Twin suns of Carrola (Starshatter Book 2)

by Dark Knight

  “Alright then. Move it or lose it people! We have twelve kids back home and the little rascals are always hungry. The sooner we get home, the better.”

  Then she looked at the towering Asgardian and Kil'ra behind them and bowed slightly.

  “We have plenty of space Elder ones, even for you,” she said. “I, Valeria, and my husband Alexi Smelchak welcome all of you into our humble home. The crew-kin of my daughter are my crew as well!”

  Mere seconds after the Starshatter crew entered Vasilisa's home they were greeted by a swarm of children, whose laughing and screaming surrounded them from all sides. The spacious abode was designed to be a multi-level living space with dozens of pod beds and detached guest rooms floating on grav-engines. Everything was powered by solar collectors and wind turbines, with one large yard in the middle of their donut shaped house. Full of chairs, tables and cooking stands, the space was soon occupied by all of Vasilisa's kin.

  The bigger kids were cooking all kinds of food preparation for a big feast. Alric, however, was pulled to the large grill and, after being re-armed with a long fork and tongs, got to command a section of six to seven year olds. They darted around him with cuts of meat, burgers and vegetable skewers; either bringing what was to be grilled from the kitchen or eating it as they went before serving what remained to their guests. Alric soon noticed the mountains of food produced by this open kitchen were extremely high and seemingly never-ending. Salads made of freshly picked fruits and vegetables dressed with aromatic oils and cured meats. Steaming potatoes that came out of a large pot nearby, then quickly mashed and garnished with herbs. Finely chopped sautéed onions sprinkled seasoned with local crystal blue sea salt were sprinkled over the mash. Soon the soldier looked for aid as he was out of his element. His captain quickly came to the rescue, taking Alric’s utensils and pushing him away from the grill and back into the arms of his wife. Anit'za then sparked dreams of becoming great cooks in the children by showing them what a dzenta'rii chef could do with... everything. His speed and skill were so stunning that by the time he was finished, most had taken so many notes on their PDA's that they’d flopped on the floor in exhaustion. A long, joyous evening full of laughter, good food and drink followed. Many stories were told, and even though most didn't start well, they did end on a happy note.

  Vasilisa and Alric were, of course, the center of attention. Multiple young girls, Vasilisa’s sisters and cousins, constantly giggled and asked Alric to tell them where they could find men like him. Vasilisa prepared him for this, and he told them he was one of a kind, unique, and the last of his unit. Indeed there was something that surrounded the man; an aura of glory which had an invigorating effect on those around him. Especially Vasilisa, who couldn't look happier if she tried. After all, she almost died to secure the future of her race. No matter how one might twist it, reality could not be denied – every single man mattered. And Alric was her man. The one she pulled through fire and death; spilled her blood and guts to defend against all odds. She found herself stricken with a sense of profound accomplishment. Vasilisa was a Terran woman, a Spacer. She found purpose, a goal: to build a happy life, one she'd protect with tooth and nail! Pirates and taz'arans denied her a carefree childhood. They nearly ruined the future of her species, still threatened its very existence. She planned to help ensure the preservation of her species by having plenty of happy, healthy children. Yet that wasn't her only goal. A spacer was trained to explore and she, like her mother, had insatiable wanderlust. She also her father's dogged determination burning in her. And with Alric beside her there were no enemies she couldn't best, no stars out of her reach. Teary-eyed, Vasilisa grabbed Alric's hand and hugged it, causing everyone around to suddenly quiet down.

  The gentle wind that blew seconds after made everyones' hair flow. Soon it picked up and Vasilisa’s dad stood. “Life’s good when you’re well fed and surrounded by family and good friends!” he said, raising his mead horn one last time. “I invite you to stay as our guests, my friends. And for you Vasq, your father has prepared our own, as is tradition.”

  Valeria threw some rice over both Alric's and Vasilisa's heads, then pointed upwards where they saw their floating bedroom. It descended slowly. Surrounded by fluttering holo-fairies, its door slid open and invited the young family to enter. Not waiting for it to land, Alric suddenly grabbed Vasilisa and jumped inside with a mighty leap. The door closed behind automatically. The others cheered, the kids amazed at how someone could jump almost ten feet up from a standing position and reach that door. Soon everyone followed their hosts' advice and left, drinking glasses in hand, aiming to finish the wonderful mead brewed by Alexi before going to sleep.

