Tyche's Demons: A Space Opera Military Science Fiction Epic (Ezeroc Wars: Tyche's Progeny Book 1)

by Richard Lloyd Parry

  “I miss being free,” said Grace, realizing it was both truth and a lie at the same time.

  “Me too,” said Saveria, hugging her knees to her chest.

  “You can leave anytime,” said Grace. “You’re no prisoner.”

  “I know,” said Saveria. “But. You know. I killed a station.”

  Was I this moody when I was eighteen? Grace sighed. Time for a change of tact. “I need your help.”

  “What?” said Saveria, her posture stiffening.

  “Crazy, I know,” said Grace. “The empress, needing the help of a felon who destroyed a station. The universe? It’s a topsy-turvy place.”

  “You heard it,” said Saveria.

  “Sure,” said Grace. “Wait. Just so we’re clear on what I heard. What did you hear?”

  “A starship, dying,” said Saveria. She hugged her knees tighter. “Chad says I need to stop listening, but I don’t know how.”

  “Neither did I, at first,” said Grace. “It’s like … being told you can stop suffocating if you just stop breathing.” She shifted her posture, easing her sword off her back, sliding it between them. “That wasn’t what I heard, though.” Grace thought about what Saveria had said. “A starship dying?”

  “I think so,” said Saveria. “I’m not sure. It was a long way away. I don’t even know if it was one of ours.”

  “Whether it’s the screams of friends or foes, they’re still screams,” said Grace.

  “Yeah,” said Saveria, nodding. She pointed at Grace’s sword. “May I?”

  “Be my guest,” said Grace. She watched as Saveria picked up the katana, drawing two fingers worth of the ship-forged blade from the scabbard. It was bright as a mirror even in the gloom of the hold.

  “This is … beautiful,” said Saveria.

  “It was a gift,” said Grace. “From a dear friend. She is a lot like you, you know.”

  “Your friend is a killer?” Saveria’s face twisted into something that looked like a snarl but directed at herself. Her eyes weren’t seeing the hold around her, but something in her past.

  “My friend is many things,” said Grace. “But she reminds me of you because she is gifted. Unsure of what to do with her talents, and I think a little scared of what she could do. Because,” and here, Grace put a hand on Saveria’s elbow, “of the terrible things we’ve all done.”

  “She made you such a beautiful sword.”

  “That’s because, also like you, she is beautiful,” said Grace. Saveria hunched under her baseball cap. Grace held a hand out for her blade. When Saveria passed it back, Grace set it between them again, in case either of them needed to pick it up. “So much of what made the Empire possible is because of her. And I think, Saveria, that you’re the same. You will show us things we can’t yet imagine, and we’ll be humbled by it.”

  “Who’s your friend?” Saveria’s fingers traced along the scabbard of Grace’s sword.

  “She is Hope,” said Grace. She shook herself. “That’s not why I came. Like I said, I need your help. I need you to … reach out. I can’t do what you do, not yet. I think I can see how it’s done. But it’s like getting an arm I’ve never had. I don’t know how to use it.”

  Saveria looked at her from under the baseball cap. “Who are you looking for?”

  “I don’t know,” said Grace. “Their cry sounded like someone I know, though. Elspeth Roussel.”

  “And where are they?” said Saveria.

  “I’m not sure,” said Grace. “Alone. In the hard black. Hunted.”

  “Oh, I thought this would be hard,” said Saveria.

  CHAPTER SIX

  NATE HAD TWO women in his life. One was his wife, the empress, and everything he was he owed to her. The other was his starship, the Tyche, and he was sure he owed everything he was to her as well. It’s why he kept the Tyche near. One of his quartermasters had said that old bucket should be recycled, which Nate hadn’t taken kindly to. He’d leaned close to the quartermaster and said, how about no?

  The quartermaster, not a stupid man, used to the ways of royalty whose family tree was as straight as a broom handle, had said, No problem, sire. How about a few upgrades instead?

  Nate stood in one of the Mercenary’s docks, looking up at the Tyche. She sat, skids on the deck, looking worn but ready. Some enterprising soul had freshened up the paint on the hull, the winking woman seeming to focus on Nate, as if he were the only thing in the dock worth looking at. The face of a lady used to turning a card over for a perfect twenty-one, every time. The flying-wing design of the heavy lifter still had the standard thirty-five meters from flight deck to drives, cargo hold airlock open and ready. Fueling lines were coupled to the ship, a faint rise of steam coming from one of the port vents. “Ah,” he said. “I’d almost forgotten.”

