Sanctuary's Soldier: The Darkspace Saga Book 1

by B. C. Kellogg

  Conrad took a steadying breath. They had to get off Centaura—they had to get to an end-point system, at least. And there was no way to do that without giving the broker what he wanted.

  “I guess the real answer is—they don’t know,” he said. “That’s why they sent me. There’s something coming. Something big.”

  The broker leaned forward over the desk, his eyes wide beneath his bushy eyebrows. “Something dangerous,” he said. “Something no one out here has ever seen,” he whispered.

  Conrad stared at him. “You know?” he demanded. “What is it?”

  The man ran his fingers over his salt-and-pepper mustache. “Something that could take out Sanctuary,” he said. “And every solar system near it. I’ve been hearing whispers too—the same ones your superiors have been, I imagine. A race of beings so powerful that we’re practically insects to them. And if they come, it’ll be through the portals.”

  Conrad glanced at Argus. He growled softly.

  “Your Kazhad friend is right to be afraid, if the things I’ve been hearing are true,” said the broker.

  “How far out can you get us?” Conrad said, still insistent.

  The broker folded his hands again. “Further than you’ll want to go,” he said. “Out there, boy, it’s dark. There’s nothing they taught you at your Academy that can prepare you for what’s in those places. The Vehn are waiting there. Legions of Vehn.”

  “I’m not worried about the Vehn,” he said dismissively.

  “You’ve never encountered them, I take it,” replied the broker. “They hunt down humans, and only humans. They like the flavor of us. Drink our blood, crack and suck the marrow out of our bones. The Corps can hold ’em in check here and in Sanctuary—but out there? There’s nothing to stop the damn things. They go after alien ships too, if only for scraps and parts. Even if I put you on one of those ships, there’s no reason they won’t just sacrifice you to the Vehn so they can get away.”

  “I’m not afraid,” said Conrad.

  “Ah, to be young and stupid,” said the broker, philosophically. “The portals out there—you ever seen what they look like? They’re fortified, you know. Courtesy of your Corps. They’re fortified for a reason. The farthest ones—no one knows where they go anymore. The Corps de-mapped ’em and bricked ’em so no one could find out again.” He tugged at his mustache.

  “I can pay whatever you want.”

  “Ha!” the man laughed. “Fine, boy. Since you seem to be stuck on signing your own death warrant, I’ll play. The price is not money or anything so… obvious. What I want is to know where that portal goes.” He brushed his hand over his desk, turning on a hidden projector.

  A faded three-dimensional image of a beacon floated into view. “If you make it to an end-point system and if you manage to get through the fortified portal and if you make it out alive to the other side, you’ll drop this beacon there on the other side for yours truly. And you relay every piece of information you get through that beacon. Starmaps, coordinates, every bit of raw data your sensors pick up.”

  It made sense, Conrad thought. A broker who had this kind of information held the potential to kick off an incredibly lucrative new trade route—even if it was illicit.

  “Fine,” he said, before Argus had time to protest that it was against regulations to share classified information. For being a member of one of the most feared species in the galaxy, he always had been a goody-two-shoes.

  The broker opened one of his leather-and-paper books. Hardcopy documents like this had no backups, and no possibility of being remotely hacked. It was small wonder that brokers used them, inconvenient as they were.

  As he flipped through the ragged, sepia-toned pages he paused to look up at Conrad from beneath his eyebrows once more. “You sure about this, sonny?” he asked. “You seem like a nice kid. There’s no telling how this is gonna go.”

  Conrad didn’t break his gaze. “Get us a ship,” he said.

  Chapter 7

  “And if you come across the Vehn, you’d best know how to kill ’em,” the broker said as he walked. “Shoot or stab them right through the mouth. Otherwise you’ll end up in their mouth, you understand?”

  “I understand,” he said.

