Stars & Empire 2: 10 More Galactic Tales (Stars & Empire Box Set Collection)

by Jay Allan

  There were hesitant nods all around, more emphatic once Beryl’s men had been led from the bay.

  He instructed his aide to make cabins available to the arrivals from Bellac before waving Nova aside. She walked with him to the impressive observation window looking out over the grow rings. There was a narrow bench there but she knew that if she sat down now it would be impossible to get up again.

  “You’re looking a little peaked, Whiteside,” Thedris said with a smile.

  “Been a long day, sir.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back. “You took some risks, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir. I have regrets. I also allowed myself to be intimidated by these men. I’m not proud of that. I should have—”

  He waved that aside. “Learn from it, Whiteside, and move on. The only thing you need to analyze right now are your odds of making Hunter Class. Which are pretty damn good, from what I’ve seen.”

  “You’ll approve the application, then?”

  “I’m signing off on those remaining hours in the morning. You can leave for Targon on the next transport.”

  She sighed deeply. “I won’t let you down, sir.” Her eyes wandered to the cruiser visible through the window. “I’m wondering if I could… I mean, could I… um, take that ship? Next transport isn’t for weeks.”

  He looked outside. “Spoils of war, Lieutenant? Promise you’ll wait a few days to get into top shape before you go?”

  “Promise. Can I take Lieutenant Rolyn with me as wingman?”

  He nodded. “If Dakad concurs.”

  “Can I—”

  “Go to bed, Whiteside. That’s an order.”

  -o0o-

  Author’s Note

  Space Opera is people. There it is.

  Space opera has fabulous space ships, fantastic planets, laser weapons and epic battles. We’ve discarded the idea that future astronauts wear spandex suits and silver lipstick, and now our heroes get to wear real clothes. They have adventures and super technology and they meet aliens and save the galaxy again and again.

  But when I look at the science fiction stories that have appealed to me the most, I see that they focus on the characters. Their plights, faults, idiosyncrasies are what give life to the backdrop of planets and space ships. I suppose you could place Han, Leia, and Luke in a contemporary setting right here on planet Earth and it would work. It’s still a fun story without the lightsabers. But without the characters’ story, a big chunk of Star Wars would lack considerable luster.

  So that is the route I’ve taken with my stories. The absolute freedom of escaping Earth’s gravity and inventing things (always keeping within the realm of probability, of course) is why I love science fiction. I can make it rain mercury if I want to. I think I do, actually, somewhere.

  But it’s the people in these stories—not too alien, not too perfect, not always happy with their lot or each other—who give meaning to the mercury rain and the space elevators. The people, for the most part likable people, are what turns science fiction into space opera. (Well, and space guns. Must have space guns.)

  For my space opera, I’ve taken the problems of our human condition to see what we’d do with them in outer space. Most fascinating to me are the grey areas between good and evil and how we assign those qualities.

  Nova Whiteside is a female soldier in a war which is, like our own wars here on Earth, a male-dominated environment. I felt that it would be amiss to ignore the issues these women face, even a thousand years in the future. Nova’s reaction to her situation may not be the right one, but at the time it is right for her. The consequences of that were not just personal but affected those around her.

  “Sky Hunter” takes place in the Targon Tales universe, a much larger story. The action-packed space opera collection of related but self-contained books revolves around a hundred-year-old conflict between a colonizing Commonwealth of allied planets and those who rebel against it. In struggles like these, can there really be a “good guy” and a “bad guy”? The main characters, having chosen sides, must find ways to hang on to their ideals while working within a system that doesn’t always play by its own rules.

  At times violent, sometimes light-hearted, the Targon Tales take us to the many worlds of Trans-Targon to meet species who seem oddly similar as their shared DNA offers an ongoing mystery. But the similarities that bring them together are also at the root of the trouble between them all.

  -o0o-

  More about Nova Whiteside:

  The Catalyst

  Only Human

  Rebel Alliances

  Delphi Promised

  Also available:

  Quantum Tangle

  Terminus Shift

  Flight To Exile

  Visit http://www.chrisreher.com/

  BONUS CONTENT

  QUANTUM TANGLE

  AN EXCERPT

  _o0o_

  Quantum Tangle

  © 2014 Chris Reher

  An excerpt

  “Is that an Aikhoran yast?” Khoe asked. “It’s so huge!”

  “It is,” Seth said, touched by her excitement and even more amused by the way Caelyn was hiding his.

  The Delphian peered from under his hood at the lumbering beast being led down the narrow street, every bit as entertained as Khoe by the variety of people and species that converged in this Magran harbor town. Although she had studied the more common species of Trans-Targon found in Seth’s data bank, actually seeing them at such close range left her in awe.