  Boris slowly turned while walking up the stairs to his own room, holding Kera's hand. “We must do the same when we get back to Earth. My grandparents left me a small village house in Bulgaria.” He looked at the flying bedroom. It still glistened in the night's sky, surrounded by those holo-fairies. The telepath sighed, saddened by the childhood memories that burned in his mind.

  “I should warn you,” he continued, “it’s not that fancy and is perhaps even run down a bit.”

  Kera wrestled her long, flowing aside and whispered in her husband's ear. “I wouldn’t mind if it was a hole in the ground. Wherever we are, when I am with you, I’ll be happy.”

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  Everybody except the newlyweds spent the next morning swimming in the lake. It was calm and the water had a perfect temperature. You could even see so deep that the pocket subs on the bottom looked like the slowly moving holo-slides of exotic fish. When they were done Anit'za sent everyone on different errands around the colony, while he went on to visit the local bank. It was clear to him now why the Terrans were so economically powerful, how they kept everything in check. A thing that the Dzenta'rii also achieved, yet it took them a thousand years to learn about the dangers of usury alone. Credits weren't backed by anything nor produced with inherent debt from thin air, and evidently the banks gave no simple loans either. Terran banking institutions were the single biggest job provider in this part of the Galaxy. If one needed a loan and had no relatives who were willing to finance his or hers business venture, you went to the local bank. The people there would find or fashion a single paying contract specifically tailored to their skills, and the fee for their own services was actually prepaid by the employer. It was their job to carefully regulate what credits were in existence depending on the colony's spaceship production, and issue more or remove units from circulation if vessels were lost. And they never gave more money that what was on their IIS.

  Anit'za was very interested in the concept of those independent information stores who were never linked to G-net. Since it wasn’t possible to simply hack IIS devices, (they didn't support standard codes or even have an OS) one could only “print” new credits from independent stores on special clean crystal chits; small, square disks with a single hole in the middle that Anit’za always thought looked like weird, old alien coins. The machine that took these chits was an odd thing with a fruit engraved on its surface. Anit'za was told it was an Earth's fruit called a pear and the company who created IIS was named after it.

  The bankers would use any foreign currency to finance other ventures or buy products with, but only from the Minarchy's alien allies or nearby colonies. Mid lunch, Anit’za entered Ileana's only bank and exchanged the decats he swindled out of that cartel slime's pocket. The sum he received was enough to refit Starshatter again, yet the smooth dressed man had another idea and strode off with pockets full of hope and clinking credit chits.

  Brynjar was soon armed with a substantial chunk of that sum and visited the local salvage yard. As a specialist who'd designed a prototype mech, Brynjar haggled with the yard owner after finding the parts he needed to both fix Starshatter and continue his other project. The Asgardian was a brilliant engineer and the extent of his design skills didn't stop with mecha or starships.
He held great interested in vehicle modification and recently devoured dozens of technical design manuals. One old style of machine that Anit'za had spoken with the freed slaves about particularly interested him. They weren't traders, crewmen who served on starships, nor farmers or other craftsmen. Instead, they operated vehicles on their home planet called “sand ships”. Huge land crawlers, the beastly machines were used as mobile colonies, harvesting precious resources on the giant planet Solku. Unfortunately, he also found out the planet was located on the far side of Fringe space, meaning that a safe trek there was nigh impossible. But those people were experts in large machine operations and together they devised an ambitious plan, one he was so proud of that he already ordered the parts be transported back to Vasilisa’s private family workshop. No time like the present, after all. ________________________________________________________________________________

