Stars Forever Black: Book I of the Star Lion Saga

by A. L. Bruno

  THUD! The ship’s boat cracked like an egg, then exploded. Heat washed over him, there was a sharp pain and…

  Agrath’s Room

  Old Kionel’s Palace

  Leonathier, Tenasta

  16 Sardua 1066

  Thudthudthud!

  Roberts screamed and he sat upright on his mattress in Agrath’s room. Sweat drenched his skin, and his heart pounded as if trying to escape his chest.

  Thudthudthud!

  Roberts shot a half-panicked look around the room. Phelspharia, he thought. Agrath’s Room. I’m safe! He laid his head back, heart still beating a hole in his sternum. I’m safe.

  Thudthudthud!

  The door, he thought. Somebody’s at the door.

  Roberts swung his bare feet out from under the bedlinens and placed them slowly onto the cool wooden floor. You’re safe, he thought again, his head down, his eyes stubbornly open lest he close them and see that field again. You’re safe.

  “Are you dead?!” Nashita’s voice yelled from the other side of the doorway.

  “No,” Roberts croaked. He glanced at his wristcom. 0435 local? he thought. Why the hell does she need me this early?

  “Good!” Nashita replied from behind the door. “Let me in!”

  Roberts stood up and walked towards the door.

  Just a little bit farther…

  He fought back the thought and cracked the door open.

  He almost didn’t recognize Nashita. Her artful makeup was missing, and her carefully curated clothing had been replaced by faded running shorts and a ragged green t-shirt. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun; a sweatband wrapped around her forehead.

  “You look like hell,” Nashita said, her nose wrinkling.

  And you look adorable. The thought caught Roberts by surprise, and instead he grumbled, “You should see me in the morning.”

  Nashita pushed the door open and marched past him; then turned and frowned.

  “Was that another joke?” she asked.

  Roberts stifled a yawn. “Not if you have to ask,” he replied. “What’s up?”

  “Do people exercise on your spaceship,” she asked, “or do you take some pills or something?”

  “We exercise,” he managed. He briefly considered bringing up Terra’s disastrous flirtation with nano-based physiological alteration but thought better of it. “Why?”

  “Get changed,” Nashita said. “We’re going for a run.” She grabbed a used towel that he’d folded carefully over the supplied rack and threw it into his chest. “Hurry,” she pressed. “We don’t have all day.”

  Roberts thought briefly of arguing the point but decided against it. “Give me a minute,” he told her, grabbing his duffel and headed to get changed.

  “I’ll give you two,” she replied, smiling.

  A run will do me good, he thought as he shut the bathroom door behind him.

  When he closed his eyes, however, all he saw was the surgeon being ripped apart by a mortar like an old rag.

  “What the hell is that?” Roberts asked a few minutes later. He’d forgone the shower—that could wait until after the run—but had cleaned his teeth to freshen his breath. We didn’t come all this way to offend, he’d thought as he slipped into his exercise gear.

  Nashita stood proudly next to a thick plastic cart, on which was placed a large black cube with a curved reflective surface on one side. On a lower shelf was a slotted black box, next to which were stacked thick gray plastic rectangles.

  “This is how we’re going to tune your image,” Nashita replied proudly. She stabbed a button on the top cube and the lower box, and the reflective screen lit up with images.

  The first thing Roberts saw was Chatura the Troublemaker animatedly babbling, a deeply unflattering image of himself over her right shoulder. The volume was down, so he couldn’t hear what she had to say, but he knew from her body language that none of it was positive.

  “We’re recording all media concerning you,” Nashita explained as she stretched in front of him. “This way we can find our pain points and adjust!”

  “Wow, I get to study myself being beat up by your global media,” Roberts replied sardonically. “Swell.”

  Nashita stopped stretching and stared at him, confused. “What’s swollen?”

  Roberts shook his head. “Terran idiom,” he replied as the video changed from Chatura to the artfully lit image of Siva Dayati on her set. She silently mouthed words of great concern—he could tell by the way she lowered her chin and set her jaw—before the image changed to lines of protesters outside of the Kionel’s palace.