  Caelyn stepped carefully around a pile of something left behind by the animal. “Why are we down this way?” he said after a glance at his mapper. “The airfield is to the east.”

  “Which is why we’re over here,” Seth said. “Smells like Air Command.”

  “Oh? Air Command on Magra Torley? And how do they smell?”

  “To Khoe, like someone tied to the base station cruising around back there over Magra Alaric. She’s been tracking some of their com signals since we left the tower.”

  They stood aside as a congregation of locals surged past them, dressed in somber robes that hid all but their eyes, on their way to whatever required such procession. Seth watched them move through the alley and out of sight. “Whoever they have poking around here will be suspecting rebels under every one of those cloaks. Very convenient. For us, anyway.”

  “They’re just civilians,” Caelyn pointed out.

  “Armed like bandits, like everyone else is here. That sort of hardware will have our friends running in circles. Why do you think Torley is so popular among my supposed confederates?”

  “I thought Air Command isn’t welcome on this continent,” Khoe said, pointing up at a towering metal structure from which small cable cars slid, soon disappearing beyond the rooftops into the direction of the shore. “Can we ride one of those? Those look like fun.”

  Seth looked up, thinking that the framework for the gondolas looked even more rickety than the last time he had seen it. “Expect agents in plain clothes,” he said.

  He led the way through a gate and into a cobbled courtyard walled off from the street. A portly Human sat on the ground before a grill upon which several shallow pans sizzled and steamed. From an open doorway behind him drifted the sound of a flute of some sort. The man kept time with the tongs he used to stir his concoctions.

  “Kada!” He waved them closer when he finally noticed them.

  “Kerrick.” Seth smiled when they approached.

  “That’s my second daughter playing like angels singing in the mists of Mount Avelar.” The man named Kerrick closed his eyes while they listened to a few more plaintive notes. “Have you ever heard such sweetness?”

  “Not in recent memory,” Seth said with a wink at Khoe. She was no doubt thinking of the long argument they fought to a draw aboard the Dutchman when she decided to study music. Clearly, they would never agree on that particular subject.

  Caelyn peered at the grill. “Dinner?” he asked, although it was still morn
ing on this side of the planet.

  The Human squinted at the stranger. “You’re keeping interesting company, Kada.”

  “New navigator,” Seth explained. “I’m branching out. Doing some deep space runs. I hear that’s profitable these days.”

  “I’d say.” Kerrick pointed at his dishes. “You wouldn’t like the taste of this, Delphian.” Like a magician before his audience, he waved his tongs and then picked up a pan with dark red liquid. When he flung the content into a bowl of water it solidified at once into small, pearlescent beads. He picked out a few large specimens and scooped the remainder back into his pan. “See those? On Feron, that’s currency. Here, all it takes are a few tocla beetle carapaces and my secret recipe.”

  “Impressive,” Caelyn said to the forger. Do any of your friends do an honest day’s work? he added for Seth.

  He’s more honest than most, Seth replied. See anything around here? he sent to Khoe, not wanting to risk their host’s good will by checking his perimeter scanner himself.

  “Nothing. Some children in that house. Two women. Nothing interesting on his com channels, either. No one’s listening.”

  “Got my plane?” Seth said to Kerrick.

  “All ready to go. It’s now registered to a Pelion outfit called Skykoro. Deloused down to the last circuit and detailed in a pretty shade of red. Coolant’s topped up. You were covered in bugs. Thank you very much for bringing Air Command down on us. Why are they chasing you this time?” He fumbled through his caftan to fish a device from one of his numerous pockets.

  Seth hunched down beside him to transfer the Dutchman’s new codes to his own system. “I have no idea,” he said. “They often confuse me with someone else.”

  “Sure they do.” Kerrick took his code pad back along with a packet of currency he didn’t bother to count. “The Dutchman’s on Claude’s east runway but you can bet the place is still crawling with cops trying to figure out which one is yours. Have fun trying to get back aboard.”

  Seth shrugged and stood up. “Guess you’re the new captain, Delphi.”

  Caelyn nodded imperceptibly to Khoe. I knew I’d be useful along the way.

  She scrunched up her nose at him which nearly made Seth laugh out loud. “We’ll be on our way,” he said to Kerrick. “Kind of between jobs right now. Missed a pickup on Aram a while back. Who’s got news?”

  “Who do you think?”

  Seth nodded and waved as he turned away to head back out onto the street.

  “What did he mean by that?” Khoe said.

  “I’ve got some contacts here.” Seth turned to Caelyn. “Going to transfer command functions to your sleeve. Get to the Dutchman and look like you’re getting ready to go. Maybe order some supplies. Don’t make too much noise but make it convincing that the ship’s yours. Air Command isn’t likely to question a Delphian, even out here. But if they do, stick to the story about heading to Callas.”

