by J. N. Chaney
TO-96 didn’t respond.
“’Six, you all right?”
The robot tilted his head then said, “Oh my.”
Awen slipped out of her chair and moved in front of him. “What is it, Ninety-Six?”
The bot’s head snapped toward her. “Awen… I’m afraid I have what may be some rather disconcerting news.”
“Okay…” she said, drawing the word out. “What is it?”
“Well, as I began accessing the information channels, as per your request, I came across something startling.”
“Disconcerting, startling—I got it. What is it, ’Six?”
“We were in Ithnor Ithelia for seventy-one days, Galactic common time. By that, I mean, we experienced seventy-one days in metaspace. But here in protospace, well…”
“You’re killing me right now, Ninety-Six. Just spit it out.”
“We have only been gone for three point five days, Awen.”
She froze. Her heart thumped in her chest. “Excuse me?” She fluttered her eyelids. “Three and a half days? Are you… are you absolutely certain?”
“I am one hundred percent certain, Awen. Apparently, there is significant time dilation when traveling through the multiverse.”
Awen stared out the bridge window. “It’s almost as if we never left,” she whispered. Her mind became a flurry of activity then, racing through scenarios faster than she could keep track of them. She wondered what kind of expeditions could be made in Ithnor Ithelia. Awen was in awe of what such a time discrepancy meant for progress, the development of new technologies, and new discovery and research.
Research. The admiral’s supposed research team. What would the time dilation mean for them? How much exploration can they do in just two or three weeks? She tried to do the math in her head, but it was dizzying. She wondered if they would discover the temple library or the quantum-tunnel generator. Perhaps they would discover another ship like the Azelon or new technologies that would allow them to…
Awen caught her breath. To conquer the galaxy. Whatever elation she’d just enjoyed had vanished. “We’ve got to go back.”
“Back, Awen?” TO-96 asked.
She turned to look at him. “We have to go back. We have to stop them. There’s no telling what they might discover or how they’ll use it. That enemy team, Admiral Kane’s research team—they can’t be allowed to use any of that technology. We can’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”
But whose hands, exactly, are the wrong ones?
Awen’s thoughts suddenly turned toward the Galactic Republic. The Jujari. Even So-Elku and whatever Luma he’d coerced into following him. Would any of them be any better if they acquired the power that lies in the metaverse?
“We’ve got to stop them, Ninety-Six,” she said. “We’ve got to stop them all.”
31
Magnus could feel everyone’s eyes drilling holes in him. He felt embarrassed. Vulnerable. He should have listened to the general and just gone to the ship—assuming Rohoar would have allowed it.
“I want to brief you before they get their hands on you, Magnus. I don’t know why you did it all—”
“Did what, sir?”
“I don’t know why you did it all,” the general pressed, “but if you tell me the truth before they arraign you, maybe I can help.”
“General, what did I do?”
“Enough!” Rohoar slammed his fists on the table, momentarily blurring the holo-feed. He rose from his seat. The rest of the Jujari stood as well. Bosworth fumbled with the general’s floating image and spun it toward the mwadim. “Brigadier General Lovell. Your ambassador is incompetent, your Marines are vicious—and apparently lawless—and Rohoar’s patience is running out.”
“What can the Republic do for you, Mwadim?” Lovell asked, clearly trying to stay focused despite the frenetic scene on the bridge behind him.
“Firstly, you have blocked communication with Rohoar’s fleet. Release this. Secondly, Rohoar demands to know why you have engaged in open combat with our ships.”
“Mwadim, we have not done either.”
“You deny it?” Rohoar pulled the holo-frame toward him.
Magnus watched hackles stand up on the necks of the Jujari.
“We have not attacked your ships or blocked communication,” Lovell stated.
Magnus could tell that the general was telling the truth. The problem was that he knew enough about the Jujari to feel the mwadim wouldn’t be making a false accusation. None of this felt right.
“Lies! The Jujari see you from our relays!”
