Stars of Blood and Glory

by Joe Vasicek

  Is this how you felt when Father died, Katsu? Hikaru wondered to herself. She remembered how white his cheeks had been, and how solemn he had sounded when he’d confided in her just how much the prospect of ruling the planet had terrified him. Now she knew exactly how he felt—and more than anything, it made her want to run away.

  The last few steps were the absolute hardest, but she forced herself onward until she’d taken her place on the throne. Her maidservants bowed, and she nodded to them, hoping her gesture came across as graceful. With the noble houses tending to their losses after the close of the war, the room was conspicuously devoid of courtiers. Still, she smiled and nodded to those few who had come to see her.

  One in particular stood out. He was conspicuously tall, and dressed in the crisp blue uniform of a Federation officer. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a pleasant smile.

  “Who is that?” asked Hikaru, leaning over to quietly ask one of her maidservants.

  “The offworlder, Your Highness? That is Colonel Webb—he was with your brother in the battle of Eyn-Jalla.”

  A lump rose in Hikaru’s throat, one which she almost failed to suppress. As the chief advisor ascended the stairs and stood at his place by her side, she leaned over to him and motioned to the Federation colonel.

  “I will see that man first,” she said. “Send for him right now.”

  “Of course, Your Imperial Highness,” said the advisor. He turned and motioned for the offworlder to approach the throne.

  Hikaru got a good look at him as he climbed the steps. He was tall and quite handsome, with striking features and wavy blond hair. Though it had only been a few days since the battle, he was perfectly groomed, his chin clean-shaven, his uniform fresh and clean. His deep blue eyes seemed to penetrate her, but he bowed gracefully with his hands at his side, following the customs of her people to the letter.

  “Your Imperial Highness,” he said in Gaian.

  “You do us honor with your visit, Colonel Webb,” she said, bidding him to rise. “I understand you were with my brother when he died. Is this true?”

  He stood up straight and met her gaze without flinching. “It is.”

  “Then tell me,” she asked softly, “how did he die?”

  “Honorably, Your Highness. He died with honor.”

  She bit her lip and nodded. “Thank you.”

  “He was a fine commander,” the colonel added, his smooth voice filled with energy and passion. “He stood when no one else would. I will always be grateful for the chance I had to go into battle alongside him.”

  She smiled at him, choking back tears. He bowed to her again, then stepped down the staircase backwards, eyes never leaving her as he returned to the floor.

  “Are you feeling all right, Hikaru-sama?” the advisor whispered. “If you wish, I can—”

  “No,” she said, silencing him with a gesture. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

  “As you wish, Your Highness.”

  She took a deep breath and composed herself again. As difficult as the coming days and years would be, she was not going to run away from her duties any longer. She was no longer a mere princess after all—she was the empress regent of all Shinihon, heir to a line that went all the way back to the Earth of Legend.

  The thought made her smile. So much for being trapped in the palace. As she motioned for the next courtier, she was already planning her first postwar tour of the system, as part of her new duties as empress.

  * * * * *

  “Abie!” said Prince Jahan, spreading his arms wide as Abaqa stepped into his lavish quarters. “Abie, it’s good to see you again!”

  “And you as well, brother,” said Abaqa, giving him a warm embrace.

  His brother kissed him on both cheeks and stepped back to clasp his hands on his arms. The broad smile on Jahan’s face made Abaqa forget about the embarrassment of being pulled out of an escape pod by a low-ranking strike team commander.

  “Ah,” said Jahan, “you are looking more and more like a man every day. Not long now, and you will be commanding your own fleet just like Gazan.”

  “I truly hope so,” said Abaqa.

  Jahan patted his shoulders and turned to step into the room. “Come. Can I get you something to drink? Sit down, sit down!”

  Abaqa sat down on the couch opposite the bunk which Jahan had folded up into the wall. Since his brother’s ship was only a small cruiser, space was tight. Still, with the ornately woven rug on the floor and the crimson silk hangings, the room was far from Spartanly decorated. A small, narrow window gave him a view of the brilliant starfield outside.

