by Zen DiPietro
“Sorry,” Cabot said.
An hour later, math had given them a plan. They had coordinates, timing, trajectories and kilometers of calculations.
“And the scientists shall inherit the planet,” Omar intoned dramatically, resulting in snickers.
Gretch murmured to Brak, “What are they talking about?”
Brak answered quietly, “I don’t know. Sometimes simian humor still eludes me.”
The rest of them laughed.
“Okay,” Gretch announced. “We’re at the coordinates. Nagali, since you brought this thing, I think you should be the one to drop it out the airlock.”
Nagali rose. “It will be my honor. I’ll try not to drop it too soon.”
She held it at chin level, cupped in both hands, like a priestess with an offering, and disappeared down the corridor.
“I can’t believe you trusted her with it,” Omar cracked. “We’re all dead for sure.”
That time, they all laughed.
***
The tiny Brivinium sphere hovered in space like a speck of dust. It was nothing. Invisible. If they hadn’t tagged it, they wouldn’t even know it was there.
They worried the warship might deviate from its course, but it apparently thought them too insignificant to bother with. As it probably should. But it didn’t know what they knew. So on it came.
While they waited, they exchanged more inappropriate humor, with Brak and Gretch gamely trying to play along. What else could they do? If it all went wrong, at least they’d passed their last hours in camaraderie and humor. A person could do worse.
9
The voicecom came to life, startling them all. “Briveen vessel, this is the P.A.C.S. Roosevelt. Please break off your maneuvers and get as far from here as you can.”
Cabot and Arlen stared at each other. Then he looked at the others, who were equally stunned.
“They’re early,” Omar said.
“How did we not detect their approach?” Gretch wondered, poking commands into the voicecom. “I still don’t read them. I’ve got nothing on sensors.”
“They have some sort of sensor-blocking technology on their ship.” Brak sounded as amazed as the rest of them.
“I think we should answer them,” Cabot said.
Gretch hit the communications circuit. “Roosevelt, this is the Briveen airship Talon. Advising you that we have just lined that ship’s path with a ball of Brivinium. Transmitting the coordinates and withdrawing from the area.”
“That’s it?” Arlen complained. “All that buildup, and we just mosey away?”
“Nope,” Gretch said. “We’re going to get to a safe distance and watch. Hang on.” After a few minutes, he said, “Here. Just in time.”
He brought up the image of the Barony ship, still on course for the Brivinium. Finally, they were in range.
Cabot held his breath.
A minute passed.
Then the Roosevelt fired, not at the Barony ship, but at the Brivinium.
The directed burst created a traveling cone of explosion, enveloping the ship and continuing to explode out and away from the Roosevelt.
Cabot had never seen anything like it. Explosions out in space were never the big fiery balls of flame and fire that happened within an atmosphere, but tended to be a brief light and then an implosion, and blackness. But this was electrical. Cabot could see the energy readings, which registered higher than anything he’d ever seen.
The Barony burned itself out and turned black in seconds, imploding into a husk.
It gave Cabot no satisfaction, except the relief of knowing it would not come after Briv.
Now that the PAC was there to ensure the planet’s safety, all was as it should be.
Like it needed to continue to be, for all the allied planets.
Cabot felt something in him shift, like a telescope changing its focus from something close to something much further away. If this thing with Barony was going to continue, he needed to help fight them in his own way.
They could have lost Briv that day. It could have been the day that went down in infamy as the turn of the Barony War, as, perhaps, it would come to be known. But it wasn’t. Today wasn’t the day, and he wanted to do whatever he could to make sure tomorrow wouldn’t be, either. Or the day after.
He wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t a diplomat. But he could help. He would.
He had a sudden, strange moment of understanding for his friends with hero complexes. Cabot Layne was no hero. But he had a nose, and friends to look after.
It wasn’t the same thing, but it was enough.
***
Cabot had never been so glad to return to Dragonfire. He stepped out of the airlock onto the boardwalk, his boardwalk, and stood for a long minute. He closed his eyes and drank in the sounds and smells of home. Most people here did not yet know about the battle the PAC had waged at Briv, and the tragedy it had averted.
He envied their innocence. They didn’t know how hard life might get. The possibilities didn’t even exist to them yet. If he’d felt protective of his community here before, he felt so much more so now.
He wondered if that was how Fallon felt, with all she did and all she knew. He’d never want her job, that was for sure, but he wanted to help protect the people here in his own way.
He’d figure out how later.
“You okay?” Arlen stepped out behind him.
“Much better than okay.” He opened his eyes, pleased to see people going on about their business as usual.
“Are you sad that Omar and Nagali stayed on Briv?”
“No. They’ll be along eventually. Especially when they need something.” He chuckled.
Brak stepped out of the docking bay, stopping next to Cabot. She took a deep breath. “Mm, I smell mandren. I’m starved. You two want to join me for lunch?”
“Sure,” Cabot agreed.
Arlen nodded. “That sounds great.”
A thought occurred to Cabot. “Do you think they have that mandren on a stick?”
Brak nodded. “Definitely.”
“I think I’ll have one of those along with my Bennite stew.”
He smiled as they walked together toward the food shops. His trip to Briv had changed him in more ways than one.
But it was good to be home.
MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR
Thank you for reading!
I write because books were always my first love, and I’m thrilled to share these worlds with you. But writing is my job, too, and to make a living from it, I need support from readers like you. Reviews are critical to my being able to keep bringing you new books, so if you enjoyed this story and can spare a minute or two to leave a review on Amazon, I’d be grateful.
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Are you ready for more Mercenary Warfare? Here’s Blood Money! (Click or tap to buy the next book now.)
I hope to hear from you!
In gratitude,
Zen DiPietro
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Zen DiPietro is a lifelong bookworm, dreamer, and writer. Perhaps most importantly, a Browncoat Trekkie Whovian. Also red-haired, left-handed, and a vegetarian geek. Absolutely terrible at conforming. A recovering gamer, but we won’t talk about that. Particular loves include badass heroines, British accents, and the smell of Band-Aids.
Visit Zen’s website, where you can read reviews, author interviews, and other assorted fun stuff.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dragonfire Station Universe
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Message from the author
About the Author
n DiPietro, Selling Out: A Galactic Empire Space Opera Series (Mercenary Warfare Book 1)