  The broker shuffled along. “You’re from Sanctuary, I can tell,” he said. “Sol. The center of everything,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “Always arrogant, thinking you’re the center of the universe. So arrogant that the planet’s name gets applied to the whole damned solar system. Sanctuary. As if everything there is safe and fair and everyone’s pissing rainbows, and the good guys always win the day. Well, sonny, things are different out here. And you’d best listen to what I’m telling you.”

  Conrad stared at the enormous transport ship before them. The Pride of Centaura was one of the old Corps ships that had been auctioned off at the end of its useful life, and it looked as if hadn’t been changed a bit since it was sold. The ship was carrying civilian settlers as well as smaller ships like the La Paz; the broker had registered them as indentured servants on their way to a frontier trading post.

  “Ship like that ought to have an escort,” he muttered to himself.

  The broker shook his head, as if Conrad had spoken to him. “The people on this ship can’t afford anything fancier than this. Besides, officially, the Pride of Centaura here isn’t going very far, so it won’t need a guard ship or an escort,” he said. “Just one standard squadron’s enough to fulfill requirements. It’s just one hop over to Xin Caledonia, an end-point system.

  “But,” he continued, holding up a finger, “its final approach path swings closest to a fortified portal on its way to Xin Caledonia’s capital. ’Course, it’s supposed to be demapped. As a result nobody but somebodies like me know about it. That’s where you can go off on your own. The captain knows about you, and he’ll be letting you know when it’s time.”

  Conrad glanced at him. “He knows about where we’re going?”

  “He knows you’re disembarking from the Pride at a somewhat unusual location.”

  “Understood.”

  The broker took a step back and waved Conrad toward the ship. “You best mind the Vehn, like I said, boy. They’re crawling all over that system.”

  “Heard and understood,” he said. “My goal’s to keep out of their way.”

  The broker shook his head again. “They can come without warning,” he said. “Attack just as fast. They grab who they want and disappear fast as that.” He snapped his fingers.

  “What else can you tell me?” asked Conrad. “About the thing that’s coming.”

  The broker dropped his voice. “Watch out for black ships, do you hear? Pure black ships. Dark enough that they can’t be seen with the naked eye.”

  A chill came over Conrad at the words. He pulled himself together and nodded. “Thank you,” he said, holding out a hand to the man.

  The broker scratched his mustache before taking Conrad’s hand reluctantly. “The name’s Hogarth. Remember that, if you survive. You’ve got no reason to thank me,” he continued. “I feel like I’m sending you out to your death, boy.”

  He took a few steps back. His pointy-toothed Aretian bodyguard followed. “Beware the black ships,” he repeated. “Remember, you’ve been warned.”

  Conrad pitched a wadded-up piece of paper at Argus. The Kazhad swatted it back, and the ball hit Conrad neatly between the eyes.

  “Kazhad reflexes,” he muttered as Argus folded his arms and looked back at him smugly.

  “Thirteen years and you still haven’t learned,” he said. “My reflexes haven’t changed, but you persist in testing me.”

  “Yeah, well,” said Conrad. “One of these days I might catch you off guard.”

  “I think not,” the Kazhad said, picking up the ball as it rolled toward him. “But I am happy to injure or maim you as you request, to prove the point.”

  “Let’s get outta here,” said Conrad, standing up. “I’m going crazy being locked up in this thin
g.” He gestured to the cockpit window, which looked into a blank gray bulkhead on the Pride of Centaura.

  Argus grunted in agreement and the two of them walked out of the La Paz and into the steely old transport ship. It had been three days since they’d passed through the Proxima Centauri portal into the Xin Caledonia system. The hold containing the La Paz was never intended to house living beings, so there was nothing there to provide entertainment or anything more than breathable air.

  They’d kept to themselves since they boarded to avoid undue interest, coming out only to collect food from the mechanical dispensaries. There were small restaurants on board, but the food there was no better than Bixt’s on Centaura, and twice as expensive.

  Conrad ran his hand along the wall as they walked through the corridor. “Hard to believe this old girl can still fly,” he murmured.