  Lilly played with their host's grandkids while the others were out. Ranger style hide and seek, because the bunny wanted them to learn something and it was, of course, the Terran way. Even the littlest children could be taught practical skills during play. This was even truer of Spacer kids, as she had observed firsthand. Spacers tended to be more developed, apt at even the most abstract of games. Mack was there, too. He sat shirtless on a nearby log, feet dangling in the cool lake water. He downed his third or fourth pitcher of Alexi's mead, and after having already won multiple drinking contests. The big “meanie” was actually good with kids. Orphaned at an early age and raised by old Alberto, Mack learned his love of kids from the old man. That said, Lilly was somewhat concerned when he took Alberto’s old shovel and gave it to the kids, telling them that whoever dug the deepest hole would get a huge bag of candy. It sparked fierce competition among the siblings. Apparently Mack had no qualms using the old tool as both a weapon and a toy for the little kiddies. She wondered what he’d say if she asked about that. Probably something like, “Diggin holes builds strong character!” or, “Them kids need to improve their upper body strength, look how wimpy they are!”

  Uncomfortable as it made her, at least it was clean. She'd made sure of it herself, having washed the grizzly thing a few times while they were flying through hyperspace. Lilly was still amazed at what Uncle Mackie actually did on the battlefield with his GAV. After Anit'za told Mack what his part in the plan was the biker's hands almost shook with anticipation. She never knew what he actually did. The bunnies suspected, of course, but never actually saw what Mack's true vocation was. But he promised to stay with them on Starshatter for the foreseeable future, still slept in his GAV, and still hated, or at least strongly disliked Boris. Kera always managed to be present and separating them somehow, she or the Captain. For now, at least, things didn't escalate, and Mack was as much a part of the crew as a space biker could be. Yet no matter how many times she asked about his own SMC, he never uttered a single word. It made Lilly wonder if something really bad had happened to his boys.

  One of the spacers' kids, an adorable little boy no more than two years old, came close and hugged her smiling. The child then curiously pointed at each of her scars. “How many hugs to heal this?” he mumbled.

  Lilly's eyes watered. She smiled and hugged the boy back, fighting hard with the lump that choked her throat. “One each.”

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  Dozan had a long chat with the alien slaves they’d so craftily snatched away from the jaws of death. It was surprisingly easy to restore their morale, and soon the sorry bunch was not-so-sorry anymore as they eagerly worked on Brynjar's massive project; all of it paid with the blood money Anit'za swindled from that cartel boss. After he got duped, that scumbag found himself judged by their lawman and burned alive. The morale officer in him rejoiced but the Kil'ra warrior became wary. The cartels feared his people, but they were powerful and if their fear became too great they could act rashly and in a manner most vile. But that worry was behind him, at least for the time being. Right now, the Captain had work for him.

  Reinforcing cohesion in Starshatter's crew was something the Captain had already achieved. Mack was perhaps the most problematic. With his complete abhorrence towards any sort of authority, the space biker had to be closely and carefully watched. Yet he had performed admirably of late. He also provided Dozan with precious holo-recordings of his various “talks” with the enemy. For a price, of course. Not that the Office, as humans called Morale Officer Corps HQ, wasn't ready to pay him. No, they did so happily. It was a peculiar feeling bartering with, of all things, a human for something that most of his kin would've gladly offered for free. Dozan had already fashioned many holo-vids and uploaded them on his G-net profile.

  His reach was growing. Even a group as exclusive as the Star Knights found out about Dozan's heroics. They even promised entry in their order if a certain slaver ship was found, boarded and the Push'va crewing it exterminated to the last. The offer came from his hamster crewmate, who amazingly had been offered knighthood sometime ago, yet gracefully refused it. When he inquired as to why, Awesome stated, “hamsters have a reputation to uphold and the Order isn't something any of us would join.” He also mentioned a super important job to do, and that walking away from his patron's side was all but impossible. Yet when he was informed of the possible location of this starship, the hamster excitedly exclaimed, “Oh goody, extermination at last!”

