Tyche's Demons_A Space Opera Military Science Fiction Epic

by Richard Parry

  Okay, Captain of the Skyguard. Where did that dickhead Price send you? El couldn’t see anything, the pod’s window facing out to nothing but stars. There was something familiar about them, almost primal, like she’d been here before, or someone she’d known had described them to her. Just jump nerves, El. That’s all. She tapped the pod’s console, the holo lighting up in front of her. It reached out on emergency frequencies, trying to find someone who’d reply with a friendly hello.

  It got a hit. It got about a million.

  The holo blinked, the pod’s small computer chattering away. It overlaid the window into the hard black with familiar stars and positions. There, Mars, the red god brighter without Earth’s atmosphere. Behind her, or below her, because orientation was a bitch, was Earth itself. “We have you on scan, Captain,” said a warm male voice that should have been narrating bedtime stories rather than working for Earth star flight control. “Your pod is reporting no ill effects. Are you safe?”

  El keyed the comm. “This is Roussel. Pod’s fine. I need the emperor. Or the empress. I don’t give a shit which one.”

  “Let’s bring you in,” said Warm Voice. “Then we can talk.”

  “I hate to be an asshole about this,” said El. “But I’m going to anyway. Just seconds ago, by my relative reckoning, my second in command committed an act of mutiny to save my life. The Troy, the ship this pod is registered to, was destroyed. Or, I think it was. Not sure. Probably? Let’s say yes. And it was destroyed by a new force the likes of which I’ve never seen. I’m here, floating in the hard black above,” and she checked the holo, “Namibia, trying to put a call into Nate, or Grace, because there is shit they need to know. Do you copy?”

  There was a pause, then Warm Voice said, “Copy, Captain. Thing is, the emperor and empress are out of system, so that needs to wait. I’ve got a ship inbound to your location.”

  “Okay,” said El. She thought about the ship that had attacked the Troy. What it had looked like, and what it had done. “Okay,” she said again. “How about Guild Liaison Baedeker? You got her tucked away somewhere?”

  “Baedeker, Baedeker … We’ve got a Captain Baedeker out—”

  “Guild Liaison,” said El. “Guild. An Engineer.”

  “Wait one,” said Warm Voice.

  While El waited, the hard black around her like the fist of a titan, she spent a little bit of time trying to reassemble her composure. Point of fact, Price hadn’t mutinied. At least, not in the traditional manner. He’d sent her home, which wasn’t the kind of action El would expect from someone who wanted her command. Now there wasn’t immediate threat of fiery death, El was sure that a faster route for Price would have been to shove her out an airlock, not into an escape pod. That makes it better and worse, El, because a good man died so you could live.

  She tapped a finger against the pod’s console, then went to work. El had access to Earth’s local network, with a couple of minor speed of light problems. She wouldn’t be playing in any real-time virtualities from up here, but information? No problem. She signed on, the console immediately filling with about a million low priority messages. Shit like budget reports, someone’s farewell party in the Admiralty staff, and an on boarding session with some new Skyguard recruits. El swiped all those away, going to the part of the display where she could access the encrypted comms program Grace had setup for them. Grace had said, It’s better to have a backup plan, without saying what the backup was for, but it felt like a good idea. The comms fabric was setup to allow the original crew of the Tyche, plus a few strays like Chad and Karkoski, to leave messages for each other. High priority messages would be routed through ship commnets, Guild Bridges, and local networks to get to their recipients.

  An added feature Kohl had suggested was what he called tag and bag. The program allowed the last known locations of the crew to be available, in case one of them were lost. Nate had nodded, face somber, because he knew the Empire was new, fragile, and had the guns of the greedy pointed at it. Those closest to the throne are closest to harm, he’d said, at which point El had said, I don’t want this fucking job anymore. But here they were, her ship destroyed by an enemy force more powerful than she’d ever seen before. Even the fucking roaches hadn’t been that hard to take out. They burned under crust busters just like anything else. But whatever it was the Troy had drawn down on was a smaller, lighter ship, and it had tossed the big Empire destroyer into the recycler like it was a balled-up napkin.

