Hero's End (The Black Wing Chronicles Book 2)

by JC Cassels

  After a long moment, she folded her arms across her chest for warmth and rolled onto her side, facing the wall. The clean, spicy fragrance of Blade’s cologne rose up from the pillow, settling gently on her senses, chasing the chill away. Rolling onto her stomach, Bo wrapped her arms around the pillow, hugging it to her. With closed eyes, she buried her face in its softness and breathed deeply. Of their own volition, her fingers stroked the soft fabric as she drew his scent in, letting it fill the emptiness inside.

  A soft substitute for his chest, she burrowed deeper until the ghosts of his arms were around her. Her eyes filled with tears. A faint thump of a heartbeat in the pillow teased her. It was her own. Bo swallowed to dislodge the lump in her throat. Her shoulders shook as she surrendered to her roiled emotions. Hot tears spilled from her eyes and dampened the pillow that she hugged tighter to her.

  Curled around the pillow, Bo wept until she had no more tears to cry.

  Spent, she lay in her bunk, uncaring and unaware of the passage of time, rubbing her cheek against the damp pillow, staring at nothing.

  Thirst finally roused her from her apathy. With one last small huff, Bo set the pillow away from her and rolled out of her bunk. She ventured from her quarters to the small common lounge that shared space with the galley. Not bothering with extra lights, Bo pulled out a cup and filled it with water from the tap. Her lips twitched. No more Gallis Rye for her for the duration. She carried it over to the table and slid onto the bench seat.

  A crackle came over the sound system, followed by a hum as the holographic imaging pad powered up. Bo’s brow furrowed.

  Her father’s holographic image flickered and solidified on the imaging platform. He smiled at her.

  “Hello, Bo. If you’re seeing this, then I’m dead,” he said matter-of-factly. “I knew they wouldn’t let me live very long. They can’t afford to. They’ve struck a deal with Lord Scull. The Barron in exchange for the Black Wing. They’ll be coming after you next. You can’t trust anyone. They’ll use everyone you trust against you, just like they used Royce. You can’t trust your brother, Misou, your cousins…especially not Galen or Jaden. When you were born, Galen lobbied to arrange a union between you and his son. I wanted you to choose your own spouse…for love if possible. Don’t be shocked. Galen’s not just a diplomat, he’s patient, and ambitious. I’ve done an audit of his executive decisions on your behalf. He’s been undermining you and increasing his power base little-by-little. If you name either Galen or Jaden as your successor, you’ll be signing your own death warrant.”

  “I want you to do something for me. You’re not going to like it, but consider it my final order. As soon as you finish watching this, I want you to record a message for the Mondhuic General Assembly. I’ve included the direct upload information which will bypass Galen, Jaden, the chamberlain and even your brother. I need you to do exactly as I say, whether you understand or agree with it. I have information that you don’t, and I can’t share it with you. So you’re just going to have to trust me that this is the best and only decision and just do as I tell you.”

  Bo shifted in her seat.

  “I want you to name Inner Circle Agent Blade Devon as your successor.”

  Keep reading for a

  bonus excerpt from

  The Black Wing Chronicles

  Book Three

  BARRON’S LAST STAND

  Akita, Third Sector Detention Center

  “Commander Bo Barron, Scourge of the Seventh Sector, I hereby arrest you on the charge of treason against the Commonwealth.”

  Bo stared hard into his eyes, hooded by a protruding brow. The natural armor that passed for skin made a rippling pattern in his uniform when he moved.

  “Treason? Why…that’s old news. I’m wanted for murder, extortion, sedition, smuggling and a bunch of drunken and disorderlies, by now.” She canted her head at him. “Why do you think they call me ‘Scourge of the Seventh Sector’?”

  Bo mentally ticked off everything she knew about his species. Akitan. Planetary native. Burrowing ancestors. Warriors. Sensitive between the overlapping plates. No teeth. Sharper than hell claws on upper and lower extremities. Stubborn and tenacious.

  She glanced at the rank on his tunic and trousers. Sub-Commander as well. Great. Her arrest could mean his promotion. Not good. Her eyes flicked over the other six soldiers in his squad. One stroked the trigger guard of his NS-10 energy rifle in silent warning.

