by Mick Fraser
The man nodded hurriedly. “We were briefed.”
“Right. But you saw that weapon she has, right? And you saw her... you saw what she did? Did they tell you she could do that?”
The soldier was visibly sweating. “No. They didn’t know. They said she was a terrorist. That’s all we knew. I won’t tell anyone, I promise. Please.”
Drenno squeezed shut his eyes and rose to his feet. Without another word he shot the young man in the temple. Angela’s stomach turned as the body slumped in the dust.
“He begged you!” she shouted, disgusted. “Christ, Drenno, he was just doing his job.”
He wheeled on her. “You done? When you’re Captain of my boat, you get to talk to me like that. We crystal?” Without waiting for a reply he pressed his fingers to his ear. “Dizzy? We’re coming out. Where are you? Varo’s here. Son of a bitch is in orbit.”
“Not any more he’s not!” came the pilot’s frantic reply. “The Halo’s right behind me! Get outside: we’re coming your way.”
Drenno grabbed Angela and half-dragged her towards the exit. As they hurried out into the bright, cold sunlight, the Shadowstar burst over the crest of a nearby hill, blasting a wave of snow out before her and draping the team in shadow. Dizzy angled her, dropping as low as he could. As the starfighter spun, Angela saw that the cargo ramp was down and Illith and Gage clung to the pistons, hands outstretched. Shimmer tossed the case to Gage and sprinted up the hill, leaping the gap and catching hold of the Auton’s hand. Winston buzzed by her. Drenno turned to Angela, holding out his hand. She ignored him, pushing past him and arcing up into the ship. As Drenno raced to the crest of the hill, something hit the Shadowstar with tremendous force, knocking her sideways.
Drenno faltered in his run up, diving for cover in the snow. Illith looked like she would jump down to get him, when Dizzy swore over the commlink. A huge black ship appeared, three times the size of the Shadowstar. It fired again, the blast exploding against the Shadow’s shields but rocking her violently. Drenno was trapped. Illith swung on Angela. “You! Go! Bring him in!” She hesitated and the Silsir grabbed her. “Would he leave you!?”
“Fuck!” Angela shouted, gritting her teeth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” She ran forward, leaping down to the snow.
“Angela, what the hell are you doing?” Drenno shouted as she landed beside him.
“Not my idea,” she growled. She grabbed him and arced them both back up, but she could only manage halfway to the ramp. As she came out of the arc she swung the Braid, latching it around the ramp’s hydraulic piston. She dropped savagely, their combined weight pulling against the coiled Braid so hard she worried her arm would tear clean off. The Shadowstar banked hard, dragging Angela and Drenno behind her like a streamer.
Illith slid to the edge of the ramp, held by Gage, and reached down, catching hold of Drenno’s hand. As she pulled him up, Angela arced upwards, slamming into the stack of cargo crates behind them. Drenno slapped the touchpad by the ramp and raised it, then scrambled to his feet, racing for the bridge. Illith helped Angela to rise and the two sprinted after him. As the Shadowstar broke orbit the Halo hit them again.
“They’re trying to disable us!” Dizzy shouted. “We need somewhere else to be!”
Drenno barked at Shimmer, who swung the case. She relayed the coordinates to Dizzy, and the To’ecc punched them into the console. The Halo hit them again. He looked at Drenno. “Lorrimar?”
“Lorrimar. Punch it.”
Dizzy activated the Phase-drive, but a volley of fire battered the Shadowstar, setting off alarms and blanketing the bridge in darkness. As another volley hit them, there was a lurch of movement and the starfighter broke phase, blasting into Purespace.
Alarms continued to wail.
“How far?” Drenno shouted to Dizzy.
“Not far! At this speed, not long either. We have no containment! Just hope the damn brakes work when we hit the other side!”
Six-Tails entered the bridge with a black case in his clawed hand. “Anyone hurt?”
“Bruises,” Drenno told him. “Wounded pride. The usual.”
As the Endrani knelt to examine him, Gaelan went to Angela. “Are you alright?” she asked. Her skin was deep violet.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll be fine.” She realised she was shaking and felt suddenly ill. She grabbed her seat by the belly-gun monitors and sat down, catching Drenno’s eye in the red glare of the emergency lighting. He nodded his thanks at her, but she saw that young soldier’s face once more and looked away.
