Stars Forever Black: Book I of the Star Lion Saga

by A. L. Bruno

  “They don’t know what they’re missing,” Backya Umier said, smiling. “They are good stories. Uplifting. What we need right now.”

  Gishkim smiled down at her, retrieved a bag of vegetable chips, and locked his cabinet again. He’d tried to go without the lock at first, but within two days most of his food had been stolen. Though he felt bad for the other families in the apartment—one a mother with three small children, the other a three-generation family of seven, all jammed into a room no larger than what he shared with his roommates—he still had to eat.

  Backya Umier placed a withered hand on Gishkim’s forearm, and he looked down, surprised.

  “Do you…” she started. She looked behind her in both directions, then leaned towards him. “Do you think these space people are the Aditali?” she asked.

  Gishkim chuckled gently and shook his head. “No,” he said. “That’s j-just a s-story.”

  Backya Umier smacked his forearm and shoved out her lower lip like a toddler. “It is not,” she said. “It’s true.” She pointed a gnarled finger at her temple. “We’ve just forgotten.”

  Gishkim smiled down at Backya Umier. “The L-lion isn’t real. N-no one in m-magical a-armor is c-coming down to s-s-save us.”

  “Pish!” Backya Umier spat, offended. “The Lion sits in Tenasta! And those people from space came to see him, just like in the stories.”

  Gishkim slammed his bag of chips on the kitchen counter, crushing the contents in an instant. The detritus of several family’s meals rattled with the blow, and Backya Umier jumped, startled.

  “He’s not the Lion!” Gishkim barked. “He’s n-not the Kionel Aetna. He’s a c-c-corrupt p-politician w-who will g-g-g-get—”

  Gishkim didn’t bother to finish his thought. Backya Umier had already hobbled away, but not before shooting him a horrified look for what he had said.

  Central Authority Shipyards

  Canteen

  Prayad, Kalintel

  Haturina, 13th of Sardua

  “Your own country abandoned you?” Dasa asked Gishkim the next day, carefully slicing the red sausage on her plate. He’d wondered how he would come up with an excuse to check on her after Obet’s beating in the locker room. She’d showed up in his work area after the lunch whistle and asked if he wanted to eat at the canteen. He barely managed to get the word “yes” out of his mouth before she took his hand and led him away. He almost asked about Obet, but the addition of another work-related death on the safety board answered that question.

  “Y-yes,” Gishkim managed as he curled buttered noodles around his fork. He tried not to look at her across the table, lest he get caught staring. “M-military drawn-down a-after the K-Kionel—” The word stuck, and he stopped, blinking as his speech failed him again.

  Dasa reached out and placed her hand on his forearm. “I heard about that,” she said, as quietly as she could in the din of the canteen. “How awful,” she added. “How could they do that to someone who kept them safe?”

  Gishkim’s hand shook, and he placed his fork on his plate. “It was the K-Kionel,” he said, shaking. “M-meddling in th-th-things ag-gain.”

  Dasa grabbed her paper cup and raised it to Gishkim. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, grinning. Gishkim chortled, then smiled, bumping his cup against hers.

  “You have a nice smile,” Dasa said. She tilted her head to one side and eyed him appreciatively.

  Gishkim’s cheeks burned, and he looked down, embarrassed. Dasa raised one hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad!”

  Gishkim shook his head. “It’s n-no problem.” He met her gray eyes and smiled again. “I-I’m just n-not u-used to p-people g-getting that the K-Kionel i-isn’t—”

  “…the Kionel Aetna, I know,” Dasa finished for him, nodding enthusiastically. “One is a leader who puts others before himself, and the other is some old fart hiding in a tower in Tenasta.”

  Gishkim burst out laughing and Dasa grinned. She reached over and took his hand in hers, her head falling to one side again.

  “Would you…” she started, then looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Would you like to watch the show with me tomorrow at my place?”

  Gishkim tensed. Any Tenastan entertainment was strictly forbidden. Even his tape was a huge risk. Sure, everyone he knew had contraband shows, but they were all strictly at his work level. He realized with a start that he shouldn’t even be eating with Dasa, let alone discussing the vids, and he anxiously withdrew his hand.

