Stars of Blood and Glory

by Joe Vasicek

  Rina stepped warily onto the mat. This time, she moved too quickly for Roman to catch her. Anticipating his thrust, she made to the right then darted to the left, ducking beneath his counter and rolling to her feet behind him. He spun around too quickly for her to take advantage of the distraction, but she used the extra time to regain her bearings and get a sense of the field. She held her staff behind her back as he turned around to face, and when he charged her again, she spun into attack and jabbed the staff into his side.

  “Point!” shouted the corporal, and the crowd went wild.

  Roman nodded to her in respect and took a few steps back, assuming a defensive position. She circled him cautiously, refusing to let him lure her into an attack. The shouting of the crowd grew louder and more boisterous, but Rina ignored it, focusing instead on her breathing and the feel of the pujilion in her grasp.

  Not bad for first time, came an unspoken voice in her head. You fight well for an officer.

  “For an officer?” she said aloud, but Roman was already lunging forward at her. Without thinking, she dropped to one knee and pointed her staff straight at him. His blow slapped her hard on the side, but his momentum threw him onto her weapon. The men leaped to their feet and cheered louder than ever.

  The referee hesitated for a moment and frowned. “Point each,” he finally ruled, waving the sash in the air. “Sudden death!”

  That was low, Rina thought-spoke through the datalink implant.

  Roman chuckled and returned to his defensive stance. There are no rules in war, he transmitted to her through his own neural implants. You must be like water, ever changing.

  He lunged, and she deflected and sidestepped, returning with a counter and leaping nimbly aside.

  What game are you playing? she asked, circling him again.

  I am too old for games, he answered, cutting the air with a slice that passed only inches from her face.

  That should make you predictable, then, she said, spinning past him and dropping cat-like to dodge another cut.

  Perhaps, he said, pressing her back with a series of quick jabs. But you do not get to be my age without learning some very useful tricks.

  As she tried to jump aside with a counter, he let go of his staff and grabbed onto her own, wrenching it from her grasp. He swung down to strike, but she dove between his legs and rolled back to her feet behind him, spinning around on all fours.

  All around her, the men went crazy. “Impressive,” Roman said aloud, then kicked up his own staff from off the floor and tossed hers back to her. “We finish this fight fair.”

  You’re putting on good show for the men, he thought-spoke to her as they circled each other again. They have not seen fight like this in many years.

  Is that why you’re drawing it out?

  Who is drawing it out? he asked, grinning. I am enjoying myself. Are you?

  He faked a lunge and nearly caught her as she dodged. Fortunately, she managed to get her staff up before he struck her, and anticipated his follow up quickly enough to dart aside.

  Do you do this to every new recruit?

  Of course!

  He shouted and charged, sweat streaming down his half-cyborg face. Thinking fast, she jabbed her staff into the floor and leaped, angling her center of balance just above it. The spring as the staff returned to its shape gave her just enough momentum to clear his attack, sending her in a somersault over his head. She twisted in midair and swung around to swat him across the back, landing lightly on her feet behind him.

  Point.

  The men surged onto the mats, cheering and screaming. They grabbed hold of her and held her aloft, chanting in a language she didn’t understand. The sudden attention caught her completely by surprise, and she didn’t know what to make of it at first, but when it became apparent that they meant well by it, she smiled and let them carry her around the room.

  “You are good fighter, Lieutenant,” he said. “Truly, you are one of us now.”

  The resounding cries shook the bulkheads and reverberated throughout the room. She smiled again, and for a moment she almost believed it was true.

  Almost—but not quite.

  Part III

  Chapter 11

  “Sir, the Miyamoto has just returned from its mission.”

  “Excellent,” said Katsuichi, leaning back in his command chair. “Put Commander Takahashi through at once.”

