile skimmed off the rock and detonated. To his surprise, it was still open, and the craft lifted effortlessly out of the water. He intended to land twenty yards or so from the opening and shoot at the Schwan if they attempted to follow, but his plans suddenly changed when he looked upon the one-hundred-foot high tunnel hewn out of the mountainous terrain. Military assets and stacks of storage containers filled the tunnel as far as his eyes could see. It was packed in so tight it would be difficult for a kid to walk through.
“What is going on here?” he asked aloud.
Honoré spun the Stur Craft around and faced the opening and prepared to fire. After several minutes the Schwan Fighters failed to emerge. They knew what waited for them if they tried. It was quite possible that they opted to wait him out. A few more minutes passed before he decided to record what he was seeing. He spun the craft around to get a full three-hundred- and sixty-degree view. Then he slowly guided the craft down the tunnel and saw that it seemed to go on for an eternity. He turned off the main tunnel to his left and saw food, rations, and ammunition being stored. He followed it to its end then returned to the main tunnel. Tunnel after tunnel revealed the same thing. Something was amiss. Why did the government of Capetes put most of its military assets, ammunition, and years’ worth of food underground? Why were ten Tisht fighters flying over a sovereign country?
An hour had been spent exploring without a conclusion and he decided to return to the Sea of Alum. It was unlikely that the Tisht were still around since they weren’t supposed to be there in the first place. They were certain to assume that he had used the underground tunnel to go inland and escape.
He held his breath and counted to three hoping his intuition was correct then plunged the Stur Craft into the water. The lighting at three hundred feet was poor, but his scanner revealed nothing of importance. He surfaced and flew over the area looking for evidence that would tell the fate of the other craft. Only some of the debris from Santini’s ship could be found working its way to shore. Most of the ship was gone. What made matters worse is that no one had arrived at the scene. The Government of Capetes, the Marine Forces…no one. It was like nothing had happened. His heart sank as he watched a piece of metal skin with two red stripes facing up bob up and down with the waves as the wind directed it slowly toward shore.
“Ricoh, Kalen, Abi…” he said over the transmitter. Silence was the only response. He repeated their names louder.
“Honoré…” the signal was weak. “Look, I think Santini was hit,” Kalen said.
“Yeah, I know. I saw when it happened. Did any of you see if he got out?” It was a stupid question because he was sure that he would have seen it. It was hard to fight off the oppressive emotion that was trying to work its way into his mind.
“No,” was the simple answer, “we are in one of those tunnels. Something weird is going on here. We are seeing a lot of military assets. A lot of hardware down here.”
He had to mourn Santini later, “I was just in one of them…was thinking the same thing. From a strategic perspective, it makes no sense to have all your military assets underground. Unless you know something no one else does, then it makes perfect sense.”
“Roger that!” an unexpected voice was heard.
Only one of his Captains said that and it was due to his fascination with military movies from Earth. He would buy hundreds of movie chips at the black markets that were imprinted with an unknown number of what the Earth people referred to as films. He looked up and saw a small dot on a rock and directed the Stur Craft toward it, “No one saw you eject. You all in one piece?” Honoré asked relieved to see Santini.
“Waiting until submerged to eject wasn’t the best move. But I figured that they would shoot me if I had done it right away. I knew the Stur would stay together, they are designed for that. Not sure that I would do it again,” Santini said wincing in pain.
Honoré hovered over the rock ledge and dropped a ladder. Blood was caked on the left side of his face and part of the uniform appeared to have been on fire at some point. Santini grabbed it and fought through the pain to pull his injured body into the lower bay of the Stur Craft. Every inch of his body seemed to be impacted to some degree by burns or lacerations of varying severity.
After dropping Santini off to get medical help, he decided to get answers to what he had just observed. Why were the Tisht there? What was going on in the tunnels? Despite his curiosity, he would have to deal with Dag first.
“Honoré!” an angry female voice called out over the radio.
“Hello, Sachi! Are you spying on me? Voice is as pleasant and soothing as always. It will be good to see you,” he replied not really certain that she would ever want to see him again.
