Stars Forever Black: Book I of the Star Lion Saga

by A. L. Bruno

  “Gentlemen, how does this help us?” Boothe asked impatiently.

  Okoro cleared his throat. “Let me show you, ma’am.” He flipped another series of videos onto the holo emitter. Some were in black and white, while the more recent were in color, though still of low resolution. Each displayed the Kionel in his chambers at the palace. Some showed him holding a curious corded handset to his ear, while others displayed various heads of state fidgeting before him as he addressed them with an easy charisma.

  “When the Kionel demands a mediation, the world listens,” Okoro explained, excited. “He’s stopped two conflicts from becoming all-out wars. He’s influenced elections across the planet for decades. If there’s a crisis, his advice is the first the media goes after. And when he complains about something, shit—” Okoro coughed into his hand, embarrassed. “Excuse me, ma’am… things get done. His word carries more weight than any elected leader we have in the Union.”

  “How does he do it?” Boothe asked, intrigued despite herself.

  Okoro gestured towards the array of videos floating above the table, a smile spreading across his face. “Like this,” he said.

  “I’m not following, Chief,” Boothe said.

  “It’s this, ma’am,” Okoro pressed, gesturing again at the videos. “He’s almost always on camera. He hides nothing during negotiations, not even his temper. He shows the world, um…” Okoro struggled with his words, then his face lit up again. “He shows them how he makes the sausage, and they love him for it.”

  “Or maybe he’s just a narcissist,” Conrad countered.

  Roberts shook his head. “He’s not the only person doing it,” he added. “People throughout Tenasta video themselves all the time. The Tenastan broadcast authorities have a round-the-clock station dedicated to it.”

  “What?” Boothe asked, confused. “Why? What are they recording?”

  “Nothing,” Roberts replied, holding his hands out in a small shrug. “Sometimes it’s a family dinner, other times it’s just someone going out for a hike. There’s the occasional rant, sure, but most of the time it’s just people living their lives.”

  “Still sounds like narcissism,” Conrad said.

  Okoro shook his head vigorously. “No, sir,” he said. “It’s a philosophy of theirs called Tigiag, which translates very roughly to “the beauty of the ordinary”. The idea is that everyone has their own struggles, and, though we all have different problems, at the end of the day we’re still just people.”

  “And they all do this?” Conrad asked, derisively.

  Okoro shook his head once again. “Oh, no, no, no. Kalintel is too paranoid to let people record themselves, and H’Tanzia calls it a “gross invasion of privacy”.”

  “Then why do the other leaders respect it?” Conrad asked. “It seems like something that could be spun against him with no blowback.”

  “Because it serves their purposes,” Boothe answered, her fingers steepled. “They know what the Kionel is doing, and because of that they think they can plan accordingly.”

  Okoro nodded enthusiastically, a grin splitting his features. “And the other leaders come off looking paranoid because they won’t record themselves. Because of that, he ends up being trusted by everyone.”

  “Or he’s considered a damned fool,” Conrad retorted. The exec turned back to face the Captain. “Ma’am—”

  Boothe cut Conrad off with a raised hand. She looked off in the distance, lost in thought, her eyes flitting from side-to-side as she considered her options. Suddenly, she stood, the motion making it clear that she’d heard enough. The rest of her staff followed suit.

  “Thank you, Chief,” Boothe said, “that was extremely helpful.” She cast her gaze at each person in the briefing room, her expression determined. “We’re all in uncharted territory here. All I can ask you to do now is take each step—one at a time—until we run out of road.”

  “And then?” Conrad asked.

  Boothe straightened, her jaw set. “Then we start building our own road.”

  Conrad nodded, and Boothe turned to face Roberts. Her eyes were calculating, but her features revealed nothing. “Mr. Roberts, meet me in my office in fifteen.”

  Roberts’ stomach sank, but he still managed an “Aye, aye, ma’am.”

  Boothe nodded. “Dismissed.”

  “I don’t want to send you,” Boothe said to Roberts, her voice dispassionate. She sat behind the fold-out desk in her dimly lit office. A black-backed holo screen painted her face in shades of green, the privacy mask keeping its content safe from prying eyes.