“What you see are rogue Republic ships who have initiated a conflict between us, Mwadim.” The general’s voice was getting louder as he tried to speak above someone yelling in the background. “Our first and second fleets, as well as our third fleet, are taking heavy fire from your fleet. However, only our third fleet is firing on yours. We are attempting to communicate with them now, as we suspect their actions have not been sanctioned by the Galactic Republic. I repeat, this hostility is not representative of the Senate’s wishes. Our attempts to communicate with them are being blocked. Nonetheless, if you do not order your fleet to stand down, our remaining fleets will be forced to return fire. Let me be clear—”
The general moved out of frame, steadying himself against a sudden motion on the bridge. “Let me be clear. If you are unable to hail your fleet and order a stand-down, we will return fire. Do you understand?”
The mwadim’s lips curled over his teeth. “Rohoar understands, General. And if you do not put a muzzle on your rogue fleet, we will be forced to call in our reinforcements. Do you understand?”
The general’s eye twitched. This was escalating quickly. “We are working on reaching our third fleet, and we will do our best to disrupt whatever communication sanctions are being enforced on your fleet. Keep trying to reach them.” Another motion jolted the general from the frame. His face reappeared as a second klaxon sounded in the background, this one higher pitched. “Ambassador Bosworth, are you still there?”
The ambassador pushed himself out of his seat and moved toward the mwadim, careful not to get too close. Slowly, he reached for the holo-frame and turned it toward his face.
“Gerald, we are sending a shuttle for you, assuming—in good faith—that the mwadim grants you permission to leave. How many are you?”
Magnus jumped in before anyone else could reply. “Eight military personnel, including myself, three civilians, and the ambassador.”
The general made a note then looked at Bosworth again. “You are to take Lieutenant Magnus into custody, employing whatever Marine presence is still at your disposal, and report immediately to my ship. You will be given further instructions upon your arrival.”
“I understand, General.”
“Regulations require that I send a data file at the end of this transmission. It will include the charges against the lieutenant. However, I ask that you keep it unopened until I’m able to speak with my Marine in person.”
Bosworth shot a glance at Magnus. “If it’s serious, General—if this Marine is a threat—I need to know.”
“You don’t need to know, Gerald. Just get back to my ship with the lieutenant and the rest of your party. We’ll be there in ten minutes. And we’ll get that window open for the mwadim to call off his assault.”
“Ten minutes.” Rohoar growled. “And no more.”
* * *
Bosworth reclined in Abimbola’s giant chair. He’d sent the holo-projection to a data pad then picked up the device and rested it on his enormous belly. It didn’t take long for Magnus to realize the ambassador had opened the general’s data file. The two-faced Bludervian dimdish.
Magnus paced at the opposite end of the table. He watched the man raise an eyebrow, swiping through screen after screen. By the time the ambassador finally looked over the tablet at him, Magnus had had enough.
“He told you not to open it.”
“And he told you that you are under arrest. T
hat means you have conceded rights as a Marine of the Republic and will be tried in a military tribunal.”
I already lost those rights, Magnus thought, blinking his bioteknia eyes.
Bosworth looked back at the data pad and began reading aloud. “Disobeying a direct order, conspiracy, conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to disrupt diplomatic affairs…” The ambassador paused. “And what’s this? ‘Assassination of a Republic senator’?”
Dutch raced to Magnus’s side before he could defend himself. “That’s false!”
“Whoa, whoa!” The ambassador pumped his hands at her. “Seems you have yourself a tigress there, Lieutenant.”
“Watch your step, Ambassador,” Magnus replied. “You wouldn’t want this tigress losing her temper on you.”
Bosworth regarded the woman, licking his upper lip. “Or would I?”
Dutch recoiled.
The ambassador put the data pad down. “She wouldn’t dare, anyway. She’s too smart. I am, after all, the Republic ambassador. She knows that if she does one hasty move, her career is over.”