  Dasa straightened, her cheeks flushing, then leaned in. “No one needs to know,” she said. She glanced to either side then grinned. “I have all four series.”

  “All four?!” Gishkim blurted, and Dasa cringed. Gishkim lowered his voice, still excited. “N-no one h-has a-all f-four!”

  Dasa grinned. “No one but me,” she said. She grabbed her napkin, pulled a pen from her purse, and jotted down an address and a time. “I’ll even make food.” She slid the napkin towards him. “You in?”

  Gishkim swallowed. He knew he should say no. They could both get in trouble if they were caught, and visiting her apartment meant more people would see them together. He could lose everything he had if he did this, no matter how much he wanted it.

  Dasa reached out and laid her hand on his. “I’d really like it if you came,” she said.

  Gishkim looked into her gray eyes and melted. He nodded, and Dasa grinned from ear to ear.

  Central Authority Housing Complex 15C

  Prayad, Kalintel

  Haturina, 13th of Sardua

  The door to Dasa’s apartment was twice as wide as the one that led to Gishkim’s bunkbed—and far nicer. Instead of the thinly streaked gray primer that covered everything near the docks, the door was stained wood, its paneled surface gleaming under track lighting aimed strategically down the carpeted hallway. Even the building number was made of gold-painted metal, a far cry from the stenciled identification on his own home. Everything about the place told Gishkim that he didn’t belong there, and despite checking and re-checking and re-re-checking the address, he was forced to agree. Gishkim was out of his element, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  For the third time in as many minutes Gishkim turned to walk away, but for the third time he stopped. It was the first of his three days off, and his options were limited. He could watch an hour of vid during his scheduled time, make a meal, and drink as he had every single week since he’d arrived in Prayad, or he could take a chance and do something new. That the decision was so difficult only made him more nervous, and he found himself crushing the address-covered napkin in his hand.

  The door suddenly swung open, revealing Dasa within. She looked amazing. Her sapphire hair hung in a side-tail, its fringes touching her narrow shoulders. Her lips were a natural, their customary black lipstick absent. She wore an off-the-shoulder pink sweatshirt with a faded Kionel Aetna figure on it; the muscular figure’s lion-headed shield in one hand and his burning blade in the other. For a heart-stopping moment Gishkim thought she wasn’t wearing pants, but then he realized she sported cotton shorts. The nails of her bare feet were unsurprisingly painted black. She stood on a polished dark hardwood floor and grinned up at him, her smile brighter than any lamp in the building.

  “I couldn’t watch you struggle any longer,” Dasa said, chuckling. She leaned out of the door and spoke in a mock-whisper. “It’s okay. No one cares if you’re here.”

  Gishkim swallowed nervously, then smiled. “N-nice p-place.”

  Dasa gestured towards the interior. “Wait until you see the inside.”

  Gishkim followed her through the door, his gaze sweeping across the narrow hallway leading into the common living area. The first thing that struck him were the pictures on the wall. Images of Dasa as a child, a grinning father playing in the sand with her on the beach were sandwiched between a secondary school graduation photo and a picture of her in carboard Kionel Aetna armor. Gishkim was wondering how her flat
mates tolerated this use of their walls, when he entered the living room and his jaw dropped.

  Dasa’s common living area was twice that of his own, and it was adorned to perfection. A black leather couch hugged the nearest wall, a polished knee-high table placed in front of it, while the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city framed the table-sized vid screen facing the seats. A wooden rack displayed dozens of vids from both Tenasta and H’Tanzia, with the bottom two shelves dedicated to retail copies of the Kionel Aetna cartoon series. A polished bar gleamed against the far wall, while on the other side of the space the expanse of the full kitchen shone as if brand new. Finally, a silver bowl sat on the granite kitchen counter, chilling a bottle of what Gishkim was certain was expensive wine. Two glasses sat on either side, their curved surfaces glimmering under the inset ceiling lights.

  “Welcome to my home,” Dasa said as she trotted over to the burnished metal refrigerator. “You want anything to drink?”