  Relief washed over Roberts, but he kept his expression as neutral as he could.

  “I understand, ma’am,” Roberts said.

  Boothe tilted her head slightly. “Do you?”

  The relief that had been flowing over him hardened into concrete. “Ma’am?”

  Boothe regarded him, her eyes boring into his for an uncomfortable amount of time. Finally, she shook her head.

  “The XO isn’t wrong about you,” she said. “You do think you know better than us.”

  Anger bubbled up inside him, but he swallowed it back.

  Boothe raised her head, her jaw set. “And the color in your cheeks tells me that you know it, too.” Her brow narrowed. “The problem, Mr. Roberts, is that in this case you’re right.”

  Anger iced to fear in an instant. “Ma’am?”

  “You know this world better than any of us,” she said. “Even your staff, who I have to commend you on.”

  “Thank you, but—” he croaked.

  Boothe silenced him with one raised finger.

  “But I need to hear you say something right now,” she said. “I need you to tell me that you know,” Boothe leaned in for emphasis, “you really know, that this planet isn’t Golden’s Hold.”

  Roberts swallowed. Of course, it’s not! He thought, his mind raging. We’re not invading these people, and you’re not ignoring your staff just to win a fight we didn’t have to get into in the first place! But all he said was, “No, ma’am, it’s not. It couldn’t be more different.”

  Boothe’s stare didn’t waver. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she said, “because I have no choice but to send you to the surface.”

  Roberts went cold and a shiver of fear ran down his back. His jaw tightened until his teeth ached, but he said nothing.

  “I’m not happy about it, either,” she continued. “You might know these people, but I’m worried you’re still too invested in learning their story.”

  Roberts looked up, his fear flipping to anger. “That’s my job, ma’am,” he retorted.

  “It was,” Boothe countered. Her tone left no room for debate. “But that was before the Motinai started shooting again.” She leaned forward, the angles of her thin features catching the dim light of her office like the facets of a diamond. “Now your mission is to convince the Kionel that we need a base on this planet as soon as possible. That’s all. We can worry about their culture, their politics, and their origins later. Until then, our only concern is keeping this planet from the Motinai. Are we clear?”

  Roberts blew out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know how I’m going to do that, ma’am,” he said.

  “Neither do I,” Boothe replied, “but we work with the tools we’ve got.”

  What if I refuse? Roberts thought. The image of spending the rest of the voyage in the brig killed any mutinous instinct, and instead he just nodded. “Of course, ma’am.”

  Boothe sat back and steepled her fingers, eyes fixed on her intel officer.

  “We’ll be watching you, Mr. Roberts,” she said. “Don’t forget that.”

  Roberts nodded, his stomach a block of ice. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Boothe looked down, gesturing to her screen. A reflected zebra pattern of text and diagrams painted her face in a collage of amber, emerald, and cobalt. “Go pack your bags,” she said finally, her mind already shifting to the next problem to be solved. “You’re going to be gone for a
long time.”

  13

  Kionel’s Chambers

  Kionel’s Palace

  Leonathier, Tenasta

  Avindair rushed to the Kionel’s chambers as soon as he left Adelisa and Nashita at the palace’s broadcast room. By the time the elevator arrived, the Kionel was already standing by the western windows, his hands behind his back, his face craned upwards.

  “You’re late,” the Kionel admonished.

  “My apologies, Hikasa,” Avindair replied. “Duties delayed me.” He crossed the polished wooden floors and stopped to the Kionel’s right. Outside the window, jagged mountain peaks were reduced to hulking amber silhouettes against the sky by Leonathier’s city lights. For a moment, he saw nothing but the dense glitter of skyscrapers, the steady red and green strobes of crossing aircraft, and the flowing diamond thread of cars rushing along the freeways. Then, at last, he spotted it.

  It wasn’t intimidating. Just a single bright star that moved steadily upwards from the western horizon. There were no flashing lights; no plumes of flame to mark it as something artificial. Their ship, Avindair thought, his stomach sliding into his throat.