Illith, standing by Dizzy, gave her a tight bow of the head. “Well done,” she said. “You were paying attention after all.”
Dizzy cursed in To’ecc. “If any of you have anything terribly important to say to one another, I’d do it now. We’ll be coming out of this fast and I’ve got no guidance. Better hope those coordinates are good or this is gonna be a really short trip with a very sudden stop.”
Drenno swung his seat to face the console. “Where are we going, Dizzy?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Zera!”
The To’ecc swore. “Rruska. The last part is on Rruska.”
Drenno and Illith exchanged a dark look. “Seven Rings,” he said. “Had to be, didn’t it?”
CHAPTER 35
~I AM BUT AN INSTRUMENT~
THE SHADOWSTAR BLINKED as her Phase-drive fired, and she disappeared in a blinding flash that rocked the Broken Halo like a sudden wave. Crewmen pitched left and right, and Varo tightened his grip on the arms of his chair and leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. He glared sideways at his bridge-commander.
“I hope for your sake you have a line on that ship, Veyla,” he said menacingly.
The Silsir to his right straightened her black and gold uniform and hammered her fingers against the touchscreen in front of her. “They broke phase while beneath us, Lord Varo. Our tracking instruments are compromised. We are fortunate they didn’t cut us in half.”
Her tone rankled him, but for now he needed her where she was, not up to her neck in a tank of bwanna eels. “There will be an Aethir trail. Find it.”
Varo rose from his seat and swept from the bridge, heading for his sancto. It wasn’t physical exertion he craved, but quiet. The bridge of a battleship was never still; it was a cacophony of noise and idiocy that made Varo long for simpler times when, as spymaster and Harlequin, he’d run with a proper pack. Now he dealt with sycophants like Keeper Remnath or brutes like Dragga Four-Claws, Evayne’s hulking Endrani security chief.
Veyla was academy stock, which meant “untried” where Varo came from, and he hadn’t missed the veiled insult when Her Highness had promoted her without consulting him and ordered her to act as a prefect on this mission. Reporting on him, relaying his every decision. And all for killing a traitor. Ha. Time was, killing traitors was rewarded – handsomely. Even the Founders, soft-bellied as they were, had understood the value of loyalty. Her Highness was... an odd one.
Humans had a strange way about them, in his experience, especially Orrenians. They were whimsical, prone to flights of fancy, delusions of grandeur, awe and wonderment. It was a trait that had bled through to some other races in recent centuries, To’ecc included, he had to admit. Her Highness was particularly agitated of late, though. Well, of late was inaccurate. She had never been fully... right, in her mind. She made decisions as though she were two people, one balanced and fair, the other maniacal and hot-tempered. Both held a singular agenda, which at least confirmed her sanity. The agenda itself, though…
A weapon. Or a trigger for a weapon, which had recently been revealed to be an Earthborn human girl. How the Firebrands had discovered her location, Varo didn’t know, but it had brought Drenno and his criminal scum back onto the radar, so he chose not to pull at the thread with too much vehemence. Some things were not to be frowned at.
Once inside his sancto he sealed the door and crossed the room to the small holocaster on the far side. He tapped the glass twi
ce, then knelt before it and waited. It buzzed, and Highness’ face appeared, dark and slim and unblemished.
“Lord Marshal,” she greeted him. “I trust you have good tidings.”
“Highness,” he bowed, touching his forehead to the floor. “I have located the Embers; the Broken Halo is in pursuit.”
“You have their destination?”
He hesitated, choosing his words. “I have their Aethir trail. It is as good as.”
She seemed dissatisfied, but did not push the point. “When you have a location, even a vague one, inform me at once. I will bring the Hero to you. Once in range I can track them by resonance alone if need be.”
“You will bring the flagship? All this way?”
“The device must be assembled immediately. Lord Keeper Remnath has constructed a cradle for it aboard the Uncommon Hero. Any further questions, Varo?” She almost spit his name. She was still angry then.