Honoré and Sachi had known each other for as long as either could remember. Her parents owned the property next to Dag’s. As neighbors, they grew up and spent a lot of time together. As young adults, they seemed to be inseparable. One day several months prior to leaving on the last outing, the two friends were hanging out and conversing by themselves. Sachi confided in Honoré that she wanted a deeper more intimate relationship and expressed her love for him. She had begun to disrobe when the awkward feeling came upon him. Honoré had never thought of her in that manner. She was beautiful with her long a
uburn hair and sharp green eyes, but it just didn’t seem right unless he was certain that he had felt the same way. She was too close to him and hurting her was not something he ever wanted to do. When he walked over toward her to explain his feelings, she dropped her dress and waited for him to kiss her. When he pulled the dress up from the floor and covered her body, she was mortified. The embarrassment of exposing herself emotionally and physically to him was one thing but the rejection of her advance was almost too much to bear. She ran out of the room in tears refusing to let him explain. She wouldn’t speak to him for weeks despite his repeated attempts to apologize. It was apparent by her tone that she was still angry.
“It’s not me you need to be worrying about, it’s your faoer!” Sachi snapped.
“On Earth, they use the term, father. I kind of like that better,” Honoré noted attempting to lighten the conversation.
“Call him what you like, cause it won’t matta. You’re in for it,” the female voice said in a firm but concerned tone.
With very little consideration required, Honoré knew the reason for his faoer’s anger. If the news had, in fact, reached him before he could explain the sequence of events properly, then the truth would be tainted and distorted. This would get Dag worked up. Then, no matter the level of necessity or what good reasons Honoré had for doing what he had done, his anger would blind him. “What do you know? What have you heard?”
“First, because I know you. You do things that drive your faoer nuts! Plus, he came over asking me questions about certain things…rumors he heard while you were off running around the universe. He seemed the most interested in rumors that you were in Auslet. Why were you in Auslet? Why would you need to go there? The fact that he had to come to me for answers instead of hearing them from you made it even worse.” Sachi found herself wondering why she was giving him any warning.
“Well, I am about to touch down at the Erim now.”
The craft hovered over an unoccupied landing pad. As he descended, he saw his faoer, Dag Borghild storm out of the entry of the stone structure. Though he was in his late sixties, Dag was solid, strong and could still back up his temper. Which, under the right condition, could be as explosive as a bolt of lightning. He was well respected and justly feared.
Dag was at the base of the Stur Craft before Honoré could get unstrapped from the pilot’s chair. He moved down to the lower level to the exit and took a second to focus before punching the button to unseal the door and activate the stairs.
In his youth, Dag was raised by his faoer, Taras, who had made his way as a ruthless pirate. He believed in killing and taking what he wanted. His motto was ‘Leave none alive and they can’t testify to what you’ve done’ as he did not believe in taking prisoners or chances. Honoré had heard many stories of Taras’ brutality as Dag willingly shared with him while growing up. It was the joy he had taken in telling the stories that always, for some unknown reason, made Honoré uncomfortable. He wanted to believe that they were untrue or exaggerated, but due to Taras’ reputation, and the fear exhibited by those at the mere mention of his name, led Honoré to understand that was to be unlikely.
In one of the more disturbing accounts, during a raid on a ship from Bejas that was rumored to be an over-booked passenger transport en route to Nellore, Taras tired of killing with lasers, daggers, and fire-swords. So, he had over a hundred living beings ejected out into the vast reaches of outer space to die.
Various stories of the brutal attack that had resulted in the deaths of hundreds of innocent beings for the sake of burglary spread across the universe. The tale raised the brow of even the most ruthless pirates. The brutal crime had gone unsolved for a period of time. Then, the tale was shared by members of his crew after having too much to drink in, of all places, a pub on Bejas. “The dead may not tell tales, but living drunkards do!” Dag often reminded him.
The word spread quickly, and a bounty was put on Taras’ head and that of every crew member involved. They were rounded up and tortured for weeks. Often Dag took less pleasure in telling the final chapter of Taras’ story. In response to their crimes and to send a message to anyone ever considering taking such action on any citizens of Nellore, one by one each pirate was methodically tossed from a vessel hundreds of feet above the roof of the House of Taras. Dag often walked around the structure and recounted aloud each name and the location of where each of the mutilated bodies had landed on the structure that used to be the Erim of Taras. Bodies and body parts littered the structure and the impacts caused the roof to cave in in sections. The carnage caused the Erim to fall into ruin.
After the bodies were removed, from afar the structure appeared as if Taras had grown bored of the natural stone finish of the exterior and had decided to paint it a deep red. The dead pirate’s blood filled every crack and crevice on the exterior and had poured into many of the rooms soiling the interior. The damage was irreversible. The structure was taken down to the very last stone and was rebuilt. But the lesson of Taras’ end was always near to his thoughts and he vowed to never make the same mistakes or suffer the same fate.
