Stars Forever Black: Book I of the Star Lion Saga

by A. L. Bruno

  Conrad had been surprised to find Malley already waiting in the med bay, a data pad in hand. Before he could ask what she was doing there, the captain had entered, her expression one of pure fury.

  “I asked you a question, Lieutenant,” Boothe snarled. “Who did this?”

  “We’re not sure—” Malley began.

  “Damn it!” Boothe roared. She smashed her fist against a nearby bulkhead, and whirled on Malley, her bloodshot eyes wide. “I’m tired of hearing that. Get me answers. Now!”

  “Y-yes, ma’am,” Malley stammered. “But we do have an idea.”

  Boothe’s jaw tightened as she glared at the younger officer.

  “Report.” The word rattled from Boothe’s chest as if dragged to the surface by a chain.

  “They’re a group of, um…” Malley working to regain her composure. “They’re an apocalyptic cult. They think that we’re the harbingers of their end times.”

  Conrad slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. “Just like Gant,” he grumbled. The more we try to avoid those mistakes, he thought, the more of them we make.

  “Was Mr. Roberts aware of this threat?” Boothe asked. Her voice trembled with barely controlled rage.

  Malley looked down. “We don’t know, ma’am,” she replied quietly.

  Boothe paced away, her hands clenching in fearsome rhythm. “You don’t know,” she repeated, her voice a low growl. She whirled, stabbing one finger towards the operating theater. “Your shipmate is fighting for his life because you don’t know!”

  “Captain!” Conrad blurted before he thought.

  Boothe turned on him now. “You have thoughts, Exec?” she challenged.

  She’s not a magician! Conrad nearly yelled. He caught the words before they escaped and took a deep breath. “There are a lot of variables here, ma’am,” he finally said.

  Boothe opened her mouth, her face sanguine. Conrad braced himself for the onslaught.

  “On the 1MC,” Okoro’s voice spit out from the concealed sound system. “Captain Boothe to the sensors bay. I repeat, Captain Boothe to the sensors bay.”

  “What fresh hell…?” Boothe muttered, her eyes squeezing shut. When she opened them again, she fixed Malley with an accusatory stare. “Do you know anything about this?”

  Malley raised her hands, her chin pulled in defensively. “I had the chief monitoring communications. Maybe he found something?”

  Boothe considered, then offered one stiff nod. “Fine,” she said, her voice quavering. “You wait here,” she directed Malley. “I want updates every fifteen minutes.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Malley replied, gulping.

  Boothe shot Conrad a steely look. “Exec, you’re with me.”

  Conrad waited to reach a quiet section of gangway before he stopped his commanding officer.

  “Captain,” he said quietly, “we have to talk.”

  “Really?!” Boothe hissed fiercely. “Do you really think this is the time?”

  “No,” Conrad snapped back. “It’s way past time.”

  Boothe raised her chin defiantly. “Is this an official request?”

  “Do I have to make it official?” Conrad replied. He tried to hide the way his gut tightened at the words.

  Boothe looked down, her nostrils flaring as she drew in a sharp breath. When she raised her head, a modicum of poise had returned. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Cap…” he began, then sighed. “Lydia, you’re not yourself. You’re exhausted, you’re on edge, and your behavior has been—”

  “Erratic?” Boothe finished his sentence. She looked away, frustrated, one hand finding its way to her hip. When she looked back, tears welled in her eyes. “Don’t you think I’m aware?”

  Conrad sighed, relieved. “Okay,” he continued. “What can I do to help?”

  Boothe fought to maintain her control as tears ran into the hollow of her cheeks. “Nothing,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “That’s not true,” Conrad said.

  “Yes, it is, Exec!” She bit at each word. “We’re at war. Everything we hoped to do here, everything we’ve already accomplished, it doesn’t matter. Our job—our only job—is to keep these people safe. And in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve been fucking that up by the numbers!”

  “That can happen in any mission,” Conrad challenged, “but I’ve never seen you this rattled.” He stepped towards his friend. “What’s going on? Really?”