“No, Highness. My orders are clear. I am but an instrument.”
“Yes,” she said, somewhat loftily, “and you would do well to remember it this time. I’ll not burn another martyr for the sake of your hot-headedness. Perhaps I should send Four-Claws to oversee the operation.”
He bit his tongue and bowed again, halfway to the floor this time. “That will not be necessary, Highness. I assure you.”
“I hope for your sake, you are right. That will be all, Lord Marshal. Honour the Blood.”
“Honour the Blood,” he repeated, and the holocaster switched off. Varo sat back, taking a few calming breaths. His upper arms tingled, irritated, and he rubbed them with his lower hands. His leathery skin felt dry and itchy, and he forced himself to relax. The ebra began to flow again quickly, glistening through his scales. As he got older it became harder to rehydrate himself, a burden of age for his people. But was it any wonder she got under his skin?
Honour the Blood, she said. It’s what she always said, as if she had ever honoured the Founders and the blood they spilled for the Reach. Varo had never believed her capable of treason, as Rathe and Illith had, but he also knew she shed no true tears over the destruction of the Monolith. The event had been cataclysmic for the Reach, but a mere stepping stone for Tess Evayne, one that had elevated a rich, idealistic politician to the ruler of Known Space.
The private intercom beside him buzzed and he slapped it testily. “Speak.”
“We have them, my Lord. Well, we have... something.”
He left the sancto and hurried back to the bridge. Veyla waited for him like a venhound ready for a pat on the head. “Well?” he demanded.
“It’s faint, sir, and they’re travelling without containment, faster than we can match – but I have their trail. We have located their Warren.”
He narrowed his rheumy eyes. “How long to intercept?”
The Silsir officer hesitated. “We... cannot intercept. Their speed is too great. It is beyond reckless. Your final shot damaged their Aethir bank. But we can track them—”
“How long!?”
Her Silsir heritage prevented her from jumping at his wrath, which angered him further, but the haste of her words placated him somewhat. “We will reach their destination within eighteen hours of their landing, my Lord. We are at full Shift.”
“Full Shift,” he repeated mockingly. “We had better be, Commander. If we lose them again, you lose your head.”
CHAPTER 36
~FLY? YES. LAND? NO.~
ANGELA HAD NEVER liked sirens. Growing up the way she had, sirens always meant that either an alarm had been triggered or the police were about to come hurtling round the nearest corner, and neither was ever welcome. So, as the Shadowstar tore like a flaming comet through Purespace and the Firebrands struggled to keep her in one piece long enough to reach Rruska, she excused herself, silently, and got the hell off the bridge.
When the elevator stopped she followed the green line towards Habitat, but in the dim red light and amidst the scream of the siren and the hissing sparks gouting from half a dozen overheated ventilation pipes, she lost her way and wound up in some kind of briefing room. There was a huge circular table at the centre with nine chairs around it. The surface of the table was black and as smooth as glass, which she now recognised as a holocaster. There were other screens positioned around the room, and she guessed this must be where Drenno brought the crew in calmer times to discuss their current goal or mission or job or crime or whatever the hell they called it.
Drenno... What was it Guin had said? There is a side to Drenno you’ve not yet seen. I would tell you to pray that you never do, but I fear it is inevitable.
Well, Angela had seen it. She felt sick again at the thought of that young man on his knees, unarmed and outnumbered, following orders, executed in cold blood. Had he had a family? She wondered. Did he have dreams of promotion, had he joined to see the galaxy, expand his horizons...? There was a stark difference between shooting at the Exethans who worked for Tess Evayne and killing human beings.
Was Gaelan capable of that, too? Angela had to assume that in this climate, perhaps she was. Why that bothered her, she couldn’t be sure. The crew of the Shadowstar were fighters all, and out here, away from law and order, it stood to reason that survival would necessitate killing from time to time. If her father and her surrogate family where able to kill so easily, why would Gaelan not be?
But Angela realised that wasn’t what was bothering her. She wasn’t concerned with what Gaelan had done in the years before meeting her, or even what she might do in the years to come. What bothered Angela dwelled neither in the past or the future, but in the here and now, and the undeniable ferocity of her sudden feelings terrified her.