Dutch mumbled something, and Magnus put a hand on her arm. “Easy, Corporal. He’s not worth it,” he whispered.
“What was that? Either of you have something to say?” Bosworth looked around at the onlookers. “Anyone?” When no one replied, he said, “Ha! I didn’t think so. The general’s orders stand. The shuttle should be here in five minutes, and I… I feel…” The ambassador’s eyes glazed over, and the fat face went pale. “Suddenly, it seems that I…”
His hands dropped to his sides, and his head lolled backward. The ambassador was out cold. The epinadrol had worn off.
Magnus looked between Abimbola and Rohoar.
“Well, buckethead. What are you going to do?” Abimbola asked.
Yeah, Magnus, what are you gonna do? This wasn’t his first time being in trouble with the Corps. His mind flashed back to Caledonia, to images he’d tried to erase every damn day. But he’d had advocates back then. He’d been given a second chance because people believed in him. They had reason to believe Magnus was justified in what he’d chosen to do in that horrible war.
This was different. The list of charges—even if there weren’t any more than what the ambassador had read—wouldn’t be going away. He could tell that from Lovell’s resigned tone. Magnus would be tried. He would be found guilty. And he would probably be executed.
And all for what? For bleeding Recon red? For going above and beyond the call of duty to rescue some senator and his family, only to be blamed for the senator’s death? And then there was the charge of “conspiracy to disrupt diplomatic” whatever. He couldn’t believe they were actually trying to peg the attack on the mwadim’s palace on him.
This is bad. Real bad.
Standing there in Abimbola’s control room, Magnus understood that his career was truly over and not just because he had bioteknia implants. No. It was because the Repub had cut him loose.
The Galactic Republic had changed over the years—morphed into a system of favors, handshakes, and backroom deals. Ulterior motives, politicking—nothing was clear anymore. It hadn’t been clear for a long time. He’d seen other people chewed up and spit out. He knew people who had “disappeared.” Now it was his turn. The rusty blade of the executioner’s axe had come for him.
“Well, I’m certainly not letting that dimdish drive me home.” Magnus gestured toward the sleeping fat man.
The mwadim chuckled. “Rohoar suspects that you are in a large pile of Jujari splick, Marine.”
“You can say that again.”
“No, Rohoar is fine with saying it once. Also, Rohoar does not suspect you were the one who sabotaged his predecessor’s meeting with your ambassador and the Luma.”
Magnus pulled back, surprised by the sudden vote of confidence. “Well… thank you, Great Mwadim—”
“But you probably did kill the senator. Rohoar would kill them all, too.” The other Jujari around the control room cackled.
Might the mwadim actually let me go, even if it means risking his tentative agreement with the Republic? “So, what if I don’t take the ambassador’s shuttle?”
“Rohoar would say you are a smart human.”
“But what about your agreement with the general?”
The mwadim waved him off. “The Jujari have survived for so long because the Jujari do not trust those who do not trust themselves with power.”
“I don’t follow.”
Rohoar blew out a sigh. “Too much power, not enough discretion. This is the Republic. Your balance is lopsided because you have never learned to trust yourselves with the power you have acquired. The imbalance is killing you like it kills all species who ignore the signs. The Jujari chose not to embrace the imbalance, so the Jujari survive.
“The general’s insistence that some of his fleet have gone rogue—this is foolishness, meant to distract the Jujari. Rohoar has no intention of ceasing fire. Allies are already on their way. The Galactic Republic is not getting out of this one unscathed, and they will think twice before moving ships into our system again. That is, if they have any ships left to visit us with.”
“So, what’s the call, buckethead?” Abimbola moved toward Magnus. “What do you need?”
Magnus considered the warlord’s offer, realizing the man seemed truly interested in helping him. “I need a way off the planet. And I’ll take whoever wants to go with me.”
“So you are choosing to run from your government,” Rohoar said.
Magnus hadn’t made it that definitive in his own mind yet. But yes, that was the sum of it. He nodded.