  The holo lit with Nate, Grace, and Kohl in one location. A little shit pile planet called Cantor, in a system that didn’t have a proper name. Which reeked of anarchists, a few folks who didn’t like doing it our way, because the Old Empire, and the Republic after them, named systems using the same method. Put a name on a star, and then each planet follows the designation, Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta, and so on. No doubt because coming up with original names for planets and systems was a problem. But whomever stuck a fork in Cantor hadn’t thought that way. No, sir. Some asshole had found a system, and planted a flag on a planet, called it Cantor, and gave an extended middle finger to the Empire. Then, they descended into bloody civil war, which was an expected outcome when you got a bunch of anarchists together with guns and free time in equal measure.

  El swiped their location aside, because they were too far away. Chad’s marker was [CLASSIFIED], which was just annoying but expected for the head of the Empire’s spooks, and Karkoski was also [CLASSIFIED], which suggested they might be on a mission together. One left. Hope Baedeker, the best damn Engineer El had ever met.

  Her marker was below El, on Earth itself.

  Osaka.

  Fuck.

  El traced her fingers through the glowing lines of the holo. Anchorage, then Osaka. She waved through the menus, winding time back. Hope had been in Anchorage for a while, then … Osaka. El scrubbed further back. Same pattern. Whether Hope went to San Francisco, Anchorage, or Berlin, didn’t matter. She always popped back to Osaka. El did a quick tally, coming up with over a hundred visits to Osaka.

  No way Nate had sent Hope to an old war zone where nanites would eat you from the inside out. So, she was going there because someone was making her, or she wanted to, or both.

  El leaned back as far as the pod’s acceleration couch would allow. It wasn’t the most luxurious thing she’d been in, but it’d keep her alive until help arrived. The pod continued to rotate in space, showing her satellites, other ships, and Earth in its glory below. She allowed herself a small smile. No matter how far and wide she went, there was something about this place. The cradle of humanity always felt like it was ready to welcome her home.

  It didn’t hurt that the best beer in the universe came from here.

  Warm Voice was taking his sweet time getting back to her. It’d be an easy task to contact the Guild, find Hope was in Osaka, and get back to El. Which begged the question of what he was doing. El scratched her head, thinking. The pod continued to turn, bringing into view a pinprick of drive flare, no doubt her rescue shuttle. She wasn’t sure why she did it, but El told the pod to target a cam at that point in space and zoom the image.

  That’s not a shuttle.

  That was a motherfucking fighter craft, burning towards her with a purpose. None of the Skyguard’s red and gold colors, nor Navy black, just a matte gray spacecraft. Not much to it, just a cockpit bolted to a drive core, looked like. That meant a few things.

  First, she needed to get the fuck out of here.

  Second, Warm Voice wasn’t a person who wanted to share a drink with her. He was subversive enemy scum, trying to kill her.

  Third, someone wanted to ruin her day.

  Fingers working almost without thought, she keyed the pod’s systems. Where can you go, El, that no one will follow? Her eyes flicked to the message queue. She wasn’t jumping anywhere. El didn’t know where [CLASSIFIED] was. Which left one impossible, crazy location.

  The Osaka Archeology and Research Facility.

  She didn’t let herself
think about it, her breaths coming in short huffs as she worked. One eye on the spacecraft coming for her. One on the console. Coordinates, thrust burn, and—

  The spacecraft fired torpedoes at her.

  Fuckit. El slammed her hand on the EMERGENCY LANDING control. The pod’s single booster kicked like a mule, the noise of the drive like a titan’s roar. Gs pressed her hard into the acceleration couch, the pod shaking around her. El knew she’d be breaking all kinds of protocols on the way down. Earth’s defense grid would have a moment about now, clever algorithms trying to work out whether it was okay to shoot down the Captain of the Skyguard. She closed her eyes, the shaking of the pod getting worse as it hit atmosphere. The roar from above was joined by a roar from all around as air rushed against the pod, the fire of re-entry flaring outside the window.