  “The transport ships of that era were slow, but they were sturdier than almost anything in the Corps fleet today,” said Argus. “Current building standards emphasize speed, lightness, maneuverability, even in transport or drop ships. Back then they couldn’t take the chance that something would happen to their troops or fighters.”

  “Makes sense,” said Conrad, pausing at a small porthole. The ship lacked large viewports, and the storage compartments like the one that held the La Paz were all windowless. Outside he could see the darkness of space, and in the distance, a small bright star. Xin Caledonia.

  “Ah, hell,” said Conrad. “Let’s go to the restaurant, I guess. Can’t keep inside the La Paz the whole time. We got less than half a day before we get to the drop anyway. May as well get a decent meal in before leaving the system.”

  “Meat?” said the Kazhad, hopefully.

  “Let’s go see what they’ve got.”

  They walked into the small cafeteria on their level. It was as practical and no-frills as the rest of the ship, with a blinking red sign that threatened to sputter out at any moment.

  The cook dumped a brown slop onto their trays and charged their account. They sat down at a metal table near the sign. Argus slid a paw into his food and lifted the muddy mess to his mouth, bits of dehydrated vegetable dripping onto his tray.

  “We’ve got to work on your table manners,” Conrad said to Argus. “You’re going to be the first non-human valedictorian of the Academy when you graduate in two years, and since I’m older and wiser and two grades ahead of you, I—”

  “You went to the Academy?”

  Conrad looked around, and then looked down. A small human girl stood next to him, her eyes as big as saucers as she stared at Argus.

  “Uh—he sure did,” said Conrad.

  Argus smiled toothily at the girl. “Hello, little one,” he rumbled. Argus liked children, of any species.

  “I want to go to the Academy,” she said, climbing onto the bench at their table. “I’m going to be a captain.”

  “’Cept you can’t, ’cause your mother and I are still alive,” said a tall man, who picked her up from behind and scooped her into his arms. “Are you plotting something, Nora?”

  She giggled. Argus grinned at her again.

  “Gents,” said the girl’s father. “Sorry my girl disturbed your meal.”

  “She’s no trouble,” said Conrad.

  The man looked skeptical. “Give her five minutes,” he said. “I like to say we had to leave Proxima Centauri because Nora was going to end up on the planetary Most Wanted list before her seventh birthday.”

  “You headed to Xin Caledonia for good?”

  He lifted his daughter up. “Is there any other reason anyone comes out this far?”

  “No, I guess not,” said Conrad.

  “We’re going to Xin VII. It’s a moon, a small one, but the land’s free for anyone willing to work it. I hear the people who settled it first left through the portals—one of the ones that’s closed down now.”

  That got Conrad’s attention. “What happened to them?”

  The man shrugged. “I’ve heard different things. Some say they died the minute they went through the portal. Some say they got sent to the opposite end of the galaxy, or out of the galaxy. Haven’t any plans of ever going through it myself, of course,” he added. “I’ve got to keep myself alive to ruin this one’s chance of joining the Corps.” He tweaked his daughter’s nose.

  “Ah, kid, you don’t want to go to the Academy,” Conrad said to Nora. “You’ll end up hairy all over with a mouth full of fangs, just like my friend here.” He jerked a thumb at Argus. “I’m sure that’s not what you want.”

  She was about to leap down from her father’s arms toward Argus when a sudden rumble shook the ship.

  The interior lights suddenly turned a bright, blinking red.

  The Pride of Centaura was under attack.

  “Back to your quarters,” Conrad said to the father and daughter. The man looked like he was about to question his authority when the little girl tugged on his lapels.

  “He must have gone to the Academy too. We have to do what they say,” she said, solemnly.

  Another rumble passed through the ship. “Now!” Conrad half-shouted.

  The man turned and ran for the exit, carrying his daughter in his arms.

  Conrad and Argus left the cafeteria, pausing as civilians ran past them to their quarters.

  “The porthole,” said Conrad, pointing down the corridor. “C’mon!”