  “Beauty, ain’t she,” said a man who’d sidled up to Nate. Nate turned, taking in a ship suit colored in reflective signal orange.

  “She is,” agreed Nate.

  “Don’t mind me saying, sire, but standing on the deck with your mind in the clouds is a good way to get y’self dead,” said the man. He gestured around. “Loaders. Spacecraft. An accident could lend a grim air to this whole affair.”

  “Appreciate the warning, uh…?”

  “Oh. Where are my manners, sire?” said the man. “Name’s Scott. Scotty Reid.”

  Nate held his hand out. “Nate.”

  Scotty looked at his hand, then at Nate. He reached his hand out, then pulled back. “Sire, I’m covered in the grime and grit of a thousand ship’s assholes, if you don’t mind me saying. Oh, hell. And here I am, swearing in front of the emperor.”

  Nate left his hand out. “Scotty? My hand has been elbow-deep in an Ezeroc’s carapace. There is shit that just doesn’t wash out, you get me?”

  Scotty looked at him, almost like seeing him anew, and Nate resisted the urge to reach out into the man’s mind. Doing that without permission was how the Intelligencers got a bad rep, and besides, it wasn’t polite. Scotty gripped Nate’s hand in his own, a firm shake, one and done. “Well, sire. It’s a pleasure.”

  Nate turned back to the Tyche. “This ship? She’s been with me since forever, Scotty.”

  “Aye. She has that look to her. Inside and out, though, she’s a marvel. Everything works. Never seen its like.”

  “Ah,” said Nate. “That’d be my Engineer.”

  “You got a Guild Engineer to fly on her? If you don’t mind me saying, you must have the skills of a used ship salesman.” Scotty whistled. “Ain’t no Engineer I know who’d work on a tub like that. ‘Cept me, and that’s because I like the old ones. Reliable. Know they’ll keep you out in the hard black.”

  “They will,” said Nate. “Wait. You’ve been working on the Tyche?”

  “Sure have, sire,” said Scotty. “Quartermaster wanted upgrades thrown in, so I got to work. Must say, I didn’t want to do some of ‘em. Seemed a shame to replace work so well done. Like a poem, it was, sung in steel and wires and ceramicrete.”

  “She’s good,” said Nate. “But try telling Hope that, and she’ll deny it, Scotty.”

  “Good ones always do,” said Scotty. He grinned. “Not me. Best Engineer ever held a Shingle, make no mistake.”

  “Eh,” said Nate. “I’ve got two questions, Scotty.”

  “Shoot, sire.”

  “First up, what upgrades?” Nate paced the length of the ship. The Tyche looked just like she always had, those good Old Empire lines that kept you safe when it mattered. “She looks the same.”

  “Seemed a crime to cut on her skin, sire. It’s all under the hood, as it were. Upgraded drives, for a start. She’ll push harder than she ever did before. New reactor schematics came out of Triton just last month, so I’ve popped one of those in her. Strong, like an Olympiad’s heart. Beat like a metronome until Sol goes dark. But the real magic is skin and claws.”

  “You put in weapons?”

  “And new armor, between the inner and outer hulls.” Scotty pulled
a rag out of his ship suit to wipe his hands, an action that looked as habitual as playing with a good luck coin. “Her old teeth were worn, sire. She meant well, but the PDCs were near shot. The gimbals were down to the bare metal. They’ve seen a nudge in the right direction. I’ve mixed it up some. You’ve got enough tungsten rain to keep you happy in the summertime, and I’ve added some of those new rails. Folk say they jam, but that’s just superstition. Next they’ll say you can’t take women on a starship.” Scotty grimaced. “The point, sire, is that it’ll give you some mid-range capability.”

  “You put railgun PDCs on my starship?” said Nate.

  “Aye.”

  “That’s fucking awesome,” said Nate. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

  Scotty pulled out a small personal console, flipping it on. “Neither did I. But they’re installed anyway, whether it’s fairytales or science. For what it’s worth, and I’m not sure it’s worth much, the specs say science. Oh, hell, I almost forgot. I removed the old maser and laser array from the nose. Was a wonder the lasers still fired. The lenses were shot.” Scott shook his head, like he was discussing a sick horse. “Nose, top, and bottom, I’ve snuck in a new set of turrets. Particle cannons. New targeting computer too. You point, she’ll shoot.”