  “Here you are,” said Jahan, returning from the food synthesizer with two glasses of thick, syrupy juice and a tin of something alcoholic. He set them down on a mosaic-tiled end table and spiked his own drink before offering the tin to Abaqa. “You mother wouldn’t want you drinking this, but it’s time you started acting like a man!”

  “Yes,” said Abaqa softly, taking the tin. To be polite, he made as if to pour the alcohol into his juice, but as son as Jahan’s head was turned, he set the tin back on the tray.

  “So tell me, Brother, how goes the battle?”

  A cloud overshadowed Jahan’s face, like an impenetrable dust lane before a nursery of young stars. “Not well, I’m afraid. By now, you’ve heard the news about Tagatai?”

  “I have.”

  “It doesn’t bode well—in fact, the campaign has all but fallen apart. Almost half a dozen of Tagatai’s sons have laid claim on the Grand Generalship of the fleet, and three of them fled the battle of Eyn-Jalla immediately after the Demon of Tenguri was destroyed. Rumor has it that they’re preparing their forces for some sort of showdown, and the other generals are bracing for another internecine war.”

  Abaqa nodded. “So the Federation will have to wait, I take it.”

  “That’s right. Though, on the plus side, there’s no shortage of opportunities now for you to win glory.”

  They drank from their glasses and sat for a few moments in companionable silence as the weight of Jahan’s words sank in. Abaqa found himself thinking, oddly enough, of the planetborn captain whose crew he had helped to save. No doubt the Federation had already reclaimed the base at the rogue planet and rescued them. Though he knew he should feel defeated, he couldn’t help but smile at the thought that her sacrifice hadn’t been in vain.

  “You seem oddly happy, considering the events of the past few days,” said Jahan. “But then again, after all we’ve lost, one should feel happy just to be alive.”

  It was, of course, a roundabout way of asking about what had happened to him. Abaqa tensed a little, but he knew there was no getting out of it.

  “That’s true enough,” he said. “I did capture the princess, though—and I would have returned with her, if Gazan had given me the proper support.”

  “Ah,” said Jahan, raising an eyebrow. “What was she like? It takes a spirited woman to run away from home.”

  “Feisty is more like it.”

  Jahan threw back his head and laughed. “Difficult, eh? It would have been an entertaining challenge to tame her. But tell me, how did you escape?”

  “It wasn’t easy,” said Abaqa. “They kept me locked up in a cell like a common prisoner. From listening to the guards, though, I gathered that they were under pursuit.”

  “Well of course—the moment I got your distress signal, I sent out task force to recover you.”

  “Thank you, Brother. But it wasn’t until the showdown at the rogue planet that I realized I needed to take matters into my own hands. After the first attack, I managed to kill my guards and break out. With all the confusion from the battle, it was simply a matter of waiting for the right moment to leave unnoticed in one of the escape pods.”

  “Clever,” said Jahan. “So all of the Federation lackeys were killed, as you said?”

  “They were.”

  “Then how did the princess escape? I hear she’s back at her home world, ruling her planetborn kinsmen.
”

  Abaqa smiled. “You don’t think I would escape without the princess, do you? No—I knocked her unconscious and put her in a pod with an extra supply of air and a disabled distress signal.”

  “And never told your rescuers about it?”

  “Of course not! The plan was to borrow a gunboat, come back for her, and return to Gazan as if I’d never been captured. The only reason I didn’t follow through was because our forces were in retreat, and there was no way to recover her.”

  Jahan chuckled and put a hand on his shoulder. “Abie, I like you. You’ve got quite a flair. If you don’t get yourself killed, you’re going to go places. I can tell.”

  Abaqa nodded and took a sip of his drink. “How did Gazan fare at Eyn-Jalla?” he asked.

  “Not well,” said Jahan. “He lost two of his escorts and sustained some heavy damage to his own flagship. Because he was one of the first to leave the battle, a lot of the men in the higher ranks are questioning his loyalty.”