  Outside the forward window, the blue-green world of New Vela II gradually faded, replaced by a blank squarish image as the window became a screen. The image blinked and displayed a sleek starship bridge, with a gray-haired commander standing in the center. He looked directly at Katsuichi and bowed deeply, his chest almost horizontal to the floor.

  “Your Imperial Highness.”

  “Commander Takahashi,” said Katsuichi, nodding. “What is your report?”

  The commander stood up straight, his uniform crisp and immaculate. “Your Highness, it gives me great pleasure to report that we have carried out your orders with success. Five Hameji ships have been destroyed or disabled, with minimal casualties on our side. The details are being transmitted to you now.”

  The officers around the bridge glanced at each other with wide, hopeful eyes. Though they were too well-disciplined to chat while the transmission was in progress, Katsuichi knew that Takahashi’s report would soon become the talk of the ship. Good, he thought. Let them hear some good news for a change.

  “Excellent work, Commander. Did you succeed in slowing their advance?”

  Takahashi hesitated to answer, though only for a split second. “Your Highness, I regret to report that we did not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I am sorry, sir. Our scouts report that the Hameji have been receiving a steady stream of reinforcements. We now estimate that their forces number twice what they did at Eyn-Gatta.”

  Katsuichi frowned. Around him, the hopeful glances of his men and women turned to looks of fear. He leaned forward, his face impassive.

  “Very well, Commander. Have your forces pull back to New Vela and join with the rest of the fleet.”

  “Sir,” said Takahashi, bowing deeply once again. The transmission cut out, and the window faded to full transparency once again, revealing the lush green world below.

  “We cannot defeat the Hameji here, your highness,” Kenta whispered in his ear. “And if this system falls, Shinihon will certainly be next.”

  “I know,” said Katsuichi, stroking his chin in thought. As his men glanced fearfully up at him, he felt as if a crushing weight had been placed on his chest, or that the walls of the ship were slowly closing in.

  Outside, a constant flow of glittering starships streamed away from the doomed planet. Instead of standing up to the Hameji, the Federation had ordered an evacuation. Most of the heavy battleships were now seeing the millions of refugees to safety, abandoning New Vela’s defenses in the process. It was as if the battle had already been decided before it had begun.

  But we can stand against them, Katsuichi wanted to scream. Commander Takahashi took out five of their ships—man for man, they’re no better than us.

  Without a strong leader to pull them together, though, the Federation was already doomed to fail.

  * * * * *

  “Secondary jump drive is fully charged,” said Lieutenant Yuri Avanadze. “We’re ready to go on your mark.”

  “Go ahead, then,” said Danica from her command chair.

  Roman closed his eyes and switched his consciousness to the digital interface. Once again, he found himself floating in a white, featureless room, devoid of any physical sensation. Perhaps the doctor is right, he thought to himself, musing on the contrast. Perhaps I am not yet beyond feeling.

  He switched back to physical consciousness just in time to hear Yuri swear. A glance out the forward window showed a blinking red light in the midst of the void—a jump beacon, no doubt launched by the Hameji.

  “Dammit!” Yuri swore again. “How much longer are they
going to keep up with this?”

  “Scan the sector,” said Danica, her expression cool. “Charge weapons and raise ship-wide alert to level two.”

  “Confirmed,” said Roman, raising the alert level. Down the hall, alarms began to sound.

  “Scanning,” said Yuri. “It looks like we’re the only ones out here.”

  “For now, at least,” said Danica. She drew a deep breath and rose to her feet. “Tajjashvili, deploy a squadron of fighter drones and have them keep watch on our perimeter. Alert me at once if anything comes through.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Avanadze, take out the beacon and put some distance between us and its position. Set the coordinates for another long jump, but wait until the primary drive is charged again before you execute.”

  “With pleasure.”

  Roman watched as Yuri brought the railgun turrets to bear on the Hameji beacon that had pulled them out of jumpspace, thwarting their escape. A loud rumble sounded through the bulkheads, and the beacon exploded in a silent flash of light.

