Secrets of the Horizon (The Union Stories Book 1)

by Lesa Corryn

  by Lesa Corryn

  © 2011 Lesa Corryn Wilcox Gould

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in any form, in whole or in part (beyond that copying permitted by U.S. Copyright Law, Section 107, “fair use” in teaching or research, Section 108, certain library copying, or in published media by reviewers in limited excerpts), without written permission from the publisher.

  Cover design by Arthur Gould

  Dedicated to my family

  for supporting me and making sure I got this far.

  And to Michael

  for helping me figure out that this was worth doing.

  Secrets of the Horizon

  is Book One of the Union Stories.

  You’ll find a bonus chapter at the end of the book which offers a glimpse at Book Two,

  Keeper of the Goddess

  Chapter 1

  Dents and Gashes

  Three hundred twenty-one. It was my third trip to that cozy little cell and the number changed each time. But the number always went up, my eyes getting better, mastering the art of finding scratches in the musty dark of the cell.

  The dents and gashes were probably left by an Alladian ten years ago, back when we were still at war with each other. There's peace now, but the prisoner that left those marks sure was pissed. I would be too, I guess, given his circumstances.

  My fingers grazed a cluster of scratches, five total. I couldn't recall counting those. I debated starting again, but I was sure she'd be there soon. At least I hoped she would. Maybe she’d grown tired of reclaiming me, tired of taking responsibility for my actions. My eye caught four long streaks etched into a dark corner. An exasperated claw mark. I pictured him, snarling, dragging his clawed fingers nice and slow down the wall, their screech piercing the quiet hum of Hera's engine. A shiver crept up my spine and shook the image away. Three hundred twenty-five, I'm certain I didn't count those.

  I was concentrating on a rather evasive collection of dents in the far right corner when the cell door whipped open, clanging against the outer wall, banging like thunder.

  “My office, now,” she said. I looked up, hoping to survey the damage done, the wrath to ensue, but she left as quickly as she had come.

  I waved good bye to the security grunt, a buff melee troop by the name of Armenia Thork. He had muscles in his arms that could bust through his brown cotton tunic, but was about as capable of strategic thought as my gimp arm was at winning an arm wrestling contest. Nice guy though, last time I visited the brig he tried talking with me through the cell door, taught me how to make his mother's Marsian jelly tarts.

  Sergeant Queba did not have that friendly disposition that Thork had. About as high strung as an Alladian with his tail stuck in a door and twice as mad, which says a lot. I reached her office with a brisk step in my stride. I've heard the song before, I knew all the notes. There was nothing she could say to make me feel bad about what I did.

  “Thurman, were you born from an Alladian's ass hole?” she asked. Her guns already cocked and ready before I even stepped through the door.

  “Good day to you too, Sergeant Queba.”

  “Not in the mood for your bull shit today,” she sniped.

  “What's wrong, Sergeant?” I know it was a dumb question, but I also knew she would lash out at me at some point, I might as well start it off right away.

  “What's wrong, what's wrong?” she exclaimed, waving about her feathery arms. I chose to stand by a rather large pile of miscellaneous mechanisms. She took pride in scavenging her bits and pieces from Hera, collecting scraps from machines I could not even fathom. She couldn't, wouldn't get too close to me here, not when her treasures were so near.

  “Let me think Thurman.” She did a mock pause, her eyes rolling up to the top of her head, that was cocked back at an uncomfortable angle – although with her being an Aveslor, I'm sure it was not even close to how far back her head could tilt. Her beaked mouth gaped wide and her long, spindly fore finger tapped rhythmically against her tiny nub of a chin.

  “Oh, I think,” she started, but then shook her head, continuing her show.

  I rolled my eyes. I didn't know how long this would last, but I knew the words burned inside her enough that the blow would be coming soon. Until then, I busied myself with inspecting her recent haul, a ball of wire wound round and round over what appeared to be a calibrator for a thermal unit, which in turn had a small motor fan attached to it with loose bolts. I'm not sure when and if she ever got work done.

  “Oh this time I got it, for sure,” she said, an evil smile curling up her cheek. “Why it's that I had to go and retrieve my junior maintenance supervisor from the brig for the third time in six months.” She ended her charade with a bit more rage than she usually did, her feathers along her arms and neck puffing up.

  “I...” I started, but Queba was not finished.

  “I don't care, Thurman. You have been on this ship for half a cycle and have caused me more trouble than any maintenance grunt I've ever had. And it's always the same problem.”

  Here it comes, I thought.

  “What is it between you and this Teshe guy?”

  “He started it,” I retorted.

  “What are you, a hatchling? I've seen Wooders with more maturity than you.” Wooders were descendants of Woodpeckers, like all Aveslor were descendants of birds, Alladians of reptiles, and Humans of primates. Queba was of the Roota clan. Her feathery hair and feather trimmed arms were a bright blue and tipped with gold and red. The feathers would change shades as light danced across them, much like the parrots I saw at zoos back on Earth Terra. Also like the parrots, she never shuts up.

  “I mean maybe I'd let you get away with different cases, perhaps if one day it was an assault, another day vandalism, another lewd behavior.”

