Sons of the Starfarers: Omnibus I-III

by Joe Vasicek

Mara frowned. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Jason? The last thing we want is to screw with his brain.”

  “Is no problem, is no problem. Database very good, will teach him very easy.” he turned to Aaron and put a hand on his shoulder. “You want?”

  Aaron shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Very good,” Jason said, patting his arm and giving him a wide grin. “You are good boy. Very good boy.”

  “Very good,” Hektor added, giving him another thumbs up.

  Mara rolled her eyes and took Aaron by the arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here. The training’s almost over, and I want to get a seat in the debriefing room.” She spoke quickly to the others, who nodded and left.

  “What’s that program Jason was talking about?” Aaron asked as she led him out of the crowded simulation center.

  “It’s a neural stimulator that works through a portable dream monitor. Instead of putting you into a simulation, it’s supposed to enlarge the neural pathways connected with language acquisition and help you retain what you pick up. But Aaron, it isn’t a miracle program that will teach you everything. And if you overuse it, it could really do some damage.”

  “Getting shot out of the starfield could do some damage, too,” he muttered, remembering the terrifying last moments of the simulation. The burning sensation on his skin and in his lungs as the cockpit exploded, throwing him out into the vacuum of space—it made him shudder just thinking about it.

  “I’m serious, Aaron. You’ve got to be careful with this stuff.”

  He groaned. “Don’t worry—I’ll be fine.” The last thing he needed was someone to mother him.

  * * * * *

  “Aaron!” said Isaac, his face lighting up like a supernova the moment his eyes fell on him. He half-walked, half-ran through the crowded stationside bar and threw his arms around him.

  “Good to see you, too,” said Aaron, his cheeks reddening from embarrassment. It was a good thing the rest of the platoon wasn’t here. He didn’t want to be known as the kid whose older brother treated him like a baby.

  “How have things been? I heard they assigned you to be a drop-ship pilot. You’ll have to tell me all about it. Are you taking care of yourself?”

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Aaron muttered as he sat down in the narrow booth. “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  Isaac hesitated a moment before slipping into the seat across from him. Out by the bar, a group of off-duty soldiers in faded green fatigues laughed raucously at some unheard joke, while another group walked in through the open doorway. It was as crowded as anywhere else on New Hope Station, but the booth was like an island of sanity amid the chaos.

  The debriefing had gone just as well as he’d expected, which was to say not at all. Aaron didn’t know which was worse, nodding stupidly as the flight commander chewed him out or getting Mara’s translation and knowing that she was privy to every sordid detail. At least they’d granted him a couple hours of leave, which was just what he needed to meet up with his brother before he left. Though from the looks of it, half the soldiers and pilots in the Flotilla were on leave as well.

  “Well, they gave me my assignment, too,” said Isaac. He spread out his arms across the back of his seat. “I can’t say much about it, but if all goes well I’m going to be just as close to the fighting as you.”

  “You’re one of the civilian pilots taking the jump beacons in?” As much as Aaron wanted to hide it, he couldn’t help but feel relieved that his brother wouldn’t be far away.

  Isaac grinned. “I can neither confirm nor deny …”

  “Oh come on. How many other people on this station can speak a word of Deltan?”

  “Don’t blame me. I’m just following orders. But I can tell you that we’re moving out hard—and fast. The Imperial fleet at Colkhia is part of an expeditionary force, without any other forces nearby to reinforce them. Admiral Tully wants to retake all three of the occupied systems and drive the Imperials from the star cluster before they have a chance to regroup. If all goes well, the campaign might be over in as little as a month.”

  “And let me guess,” said Aaron. “Once it’s over, you want to get together and go back to starfaring?”

  “Well, yeah. Wasn’t that the plan?”

  Aaron sighed. The truth was, he was still split on that issue. He didn’t want to leave Isaac completely, but if he went back to the Medea too soon, he’d be right back under his brother’s thumb.

  “We don’t have to have a plan,” he said. “We’ll just figure things out as they come.”

  Before Isaac could say anything, a blonde teenager with an apron around her waist came up to their table. Since there weren’t any serving bots hovering around the bar, Aaron guessed she was there to take their order. His older brother talked with her for a bit before turning back to him.

  “Did you want anything in particular?”

  Aaron shook his head. “I’ll take whatever you’re getting.”

  Isaac conferred again with the girl, who pulled out an old, battered datapad to take their order. As they talked, she glanced sideways at Aaron and giggled. Before he could respond, she slipped the datapad back into her apron and left.

  “What was that about?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No, really,” said Aaron. “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her that I don’t usually order hard drinks, but my brother does, so I’ll take one in honor of him. Also, that you’re available.”

  “What?”

  “Hey,” said Isaac, spreading out his palms. “We’re going to have to settle down eventually—we can’t be star wanderers forever. I’m just keeping an eye out for you.”

  Blood rushed to Aaron’s cheeks, but fortunately, the girl was out of sight. He shook his head.

  “I don’t know, man. You’re just like Mom, planning out my life and trying to set me up with every girl you see.”

  “I’m just throwing opportunities at you. What you choose to do with them is up to you.”

  “Well, thanks. I guess.”