  “They call it Hyperion,” the Kionel said, as if reading Avindair’s mind.

  Avindair stiffened, and he turned to face the Kionel.

  “We have to let the people know, Hikasa,” Avindair said.

  “Do we now?” the Kionel replied, never moving from his watch as the Terran ship passed overhead.

  Avindair sighed. He was too weary to be angry, too drained to argue. All that was left was gnawing dread.

  “Wouldn’t you want to know if the world was ending?” Avindair asked. His voice cracked, but he was too tired to care.

  The Kionel turned, expressionless. “Would you?” he replied.

  No! The thought nearly leapt from Avindair’s mouth. I wish you’d never showed me that damned tablet!

  “Exactly,” the Kionel replied, reading Avindair with the confidence of decades of friendship.

  “Hikasa, why?” Avindair pressed. His mind swam with images of ancient stone, of golden metal, and of carved glyphs. “Why did you tell me?”

  “Because it’s your duty to know,” the Kionel replied evenly.

  “And my burden to conceal,” Avindair replied, heat entering his voice, his eyes locked with the Kionel’s.

  The Kionel regarded him with hooded golden eyes, his expression betraying nothing. “As it is mine.”

  Shame pulled at Avindair like riptide, and he looked away.

  “They’re either our saviors, or our doom,” the Kionel continued. He reached out and touched Avindair’s arm. “That's why we must know.”

  “But how can we tell the difference?” Avindair asked.

  The Kionel didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back to watch as the Terran ship arced higher across the sepia-tinted night sky.

  Part II

  Daughters of Flame

  14

  Kionel’s Palace

  Garden Lawn

  Leonathier, Tenasta

  18 December 2356

  14 Sardua 1066

  A cluster of lights flashed the moment Roberts stepped out of the ship’s boat. A queasy rush of adrenaline pulsed through him. Another flash went off, this time from a reporter positioned on the road next to the Kionel’s lawn. He sighed, relieved. Just reporters, he reminded himself, his heart still racing. Reporters with cameras. They’re not here to hurt me.

  “Mr. Roberts!” a reporter called out in H’Tanzian accented Tenastan as another barrage of flashes blinded him. “How long will you be staying with the Kionel?”

  “Will you take the Kionel into space?” another voice called out in a heavy Kalinteli accent.

  “What kind of technology do you plan to share?” Roberts recognized the steady voice of Tarkena, and he tried to make him out beyond the spots in his eyes.

  A slender, dark haired woman stepped in front of Roberts and faced the media.

  “Commander Roberts will answer all of your questions later.” She, too, had a H’Tanzian accent, though it colored her language like a wine complimenting a good meal. “We’re sure he’s tired from his trip, so let’s give him a little space. Thank you.”

  A delicate hand gripped his left bicep with surprising strength and guided him away from the ship’s boat, the cacophony of questions fading behind them.

  “Better get used to that,” the H’Tanzian woman said. “You’re going to lead their headlines for a long time.”

  “Do I have to?” Roberts asked, blinking back the last spots from his vision. He turned to face his escort, curious to see who rescued him.

  The first thing that struck him was the ornate deep blue tattoo that curled across the right side of the woman’s face. The color and combination of geometric and organic forms complimented her olive skin, her delicate bone structure, and even the merlot dress that hugged her toned frame. Silky black hair curled down her back, held in place by an elegant golden clasp, while precisely manicured nails gleamed red in the morning sun.

  “And you are?” Roberts asked.

  “Nashita Darra,” she replied, her voice pure professionalism. “Personal Assistant to Adishta Adelisa Urmah, Protector of the Four Tablets of Callan, Guardian of the G’Talian Coast, and She Who is Beholden to the Line.” She rattled off the titles like someone being forced to recite the alphabet. “And for the duration of your stay, your assistant.”

  Roberts’ eyebrows shot up to the polished brim of his service cap. “Don’t you mean “handler”?”