  Lewd behavior, I thought, that one kind of hurt.

  “Then I would chalk you up as just a bad egg, but it's the same guy, same story. Which just means you have a problem.”

  I glared at her from her scrap heap, she didn't understand that what Teshe said could not be forgiven. Seeing that smirk on his face. The sickening white of his med tunic. The brown of his beady eyes. I couldn't help hating him.

  “Both of you need to fix this. Medical Admiral Favi spoke with me.”

  “Spoke with you?” I interrupted. I rose from my reclining position against her stash, her face cringing as my sudden movement shook the cabinet they sat on.

  “Yes, he talked to me,” said Queba a little taken aback.

  “It's just no one talks to you,” I said. My left hand fumbled through my hair, my eyes occupied with the floor. It was littered with feathery gold and red tips. She had been trimming her arm feathers again. They grew too long for her to be able to work in machinery without them getting caught. On at least two occasions I caught her in the middle of the process. It didn't seem to bother her a bit, but something always disturbed me about watching her slice them off.

  “Excuse me?” she asked, her voice choked with anger.

  “No one associates with maintenance techs, were bottom of the food chain. I'm just impressed he bothered to speak with you about a few tiffs me and Teshe had.”

  “Don't flatter yourself,” said Queba. Her face was red and she tried to divert the conversation from the words she knew to be true. “You and Teshe both came here under special circumstances and we are starting to regret our decisions, to a point of sending you back to Academy.”

  “What!” I exclaimed. I stepped forward, nearly knocking over a tower of broken tiles. Again she cringed.

  “Don't worry it will never happen,” she rotated her chair and stared
for a moment out her porthole window. “Captain Gith would not sacrifice a shuttle, not with all the recent attacks.”

  That's what gave my actions weight, that's what made her words sink to the core. My fight no longer a bruise to the ship, but a deep gash. I promised her I would not endanger the crew and now my actions forced the Captain to sacrifice man power to break up our fight and then keep me detained.

  “Tech Admiral Erins promised me you were worth the risk. That your gimp arm would not hinder your ability to be an exceptional engineer. He was right, your arm has yet to prove to be a problem, but your attitude is a mess.” She turned back around, her golden brown eyes flashing. “Get yourself together or I'll see to it that you end up in a faulty space vac. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, ma'am.” I swallowed hard. I had no doubt she would space me.

  “Good, now get out.”

  “Yes, ma'am.” I turned on my heel and walked towards the door in a stiff march, but stopped just short. “May I ask a question, Sergeant?”

  She rolled her eyes and reclined back in her chair. “What is it Corporal?”

  “What were the special circumstances? For Teshe?”

  “What? And give you fodder for your next fight,” she said. Her eyes filled with glee and the evil smile returned to her round feathered face. “Get out.”

  I didn't try again. My feet marched me out the door before she could throw something at me to punctuate her request.

  Chapter 2

  Scanner

  I rushed off to my bunk in hopes that it was not too late to do my weekly inspection of the burgundy corridor processor. I still had an hour before first shift started, before she would hide away in the recesses of her office. It shouldn’t take too long to get over there, at least I hoped it wouldn’t.

  I swiped my deformed wrist over the id scan to my bunk, only for it to respond with a terse obnoxious tone. The scar that carved through my arm from my wrist to the inside of my elbow had the tendency to obstruct the signal between my implant and the scanner. The thick, gnarled valley was tough as Alladian scales and not the most friendly to scanner waves. I swiped my wrist over and over again. Sometimes fast like the old kung fu heroes I saw in vids as a kid and then sometimes slow as if the air was thick and gelatinous. Still the scanner turned red and bonged its adamant rejection.

  “I don't have time for this,” I snarled. Thrusting my wrist forward, I smashed it against the scanner. The pain shot through my right arm like a shock wave that reverberated up and down my spine. I collapsed to the floor, my left hand clutching my throbbing wrist, holding it in place as my right arm began to convulse. My floor mates glanced down and whispered, but none stopped. They've seen this all before.

  My injury had become a well known character trait amongst the crew of the Hera. I wanted my assignment on the ship to be a fresh start. Try to hide my deformity until the time was right. When people began praising me for my good work, demanding to know why I didn't have a higher position amongst the engineering staff. Then, I would reveal the grotesque cut, the sickening burn from plasma gas. They would swoon and bow in awe at my ability to do so much with such a hindrance and perhaps a medal would be rewarded for dedication. Unfortunately, I also ran into Teshe my first day on the ship. My secret didn't last long.

  Cursing the flaming pain that wreaked havoc in my arm's nerves, I pushed myself up against the bunk door. There I rested, calming my arm, massaging my wrist, watching as soldiers marched off to their daily duties. Then the door slid open and I fell back onto the polished black boots of Flik Meikr.

  “Jek, why again?” he asked.

  “He said...”

  “Don't care, need to stop fighting.”

  “Why doesn't anyone let me defend myself?” I growled. Flik offered his hand down, but turned his head away, choosing to ponder the grey drabness of the wall over my predicament. I took hold and pulled myself up, following my bunkmate into our cabin.