  They had every right to feel confident. They had the Commonwealth’s Most Wanted cornered on a catwalk six levels above the main floor of the detention center. Cornered wasn’t the same as helpless. All she had to do was bide her time.

  “I can see I’ve underestimated you, Sub-Commander,” she said. “How did you know I was here? I know for a fact I didn’t trip any alarms.”

  “Experimental bio-sensors we’re testing,” he said. “You couldn’t have known about them.”

  Fat lot he knew. Edge had warned her about product testing in the Third Sector. Typically, she hadn’t been listening. Oh, well. Not productive to worry about that now. If she got out of this one, she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  “So, are you going to run me in, or are you going to carry out sentence here and just blast me to hell?” she asked.

  “Lay down your weapon, Commander,” said the Akitan. “Come quietly.”

  Bo spread her hands in a gesture of surrender and tried a benign smile. “Don’t worry Sub-Commander,” she said. “I know when it’s over.” Bo relaxed her hold on her Capre and slowly knelt down to set it on the platform grill. Mentally counting off the seconds, she strained to listen for her signal.

  Right on schedule, the charges she had set at the munitions bunkers began exploding. The building rocked with the force of it. The guards, taken by surprise struggled to maintain their footing on the radically swaying platform.

  Bo fired at the grill just in front of her. The Capre blasted a perfect, meter-wide hole in the fuseform. She dropped through it, landing hard on the catwalk below.

  Ignoring the jolting pain in her knees, Bo rolled onto her back and fired four quick bursts at the rear catwalk supports. The horrifying screech and groan of metal bending into new and exciting shapes drove her to her feet and over the rail. Bo dropped to the next level of platforms a split second before the catwalk fell, smashing into the spot where she had just been.

  Bodies fell past her. Bo ignored the screams. The catwalks shuddered and swayed drunkenly with transferred kinetic energy, straining the limits of their construction and design. The platforms above creaked and moaned in protest. Bo dove over the rail, and fired her wrist rocket at a fuseform truss above her. The rocket-propelled grappling hook spread its talons and sank deeply into the fuseform, holding fast as the shimmersilk line ran out. Her downward plunge shifted into a graceful arc, and Bo dropped gently to the solid flooring with a quick flick of her wrist.

  Another succession of explosions rocked the building. Klaxons raged throughout the compound and the lights died. Bo stayed where she was, ignoring the rising ache in her left shoulder. She counted backwards from three. On cue, the emergency lights flared on.

  Now to break the kid out and get back to her ship before the picket ships got wind of her little extracurricular activities.

  Her sharp eyes flicked over the area, surreal in the dim amber glow, hunting the guard’s cage before it sealed shut.

  Spotting it three meters to her right, Bo sprinted for it and slipped inside, just ahead of the sliding door. In the silence that followed the substantial thump of the closing door, Bo scanned the monitors and readouts. Her hand hovered over the vast control panel as she looked for the emergency manual override switch.

  “Come on, Barron,” she chided herself, “you’ve done this before. Think.”

  Relying more on feel and memory than sight, she found it and keyed the release of all cell doors. Immediately, the vast chamber echoed with hollow thumps and hisses as scores of magnetically sealed doors opened. She
hit the release lever on her own door, then left the cage and headed for the temporary holding cells.

  The corridors leading to the temporary holding cells filled quickly with life forms taking advantage of their freedom. Now and again, Bo heard her name called as a few prisoners recognized her. Precious seconds ticked away as she pushed through the living stream of body odors looking for Nix.

  “Bo!”

  He caught a handful of her right sleeve just as she turned. Bo looked up and caught the mischievous gleam in his gray eyes. Nix raked his hand through his short, kinky black hair and flashed her an impish smile. A week’s worth of patchwork beard shadowed his jawline. On an older human, there would have been a full growth, but Nix only managed to look like he had forgotten to wash.

  “I knew it was you,” he hollered over the din. He bounced in his excitement. “Nobody else could pull this off. It’s just your style. Boom!”

