The most popular tavern was a place called Port in a Storm.
It was the one part of the space station devoid of tourists or sightseers. In the main complex, there were commercial restaurants, with fast food and clean tables to accommodate them, and the seediness of the tavern did little to entice them. Still, the Port in a Storm was not merely a tavern where people came to drink exotic liquor. It was a place of business.
Garryn sat next to the bar where a very surly looking Borlian, with big round black eyes showing little expression, held court as the bartender. The Borlian grunted a few words quickly translated into Standard Galactic, demanding Garryn's order. With his large, thick hide and protruding tusks, he took the request for Delurite brandy with a loud snort through his extended proboscis.
After the bartender returned with his order, Garryn surveyed the room while he nursed his drink, though he did not allow his gaze to linger too long on anyone. While some of the patrons came here to drink and gamble, others came to conduct business in anonymity. His scrutiny would not be welcomed and it was the fastest way to ensure no one would do business with him.
The bounty hunters were easy to spot by the arsenal they carried. One of them scowled at him, so Garryn looked away quickly. The bulk of the patrons were freighter pilots. During his time in the service, Garryn had come across them occasionally. While they were not the most reputable people, he gave them credit for their skills as star pilots. Some even surpassed Imperial pilots in ability.
They also knew a thing or two about bending the rules, and asked few questions about their cargo or passengers, if the money was good enough.
In the middle of the dimly lit room, a small crowd had gathered around the two players at the gaming table. A human and Klattonian were playing a game of Silverstar, a popular card game. The human's expression of confidence was in stark contrast to the fidgety anxiousness displayed by the Klattonian. The twitching of the Klattonian's insectoid antennae and his nictating compound eyes were like the lenses of a visual recorder, providing his opponent with an effective tell.
Garryn suppressed a smirk, because the human's nonchalance made his opponent even more nervous than he already was. Klattonians were excitable and twitchy by nature. It didn't take much to provoke a response from them. Considering the number of credits at stake, Garryn could tell this Klattonian was almost at the breaking point.
When the human laid down his cards, a loud gasp of surprise escaped the crowd. Garryn couldn't see the cards, but by the way the Klattonian slumped forward, it was clear the winning hand had just been dealt.
The winner extended a hand towards the Klattonian, who accepted it reluctantly and seemed glad the game was concluded. Getting to his feet, the human left the gaming table and approached the bar. As he did so, Garryn saw the faded insignia on the man's clothes. The jacket he was wearing was worn, but Garryn recognised the embroidery of a Jyne's Fleet gold insignia against the black material.
The man was about his age, if not a little older. His dark gold hair was unruly and his blue eyes caught a glimpse of Garryn's observation before his lips stretched into a smile.
“Are you lost, Navy?” he asked, approaching Garryn.
“Not at all. I just came to watch you fleece the locals playing Silverstar.”
“Fleece?” His expression became one of mock hurt. “That was pure skill. Not my fault if he's too twitchy for his own good.”
They had met the same way a few years ago in a bar on the edge of Brysdynian space, when Garryn was on furlough with his comrades. He'd been forced to break up a fight over a game not unlike this one, involving the man standing before him. Flinn Ester.
Flinn was an officer of the Jynes Legion Fleet who had left the military to become a private operator. Despite the violence of their first meeting, they had become friends and shared a drink and a game of cards whenever they ran into each other.
“It's good to see you, Flinn,” Garryn smiled as he gestured at the bartender to bring Flinn another round of what he was drinking.
“Nice to see you too, Navy.” Flinn Ester took up the stool next to Garryn. “What are you doing out here? I heard you retired. Is this a social call?”
“Yes, I did retire but no, this isn't a social call.” Garryn chose not to elaborate further. Despite their friendship, Garryn had never revealed his true identity to Flinn. “I heard you were in town and thought I'd look you up because I need passage out of the system.”
Flinn's expression was one of surprise. “I thought you would have gotten yourself a nice ship after retirement.”
“I'm afraid not,” Garryn shook his head. “I have a dull government position. No more ships for me.”
“Really?” Flinn's eyes narrowed a moment before he spoke again, “Well you know me, for the right price I'll fly you anywhere, but let's not talk business here.”
He picked up his drink once the bartender delivered it and gestured at Garryn to follow him. Garryn followed him without question, grateful for the suggestion because he wanted secrecy above all else. Involving too many people had doomed Jonen and the crew of the Asmoryll. He was not making that mistake again.
“So what's the destination?” Flinn asked, once they were settled in a private booth at the far end of the room, away from the bulk of the activity in the establishment.
“I can't tell you until we are airborne.”
“I have to lodge a flight plan,” the pilot pointed out promptly.
“You always said you could find a way around those things, Flinn. I can pay you for whatever bribes you need to make it happen.”
Flinn eased back into his seat and took a sip of his Aleuthian scotch, eyeing Garryn closely. “What, are you in trouble or something?” Leaving in secrecy always meant someone was interested in your departure.
Garryn did not correct him, because the assumption would do for now. “Something like that. I need to get off the planet immediately. I'll pay extra if you can leave right now.”