  “Huh,” said Nate. “Sounds serious.”

  “Aye, sire. You had a second question?”

  “More of a request,” said Nate. “My friends call me Nate.”

  “Be as may, sire, it’d make me uncomfortable.”

  “Fair enough, Scotty. Where do you think I’ll be taking the Tyche that warrants so much weaponry?” Nate frowned. There was something tickling the edge of his mind, that future sense he hadn’t come to grips with just yet. “Seems a lot for an ex-war heavy lifter.”

  “Never been in a fight where I wanted less weapons than I had,” came Kohl’s rumble, the big man striding across the deck, Baggs and George in tow. All three looked purpose-built, black uniforms crisp, weapons at their sides. Nate was struck again by Kohl’s shorter hair and wondered for a hot second if the bugs had got into the big man’s head. Nah. Kohl just wanted a change, most like. Kohl slapped Scotty on the back. “You up for another round tonight?”

  “You’re itchin’ to lose more good Empire coin, is that it?” said Scotty, squinting at Kohl.

  “You know each other?” said Nate.

  “Course,” said Kohl. “Captain of the Black needs to know the kind of man working on the emperor’s ship. Also, there’s a scarce few people on the Merc who play cards and lose while acting like they’re winning.”

  Nate felt a tug on his thoughts, turning to look up at the main entry airlock to the dock. Moments later, his Grace walked in, Saveria close behind. Grace was walking with a purposeful stride, scabbard held in her hand. As she came close, Kohl grinned. “Gracie.”

  “Asshole. Scotty.” Grace nodded at them both.

  “How the hell am I the only one who doesn’t know the Engineer working on the Tyche?” said Nate.

  “You’ve been busy,” said Grace.

  “Mind full,” suggested Kohl.

  “Bigger issues,” said Scotty, looking at the deck.

  Nate turned to Saveria. “Any thoughts on my failings?”

  “Nope,” she said, tugging her cap lower on her head.

  “Great,” said Nate. “I need a beer. Been a long day.”

  “It’ll get longer,” said Grace. “We need to go.”

  “You what?” said Nate. “We just got back on the Mercenary.”

  “And now we’re leaving,” said Grace.

  “Brit won’t be pleased,” said Nate. “We keep yanking her ship from one end of the universe to the other.”

  “We’re not going on the Mercenary,” said Grace. She nodded at the Tyche. “We’re going on the Tyche. We need to go to Sol. If you were so good at seeing the future, you’d know already.”

  “Something bad is about to happen,” said Nate.

  “That some esper seeing-the-future thing?” said Kohl.

  “No,” said Nate. “It’s because we’re all here. The only time bad things happen is when we’re all together.”

  “We’re not all here,” said Grace. “El and Hope are on Earth.”

  “That’s just perfect,” said Nate. “You want us to go there? Something bad will definitely happen.”

  An alarm sounded, yellow strobing lights filling the docking bay. A synthesized voice said, “All hands, general quarters. This is not a drill. Prepare for jump.”

  Nate looked at Grace. “Is this you?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Nate keyed his comm. “Brit?”

  After a moment, Captain McDonald answered. “Sire—”

  “Nate.”

  “I’m on the bridge, sire.”

  Nate winced. Yeah, in front of the crew, titles are useful. “Captain McDonald. We’re going to war?”

  “Sire, we’ve received an emergency message from the Guild Bridge. The Admiralty is directing the Navy to the Paloma system.” Brit’s voice was tense. “Admiral Karkoski was specific, sire. She wants all warships. Including, I believe she said, ‘the emperor’s pet carrier.’ Which, I’ll admit sire, is a thing she and I will talk about in due course.”

  Nate grinned at his comm. “Understood, Captain. Look, we’ve got to be somewhere else.”

  “About time, sire.”

  “Mind holding your jump until we get out of here?”

  “Not at all, sire. The Empire serves at your will, sire. People might die while we wait, sire, but it’s no matter.”

  Nate sighed, clicking the comm off. Grace put a hand on his arm. “You did this to yourself,” she said. “It’s Nate this, Nate that. ‘My friends call me Nate.’ It’s all on you.”