  “At least they did not ambush us,” he said. “Either their net is still wide, or they have not committed many resources to pursuit.”

  “They will,” said Danica. “This is Qasar’s son, after all. He’s a high-level prisoner.”

  “We could always backtrack,” said Yuri. “Fly deeper into Hameji controlled space. The rift is almost three light-years wide at this point—if we could evade their interdiction efforts, we could still slip past them and make it to New Vela in good time.”

  Danica raised an eyebrow. “How good of time?”

  “I don’t know,” said Yuri. “A hundred hours, or perhaps a hundred-twenty.”

  “Let’s try it, then. But Roman, have your men ready just in case.”

  “Certainly, Captain,” he said, nodding grimly. Of course, he knew it was of little use—if the Hameji disabled and boarded them, the battle was as good as lost. But at least we will not go down without fight, he told himself, feeling satisfied with the prospect. It would be a fitting end—much better than fading into a purely digital consciousness.

  “I’ll be in my quarters,” said Danica. “If anything changes, alert me at once.”

  “Yes, Captain,” said Yuri and Zura.

  She nodded and turned to Roman. “When you get a chance, bring the prisoner to me. I have an idea.”

  “Yes, Captain,” he said, giving her a quick salute.

  She returned the gesture and walked briskly through the open doorway, leaving the bridge.

  * * * * *

  Abaqa groaned and sat up as the locks on his cell disengaged with a loud clang. He swung his legs over the edge of the metal slab of a bed and rose to his feet, folding his arms as he faced the soldiers who stood in the doorway. His body still felt sore from his fitful sleep, but he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing that.

  The old cyborg stepped inside, with two other soldiers waiting behind him at the door. In his hands, he carried a set of electrified restraints.

  “Good morning,” he said in his heavily accented Gaian. “Sleep well, did we?”

  Abaqa gave him no answer.

  “We can do this easy way or hard,” said the cyborg, his half-human face utterly unreadable. “What is your choice?”

  “I will not submit to your shackles.”

  He shrugged. “The hard way, then.” He motioned to one of the soldiers, who stepped inside with a shock rod in his hands.

  “If you have any honor, planetborn,” said Abaqa, “then take my word that I will not try to escape.”

  The old cyborg stopped the soldier with a raised fist. He narrowed his good eye and looked Abaqa over, as if to pierce his very soul. For his part, Abaqa tried not to look frightened, but the way the cyborg stared at him, it seemed impossible to hide anything.

  “Very well. Come with me.”

  Abaqa followed him out of the cell and into a narrow stairwell, his mind racing with questions and possibilities. How was he going to escape? If he could somehow subdue his captors and seize control of the ship, it would undo all of the shame and humiliation they’d brought upon him. But how to do it—that was the question. Planetborn or not, he didn’t think he could overpower any of the soldiers, even if he were armed. He’d have to out-think them, then—talk his way out, goad them into making a mistake.

  “Where are you taking me?” he asked, trying his best to seem as if he didn’t care.

  The old cyborg grunted. “To our captain,” he said.

  Then why didn’t he come down to the brig? Probably because they had some devious plan to torture him—or worse, install those neural implants and suck out his brain. He swallowed, but did his best not to show any sign of fear or weakness. If it was to come down to torture, he’d endure it with strength and dignity.

  The old cyborg led him down a long, dimly lit corridor. Exposed wires lined the corners along the ceiling, while the air smelled as stale and recycled as it did in the brig. No doubt their ship lacked a proper hydroponics lab—perhaps that was a point of weakness he could exploit. If he could locate the ship’s food stores, then—

  The cyborg stopped at a non-descript door and palmed it open. He motioned for the soldiers to stand guard, and stepped aside to let Abaqa in first. Abaqa hesitated for a moment, but seeing as he didn’t have much of a choice, he went in.