  Nashita either didn’t hear him or she didn’t care to answer. She pulled up a clipboard with her left hand and glanced down at a printed checklist, her pace never slowing. “We have to get you to the Agrath Room photo-op, then on to the Kionel—”

  “Wait,” Roberts interrupted. “Photo-op? What’s that?”

  Nashita shot him a “you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me” look, then continued. “After that you’re in the broadcast room with Siva, Tarkena, and Chatura,” her nose wrinkled distastefully at the last name. “And then…”

  Roberts stopped in his tracks. Nashita kept walking, her eyes glued to her clipboard, until her right arm extended out fully, and she came to a sudden stop. She turned to him, frowning, the bulk of the Kionel’s palace rising behind her like a copper bullet.

  “What are you doing?” Nashita asked, impatiently.

  “I’m talking to the media again?” Roberts asked, confused. His mind flashed back to the last thing Captain Boothe had said to him as he boarded the shuttle: “Secure the base, Mr. Roberts. That’s the only thing that matters.” “Why?”

  Nashita pulled more insistently with her right hand. “You’re a man from space,” she replied, incredulous. “Why do you think?”

  Roberts sighed. Acclimation was always part of the first contact plan. That it had to be rushed wasn’t Nashita’s fault. “Of course,” he conceded.

  “And check your frustration, too,” Nashita said, urging him forward onto the long alabaster steps of the Vira Sarani, “Victor’s Path”, leading to the front entrance of the Kionel’s palace. “You don’t want to give those wolves anything to sink their teeth into.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Roberts replied, his mind flashing back to Chatura’s post-landing broadcast. It didn’t matter, though, as Nashita had stopped listening again. Instead, her head was up, her shoulders back, as she moved towards the three figures waiting to greet them.

  Roberts recognized his welcome party on sight. Avindair towered a head higher than either of the others, scowling as if he could think of dozens of better things to do, while the red bearded guardsman from the landing site stood beside him. The two could not have had more different bearings. Where Avindair’s posture invoked a marble statue brought to life, the other stood casually, a half smirk on his face, his golden eyes twinkling. Jagrav, Roberts identified. Avindair’s deputy.

  The third person, however, was something entirely different.

  Adelisa Urmah stood one
step ahead of her two guardians, her delicate chin held high over her slender form. Her long flaxen hair was braided in a style that reminded Roberts of old representations of Viking shield maidens, while her simply cut violet dress managed to convey both elegance and power. At least a dozen centimeters shorter than Roberts’ 172 cm, Adelisa still managed to look down at him with cold golden eyes.

  “Keeper of the Line” indeed, Roberts thought. The reality of what he had to do hit him again, and Roberts suddenly wished that he could be anywhere else.

  Nashita stopped some two meters from Adelisa and released her grip on Roberts’ arm. She bowed from her hips, head facing the stone walkway.

  “Adishta,” Nashita said, “may I present Lieutenant Commander Jason Roberts of the space vessel Hyperion.”

  Adelisa fixed her gaze on Nashita’s bow, then settled on Roberts. A perfectly sculpted brow twitched upward, but she said nothing.

  She wants me to bow, Roberts realized.

  Avindair cleared his throat and shot Roberts a look like a tiger near an unattended orphanage.

  Roberts considered, then straightened. He snapped a sharp salute towards Adelisa, his index finger hitting the brim of his hat with so much force that it stung.

  “On behalf of the Terran Star Force and the Union of Star Systems,” Roberts said, “it’s an honor to meet you, ma’am.”

  Avindair frowned, and a noise like an angry bear rose from his chest until Jagrav elbowed him in the side. Adelisa’s eyes widened, and she drew in a quick, deep breath through her nose, but she offered a well-practiced smile as nothing untoward had occurred.

  “As it is mine,” Adelisa replied coolly, her voice like ice in the warm spring morning. She glanced towards Avindair and her features softened. “Shall we take the Lieutenant Commander to Agrath’s room?”

  ““Commander” would be fine,” Roberts started, “and I would be delighted—”

  Roberts’ words fell on deaf ears. Adelisa and Avindair had already turned, and were striding towards the palace, chatting together like dear friends.