  Boothe said nothing.

  “Fine,” Conrad concluded. “But when you’re ready to talk about it, remember that I’m here for you. That’s my job. Don’t pretend that these problems are ones you have to solve by yourself.”

  “I don’t,” Boothe snapped. She favored Conrad with an impassive stare. “Is that all, Exec?”

  No, Conrad wanted to scream. You’re losing it, Lydia! Can’t you see that?

  He remembered Roberts in surgery then, and he sighed. “Yes, ma’am,” he managed.

  Boothe didn’t bother to reply. She turned on her heel and strode away, expecting her exec to keep up.

  The reason for Okoro’s request was obvious the moment Conrad and Boothe entered the cramped sensors bay. Avindair’s face floated on a holoscreen above Okoro’s station, its video feed paused. Conrad noticed that the commandant’s normally impassive face was a deep shade of red.

  “What have you got, Chief?” Boothe asked, composed.

  Okoro looked up at the captain, his eyes glowing in the darkened room. “We, um…” he started. “We thought you’d want to see this right away.”

  “Then get to it!”

  Okoro moved his hand back to his holocontrols. “Aye, ma’am.”

  Avindair’s face sprang to life. The commandant glared directly into the cameras Conrad recognized as residing in the palace’s media room.

  “This message is intended for the Terran vessel currently circling our world,” Avindair growled. “You have taken Adishta Adelisa, our Kionel’s granddaughter, from our medical care without her consent, and you have removed her from the surface of our world without our permission. You have ignored our sovereignty and disparaged our traditions.”

  Avindair leaned closer threateningly.

  “You will return her to the Kionel at once. If you do not, we will consider you a hostile force and act accordingly.”

  Avindair’s face faded away, revealing Siva Dayati offering a beatific smile to her own camera crew.

  Boothe weighed the commandant’s words. Then she shot a look back at Conrad with the speed of a striking Cobra.

  “Would she have died if we hadn’t taken her?” Boothe asked.

  “Yes,” Conrad replied without hesitation.

  Boothe’s focus shifted as she considered her options. She turned back to Okoro. “Chief,” she asked, “can you get me onto their broadcast networks?”

  “That’ll take some time, ma’am,” he replied carefully. “We’ll need to reach out to their program people on the surface—”

  “That’s not what I’m asking, Chief,” Boothe interrupted. “I’m asking if you can get my message onto their broadcast networks.”

  Okoro looked up, confused, then realized with a start what the Captain was asking. “Yes, ma’am,” Okoro replied, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “I believe we can.”

  “Do it,” Boothe replied. “And route those comms to the bridge.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Okoro nodded.

  With that, Boothe headed back out the door.

  What the hell is she up to? Conrad wondered, then hurried to follow her, eager to keep on his captain’s heels.

  “Is it ready?” Boothe asked, striding into the bridge towards her captain’s chair.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Okoro replied, his voice piped up from the sensors bay. “Just say the word.”

  Boothe positioned herself cross-legged in her captain’s chair, face raised as she stared out the bridge’s clear plasteel windows to the planet turning below.

&nb
sp; Conrad frowned, curious as to what she would do next, then headed towards his duty station.

  “Exec,” Boothe ordered, “you’re with me.”

  Conrad turned to her and frowned. “Ma’am?” he asked.

  “Stand beside me,” she ordered, “and say nothing.”

  What the hell? Conrad thought.

  “Now, Exec,” Boothe commanded.

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” he replied. He stopped next to the captain’s chair, arms crossed, waiting to see what she had in mind.

  Boothe abruptly straightened, and she took a deep breath.

  “Chief Okoro,” Boothe said, “pull the trigger.”

  “Aye, aye, ma’am,” Okoro replied. A pregnant moment passed, then Okoro spoke again. “You’re on, Captain.”

  On? Conrad thought, confused. His stomach sank. Oh, no...