  Of all the things he expected to see, the scene that met his eyes was nothing like any of them. A richly woven carpet covered the floor, with wood panels underneath—authentic, by the looks of it. A comfortable couch and two chairs sat around an ornate Auriga Novan table, much like the one in his mother’s quarters. The painting on the opposite wall depicted a planetside landscape, but the wall on his left had some sort of open-face compartment system, with various trinkets and thin, box-shaped objects on display. He looked the compartments over for something that might be useful later, but the old cyborg ushered him to the couch and made it clear that he was to sit down. For the sake of his word, he complied.

  “Ah, Prince Abaqa,” came a voice from the other side of the room. A woman stepped out from a door, carrying a tray with three antique porcelain cups and a thermos. She wore a crisp military uniform with her graying hair tied back behind her.

  This must be the captain’s servant, Abaqa thought to himself. If it was humiliating to answer to a planetborn, it was even worse to answer to one of their servants. He did his best not to acknowledge her as she set the tray on the table.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” she said, turning to face him. “I am Captain Danica Nova of the Tajji Flame. I believe you’ve already met Master Sergeant Roman Krikoryan.”

  “You’re the captain?” Abaqa asked, snorting in disbelief. “Of course—only the planetborn would allow themselves to be led by a woman.”

  “A woman smart enough to capture a Hameji prince?” she shot back, lifting an eyebrow in amusement. He scowled, but had no answer.

  “I’ve been very curious to see you, Prince Abaqa,” she continued. “Unfortunately, other matters have kept me preoccupied until now, but now that we have some time, it would be good for us to get better acquainted. Some tea, perhaps?”

  How do you know my name? Abaqa wanted to ask. Instead, he took a deep breath and tried to keep his surprise to himself. “Other matters”—that had to be his brothers, tracking them down in close pursuit.

  “How do you know who I am?” he asked.

  “Through your mother, of course. Your uncle is an old friend of ours.”

  He frowned. “My uncle?”

  “Yes. Has Sholpan told you about him?”

  No, he almost said aloud. Instead, he held his tongue.

  The captain took a sip of her tea. “Ensign James McCoy—he served on this ship for a short while. He was just about your age at the time.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” he asked, shifting uneasily in his chair.

  “As I said before, to become better acquainted with each other.”
r />   “What makes you think I care about that?”

  She laughed, making his cheeks turn red. “You’re just like your uncle, aren’t you? I remember when the ensign first came on this ship, almost fifteen years ago. He also had quite an attitude problem, didn’t he, Roman?”

  “Indeed, Captain.”

  Why didn’t my mother tell me anything about this uncle? Abaqa wondered to himself. He tapped the floor nervously and tried not to let their idle chatter get under his skin.

  The captain took another sip and set the cup back down on the tray. “How is your mother?”

  “How do you know my mother?” he shot back, clenching his fists.

  She eyed him for a moment before answering, the way a mother eyes an unruly child before shaking her head. “James McCoy approached us with a job,” she said. “His brother and sister had fallen prisoner to the Hameji, and he wanted to rescue them. For his brother, we were too late, but for his sister—that is, your mother—we managed to break through and get to her.”

  Abaqa’s eyes widened. “You what?”

  “We found her, flew onto the station on a stolen Hameji transport, and made it through a gauntlet of guards to rescue her.”

  “But—but that’s impossible,” he protested. “Our defenses are too strong for—and anyhow, my mother’s a Hameji queen. You’re lying—I know you’re lying!”

  The woman captain looked him in the eye. “We aren’t lying, Abaqa. We really did come that close to rescuing her. The only reason we didn’t was because she refused to be rescued.”

  “She—she what?”

  “That’s right,” said Danica, nodding. “She told us she would rather give up her freedom for a chance to save her people than return and watch them die. She chose to stay with the Hameji, even after all they’d done to her—chose to stay with Qasar, and have you.”

  Abaqa sat back in his chair, utterly dumbfounded. “You mean—I could have been one of the planetborn?”