  Roberts blanched. Protesters?

  The camera panned over them. Everyday Tenastans, none dressed in finery, but instead wearing clothing that had all seen better days, held up placards that shouted their written demands. Terrans Not Welcome! one proclaimed, including a hand-drawn image of Hyperion with a huge red slash across it. Tenastans Not Terrans! shrieked another in bright red paint. One sign, however, really caught Roberts’ eye. On it was a roughly rendered image of Phelspharia on fire. Scrawled over it all was the word Aditali.

  Aditali... Roberts recognized Chatura’s word, and he turned to Nashita, frowning.

  “What’s—” Roberts began.

  “Don’t let them get you upset,” Nashita interrupted, stepping closer. “They’re just scared.”

  And I haven’t given them enough of a reason not to be, he thought. What he said, however, was, “I understand.”

  Nashita’s eyes narrowed, and she cocked her head to the side, considering. Finally, she smiled. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s run this off.”

  With that she was at the door, holding it open for him, gesturing like an anxious child ready to go to a park.

  “Yeah,” Roberts finally said. “Let’s run.”

  Roberts wheezed in Leonathier’s thin mountain air, his shoes pounding an uneven beat on the black pavement. Dammit, he thought, doing his best to keep up with Nashita jogging gazelle-like ahead of him. How the hell does she make it look so easy?

  You know the answer to that, he admonished himself, so stop beating yourself up about it!

  Nashita had taken Roberts out to the Kionel’s parade grounds to run the perimeter some forty minutes earlier. From the moment their running shoes hit the path, she’d moved with uncanny grace; neither the gravity nor the air seeming to be the hindrance to her as it was to him. He’d tried to keep up, but it was hopeless. The H’Tanzian woman was just in far better shape than he was, and she knew it.

  Nashita turned around and jogged backwards, a grin lighting her face. “Come on, Space Man!” she yelled at him. “You’ve been up in that boat of yours for too long! Keep going!”

  Roberts tried to retort, but no words came out. He slowed to a trot, then a walk, and finally stopped in one spot, hands on his sides as he spit onto the pavement below.

  “Oh, you’re giving up?” Nashita challenged playfully. She jogged over to him and stopped, grinning. “Guess that’s one we have on the Terrans.” She swung her hips in a childish dance. “Who needs spaceships now?!” she taunted.

  “Give me a week,” Roberts finally managed, his heart rate slowing. “Then we’ll see who’s dancing.”

  “Ooooh!” Nashita replied, trotting around him. “Terran’s gonna bring it?”

  “I’m not entirely certain what “it” is,” Roberts replied, stretching upwards, ignoring the skirmish line of pops and cracks firing along his spine, “but consider it brung.”

  Nashita threw her head back and laughed. It was the first genuine sound of amusement he’d heard since arriving planetside, and it made Roberts grin.

  “And you can smile!” Nashita said, spotting his expression. “About time!” She chuckled again, then sighed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s so nice to be around somebody who isn’t…” her voice trailed off.

  “Local?” Roberts offered.

  Nashita bounced and shook her head. “More than that,” her nose wrinkled a
s she searched for the right words. “Somebody who isn’t…”

  “Tenastan,” Roberts replied, realizing her intent.

  Nashita jumped up, landed on her toes, and pointed at him with both of her index fingers. “Exactly!” she blurted. “I mean, yeah, I love my job, but they can be so... so…”

  “Angry?” Roberts prompted.

  “Closed,” Nashita replied, shaking her head. “You can live here your entire life, but if you weren’t born here, well, they do not want to know you.”

  Roberts frowned, surprised. Nashita cocked her head, a half-smile on her face. “What? Did I just break your brain?”

  “No,” he replied. “It’s just... the Tenastan media really plays up how warm they are.”

  Nashita threw her head back and laughed again, though this time the sound was tinged with bitterness. “Oh, they’re warm,” she continued when she stopped, “as long as you’re one of them.”

  Images of Adelisa and Avindair turning their backs on him swam through his mind and Roberts nodded. “Yeah,” he finally said. “I’m getting that.”