  “I know,” said Nate, flashing a smile. “How much better is it than a bunch of asshole courtiers in meetings, though?”

  Scotty laughed. “You’re my kind of emperor, sire, and I don’t mind admitting it. Now if you’ll excuse me, when the cap says ‘battle stations,’ that’s my queue to get my ass onto a couch.” He nodded at Kohl. “Next time?”

  Kohl nodded back, shaking Scotty’s hand. “You can count on it.”

  Nate walked towards the Tyche’s cargo airlock. Grace, Kohl, and Saveria followed, but Saveria took a few more moments. Baggs and George brought up the rear, ever cautious, even on an Empire carrier. Once they were inside, Nate sealed the Tyche, the reassuring hum of the ship coming to life making him smile. “I’m on the sticks,” he said.

  “No way,” said Grace. “You’re a terrible pilot.”

  “That’s fair, Cap,” said Kohl. “You scare me, and I don’t much like being scared.”

  “Hey,” said Nate.

  “I can fly her,” said Saveria. “Chad’s been teaching me.”

  “We’ll fly her together,” said Grace. “You get Helm. I get co-pilot.”

  “What do I get?” said Nate.

  “You get a beer,” said Kohl. “With me.”

  Saveria scampered up the ladder leading to the crew deck, youth giving her energy. Grace followed, all lithe athleticism. Kohl stood at Nate’s side. “You ever feel old, Cap?”

  “No,” said Nate.

  “Me neither,” said Kohl, trudging for the ladder.

  • • •

  Nate strapped into a couch in the ready room, the flight deck visible through the doorway. Kohl was across from him, already working on a beer. Baggs and George, strapped in closer to the crew deck airlock, were having a conversation about a prize fight they’d seen last month on holo, both having lost money, and both still of a mind the fight had been rigged. The big bay doors of the Mercenary were open onto the hard black, Cantor and its station visible against the stars. Far off, the system’s star burned bright, a torch against the darkness.

  “Mercenary, this is the Tyche,” said Grace. “Ready for launch.”

  “We have you, Tyche,” said a woman on comm. “Mercenary Dock Control confirms you ar
e clear for launch. Mind the new paint. Godspeed, Tyche, and good luck.”

  “Copy that,” said Grace, clicking the comm off. She nodded to Saveria, who nudged the sticks. The Tyche rumbled in agreement, exiting the side of the massive carrier.

  Outside, Saveria turned the Tyche, tipping the wings in salute at the Navy carrier. The heavy lifter poured on a little more thrust, getting clear of the Mercenary. After a few minutes, Saveria cleared her throat. “Helm, ready for jump,” she said.

  “Don’t let El hear you say that,” said Kohl. “Just because you’re in her chair don’t mean you’re a Helm.”

  “Sorry,” said Saveria. “Just playing the part, you know?” She craned her neck back towards Nate. “Uh. Wait. Did she say … Paloma?”

  “Who?” said Nate.

  “Brit. Uh. Captain McDonald,” said Saveria.

  “I think so,” said Nate. He thought about it a little more. “Pretty sure, yeah.”

  “If that ship jumps to Paloma, everyone on it will die,” said Saveria.

  “You sure?” said Nate.

  “I’m … no. But it’s where … it’s where they all went to die.” Saveria shook her head. “I heard them.”

  Nate clicked his comm. “Captain McDonald?” No response came. Stars around the Mercenary bulged and rippled, then the carrier was gone, nothing but jump eddy and memories. “Well, shit,” he said.

  “We could go after ‘em,” said Kohl. “I dunno.” He crumpled his beer can, tossing it into the recycler. “Don’t figure it makes good sense. We’re in a tiny ship. If there’s sharks out where the Merc comes out of jump, we’ll just add to the blood in the water.”

  Much as it irked Nate to admit it, Kohl was right. There wasn’t much that an ex-war heavy lifter could do in a space battle. And they had business in Sol. He knew it. Nate could feel it. He just didn’t know why.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  EL’S MOUTH TASTED like copper and burnt plastic. There was an alarm, shrill and incessant, the speaker right behind her headrest. She pried an eye open, and saw the escape pod’s window above her, a jagged crack running along the seal. There was text on the holo, but either the holo was fried, or her vision was blurry. If El were to lay money on a winner in that race, she’d say it was her vision, but that horse would only win by a nose. The holo was flickering, fitzing in and out, the display awash with visual noise.