  Gishkim swallowed nervously. “W-where…” He cleared his throat. “W-where a-are your r-r-r…” He stopped, frustrated, and looked away.

  “Roommates?” Dasa asked, grinning. She twirled in front of the counter, stopping to grab the wine bottle and glasses. “Don’t have any. It’s just me.”

  Gishkim stiffened, suddenly uncomfortable. Flats like this were reserved only for the most influential people in the region. No secretary, however competent, rated anything like this.

  Dasa watched the play of expressions on his face. “It’s okay,” she said. “I didn’t kill anybody for this place.” She slipped the wine glasses on the table in front of the couch and unscrewed the top of the bottle. “I hope you like red.”

  “T-that isn’t an ans-ans-answer,” Gishkim managed, pushing the words out.

  Dasa sighed, then placed the bottle on the table.

  “I don’t like to talk about it, but if it’ll calm you down…” She crossed her feet and stared up at him, eyes wide. “I caught my last boss embezzling from the state,” she said. “I had to get evidence for them, and it was dangerous.” She looked away uncomfortably. “Really dangerous.” When she turned back to him, she was grinning again. “But the state thanked me with this. Who am I to turn them down?”

  Gishkim blinked. He’d heard stories like that ever since he’d arrived in Kalintel. He’d always assumed they were nonsense, the sort of thing to give the lowest of the low hope. But now, standing inside Dasa’s home, he wondered if maybe he was more cynical than he needed to be.

  Dasa stepped up and rubbed his arm. “Are you okay?”

  Gishkim nodded. “Y-yes,” he said. “I’m s-sorry I was s-so…” He closed his eyes, frustrated.

  “It’s okay,” Dasa said. She grinned. “Ready for the show?” She didn’t wait for an answer and instead leaned down from the waist to open a drawer on the table in front of the couch. She retrieved a fist-sized remote control and stood straight again, her movement as fluid as a dancer. Though Gishkim hadn’t meant to look, the fabric of her shorts made it clear that she wasn’t wearing anything under them.

  If Dasa saw his blush she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she stabbed the largest button on the remote control and her vid screen squealed to life. A brief flash of Siva Dayati reporting from Tenasta appeared, the image of the alien’s spaceship over her shoulder. But within seconds Dasa’s video recorder overrode the signal; the screen going black as the Tenastan production company logos wavered into being.

  “Ready to have some fun?” Dasa asked as she slid backwards onto the couch, folding her legs underneath her with an almost impossible grace.

  The familiar horns of Kionel Aetna: The Lion from Beyond the Stars filled the room and all Gishkim’s worries vanished. He settled onto the couch next to her and grinned.

  “Y-yes,” he said. “L-lets have some f-fun.”

  They were well into the second season, the daylight outside long since faded to the apricot-tinted streetlights of Prayad, when Dasa spoke of something other than the show. Gishkim didn’t know exactly when she’d folded into him, or how long she playfully rubbed his chest while speaking about the story on screen. All he knew was that he liked it, and for the first time in more years than he cared to admit, he was happy.

  Then with three words, Dasa changed everything.

  “Gish,” Dasa whispered, suddenly quiet. “I’m scared.

  Gishkim looked down and was surprised to see Dasa staring up at him.

  “I-is it m-me?” he asked.

  Dasa smiled, her eyes briefly lighting. “No, it’s not you.” Her expression darkened. “It’s Kawin.”

  Gishkim sagged. Was that why she brought him here? Did she want protection? Was that all he was to her?

  “He’s dangerous, Gish,” she continued. “And I’m not just talking about what you saw or what he did. It’s bigger than that.”

  “But you’ve f-fought big b-before,” Gishkim said. “C-call the A-authority.”

  Dasa straightened, shaking her head side to side, her fingers twisting with nervous energy.

  “This is different,” she said. “Last time it was just money. This time it goes higher, and much, much deeper.”

  On the screen, Meda the Wise smashed his wooden staff of power into the soil, spreading truth over a village enchanted by an evil sorcerer. The villager’s enormous eyes faded from red to white as the spell was banished, freeing them to see the world as it really was.