  Boothe didn’t see his reaction. She just focused her gaze on the planet below and spoke.

  “People of Phelspharia,” Boothe said. “This is Captain Lydia Boothe of the T.S.S. Hyperion.” Her voice was calm, her tone neutral. “By now you know that an officer of my command crew and a member of your own Kionel’s family were injured today during an attack at one of your spring festivals.”

  Conrad cringed, despite himself. Roberts isn’t going to like her calling the Nadala Somfar a spring festival, he thought, and neither will they.

  “My intelligence team informs me that your media has attempted to downplay this event,” Boothe continued. “They’ve claimed the injuries were minor, and that we used this as an opportunity to kidnap a member of the Kionel’s own family.”

  Boothe leaned forward, and her right hand clenched into a fist.

  “None of that is true.”

  Her features hardened.

  “The attack was malicious, and its intent was clear. Our people—your Adelisa, and my commander—were meant to die.” She hit the last word hard. “The assault was brutal, and their wounds are severe. Had we not intervened and brought them both aboard our ship they almost certainly would have died.”

  Boothe paused and took a deep, ragged breath.

  “I wish I could tell you now that they’ll both be alright,” she spoke the words like a parent delivering bad news, “but I can’t. My medical staff is doing everything in their power, but too much time was wasted before we could get to the surface to help. While we’ll do everything we can, at this point their recovery is in the hands of both my staff, and that of a higher power.”’

  A higher what? Conrad thought. He nearly blurted the words outright but held his tongue.

  Boothe didn’t notice. Instead, she eased forward in her chair, looking down at the world below imploringly.

  “While we still have much to learn about each other,” she said, “I believe in my heart that we both want the same things. We want our people safe, our children fed, and our world better tomorrow than it is today. While this moment may be trying, know this: we will prevail. Not as Terrans, not as Tenastans, H’Tanzians, or Kalinteli, but as humans. It is that unity we offer, and it is that unity that will help us endure.”

  Boothe sat back, her chin raised high, both hands draped comfortably on the armrests of her command chair.

  “We will advise you as soon as our doctors have something to report. Until then, this is Captain Boothe of Hyperion signing off.”

  Another long moment passed, then Okoro’s voice hissed out over the 1MC.

  “We’re clear,” he said.

  Boothe sagged. “Did it work?”

  “Like a charm,” Okoro responded. “All networks, all with audio and subtitle translations.”

  Boothe took in a deep breath, then sighed. “Good work, Chief. You did us proud.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Okoro responded.

  “Captain,” Conrad started, then chuckled without humor, stunned. “What the hell was that?”

  “That,” Boothe replied, not returning his gaze, “was diplomacy.”

  “You lied to them,” Conrad pressed. “You know they’ll probably be alright. They might be a bit banged up, and Roberts could end up with another scar, but they’ll live.”

  Boothe turned and looked up at Conrad, her eyes hard.

  “I know that,” Boothe said, “but they don’t.”

  It took all of Conrad’s discipline not to have his jaw fall open in front of the crew.

  “And we’re going to make that work to our advantage,” Boothe finished. She turned back to the windows then, a thin smile on her face, and surveyed the planet spinning peacefully below them.

  35

  Kionel’s Palace

  TEWC

  Leonathier, Tenasta

  18 Sardua 1066

  “Choose your words carefully, Commandant,” Adaman Malah, head of the Kalinteli State Security Service warned. He leaned towards the camera mounted above his desk, his thick white brow knitting to form a deep frown, and glared at his opponent on his screen. “There’s no need to escalate an already tense situation.”

  Avindair scowled back at the image on the TEWC briefing room screen. “Then explain to me why this man…” Avindair looked down at the notes he’d scribbled as the news had reached him, “... this Hurin Gishkim departed Prayad—your city—one day ago on one of your own airliners?”

  Malah settled back and crossed his arms, his cheap gray suit bunching uncomfortably. “He’s a citizen of H’Tanzia, who lives in Kamita,” he replied, chin jutting forward defiantly. “Why are you not asking them about this…” Malah made a show of prodding through some papers on his desk, “... Gishkim?’”