  It was small, but fortunately so was Flik. He was from an Earth colony named Geneva, but there wasn't much of Earth on it. It had been an experimental colony. The atmosphere was livable for humans and there was no intelligent indigenous life or predatory threat. But the world was different. The sun emitted mainly ultraviolet rays and cancer became a main concern for the incoming colonists. Scientists, the government, and any other authority looking to gain a profit from the colony, told them there was nothing to fear. And they were right, cancer did not turn out to be a problem, instead the colonists gained healthy dark tans suitable for their environment and one day they'd evolve to have violet eyes that could see perfectly in their sun's light. But they didn't get that until it was too late and the colony became lost.

  It was stolen, or better yet reclaimed by a native culture that the government unintentionally or intentionally missed. No one can say what exactly happened, since it occurred 500 years back. But the natives' eyes were well adjusted to the sun, while the new colonists could barely see since the sun emitted very few wavelengths from our visible spectrum. They were captured in one quick attack, lost for years.

  Recently the colony was rediscovered and Flik was part of the first generation of Earth Genevans to join the fleet. Unfortunately, because of their many years separated from Earth Terra or any interstellar culture, the Genevans didn't have a firm grip on Galactic, the Union's universal language.

  “No listen, because same words.” Flik went over to the bunk's control panel and the room became dim to my eyes. He adjusted the light from the white light spectrum, that I could see, into his violet light. I felt my way over to my bunk, searching for my foot trunk that had my tool kit. Flik turned from the panel and removed his goggles, pulling out a handkerchief to clean the lenses. Without them, Flik wouldn't be able to see since the majority of the ship is lit with white light.

  “He started it, that all ever say. Started what? Neither answer that. Both closed mouth.”

  “Well, believe me, what he said deserved what he got,” I growled. My left hand guided my right wrist over my foot locker’s id scanner, since my arm was still out of commission. This time I had more luck and the locker popped open.

  “See same story.” Flik reached up and returned the light to its original spectrum, his wave goggles back in place.

  The light rose and my locker's contents came into view, my left hand submerged in its innards searching for the kit. My finger brushed against a thin edge, cutting the skin. My hand pulled away and the assailant came with it, falling back onto the pile in the locker. It was a pic screen, one that I hadn't looked at in a long time. My eyes watered.

  “Just shouldn't have said those things about Yanda,” I whispered. The words past through my lips before I knew I had said them. And Flik turned on me in an instant.

  “Who Yanda?”

  “Damn your absurdly good hearing,” I grumbled, “found my tool belt, got to go.” I slammed the locker shut, making double sure it was locked before racing out the door.

  Flik followed me to the door, his tiny frame peeking out into the hallway. “But, this your day off.”

  Chapter 3

  Wires

  The wiring was simple. The corridor's heat sensors were connected to a series of blue wires that were connected to the multiplexor. Then the multiplexor was connected to an A/D converter by a red wire. That converter was then connected to a processor by a green wire. Hera took the information from the processor and regulated the intensity of the light in the corridor to how many bodies were in the hall. Or better yet, it merely regulated the light if there were any bodies in the corridor. Essentially if the heat sensors sensed someone, any one, in the corridor the light intensity was raised slightly. That was about it.

  There are many corridors in Hera, each with their own heat sensor unit. All of them have never once needed to be fixed. This processor didn't need to be fixed, just like it never needed to be fixed all the other times I came to work on it.

  Every week on my day off, since I first came aboard Hera,
I have come to this unit and rewired it incorrectly and then fixed it. Each time I etched a tally mark with a screw driver on the inside of the unit's cover, so I could keep track of how many attempts it would take for me to finally talk to Lieutenant Allouette Pierce.

  It's not like I've never talked to her. I ran into her once back on Athena, around when I graduated from Academy. But I'm sure she doesn't remember me. I'm sure she doesn't know me. But she was my reason I decided to take on my military duty. The reason why I didn't take Erins' offer for an honorable discharge. She had inspired me and I was determined to make her see that I would not fail the crew.

  My first week here I had approached her office door, shoulders squared, chin high, and my uniform finely pressed. I reached for the intercom, my finger strong and poised to push the button that would notify her of my arrival. Then she emerged, her soft mane of hair tied back, but still wild and untamed like a wave of tan and brown flowing from her head. She smelled like the strawberries we used to grow at my home back on Earth Terra and I was rendered immobile, drowning in her presence.

  "Can I help you?" she said. Her voice was stern, commanding and to the point. Her almond shaped eyes piercing mine, determined to brush me aside.

  "I, uh." The words escaped me and my tongue laid slack in my mouth. My right arm twitched with anxiety. My left hand that until that point had remained in the ready position to push the intercom, swiftly grasped my arm before it lost control.

  "Are you all right?" Allouette's voice was still stern but had a single degree of softness, which from what I understand was a rare event. She reached out to my arm that was on the verge of convulsing when I finally found the strength to straighten myself out again.

  "Yes, ma'am, just a slight spasm caused by a muscle I pulled the other day. I was just seeking guidance as to where your hall light processor was." I balled both hands into fists and kept my arm muscles taut by my sides, fighting my right arm to keep it still.