  They rushed to the tiny window and peered outside. There was nothing but darkness—and then a bright flash of light from above. Conrad strained, looking up, but saw nothing else.

  “Defensive cannons,” said Argus. “The Pride’s cannons are a century old, but they are effective in close quarters combat. Whatever it is, it’s right on top of us.”

  “Back to the La Paz,” said Conrad. “I don’t think we have much time.”

  They ran up the gangplank of their own ship and went straight for the cockpit. “Decryption code running,” said Argus, his paws moving lightning-fast over his instrument panel. “Shouldn’t be too complex, considering the age of this ship.”

  Conrad switched on the general comms channel and lay Argus’s decryption code over it. A minute later, the sound of the Pride’s shipwide comms suddenly filled the cockpit.

  “How many?” demanded a man’s voice.

  “Two ships, captain,” came a frantic reply. “No markings—not a ship I’ve ever seen—”

  “It’s the Vehn,” the captain said grimly. “Launch the fighters. Go for their engines—drop the quad bomb on the engine. Whatever you do, don’t let them board.”

  Conrad and Argus looked at each other. If the Vehn boarded, every man, woman, and child aboard the Pride would meet a brutal, grisly death.

  “Hack me in,” Conrad ordered.

  Chapter 8

  “Who the hell is this?” demanded the captain.

  “This is the PSS La Paz,” said Conrad. “We’re a Corps ship. Transmitting credentials now.”

  Argus sent the string of codes to the Pride’s command console.

  “What is an unmarked Corps ship doing in my cargo hold?”

  “Saving your hide, sir,” said Conrad. “Drop us out. We’ll engage the Vehn.”

  “I’ll be damned if a single Kestrel’s going to be able to take out two Vehn ships,” the captain snapped back, but Conrad could already see the cargo hold walls shifting. The Pride would drop the La Paz into space in a matter of minutes.

  “Don’t worry about that,” said Conrad. “Your job is to get the Pride away from here, fast as you can. And you’re going to patch me through to your fighter squadron.”

  “I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” he said. “Hogarth’s never sent me freight like this before.”

  The channel dissolved into static for a moment before Conrad heard the familiar sound of a fighter squadron’s communications.

  “Who’s that—who just logged on?” The firm, gruff voice had to belong to the squad’s commander.

  “This is the PSS La Paz,” said
Conrad. “Corps ship registry XN-1368. I’m here to help.”

  Argus nodded to Conrad, making his final adjustments on the control panel.

  “We’re about to join you,” he said to the commander.

  “You got any weapons on that ship of yours, corpsman?”

  Argus was already warming up the La Paz’s short range guns. “We ain’t got much,” he said. “But what we have is yours, sir.

  Conrad felt the floor vibrating beneath them as the drop came closer and closer.

  The ship lurched suddenly. The floor beneath the La Paz slid away, and the ship dropped into space.

  The doors to the Pride slid closed.

  Conrad took a deep breath. We’re in for it now, he thought.

  If the ship had been in dock or planetside, they would have been underneath its belly. Of course, there was no up or down in space. No rules, no pretending to be civilized, he realized. Only ingenuity or pure brute force would save the Pride of Centaura.

  He glanced quickly at Argus. The Kazhad responded with a ferocious look. He was in his element and ready to do battle.

  “Our guns ready?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Ready,” said Argus.

  Conrad’s hands tightened on the ship’s yoke. A Kestrel class starcraft was not so different from the two-man fighter he and Argus had trained in at the Academy. It had the same basic controls and indicators, the same lightweight hybrid steel build.

  The main difference was maneuverability. The La Paz had more bulk, which meant it was more stable, but also meant it was a bigger target than the average fighter.

  “There,” said Argus. Conrad saw the first Vehn ship a hundred kilometers away. It was closing fast on the Pride.

  It was a wicked ship. It had thick, primitive plating for its hull, crude compared to the weightless electromagnetic shielding used by Sanctuary ships. Conrad could see two gun turrets on either side of the ship, aimed directly at the Pride.