Despite the lessons of the massive stone residence’s destruction by the fallen bodies of his faoer and crew, Dag tried to carry on the business. The lesson of Taras’ death had served him well for decades and he tried to be smarter, but it caused him to be harder on those who followed him. On the surface, it appeared that Dag had turned from the ways of Taras and was legitimately running a clean operation. But not all was as it seemed. Some elements of the Borghild empire were legitimate, but he was also able to re-establish Taras’ underground networks and continued to make huge profits on the black market. Only to be thwarted by his own son who seemed to have been diseased by a conscious. It was sickening to hear of the charity Honoré was involved in.
For Honoré, being the son of a man such as Dag Borghild meant that confrontation was a way of life. Dag had more than adequately provided for his needs while growing up and in his own way possibly exhibited a minuscule residue of love for him. But he had demanded a lot in return. As the most powerful man in the city of Dabon and a leader of his people, he had to be a hard man. One to be feared. All needed to understand the consequences of crossing him.
As a result of his faoer’s stature, much was demanded of Honoré. From the early days of youth and beyond, he had been shorter than the average man he encountered in Capetes and in the country of Viennin. As a matter of honor, as it was in Capetes, if one disrespected a man it was his entire house that was shamed. This resulted in nearly constant fighting during his youth. Walking away could never be an option for anyone with the Borghild surname. Losing a fight would mean allowing shame to fall upon his Erim. To bring any shame to the Erim of Borghild would have been met with far greater consequences than getting beat up by a common being, which in Honoré’s life, had never happened.
The anticipation of the moment got the better of Dag. He started in on Honoré before his feet could hit the ground, “Have you gone mad?” he yelled while pointing a finger at him.
“Not sure that I’ve been evaluated, but I guess in a strange way…we all are. Why do you ask?” Honoré asked knowing it was foolish to provoke Dag.
Unamused by the comment he continued, “Are you trying to start a war with the Tisht? I taught you to be smart…take from those weaker than you. Not from an intergalactic super-power like the Tisht. They can crush this house…this nation with the snap of a finger.” His pointing hand became a fist.
Honoré looked at him, “I am not sure that I know what you are talking about? Can they snap? They only have three fingers.” His attempt to keep the conversation light was only increasing Dag’s irritation.
“Was that you on Onsan?” he asked getting to the point.
“Sure, I’ve been to Onsan. Dumpy place for a superpower to live. Kind of sad if I am being honest,” Honoré said.
Dag was in no mood for games and nearly grabbed him, “Was it you that killed the Lord of the Erim of Tilhar, took some
female slave and shot up the transports in the east bay hanger?” Dag yelled leaning in closer to him.
“I didn’t kill Tilhar. I think the woman did…although I am not sure how. Yes, I did help that Earth woman. They were about to shoot her. I may have damaged a few of the transports--”
“You destroyed all the transports in that hanger! Why were you even there?” Dag’s face was red and he got a little closer each time he spoke.
Honoré just looked at Dag for a second. He was tired of the back and forth every time he returned. It was always the same no matter what they accomplished or how much money they had brought back. He was glad it was over, only Dag didn’t know it yet, but it was Honoré that was about to shut everything down. He wondered how he was going to break it to him that he was no longer interested in his way of doing things and was walking away. He was ready to go at it on his own. “I made a deal with SINSTER. I got them some highly valued information. In return, they would see to it the records of the crews were expunged. They are, or will be, as free as anyone.”
“You’re talking with the enemy of your nation? You’re making deals with SINSTER? Why didn’t you talk to me first?” he demanded.
“I didn’t have time to consult you on the matter. The opportunity came about and I did it. You wouldn’t have approved anyway. It wouldn’t have mattered,” Honoré replied anticipating a very adverse response.
“The word will get out and we will be done! No one will do business with us,” Dag said taking a step back as if punched in the gut.
“No one will know anything. The Viennians will see to that. Not everyone is corrupt. You know, there are legitimate ways to make a living…a good living,” Honoré argued.
“All of a sudden you know everything? Decades of building a business and you just take it upon yourself to rewrite it all,” Dag paced for a second as he considered what he wanted to say or do. His face was red, and his brow protruded like it did when he was extremely angry. “What kind of ‘information’ was that important? So time-sensitive that you couldn’t come to me first?”
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