  Apparently it was that very same bunch of vile, murdering bastards who annihilated the crew and his first ship – the “Mushishi”. The Knights said those slavers had recently joined forces with a certain cyborg warrior, a fanatical mass murderer called Skinner. The sicko was sought after by damn near everyone on the Fringe, and I-sec above all. The elite frontier law group, the star sheriffs, even offered a hefty sum of credits as reward on his head. Its location was nearby too – only some thirty six light years away. That it was also just a two jumps from their original target, the Gaour system, only sweetened the deal that much more. Dozan was sure they, together as a crew, would strike the slaver scum down in a battle most glorious, and he yearned for that! It was during the very height of battle, back on that accursed station, when Dozan felt his soul sing. Every enemy felled, their battered corpses left on the floor, made more people safe throughout the Galaxy.

  Not only that, but he said the Words. It was his master's curse, the vengeful proclamation crafted by ALL morale officers that fought during Mahimm's invasion, charged by the sorrowful loss of more than a billion human lives. And he saw. He saw the proud clanners breaking before his very eyes, weapons shaking in their weakened hands, voices whimpering and screaming for aid. With his every word they faltered more. Knees buckled, backs bent and eyes went wide with fear. The power of the Word, stronger than the sword's blade. The vengeful Cry before railgun projectiles blew them apart. And the Presence before his shield broke their backs. Somehow the Kil'ra warrior spirit melded perfectly with his chosen path and for the first time in his young life, Dozan felt truly like a guardian. He vowed to continue speaking the Word and voicing his teachers curse, ensuring the Terrans' promise would be fulfilled and the slaving bastards of clan Push'va exterminated to the last. Kil'ra lived for many years, and he'd spend his entire existence chasing after them if he had to, plunging that blade of his deep into their black hearts. He'd rip their warriors to shreds with anything he could, even his bare hands. Yet, to achieve that, the Kil'ra warrior needed more training.

  During his time on Mars, Dozan had watched many a holo-movie. He learned of the Terran warrior masters of East, whose martial prowess was great, who possessed a wisdom that was old even by his people's standards, and whose inner balance most commendable. He'd never visited the great old temples high in the mountains of China, nor traveled the whole length of Japan's islands, but surely there must be somebody willing to teach a warrior like him!

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  Cat had precious little time to w
hip those civilians and former slaves into deadly weapons of war. “Run faster, damn you!” she commanded. Her voice roared over the densely forested terrain of Ileana. “How could flimsy twigs like you can even carry the weight of your equipment?”

  The only answers she received were moaning, coughing and tired murmurs. “Hard training means easy fightin'!” she growled. “Easy trainin' gets you murdered!”

  It was the soldier's lesson her own master taught her during that terrible apprenticeship on Mars. It was basically beaten into her very being by the most brutal training her teacher could push her through without killing her. Now she tried to teach the same lesson to these skilled but wimpy people. It didn’t matter that they could operate the biggest, most complicated machine she'd ever heard or seen. Stumblers were still beaten easily, and then either imprisoned or killed. Worse yet, the Terran soldier in her sensed their wills broken, so much so that their resistance to fear was lower than that of a Terran child. Unacceptable! Cat had a reputation to uphold, both as a professional and a Terran client! She roared at their slowing group again.

  “Run! True Terran tankers aren’t just ridin', they also be kickin'!”

  Brynjar was actually doing something she'd never expected of him. The mega-panzer was one concept that albeit new, had its roots in early multi-turreted Earth tank designs from before the Great War. This time the Terran engineers were building something the size of an apartment building, bristling with big guns pointing in all directions and made from the best spaceship crafting materials in existence. Multiple shield emitters and thick, layered armor protected the beastly machine. To support its weight, not only it was rolling on wide and super durable tracked chassis, Brynjar had also incorporated grav-engines into its hull. That group of slaves were enough to crew the thing, meaning they could make a living for themselves by selling their services to local colonial militias in need of some super heavy support. They could even protect small colonies entirely on their own! Cat smirked. Sometimes you just needed a machine of ridiculous proportions to fight off a lance or two of pirate mecha. Or to deploy directly on top of a Cartel base from orbit, shields soaking the point defense fire and guns flattening the place before the tank’s treads even touched the ground. Although, tank probably wasn’t the right word to describe that machine monstrosity. Mega-panzer sounded much better, and if some engineers in Earth's past were laughingly pointing the flaws of a vehicle this size, technology now allowed not only its existence, but successful battlefield operation.