  “Because he knows that’s a lie.” These words came from the impassive, tattooed face of Hazi Kizurra, Minister of the H’Tanzian National Security Service. A severe woman, her intellect and devotion to duty stood at such right angles to the rest of her country that Avindair had more than once considered offering her a job on his own staff. “Gishkim became a Kalinteli citizen three years ago, after one of your recruiting centers pulled him off the street. He lives in Prayad, along with the other unfortunates your people tricked into defecting.”

  Malah’s lower lip jutted forward like a petulant toddler, and he turned his head to one side. “More lies, from a nation of liars.”

  “Enough!” Avindair roared. He slammed his fist onto the table, and Elaq jumped, his teacup rattling with the blow. The TEWC guardian shot his commandant a concerned look but held his tongue. “The man is here. He came from your country, Malah. And he attacked our Adishta!”

  “Allegedly,” Malah replied, artfully disinterested.

  “Absolutely!” Avindair bellowed. He strode towards the camera mounted above the projector screen and fixed it with a hard glare. “Either you help us with this, or we will consider this attack as an act sanctioned by the Kalinteli state.”

  Kizurra straightened, surprised. “Commandant, there’s no need to escalate—”

  “Of course, you will!” Malah yelled. He leaned over his desk, knocking his own papers to the floor in the process, matching bluster for bluster. “Because you're anxious to have your new allies fight your battles for you!”

  “We don’t need anyone’s help to crush you, Malah,” Avindair growled. “Or do you need another reminder?”

  “Commandant,” Elaq whispered. Avindair turned. The Aphia stared back at him, eyes wide, and shook his head.

  “Is that a threat?” Malah replied, his voice ice cold.

  Avindair glowered. “Get me everything you have on this man today, or you will find out.”

  Avindair didn’t wait for a response. He stabbed the switch on the desktop and the faces of his counterparts winked out.

  “Was that wise?” Elaq asked carefully.

  They stabbed her, Avindair thought, his gut rolling nearly as tumultuously as his mind. They stabbed her like an animal. They stabbed her trying to get at that Terran and now they have her and I wasn’t even there to stop it!

  “We might need them,” Elaq continued. “Threats won’t help.”
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br />   He’s right. The thought was muted, but clear, and Avindair grimaced at it. “Show me the Terran troops again,” he said, and turned back to the screen.

  Elaq busied himself with the vid controls, and moments later the screen came back to life.

  The Terran boat that squatted in the Saranatari courtyard was larger, heavier, and more intimidating than the slick silver and blue vessel on the Kionel’s lawn. Its carbon-scored white paint had flaked away to reveal metal underneath, while the massive red crosses on its side spoke to a purpose Avindair could only guess at.

  Then the Terran troops leapt out and Avindair’s skin went cold.

  The armor the Terran forces sported was so far beyond the densely knitted, bullet-resistant fabric that Avindair and his troops wore as to be the stuff of nightmares. Segmented, flexible, and covering their entire bodies, Avindair couldn’t even make out the eyes of the Terran troops behind their helmets’ reflective golden faceplates. Its surface shifted color as the troops moved, mimicking the environment around it. The adaptive camouflage was so effective that within seconds of the troops having halted, the entire squad was so difficult to spot as to be nearly invisible.

  The troops dropped into a cover formation that was in many ways no different than those his own men would employ. The weapons they brandished—long, heavy black rifles with a baffling array of scopes—swept slowly from side to side, ready to react to any threat.

  “They’re warriors,” Elaq stated, his voice heavy. “A least now we can be sure of that.”

  “Of course, they are,” Avindair scowled. The troops stood and moved, their armor adjusting with each step, and Avindair blew out an angry snort. “You don’t develop protection like that unless you need it.” He shook his head. “Just more proof that they’ve been lying to us.”

  “Wouldn’t we?” Elaq challenged.