  “I don’t blame them.”

  “Neither do I, but the blow to his reputation infuriates him. It’s all he can talk about. Frankly, as one of his sub-commanders, it makes me more than a little uneasy.”

  “You think he would drag you into a vendetta to defend his honor?”

  “I have no doubt of it. That’s why I’ve decided to break ranks and start my own fleet.”

  Abaqa’s eyes widened. “Start your own fleet? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “It’s now or never. With Tagatai gone, it’s going to come to war sooner or later. And even if Gazan does hold back—which I don’t think he will for a moment—why should I fight to defend someone else’s honor? There’s a lot more glory to be won by breaking away, more so now than ever before.”

  “I suppose you’re right. But still—”

  “Look,” said Jahan, setting down his glass and laying a hand on Abaqa’s shoulder. “When the campaign was just getting started, all you wanted was to go out and make a name for yourself. Now, you seem more worried than my mother. Of course there’s going to be risk—there’s always going to be. But you only live once—and the greater the risk, the greater the reward. Am I right?”

  Abaqa smiled. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “Now that’s the Abie I know,” said Jahan, clapping his hands in delight. “Which brings me to my request.”

  “Your request?”

  “Yes. If I’m going to start my own fleet, I’m going to need commanders that I can trust.”

  Abaqa’s heart skipped a beat, and chills shot from the back of his neck to the end of his fingers. “Y-you want me to be one of your commanders?” he stuttered.

  “For starters, at least. You wouldn’t mind trading up from a gunboat to a cruiser, would you?”

  “Would I ever!” said Abaqa, barely able to contain his excitement. “I—I’d be honored to fly with you.”

  Jahan smiled as the two of them rose to their feet. “Then let us make the arrangements at once. And of course, you won’t always fly under me—once you’ve made a name for yourself, I imagine you’ll want to start your own fleet. Until that day comes, let us fly together as equals.”

  “Of course. As equals, then.”

  They clasped arms and hugged each other as brothers, shoulder to shoulder. Before parting, however, Abaqa paused.

  “Is something the matter?” Jahan asked.

  “No, nothing. It’s just—is my mother at Tajjur with our father?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  Abaqa took a deep breath and glanced out the window, unable to stop thinking about his encounter with the planetborn. “Before I take command, I would very much like to see her.”

  “Of course—that doesn’t sound too difficult. We’ll set a course for the Tajjur system at once.”

  He looked at his brother and smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much.”

  * * * * *

  The sun shone brightly through the massive white clouds that hugged the horizon, offering a moment of calm amid the storms. Roman took a deep breath of the fresh, wet air as he led Rina along the red rock terrace. She hesitated, staring out through across the waves of New Rigel V’s endless ocean. The cool sea breeze from the open panes in the dome tossed her hair, making her look like a little girl. Roman stopped and waited patiently for her, knowing how difficult it must be.

  “Are you sure you have to come with me?” she asked, still staring at the distant blue horizon.

  “If I did not, would you come on your own?”

  She bit her lip and shook her head. “No. Probably not.”

  “Then let us go. They are expecting you.”

  He held out his natural hand, and she reached up and took it, holding on so tightly that he might as well have been taking her to her execution.

  They rounded a corner and stepped into a large alcove, with colorful woolen hangings over rust-red sandstone walls. Tall, thin palm trees lined the open-air space, the hairy bark fluttering ever so slightly in the breeze. On the brick floor at the center of the alcove, two little children played, while their parents watched from a bench on the opposite side.

  Rina’s muscles grew tense. Roman squeezed her hand to reassure her, and she took a few steps forward.

  The man was the first to see them. He looked older than the one in Rina’s nightmare, but Roman recognized him all the same. He nodded and turned to her wife, who looked up at once. The moment her eyes fell on Rina, she gasped and leaped to her feet, running over to throw her arms around her long-lost sister.

  “Rina!” she cried, talking quickly in her native language. Roman stepped back to give them space as they embraced.