  Dasa grabbed Gish’s hand and pulled it into her lap as if she were holding onto a pet for comfort. “They found a shipwreck a few weeks back,” Dasa explained. “Ancient, filled with gold, silver…” She leaned towards Gishkim. “…and tablets.”

  “Tablets?” Gishkim asked, suddenly intrigued. “H-how old?”

  Dasa tilted her head to one side. “How old do you think?”

  Gishkim blinked, stunned. There had been talk for decades that the Tenastan Kionelaite had hidden the most compelling evidence about the First Kionel, but most had dismissed it as little more than canteen conspiracies. After all, what would the world’s “Great Mediator” have to hide?

  “Kawin’s trying to recover it all,” Dasa continued. Her hand squeezed his, the force barely perceptible on Gishkim’s calloused palms. “And he’s planning on selling it on the black market.”

  “Why?” Gishkim was confused. Ancient tablets like that would only help Kalintel’s claim to the Kionelaite. Why would Kawin want to undermine that?

  “Why do you think?” Dasa said. “Money. Enough to set him up for life.”

  Gishkim cast his gaze downward and sighed. Of course, it was money. Even in Kalintel, where everyone had food and shelter, it was always about money.

  “But he knows that I know,” Dasa suddenly sobbed. Gishkim looked up to see Dasa staring at the ceiling, shaking one hand as she struggled to fight back tears. “That’s why he made me watch the other night,” she continued. “B-but I don’t think he’s going to let me—”

  Dasa collapsed into Gishkim’s shoulders and he folded her into his arms, rocking her like a child. She looked up at him, tears flowing. Suddenly, she lunged forward and kissed him, the salt of her tears filling his mouth. She pulled away for a moment, her eyes gazing into his, probing to see if her advance was welcomed. Gishkim smiled and she kissed him again, pressing her entire body into his.

  They missed the rest of the season.

  Dasa’s bedroom was even nicer than her living room. Twice as large as the space he shared with Vyzia and the Babblers, it was dominated by a bed three times wider than the one on which Gishkim slept every night. A single fan spun above their heads as they made love, the blades creating a slow strobe effect as the lights played across Dasa’s shoulders, breasts and abdomen. The walls must have been soundproofed better than those in Gishkim’s complex, too, as Dasa made no attempt to quiet herself. In the end, neither did he.

  Afterwards she lay next to him. Silk sheets splayed onto the hardwood floors as she blissfully traced the Kionel Aetna tattoo on his chest. S
he had more art on her body than he expected, with Meda the Wise’s staff lovingly recreated across her lower abdomen. He recognized all the imagery save a small red marking on her left shoulder. Shaped like the world, with stylized versions of the continents filling its surface, it was surrounded by billowing smoke, the clouds boiling into nothingness. Gishkim knew he’d seen it before, but at that moment he could not have cared less where that had been.

  Dasa looked up at him, then gently traced the tattoo along the side of his face.

  “What does your cina mean?” she asked.

  Gishkim reacted with lopsided grin. Few outside of H’Tanzia knew the word, let alone that it had a meaning. Most just thought the facial tattoos were some obscure cultural relics and left it at that.

  “I’m a fan of Kionel Aetna, and the hidden tablets,” Dasa said, reading his expression. “Of course, I’m going to know what a cina is.”

  Gishkim chuckled. “S-strength,” he answered. “I w-was always s-s-strong.” He smiled down at her. “Not a t-talker.” Children usually received their first cina after their tenth birthday, when their personal gifts had been revealed. His parents, of course, never bothered, and Gishkim had been forced to work to save for his own marking. The artist who placed it on his face never asked why he chose his design. Even as a child it was obvious that physical strength was what defined him.

  Dasa’s eyes followed the flow of the blue hardwood staff painted from the edge of his blonde hair down to his neck, and she smiled. “It suits you,” she whispered, then pressed her face into his chest.

  If Gishkim had died there and then it would have been as a happy man.

  “I can stop him,” Dasa said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Who?”

  “Kawin,” Dasa sighed. “All I have to do is get the evidence to the authorities.”

  Gishkim’s gut turned, and he looked down at her, horrified. “I t-thought you s-said he’s w-w-watching you.”