  The holo lit with telemetry, impact location, and prepared to launch emergency beacons. It mapped the torpedoes turning in an arc to follow her into Earth’s gravity well, those same torpedoes not having a great day as they encountered atmosphere. It was a race as to whether they’d burn up before they hit her.

  El reached a hand out to the console, clearing the emergency beacon signals. She didn’t know what was going on, but she knew people were after her. She didn’t want the good guys duking it out with the bad guys before she worked out which were which. El knew who she could trust, and only one of those people was in system right now.

  The holo updated in a flicker of light as the torpedoes above her flared out, burned by the fires of re-entry. The pod descended through the air, a blazing line trailed through the clouds, directly towards the heart of a dead city.

  Osaka. The only place on Earth where humans went to die.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHILE BEING BACK on the Mercenary wasn’t like being home, it was a lot safer than Cantor Station. For one, there were fewer people who wanted to stick steel through Grace’s shoulder blades. Not everyone went around with an anti-esper bracelet. Even though Grace kept telling people, You need to wear those. Or you’ll have killed your own family and not remember doing it.

  She felt the warmth of Nate by her side. Not that he radiated heat, but something better. Love/protection. A rock she could cling to, in any storm. It didn’t matter where the charts took them, or on what seas they sailed. He walked the decks like a captain should, rolling as the ship rolled, pointing them to where it was safest. Only problem as far as Grace could tell, there wasn’t much safe water to be had. There were shoals, and sharks, and a powerful number of pirates, thirsty for their blood.

  Kohl had left them as soon as they’d berthed, muttering something about finding the maker of the auto-bar on the shuttle. The two Black had followed in his wake, looking like they thought their captain had a good idea they shouldn’t waste. Which left Grace, with her Nate, in this elevator. The elevator was whisking them up the floors of the carrier, a ship so big it felt taller than any urban density project Grace had been in.

  “One day, the wind will change, and you’ll get to keep that face,” said Nate, not looking at her.

  She shook herself, putting a hand on his arm, then leaning against him. “Sorry,” she said.

  “Don’t be sorry,” said Nate. “Could have its uses, a face like that. Put you on the prow of a ship, it’d scare off any who crossed our path. Or, I dunno. The front lines of a battle. No one would mess with us.”

  Grace pulled back, her frown replaced with a grin. She punched his arm. “People would still mess with us.”

  “Fair,” he said, nodding. “It’s what people do.” He cast a glance at her. “But then, people sometimes have to learn things the hard way.”

  Grace put on her best Nate voice. “‘I can see the future, Meenaz.’ What the hell was that about?”

  “I can,” said Nate. He wobbled a hand to-and-fro in a maybe gesture. “Sorta.”

  “You can’t even see what you’ll have for breakfast,” said Grace. “And what was all that, ‘you’re going to change everything,’ nonsense?”

  “I couldn’t just roll on up and say, ‘You’re the head of a dead planet,’ could I?” said Nate. He frowned. “Besides. I … wonder.”

  “Will she?” said Grace. “Will she change everything?”

  “Maybe,” said Nate.

  “Maybe means no,” said Grace.

  “Unless it’s yes,” said Nate.

  The door opened, a huddle of the Mercenary’s crew outside. There was the usual blinking and shuffling aside that Grace still hadn’t got used to as the crew worked out who it was in the elevator. She kept waiting for them to discover what she was. The terrible esper, the same one who’d killed their emperor. Almost ended everything, before it began. Grace wanted to pull back into the elevator, make it take them to a different deck, one without people and their expectations standing outside.

  Nate reached for her, lacing his fingers in hers. She picked up faith/trust/family, and knew he was right. Grace also knew he should wear his damn bracelet, but he never did. He carried the big black blade and more trust than the universe deserved, as if either would protect him against the devils in the dark.