  “Mira,” Rina whispered, burying her head in her sister’s shoulder. The husband walked up and offered Roman his hand.

  “Thank you,” he said simply, looking Roman in the eye. “How did you find her?”

  “It is long story. I think perhaps you should ask her.”

  The husband nodded, tears filling his eyes. Roman remembered the urgency in his voice from Rina’s memory, and realized that he had blamed himself for the way that she had run away. It probably wasn’t merited, of course—so few of the ways that people deprecated themselves were deserved. After so many years, Roman knew this all too well.

  “Thank you so much!” said the woman, smiling over Rina’s shoulder. She hugged her sister close, as if to never let go.

  “It is no problem,” he said.

  As Rina’s long-lost family talked with her in their own language, her face lit up in a way that made Roman smile. Tears streamed from her face, and he felt as if he were in her dream again. In his infrared vision, Rina seemed almost to glow.

  Live, Roman, Danica’s words came to him. That’s an order.

  Yes, Captain, he thought to himself as he turned away from the happy reunion. I believe I will.

  Epilogue

  Captain Roman Andrei Krikoryan held his breath as the jump drive hummed through the bulkheads of the Danica Nova. A dizzying haze clouded his vision, and for a very brief moment he was tempted to shut off his physical consciousness. He hadn’t done that since the Rigelan job, but that wasn’t why he kept his eyes on the forward window.

  After a short, stomach-turning jolt, they were through. The milky starfield of deep space transformed into a golden-yellow planet with a deep blue horizon. At the sight, an audible gasp went up around the bridge.

  “The coastline—the mountains—”

  “Is that Akhalikavkaz?”

  “Look! The oceans are blue—with clouds!”

  Roman narrowed his eyes. The planet before them bore little resemblance to the homeworld of his youth, but even so, he couldn’t help but feel his emotions rise as he looked down on it. The land was mostly brown, pocked with hideously large craters and long gray lava flows, but pockets of green had emerged along the familiar coastline, and the alluvial plans were checkered with farms and cities.

  “It’s—it’s beautiful,” Maia whispered. As her h
usband stood up and put his arm around her waist, the bulkheads reverberated with the sound of dozens of voices joined in the revolutionary hymn. Roman would have joined in himself, but was too choked up to do so.

  “What a sight,” said Corporal Tajjashvili, grinning from ear to ear. “That Hameji prince really is a man of his word, isn’t he? I guess I lost that bet.”

  Roman chuckled. “Have you ever been so happy to lose?”

  “Never, my friend. Absolutely never.”

  “It’s not the same as it was,” Yuri said, clenching his fists as he surveyed the partially shattered world. “It will never be the same.”

  “No,” said Maia, “but we’ll rebuild. Won’t we, Captain?”

  “Yes,” said Roman. “We will.”

  She smiled and put a hand on his arm, as if to share in his moment of tenderness. Even though he couldn’t feel her touch through the metal casing, he appreciated the gesture.

  “Did you ever think you would live to see this day?” she asked.

  He turned to her and grinned. “Perhaps. After all, cyborgs never die.”

  Author’s Note

  When I wrote Bringing Stella Home and decided to base that story loosely on the Mongol conquest of Baghdad in 1258, I knew I would have to follow up with the Battle of Ain Jalut. That was the basic genesis of this story—a desire to write a sequel where the Hameji experience their first decisive defeat.

  Even though the basic premise of the story was floating around in my head since mid-to-late 2009, it sat on the back burner for several years. I had a vague idea for the plot, but I didn’t have any characters or a story. At the same time, a lot of other projects were clamoring for attention. I did some major revisions for Bringing Stella Home in the spring of 2010, then basically redrafted most of Desert Stars and finished it over the summer. That one still needed a major revision, though, especially with the ending. In the meantime, I started a handful of other projects and focused on querying literary agents for my finished work. I had just graduated college, and was struggling to get my feet underneath me in a very bad job market. At the same time, with nothing to lose, I was doing everything I could to work on my writing and turn that into a full-time career.