  Isaac chuckled. “Have you had a chance to get to know any of the other pilots on the Aegis?”

  “No, but there’s a Deltan girl in my platoon.”

  “Really?” he said, leaning forward. “What’s her name?”

  “Mara Soladze. Do you remember her?”

  “I do, as a matter of fact. Wasn’t she one of Mariya’s best friends growing up?”

  Aaron nodded. “Yeah, that’s what she says. She’s a tough girl. I can barely keep up with her.”

  “Oh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” he said, blushing again. “She’s just tough, that’s all. Doesn’t take any crap. When she found out that I’d joined the Flotilla, she set me up as her platoon’s drop-ship pilot and appointed herself my personal translator. I haven’t been able to get rid of her since.”

  Isaac glanced to either side. “I don’t see her here.”

  “Thank the stars,” Aaron muttered.

  “How is the language working out for you? Have you been able to make any progress?”

  He groaned. “It’s tough—tougher than I thought it would be—but I’ll manage.”

  “I told you that you should have tried harder to pick it up.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Can you tell me something I don’t know?”

  “Hey,” said Isaac, “don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re not the only one having language issues. It’s a problem throughout the entire Flotilla. We’ve got recruits coming in from all over the Near Outworlds, and Gaian is the only thing we’ve got that comes close to a common language. It’s causing all kinds of logistical and command issues, so don’t worry. You’re not alone.”

  “When did you get so keyed into this war?” Aaron asked. “You sound like it’s something you actually care about now.”

  “Well, let’s just say I’ve seen some things to convince me that this isn’t something we can just run away from. Thi
s isn’t just about the New Pleiades—it’s about taking a stand for all of us. We’re all interconnected, even on the furthest fringes of the Far Outworlds, and if the New Pleiades falls to Imperial aggression, we’re going to feel it everywhere.”

  His words made Aaron think of the henna girl from the derelict space station. Her people had isolated themselves from the rest of humanity, and look at what had happened to them. His brother was right—this was about the whole Outworlds.

  He grinned. “You’ve always got to take the responsible path, don’t you? Bet you never thought it would lead you to follow me.”

  “What can I say? We’re in this together. When the campaign starts, keep an eye out for me. I won’t be far behind you.”

  The girl came back with their drinks. She set them on the table one at a time. When she came to him, Aaron winked at her, and her cheeks turned bright red.

  “To the future we’re all fighting for,” said Isaac. “May our families and our freedoms shine brighter than all the stars.” He lifted his glass.

  “The future,” Aaron concurred. They tossed back their heads and drank.

  * * * * *

  Back on the Aegis, Aaron shuffled to the barracks level and searched for the door with the insignia of his platoon. He wasn’t drunk—his older brother never let him get drunk if he could help it—but he was at the point of tipsiness where the alcohol was starting to impair his perception rather than enhance it. He’d probably wake up with a headache and a mild hangover which, combined with his physical training, was bound to suck. But that was hours away. He’d deal with it in the coming dayshift.

  He found the door and palmed it open. The lights were dim, making it hard for him to see, but the layout of the bunks on either side was familiar enough that it wasn’t hard to find his. Only about half the platoon members had made it back from leave, and Mara was among them. While the others were all sleeping, she sat on the edge of her bunk, engrossed in a datapad. As soon as he walked in, she perked up.

  “Aaron,” she said, rising to greet him. “I’ve been waiting for you. Find your way back all right?”

  “Yes, yes,” Aaron muttered. A wave of tiredness hit him, and he felt the sudden urge to pee.

  “Listen, Jason wanted me to leave this with you. It’s a portable dream monitor that plugs into the terminal next to your bunk. It’s preprogrammed with the neural stimulator program he told you about. If you use it for half an hour before you go to sleep and after you wake up, it should be enough, but any more than that and you could really screw yourself up. Understand?”

  “Half an hour.” he said sleepily. The floor beneath him began to rock back and forth.

  “I mean it,” she said, poking him in the chest. “If you’re going to use it, set an alarm to wake you out after thirty minutes. Otherwise, you might fall asleep with that thing plugged in, and there’s no telling what it might do.”

  “I have to go pee,” he said. Even in the dim nightshift lighting, he could see her roll her eyes.

  “Whatever. I’ll leave the dream monitor on your bunk. Remember what I said about that alarm. The last thing we want is to turn your brain into a pile of mush.”

  “Mush, mmm.” She sighed and rolled her eyes again before leaving him.

  After relieving himself in the four-stall unisex bathroom that serviced the barracks on his deck, Aaron lumbered back to his bunk and climbed in. His shoulder hit an unusually large bump, and he swore under his breath before realizing that it was the dream monitor. The helmet-sized device looked like a welder’s mask with a short, upside-down scorpion tail in the back for plugging into his neural jacks. He turned on his bunk light to examine it.

  If I use this, I’ll pick up the language faster, he thought to himself. Without hesitation, he plugged it into his subcomputer and put it on.

  The needle at the end of the scorpion’s tail sent an electric thrill down his spine as it slid into the neural jack implants at the base of his neck. He arranged his pillow so that it supported him on the upper back and laid down carefully so as not to disturb the connection. Fortunately, the helmet secured itself quite firmly, without any give within the port. He pulled the visor across his face and settled back as the monitor switched on.