Angela had never considered herself to be ‘straight’ or otherwise, simply because the question had never come up. At school she’d been surly, quick to anger, slow to make friends. Before that, on the streets, she’d had neither the time nor inclination to worry about boys – or girls, for that matter. Her virginity had gone sometime in her early teens, after her adoption by the Stranges, to Nathan Moore, a rebellious gobshite who Angela had felt drawn to for reasons she could barely fathom now. After Nathan, there had only been one other, an art student at Templeton Tech named Sam White. They had dated for five or six months before Angela eventually reverted to type and scared him off.
And now this, whatever the fuck this was. Did they even recognise the concepts of straight and gay this far from Earth? Was there a whole other word for inter-species relationships? Christ, would she ever be ready to pull at that thread? Whatever it was, it was real, of that she was sure. It was real, and it was powerful. Gaelan’s touch had brought Angela to life in ways she wouldn’t have thought possible; it stirred something in her that was almost primal, something she couldn’t quantify even in the moment, let alone now. What she knew for certain, though, was that in a life of insecurity and strife, that one moment with Gaelan had felt, above all else, right.
The red emergency lights flickered, derailing Angela’s train of thought. She staggered as the ship suddenly rocked, falling sideways and grabbing the table to steady herself. Her touch triggered the holocaster and it lit up, the flickering display forming an image of... her face. Her whole head, actually, gently turning. There were three words in what she now knew was the Elbian dialect of Orren, and she recognised two of them from her flying lessons with Gaelan: SAFETY and PRIORITY. She sensed a presence behind her and hit the touchpad, deactivating the stuttering display.
“Dizzy says we’re going to crash,” said Drenno from the doorway. “Usually when he says that, we are.”
“Sounds like a riot,” she retorted, because she couldn’t think of anything cleverer to say.
“Oh, it’ll be that alright. Dizzy crashes better than anyone I ever met.”
“You’re not on the bridge,” she said lamely. She could tell he wanted to talk, and was surprised to discover that she wanted him to.
He looked uncomfortable, like he was wrestling with something. “What you did on
Seth, that was mighty golden. I appreciate that.”
Feeling oddly exposed, she shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Illith made me do it.”
Drenno chuckled to mask his own discomfort. “Yeah, well you saved my life either way. That’s a big deal. Especially since you were so pissed off at me.”
“Were?”
“Okay: are. But you need to understand something: the galaxy is not our friend. She’s a taskmaster; she tells us what she needs us to do and we do it, or we face the consequences. Or sometimes others face them instead. We don’t always like the choices we’re forced to make.”
Angela could have said a lot. She could have told him that she knew places like that, that she’d been raised in a place like that, that she had made her share of tough choices. She could have told him that she understood, deep down, what he meant. She could have said a lot, but she said nothing.
He let the silence grow for a moment, then spoke. “You know,” he began slowly, taking a step inside and leaning against the cold metal of the door frame, “people assume that we were some kind of honour guard, maybe even heroes. But we weren’t that. Not ever. We were assassins, a kill squad – problem solvers, I suppose. Harlequins always worked in fives, called a Fist. Me, Dizzy, Shimmer, Keera, and a man named Emerson Bard. That was us, Gallant-9, and we were the best. We reported to precisely two individuals: Tess Evayne and Illith Whiteheart – she was Evayne’s Arm, we were her Fist.
“Our last trip out, Bard took a hit, a bad one. We dropped him in a blood bucket when we got back – that’s a restorative tank, to you. While he was sleeping, boom, rebellion happened. Just happened, in a blink. We found out what Evayne had done and what she used us for, but me? I couldn’t give a shit. We had a kid now, Keera and me, we were done. Out. Evayne had signed our retirement papers after we finished hunting down the last of the Legacy. But sitting it out didn’t rest right with Keera. Nothing like that ever did. She was the best of us. She made me help Illith and Rathe. She took our ship, the Silver Soul, while me and Dizzy stole Evayne’s prized straighter. We used them as the flagships of our... cause. Bard woke up, Evayne gave him a choice. Him and his family, or us. Someone had to die, and he chose us.”