  Nashita smiled, then looked down at the watch on her wrist. “Hati!” she exclaimed. “Come on, your first interview is in ninety. We’ve gotta get back and clean you up.” She grabbed his arm and urged him back towards his quarters. Thankfully, she walked.

  For a long moment they said nothing. There was only the salmon stain of the rising sun, lights snapping on in the surrounding barracks, the crisp bite of the morning air, and the growing roar of traffic on nearby roadways. Roberts allowed himself a moment of fantasy. He pretended that he was back on Terra, on an early morning run, with an entire day devoted to his desires. For a second it worked, and he sighed contentedly, reveling in a reality far better than his own.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Nashita asked, interrupting his peace.

  “Sure,” he replied. He hoped the flash of bitterness he felt didn’t enter his voice.

  “That dream,” Nashita probed gently. “Is that why your ship has weapons?”

  Images of muddy fields, explosions, blood, and bile filled his mind. Just a little bit father…

  Roberts’ stomach tightened, and when he spoke again his voice was thick.

  “Space is dangerous,” Roberts finally said.

  “Hey,” Nashita challenged, “I’m not Siva. If I’m going to help you, I need to know what’s bothering you.”

  Roberts stopped in his tracks. She’s right, he thought, she needs to know. They all need to know. But will you do to them what Gant did to us? The thought just made him glower.

  “Roberts—” Nashita started.

  “We have those weapons because we need them.” Roberts' tone left no room for discussion.

  “Is that why you went to the Kionel?” Nashita pressed. “Because you needed the entire world’s attention?”

  She needs to know, Roberts thought again, but he pushed the voice down.

  “Come on,” he said, walking past her towards his quarters. “We need to get ready for the day.”

  The last thing Roberts expected when he returned to his room was to find Adelisa waiting for him. As always, the Adishta was the picture of poise, her hair pulled into a professional side sweep, a tailored business suit and sensible shoes rounding out her ensemble. She glanced quickly from Nashita to Roberts and back as they entered but said nothing.

  “Adishta,” Natisha offered, stopping in place and lowering her head. “I just took Commander Roberts for an early run.”

  “Very early,” Adelisa replied, coolly. She eyed Roberts condescendingly. “I take it you’re newly invigorated, Commander?” She asked the question with all the warmth of a mechanic asking a tire if it still spun.

  “Thanks to Nashita—”

  “Darra,” Adelisa interrupted, correcting him.

  Can’t she just let me speak? Roberts thought, angry. He bit back the retort and continued.

  “Yes, I’m feeling quite awake now,” he finally said.

  Adelisa nodded tightly, then looked around Agrath’s Room disapprovingly. “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

  “Helps with the sleeping.” The words were out of Roberts’ mouth before he realized he’d spoken.

  Adelisa turned on him sharply. Here we go again, Roberts thought. Then Adelisa surprised him: she smiled. As smiles went it was not warm, genuine, or even particularly pleasant. Nevertheless, there it was, fixed like an ill-fitting decal onto her features.

  “Indeed,” Adelisa finally said. She brushed her sleeves free of lint and raised her chin. “Commander Roberts, I owe you an apology.”

  Roberts’ eyebrows shot up. He imagined her could hear Nashita’s jaw fall open.

  “I’ve not been helpful to you since you arrived, and that has led to some…” she took a deep breath, digging deep to find the words, “...misunderstandings between us. For that, I offer my sincerest apology.”

  But you’re not, Roberts thought. You’re not being sincere, nor do you want to apologize. You’re only doing this because Granddaddy told you to.

  If Adelisa noticed the play of emotion on Roberts’ face she didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she turned to Nashita, her tone dictatorial. “Cancel his appointments for the day,” Adelisa ordered. “The commander will accompany me into Leonathier. It’s time he sees more than just the palace grounds.”

  “Adishta,” Nashita replied carefully. “Tarkena Akand has an hour of the commander’s time booked. He has an entire special blocked off—”

  “Cancel it,” Adelisa snapped. Her eyes flashed with the word, and her chin raised imperiously as she spoke.