  “Yeah, that’s me,” she said wryly. “I make things go boom.”

  ***

  Well, that was unexpected.

  Blade Devon peered out into the rapidly filling corridor. Explosions, a loss of power, and all the cell doors opening at once could only mean that someone was executing a heavy-handed prison break. He doubted it was for him. It wasn’t Adin’s style. But if someone had planned an escape from the facility, the odds were better than average they also had a way off the planet.

  If the scuttlebutt he’d overheard from the guards was correct, he was needed back in the First Sector. As much as he hated going back, he had to find a way to Trisdos – immediately. The Akitan authorities had been disinclined to respect claims of diplomatic immunity, and going through proper channels would take precious time he couldn’t afford.

  He slipped out of his holding cell and into the raucous flow of prisoners heading for the exercise yard. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that was the likeliest escape route. He scanned the faces around him, looking for someone out of place, some hint as to who just might be orchestrating this event. One way or another, he was getting off this rock tonight.

  He stepped out into the middle of a riot. His eyes flicked over the high walls and immediately dismissed the rescue coming from that direction. All around the perimeter, soldiers hefted NS-10’s and fired at random into the writhing knot of life forms. Flames rose from the bunkers a good thirty meters into the sky above the walls.

  His lips twisted in a wry smile. He had to hand it to whoever had planned this melee. They certainly had style, not to mention a flair for destruction. Now if only he could figure out a way past that wall…

  He almost missed seeing her.

  His mouth went dry. She moved like a dancer. She was quite probably the most beautiful female he’d ever seen – and that was saying something. She was as tawny and as exotically sexy as any female coey on the Aveen Plains of Kah Lahtrec, and he’d once fancied himself in love with her. His heart gave that old familiar twist in his chest at the sight of her.

  Who was he kidding? He was still in love with her.

  Like the ancient heroine of myth she had been named for, Bodhile Laidan Caitre Marissa Barron-Devon stood casually unconcerned in the midst of chaos, carefully eyeing a section of the wall. Blade followed her gaze, but couldn’t see anything on the shadowy surface to warrant her attention. Knowing her, she had something big up her sleeve. Glancing back to her, he watched her raise her wicked-looking blaster and adjust the setting. In one fluid move, she took aim and fired.

  A narrow crimson blast flashed from the barrel of her pistol. For a brief second, the dark spot flared into flame. Almost immediately, the target exploded. The ground shuddered. The prisoners standing nearest to that wall were thrown from their feet. A dust cloud billowed up around the ruins.

  The mob surged through the hole in the wall. She waved her blaster, gesturing for the boy beside her to follow. She plunged deep into the thick of the mob, scrambling over the rubble, struggling to keep from getting trampled.

  Blade smiled to himself. Bo would have to be the person responsible for this fortuitous escape. Tahar had assured him they would follow their destinies together. Their paths crossing here and now could only mean it was time. The auric threads tying them together tugged at him.

  Keeping a careful eye on her, he followed her. Energy blasts struck the remnants of the wall leaving hissing pockmarks and sending up sprays of molten fuseform. Bits of burning material stung his exposed skin. His clothing smoldered in several spots. Blade caught a whiff of burning flesh and hair and other organic matter.

  Once on solid footing on the outside, she glanced back to make sure the boy still followed her, then she sprinted across the wide clearing toward the dense woods that offered some cover. Blade made haste to follow. He had to keep them in sight, but he didn’t want to tip her off that he was tracking her. He doubted she would be as pleased to see him as he was to see her.

  With unerring accuracy, he followed them into the trees and through the underbrush.

  “Hurry up, kiddo,” her throaty voice drifted back to him and settled gently on his ears. “We need to get off the planet, and fast. Knowing Consular Guard reaction time, interceptors will already be en route.”

  He admired the lithe grace with which she moved through the dense forest. Barely a leaf stirred at her passing. She easily sidestepped low branches. The boy, however, was not so fortunate. He swore fluently at every shrub that threatened to send him sprawling in the dirt; fortunately for Blade, who found the boy much easier to track. The trick was not getting too close. He didn’t want to spook her.