“Ha!” The Miblimbian clapped his oversized hands and walked toward Magnus. “Then you are truly a Marauder now. Welcome to the fold.”
The next thing Magnus knew, he was caught up in a full-bodied embrace, his head pressed against Abimbola’s sweaty pectorals. He could think of worse initiations but few that were more awkward.
“Thank you,” Magnus said, pulling away. “I think.”
“You know what this means now, yes?”
“You’ll stop calling me buckethead and give me ten thousand credits’ worth of poker chips?”
“You are funny, buckethead!” The man guffawed. “But no. It means I will personally help you get to wherever you need getting to.”
“And so will Rohoar.”
Magnus turned to face the mwadim in open astonishment. “You’re what?”
“You saved Rohoar’s blood wolf. Our code demands that he serve you as his new master. However, his injuries prevent him from fulfilling his responsibility with any faithfulness. As a result, the indebtedness falls upon the blood wolf’s parent and patron.” The mwadim raised his chin ever so slightly. “In both cases, this is Rohoar. Victorio is both Rohoar’s son and his blood wolf.”
“I told you that you were in for something big,” Abimbola whispered in Magnus’s ear.
Rohoar placed a fist on his hairy chest. Then, to Magnus’s profound amazement, he lowered his head and exposed his neck toward Magnus. “Rohoar submits.”
Magnus hesitated, completely at a loss for what to say. He was about to talk the mwadim out of this outlandish circumstance—there was no way he could accept his offer—when Abimbola whispered, “It is not something you can refuse! They will kill you if you do!”
“What?” Magnus whispered back.
“If you insult the mwadim’s offer, they will kill you where you stand! Say you accept!”
“Are you serious?”
“Say it!”
Magnus straightened, hardly believing what he was about to say. He swallowed. “I accept.”
Rohoar raised his head and nodded at Magnus. Without even the slightest hint of regret or disdain, Rohoar said, “How may I serve you?”
Immediately, Magnus noticed that Rohoar had changed to the personal pronoun “I.” He had to hand it to the mwadim—Is he still the mwadim?—he sure knew how to put duty before personal feelings. And the guy was probably boiling
inside.
“Well, I guess I’m going to need a ship,” Magnus said.
“That is something I can supply,” Rohoar replied.
“Are you kidding me?”
“No, I only produce kids with females. What does that have to do with your need for a ship?”
Magnus blinked. Had his fortunes really changed so quickly? One minute, he was being charged with what was tantamount to treason by the government he had pledged his allegiance to. The next, he was being offered fealty and a starship by the leader of the most violent warrior species in the galaxy—one who took everything far too literally.
“So, buckethead.” Abimbola placed a hand on Magnus’s shoulder. “Where are we going?”
“I can’t believe I’m saying this—the safest place I can think of, the safest for both Piper and Valerie.”
“And where is that?”
“Worru.”
“Back to the Luma home world again? Do you know somebody you can trust?”
“I do. Not personally, I mean. But Awen trusted him.” Seeing Awen again wouldn’t be so terrible either. He still had the slip of paper in his pocket with the initials NMB on it. “He’s the head of the Luma—a guy named Master So-Elku. He’ll know how to help them. Then I can figure out what to do about this mess with the Republic and those rogue ex-Marines.”
“Correction,” said Rohoar. “We will figure it out. You are not alone.”
“Copy that, LT.” Dutch stepped forward, her weapon lying over her shoulder. Gilder, Haney, and Nolan stepped up as well.
Abimbola patted Magnus’s shoulder again. “Well, buckethead, it seems you have yourself a regular marauding group of misfits. You have become a warlord after all! Not as infamous as Abimbola, of course. But you will get there. Give it time.”
* * *
MAGNUS and ARWEN will return in GATEWAY TO WAR, coming Sept. 2019.
For more updates on this series, be sure to join the Facebook Group, “J.N. Chaney’s Renegade Readers.”
List of Main Characters