  Normally, when a simulation started, there was a brief moment where he lost the physical sensations of sight, smell, hearing, and touch. After it passed, he would find himself floating in a gray, nondescript world—the loading space between simulations. This time, though, there was none of that. Instead, he felt a thick murkiness fall across his senses, as if he were watching himself fall asleep. His body stiffened, and a warm tingling began to spread up and down his spine.

  The visor blocked his vision, but colorful symmetric shapes began to appear in the darkness in front of his eyes. When he closed them, they were still there. They started out simple, but soon morphed into complex, fractal-like patterns. It was like a cross between a waking dream and the sensation he got when he rubbed his eyes too vigorously.

  If he weren’t so tipsy, perhaps Aaron would have been more concerned. As it was, all he wanted was to surrender to the growing dizziness and exhaustion. He closed his eyes and gave in.

  As his mind drifted away on a sea of semi-consciousness, words began to pop in and out of his head. Some of them were things he’d overheard through the dayshift, others were from his conversations with Mara and his brother. Whether they were Gaian or Deltan, though, he couldn’t tell. Each one sent a ripple through the rapidly morphing fractals, transforming them in new and unpredictable ways. One of them appeared in written form, though the letters were too blurry to make out.

  It was as if he were watching the fibers of a complex weave undo themselves, only to form a new, more complicated pattern underneath. The tingly sensation extended to the ends of his fingers and toes, and his body shuddered once before descending to a new level of relaxation.

  The colors and fractals converged, and the fibers began to take actual form. They darkened and turned into long, braided hair. The braids came undone, and the hair fell over a pair of dark feminine shoulders covered in henna tattooes.

  It’s her, Aaron realized. The girl in the cryotank. She stood with her back to him, with her arms and hands outstretched on either side. She was naked, so that he could see that the henna covered almost her entire body. Her black hair shimmered, giving her the appearance of a goddess.

  Who are you? Aaron asked. His words, though unspoken, went directly to her mind. In the fuzzy logic of dreams, that made more sense than speaking aloud.

  The girl rose up in the air and began to float away from him. He tried to follow her, but a thick sense of paralysis had rooted his legs. He struggled against it as hard as he could, but to no avail. Panic began to seize him, not just from being unable to move, but that he might lose her.

  Wait! Where are you going? Come back!

  She glanced at him over her shoulder as she slowly began to fade. I can’t, she said, her voice like water running through a desert.

  Come for me.

  With that, she disappeared into thin air, leaving Aaron lost and bewildered. The strange force released him, and he stumbled forward, reaching out for her. But she was gone, leaving him in the darkness.

  Comrades in Arms

  A harsh, monotone alarm brought Aaron painfully back to consciousness. He groaned—it felt as if he had a weight on his head and a spike in his back. He opened his eyes, only to find the visor shield blocking his vision.

  It took him a second to orient himself, but once he realized that he was still plugged into the dream monitor, he reached up to his ear and shut it off. The needle sent chills across his skin as it withdrew from the neural implants in the back of his neck, making him realize how cold he was. His sheets and underclothes were soaked with sweat, as if he’d had a fever. It had long since cooled, leaving him to shiver in the dark.

  He reached into the locker compartment above his head and pulled out a clean change of clothes. As he did, a splitting he
adache almost knocked him flat. His body was sore, barely rested from the night-long session with the dream monitor. Combined with the hangover and whatever the machine had done to his brain, it made him want nothing quite so much as to pass out and die.

  Can’t do that, he told himself. If the commander thinks I’m unfit, they’ll get another pilot and leave me here. Besides, the commissary had stims that would take care of the headache—if he could manage to get there.

  Still shivering, he rolled out of his bunk and climbed down onto the floor. It took him a moment to steady himself before trudging out to the bathroom to change. The whole time, fractal patterns danced in the corners of his vision, just outside his view. He closed his eyes to see them more clearly, but they disappeared whenever he tried to grasp them.

  Set an alarm to wake you after thirty minutes, Mara’s words came back to his memory. The last thing we want is to turn your brain to a pile of mush. With the pain that seemed to split his head in half, that didn’t sound so bad. A pile of mush couldn’t feel anything.

  At length, he finished changing and walked back into the barracks to drop off his clothes. Most of the other soldiers were sleeping—Aaron set his alarm early to give him an hour of language study time. It sucked getting up so early, but the platoon followed a rigid training schedule, and that was the only time he had. And the hangover/headache was eating into it.

  Without wasting any more time, he made for the commissary at the juncture between the mess hall and the medical bay, two decks above their own. He found it bustling with activity, since First and Second Platoons started their dayshift a couple of hours before Fourth did.

  “So when do you think we’re moving out, this week or next?”

  “Beans again? Ugh, this food makes me sick.”

  “Who’s your money on in the next combat sim—Third or Sixth?”

  The buzz of conversation in the hallway made him frown. His ears were picking up noise, but somehow, his mind was making sense of them. He rubbed his forehead and groaned. The more people talked, the more his head hurt.