  “What’s the big deal?” the boy groused. “You’re The Barron. You can outrun, outshoot and outfight any pilot the Consular Guard sends against you.”

  “Not if I don’t have time to charge my shields. As a rule, I don’t engage the Consular Guard. It hasn’t been that long since I was one of them.”

  Blade smiled to himself. Despite having a death mark for treason, she still held to her principles. He’d always respected her for that.

  “Come on, kiddo, pick up the pace.”

  The dank smell of damp earth and decaying organic matter rose from the forest floor, churned up by the escapees ahead of them.

  At last, they broke through the woods into a clearing. A huge rock ledge rose up from the ground, dominating most of the cleared area. She put out her hand and dragged the boy to a halt. Blade stopped in the shadow of a large tree and knelt down, waiting. She turned and scanned the area for any signs of movement. In the distance behind them, the escapees and the guards brave enough to chase after them lumbered through the dense forest, snapping twigs, tripping and shouting with enough noise to drown out any sounds he might make.

  She reached up and tapped herself just behind her left ear. “Okay, Sundance, drop the camouflage,” she ordered. “We’re here.”

  A com-implant. After five years he’d almost forgotten about that.

  Ahead of them the rock ledge wavered, as though distorted by heat waves rising from the ground, then flickered and dissolved. In its’ place stood a Tau-Class Consular Guard Cruiser. Small by galactic standards, the sleek, wedge-shaped craft filled the clearing.

  Blade’s lips pursed and he barely caught himself before he whistled in appreciation. This kind of camouflage came with a heavy price tag. He’d never seen it outside of Inner Commonwealth covert military operations. Redmaster Blue must be doing well.

  The boy gaped at the ship. “Wow! That’s really wild, Bo,” he said. “How did you do that?”

  Bo shook her head and regarded him with amusement. “Holographic projection and artificial atomic signatures,” she replied. “It’s a little something the boss worked up.”

  Gesturing for the boy to follow, Bo headed for the ramp that slowly detached from the hull beside the starboard nacelles and lowered into position on the mossy ground. As her boots touched the ramp, the hatch slid up in silent invitation.

  “Start the preliminary warm-up, Sundance,” Bo called. “This’ll be o
ne of our more interesting takeoffs.”

  “Commander, long range sensors do not detect the presence of any Consular Guard Picket ships within intercept range.”

  There was no mistaking the artificial speech patterns of her shipboard computer. The voiceprint was still that of her father. Blade smiled to himself. He’d helped her father program the computer with his voice. Hardly a day went by that he didn’t think about the old Barron. Bhruic had been more of a father to him than his own.

  She waited until the boy was safely inside the hatch, then, as if sensing his presence in the shadows, she scanned the tree line again, her brow furrowed. She always did have an uncanny knack for knowing when he was close by. He could usually sense her as well. Apparently satisfied that she was unobserved, she hit the controls to seal up the ship.

  The ship’s engines came on line with a whine and a rumble. Wasting no time, Blade raced across the clearing. The ramp folded up against the hull, shutting off that avenue of access. Blade moved quickly to the nearest airlock and keyed in his personal override codes. The panel beeped rudely at him and flashed red.

  Yeah, well, it was too much to hope that his access codes still worked. Clenching his jaw, he glanced over his shoulder.

  He was running out of time.

  His lips set in a grim line, he tapped the center of his right palm three times and waited for a yellow light to flash twice underneath his skin. He passed his hand in front of the scanner then he keyed in a code. The access panel flashed green and the airlock irised open. He was in. He stepped quickly through and sealed the outer hatch behind him just as the engines changed pitch.

  JC Cassels, a native of Tampa, Florida, traces her lifelong fascination with SF/Adventure to watching Star Trek on a tiny black and white portable television aboard the family boat as a child. The Space Opera trend that followed the release of Star Wars fed an obsessive need for swashbuckling adventure set in deep space. Today, JC feeds that need by writing her own adventures, heavily inspired by 1960's television shows like Star Trek, Mission: Impossible, and Wild, Wild, West and fueled by Firefly reruns.