  The crew outside the elevator stepped back, spines straightening. They all slapped fist to chest in salute, then dropped to one knee. From the ones without bracelets, she felt awe/respect/protectors/liege, and she wondered why they’d accepted Nate so fast.

  “Hey now,” said Nate. “It’s not just for me.”

  “What?” she said.

  “Hey now,” Nate repeated. “I know you. So do they.”

  Grace reached out with her mind, like a moth scared of the flame. She sifted through the surface thoughts of those in front of them. Grace was startled by what she found. Underneath the feelings were words, an equal dose of Emperor with Empress.

  FAYE He walks with us like he’s one of us

  TRISTAN She is so perfect, perfect like the dawn, she is her name

  IRWIN He went to a station without risking one of us

  CAIT She went to a station so we could be safe

  There was more of that, and as Grace and Nate stood like idiots in the elevator, more of the ship’s crew arrived. Waited, and stared, and saluted. Grace wanted to turn away from their idolatry, because she hadn’t earned it. She looked at the man at her side. Nate had earned it. He’d died for them. She’d only … done the killing. Grace looked at the black blade on his back, her eyes moving to his wrist and the lack of bracelet, and she thought, maybe trust and a sword is enough to stand against the dark.

  “Is there a problem with this elevator?” The speaker was Captain Brit McDonald. The Mercenary’s captain stood, shoulders square, something that might under intense magnification be a smile on her lips. At her words, crew stood and scattered, suddenly busy. Within moments, the corridor was empty.

  Nate poked a head out of the elevator. “Are we safe?”

  Brit laughed. “Safe enough,” she said. “I need to drop you off somewhere. You’re hell on productivity.”

  “About that,” said Nate. He stepped clear of the elevator, Grace following. The doors slid shut behind them, and the three of them walked. “I mean, there’s no fires. We could cruise.”

  “Cruise?” said Brit.

  “Cruise,” agreed Nate. “See a few worlds. Put in a little face time.”

  “I don’t want this to come across the wrong way, but no,” said Brit. “You’re screwing with my starship.”

  “You know what I like about you, McDonald?” said Nate.

  “My honesty?” said Brit.

  “Nothing,” said Nate, laughing, and clapping a hand on her shoulder. Grace let herself slip behind them, dragged in their wake. Her steps slowed, her inner senses feeling … something, across the void of space. She stopped walking, putting a hand on the metal skin of the Mercenary. Listening for something only she could hear. Faint, like a sound you’d remembered rather than heard, from a long way away.

  Someone she loved was in danger.

  Nate turned. “Grace?�
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  “I’ve got to … go talk to our girl,” said Grace. She watched his face as he looked her over, doing the mental math, considering what to say, even with a trusted person like Brit at his side.

  “Me too,” said Nate. “Brit was just taking me to her.”

  “Other girl,” said Grace. “The other one.”

  “I know,” said Nate. “See you later?”

  “Yes,” said Grace. She took the five steps to him, pulling him in for a kiss. “Be safe.” She gripped his arms. “Be safe.”

  “What is it?” said Nate.

  “Nothing,” she said.

  Nate put a hand over hers. “Then it’s everything,” he said.

  • • •

  Grace found Saveria where she expected. The bottom of the ship, in the hold. Crates of supplies, stacked high, lashed and secured with military precision. It was dark here, a vast expanse of space half a klick long. Grace wasn’t worried about the dark. She was worried about why Saveria was hiding in it.

  The young woman sat atop some crates, feet dangling over the side. She wore a loose-fitting jacket and the archaic baseball cap she never seemed to be without. Grace looked up at her in the gloom, faint floor strip lighting turning the hold into a vaulted cavern. “Hi,” said Grace. “You got a minute?”

  Saveria looked over the side at Grace. “Sure. You’re the boss. Or one of them.” Grace took a couple steps back, then ran up the face of them, vaulting to the top and dropping to a seat next to Saveria. Saveria took this in, then said, “You’re also a show-off.”

  “Got to keep my hand in,” said Grace. “The Black do most of the work these days.”

  “You miss the killing?” said Saveria.

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