“I'll need it,” Flinn stated. “Alright, thirty thousand should be enough to get us off world and give me a tidy profit even if I am charging you friend's rates.”
“Thanks.”
Garryn would have paid Flinn whatever asking price the man wanted. This was no small thing he was asking from the pilot and less scrupulous operators could take the money and turn him in anyway.
“We can go to the ship right now if you like, but it will take me a few hours to get her ready and forge flight plans, since you won't tell me where we're going.”
“You might say no if you knew where we were going,” Garryn remarked with a faint smile.
Those were fighting words to the pilot, because if there was one thing Garryn knew about Flinn, the man loved to take risks. He'd walked away from a career in the Jynes fleet because he longed for the freedom of the skies without answering to anyone. An exceptional pilot, Flinn's inability to play by the rules made him one of the best private operators around.
“I never say no,” Flinn snorted in predictable fashion.
“Yeah that's what the boys used to tell me about you.”
He ducked when Flinn swung at him.
* * *
Garryn followed Flinn out of the Port in the Storm. The deeper they moved into this section of the space station, the more he felt as if he were stepping into a different, seamier world. The walls were not so clean. There was graffiti scrawled on their grey surfaces. This part of the complex seemed forgotten by the custodians of the centre, as well as by those who ran it.
Within moments, they entered the berth housing Flinn's ship. It was dirty and unkempt, minimally serviced. Diagnostic panels and maintenance equipment were in a state of near disrepair and Garryn did not need to see the other berths to know they were all kept in this state. Obviously, private charter was not considered as high priority as the larger, commercial ships.
Flinn Ester's ship was called the Wayward Son.
It was an old T25 Runner model whose original design was oblite
rated to suit the need of the current owner. Whatever purpose the Wayward Son was intended to serve was lost under plates of dutronium armoured shielding and multiphasic sensor arrays. She was refitted with an engine belonging to an older Rapier class frigate, making her incredibly fast. The speed came at the cost of the additional shielding to avoid super-heating. Nevertheless, the modifications made the ship quite formidable.
“What speed does she do now?” Garryn was aware Flinn was constantly making upgrades to the original design.
“Factor 9 in hyperspace,” Flinn said proudly, walking towards the ship's extended ramp. “I installed some boosters last year. They're Amarian. You know what those are like.”
“Only by reputation,” Garryn confessed as he followed Flinn up the ramp. “I know they like building small ships with lots of grunt.”
The interior of the Wayward Son retained most of its aging décor and was clean and well kept, even if the paintwork and metal finish was faded in places. Flinn lowered himself into one of the seats in the main passenger compartment before gesturing Garryn to do the same.
“Look, we're friends and I respect you. More importantly, I've made you a deal. I will take you wherever you want at the price we've agreed upon, but I want to know where we're going.”
“Not until we're airborne,” Garryn insisted, not wanting to risk the revelation so soon.
“Then we're not going to be airborne. I gave you my word and it probably doesn't mean a lot to anyone but me, but when I give someone my word I don't take it back. Trust me or don't trust me, but I'm not moving until I know where we're going, Prime.”
Garry stared at him sharply.
He supposed it was naïve to assume he could return to anonymity simply because he tried to blend in with the masses. During the years of their association, Garryn had to admit the man's powers of observation were quite impressive.
“When did you know?” he asked wearily, seeing no reason to continue the pretext. Perhaps it might make things simpler if Flinn understood what the stakes were.
“Ever since the Ascension, made me spit up my whiskey when I looked at the vid and saw your face there. It made sense why you were always such an entitled ass.” He smirked.
“Thanks,” Garryn uttered a humourless laugh. “It was my attempt at having a normal life for as long as possible.”
Flinn nodded and gave him a look of sympathy. “So, are you going to level with me or not?”
Garryn conceded defeat and prayed the destination would not affect Flinn's promise to help him. “Okay, the destination is Cathomira.”
Flinn took this without batting an eye. “We'll never get through.”
“You're backing out on me?”
“No!” Flinn straightened up, offended by the suggestion after everything he just said. “I told you I'd fly you there and I will. I just want you to be aware of the danger.”
“Danger?”
“You Imperial flyboys don't know anything do you? You guys fly where you're told to and don't ask questions beyond that. The Cathomiran star system has been off limits for two decades. No one is allowed in. I've heard stories about looters who tried to land on the surface years ago and didn't make it out. A few smugglers have tried it and those who made it out, I'll grant you there aren't many, talk of a warship on permanent assignment to the area. It obliterates anything that approaches the system.”
Garryn was aware there was a restriction placed on Cathomira because of the virus, but he had never heard of any ship patrolling the area or warding off trespassers with violence and death. Not even the quarantine placed on the system gave anyone the right to use deadly force in such a manner.
Was this what had happened to the Asmoryll?
“I'll pay you double. Just get me there.”
Flinn stared at him and realised, with Garryn being a New Citizen, this journey home was deeply personal, though he wondered if it was worth the risk the Prime was taking.
“We've agreed on the price. I'm guessing this just a sight-seeing trip for you, so I'm not going to squeeze you for more cash.”