  Nashita lowered her gaze. “Of course, Adishta,” Nashita replied, cowed.

  Adelisa turned back to Roberts and the same non-smile smile reappeared on her face.

  “Meet me where you landed in one hour.” Her words were commands. “Dress well.” She didn’t wait for a response and moved past Roberts to the door.

  Roberts felt heat shoot up his chest to his face, and he did nothing to tamp it down.

  “No,” Roberts said.

  For a pregnant moment no one spoke. Adelisa stopped in her tracks, and Nashita looked at him as if he’d lost his mind, but no words were uttered. Finally, Adelisa turned stiffly.

  “I beg your pardon?” Adelisa asked.

  Roberts returned Adelisa’s glare. She was clearly incensed at his refusal, and that only hardened his resolve. “No,” he said again.

  Adelisa opened her mouth to reply but he didn’t let her. Instead, he turned to Nashita.

  “Pass my apologies to Tarkena,” Roberts said, cutting off Adelisa before she could speak, “then get me in to see the Kionel.”

  “You’re scheduled for this evening,” Nashita offered.

  “Commander Roberts—” Adelisa started, her tone rising with her temper.

  “Now,” Roberts barked, allowing his command bearing to come through, each word punctuated. “I need to see him now.”

  “Impossible!” Adelisa blurted, infuriated.

  Nashita, however, tilted her head and carefully ventured, “Why?”

  “He asked me a question yesterday,” Roberts replied. “And now I’ve got his answer.”

  21

  T.S.S. Hyperion

  Phelspharia Orbit

  20 December 2356

  0520

  “Transport!” Malley called out from her bridge station; her eyes locked to the hemisphere of holographic sensor displays arrayed around her. “One Motinai transport, designate Sierra two-five, altitude three-two-zero kilometers, vector projected over Leonathier!”

  “Helm, intercept,” Captain Boothe directed in reply.

  “Intercept, aye!” Lt. Santiago replied. Her dark hands played her holo interface like a virtuoso; her movement somehow unimpeded by the bulky combat dress donned the moment the crew had received the call to general quarters. While Conrad had problems with Santiago—she was a bit too flippant for such a junior officer—he had to admit that she was one
of the better pilots he had ever encountered.

  Hyperion heeled about, the sublight Vealé drives creating new gravitational planes along which the ship’s massive one point two-kilometer bulk would fall. Within moments, the thin slice of Phelspharia’s curvature in the fore plasteel windows rotated offering a breathtaking view of the Tenastan coastline.

  The shrill alarm of enemy target lock clamored across the command deck.

  “Target lock!” Malley yelled. “Bearing one-seven-zero slash two-two-zero!”

  “Countermeasures!” Boothe responded. “Helm, close on that transport. WEPS, I need a firing solution now.”

  “Fire computer is chewing on it,” Conrad called out. His heart pounded in his chest far harder than it should, and he had to blink to maintain focus. Damned meds, he grumbled to himself. They’re gonna get us killed!

  Booth snapped, “Get a manual lock then! Sensors, where’s that cruiser?”

  “Captain!” Malley warned. Her fingers flew from screen to screen in the air around her. “Countermeasures are down!”

  Conrad whirled on Malley. “Get them back online!” he bellowed.

  “Belay that, Sensors,” Boothe snarled. “Where’s that cruiser?!”

  Malley’s hands dashed from one screen to the next, only pausing to wipe a bead of sweat from her forehead. “Cruiser bearing two-seven-two slash zero-four-five.” She pinched and zoomed in on details. “Missile ports are open, seekers active in the tubes.”

  “Damn it!” Boothe blurted. “WEPS, lock port batteries and fire.”

  “Port batteries, aye,” Conrad managed. He glanced at Malley just in time to see her fling the firing solution to his console. His panel buzzed as the bearing information locked to the target. “Locked and firing!”

  Conrad didn’t press the “Fire” button on his display, though that was always an option. Instead, he let the fire control computer release the port turret spread the moment it achieved its ideal solution. There was a moment of silence, then a dull thud echoed from the port bulkhead, followed by the deep rattle of pipes rushing coolant to the turret bays.