“I appreciate that,” Garryn was surprised by the honour shown by a supposed mercenary. “Can you get us to Cathomira?”
Flinn considered the question. “It will be tough. I can't vouch for a landing, because I won't have the kind of decontamination equipment or enviro suits needed for that level of radiation. I can probably get you low enough to see the place, if that's enough.”
“It will do.”
At this point, Garryn had little choice.
XVII
Cathomira
Garryn found the Wayward Son very limiting after travelling on large military warships with numerous decks of walking space. After the ship entered hyperspace, there was little to do until it was ready to emerge at its destination. Flinn would occasionally wander into the cockpit to check on things, but once the coordinates were fed into the navcom, the Wayward Son could carry out most of the journey on autopilot.
Garryn paced the confines of the ship liked a caged animal, knowing that much of his impatience had to do with his need for answers. For the first few days of their journey, he remained silent about his reasons for going to Cathomira, despite Flinn's gentle probing. Eventually, he found it easier to trust the pilot and he revealed a little bit of his reasons for going to the planet.
As the days progressed, they played cards, drank too much at times, talked about their days in the service, entertaining each other with descriptions of all the places they had been. Sometimes Flinn would ask Garryn about what it was like to be Prime. Garryn, in turn, would ask Flinn what it was like to be so free and untethered to anything or anyone.
Flinn's responses made Garryn feel even more trapped.
* * *
This was new. He opened his eyes and saw something unexpected. He was in a new place. A place in his dreams he had never seen.
She was there again, she with the golden hair and the deep blue eyes. She was staring down at him with a smile. Unlike previous occasions, there was no blood or ash on her skin. Instead, she appeared happy. This time, they weren't out in the golden field, but rather indoors. It took him a moment to realise he was in a room.
The walls surrounding him were painted blue, with cheery pictures of unfamiliar animals adorning them. On the ceiling was a mural of the sky with stars in nonsensical constellations and a crescent moon smiling at the yellow sun. With a flash of insight, he realised it was his room.
She smiled as she reached for him. It was the first time he'd felt her touch.
Her arms around him had the power to make every terrible thing vanish. His head swam at her touch and he wanted to lie there against her breast forever. She was singing some unfamiliar song to him, but the melody made him smile. A tingle of delight ran down his spine as he heard her heart beating in his ears.
He never wanted to leave her.
Suddenly, they were no longer alone. He looked up and saw a man. It was the first time he had seen a face other than hers. In his dreams it was always just the two of them. There were never any intruders. Yet, seeing a stranger walking so casually into his dream unnerved him. But not as much as when he looked into the man's face.
It was his face, or at least he thought it was his face. The man had the same coloured hair, the familiar lines of his jaw and even the eyes. This impostor had his eyes! Yet, as he looked closer, he realised something else: it wasn't his face, even though there were similarities. He even bore some similarities to the Imperator, his father.
It became too much for him.
Suddenly, he was back in that charred field again, with the large, black birds circling the darkened sky, raining death across the golden stalks of unharvested wheat. Around him, the flames burned higher until the smoke began to scald his lungs and the heat did more than prickle at his skin. He was staring at her dead body again, tears of grief running down his cheeks as he brushed aside the blood-matted hair from her face.
Then he was being swept int
o the air once more, being lifted farther and farther away from the burning field below him. He struggled to break free, but what force had him in its power was not about to let him go. Below him, the field was a burning plain of cinder and ash, with a tiny speck amidst the conflagration that might have been a house. The land beneath him continued to shrink until only the blue planet and the yellow sun remained, held against a canvas of stars.
A single yellow sun.
“Gar, wake up!”
Flinn's sharp demand forced him awake. Garryn blinked wildly at the pilot as he began to register his surroundings. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead and his stomach felt so queasy he thought he might vomit. Tumbling out of bed, he pushed past Flinn and staggered away from the bunk, still shaking a little.
“Are you okay?” The worry in Flinn's voice was obvious.
“I'm fine.” The words escaped his dry throat in a hoarse whisper.
“Really?” Flinn retorted sceptically. “You were screaming.”
Screaming? Garryn didn't remember screaming, but there were parts in the dream that felt emotionally unbearable. He could have cried and been unaware of it. His throat certainly felt raw enough to prove it. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he tried to hide how shaken he was, but suspected it was too late for that.
Leaving the cabin to escape Flinn's concerned gaze, he was embarrassed at the outburst, but at the same time fighting the disorientation resulting from the nightmare. He was disoriented by a flood of memories from the dream that was no longer fading away.
Why was he suddenly able to remember?
In the past, the dreams faded when he woke up. It had taken Jonen's neural analyser to make him remember the details, but now as he stood here drenched in his own sweat, he remembered everything. He could see the lines on her face, the way she lit up when she smiled and her soft voice as she sang to him.
“Want to talk about it?” Flinn asked. He was uncomfortable with prying, but over the past few days of the charter, Flinn had realised there was more to the Prime's story than he let on.
Garryn was touched by the sentiment and wondered if an impartial opinion might have value.
Children of the White Star Page 14