  “I think I can manage that.” Caelyn tapped Seth’s interface node to sever their mental link. “Let’s hope no one wants to come aboard. Your sloppy housekeeping won’t convince anyone that a Delphian owns that ship.”

  “Step easy around those soldiers. Try to keep a straight face.”

  Caelyn rolled his eyes and strode away to find a shuttle heading for the flight pads.

  Seth turned the other way to stroll through increasingly shabby streets that continued to fascinate Khoe. He observed her expression as surreptitiously as he could, amazed by her unending willingness to be amazed by all she saw. She took in everything, judged nothing, and learned more than he could ever hope to remember.

  “How do you find your way through this place without a mapper. It’s a maze!” Khoe said when they turned down yet another alley. The shops crowded so tightly in the small space that their multi-colored awnings formed a roof over the street.

  “I grew up here. I used to think that stall over there was the best one to steal cakes from until I realized that Lubetke and his wife looked the other way on purpose. They used to feed us like gutter birds.” He smiled at the memory. “A nice change from getting beaten by some of the other merchants when we weren’t quick enough.”

  Khoe peered into the stall where a young woman was tending a round hearth. The sweet smell of roasted sugar hung thick in the air.

  “That’s their granddaughter, I think,” Seth said.

  “Was it hard, growing up in a place like this? Having to steal food?” Khoe watched a couple of urchins slink past them. Seth’s hand automatically moved to protect his gun from nimble fingers.

  “Not for me. I lived up in the hills.” He gestured to the north where the wealthier population lived high above the noise and smells of the harbor town. He dropped his hand when he remembered that no one but him could see Khoe drifting along beside him. “I only hung around down here because that place was really very boring. Unfortunately, that eventually got me sent to the military academy on Magra Alaric.”

  “Where you became a pilot. And a soldier.”

  “Yes, I am a pilot,” he said and then pointed to the end of the alley. “There we are.”

  The building he sought faced an open square populated mostly by eateries and taverns and the customers that frequented them. The rough slab of stonework made no attempt to look like anything but a jail. Khoe read the signage near the entrance, her brow furrowed. “Are you sure this is a good place for you?”

  “The safest,” he said. “Keep your eyes open.”

  “That’s only possible if you keep yours open. I’m in your head, remember?” She shifted more of her focus to his scanners.

  The clammy interior smelled of mildew and harsh cleaning chemicals. That, along with some rough cursing and shouts from other parts of the building, reminded him of past visits to places like these. Two guards, identically dressed in lightly armored chest guard over floor-length kaftan, sat near the door, chatting. They rose when they saw the Centauri, their hands close to their weapons.

  “Morning,” Seth said lazily, using Union mainvoice.

  The two, both native to Magra, waited silently for more than that.

  “I’m here to see Master Faran. With Domeo’s report from Aikhor.”

  The two exchanged glances and then one nodded to the other, who left the entranceway. Identified by his code words, Seth was waved through an open arch guarded by an electrified curtain of snag filaments. Khoe snorted with derision at such elementary fortification but Seth’s respect for the barrier came through hard-earned experience. He waited patiently for the guard to disarm it and followed him into the interior and what seemed to be an administrative area. It smelled a little less like a prison here.

  Once again using Seth’s transmitters, Khoe tapped into the security system while he was made to wait for the guard to announce his arrival. She had no need to hurry; Master Faran measured his time carefully to ensure that everyone appreciated his importance.

  “Only locals locked up here,” she reported. “Thieves, mostly. A murderer.” She dug a little deeper. “Awful lot of weapons being kept in a cellar. More than they need, even if everyone carried two of them.”

  “I know. They pay well for them, too.”

  “Extra income for you?”

  Seth sent a mental shrug. “Any idea how much a tube of coolant costs?”

  “Of course I do.”

  The door finally opened and a Magran, also in embroidered robe and wearing a crossed weapons belt, stuck his head out to wave Seth inside the room.

  “Camera facing this way,” Khoe said. “What’s that thing on his head?”

  Seth walked ahead of the Magran and turned his back to the surveillance system. The lawman’s heavy brow ridge and most of his sparsely-tufted scalp was covered with a painful-looking reddish scale. He’s a northerner. They end up with skin problems down here. That’s a fungus, I’m guessing.

  “Let me see.”

  No, they don’t smell so good, either.

  “Really? Move closer.”

&nb
sp; No! Seth grimaced, wishing for the Delphians’ knack for obscuring their reactions to things like this. “Master Faran, thank you for the audience.”

  “Leave the crap at the door, Kada.” The Magran didn’t pronounce his words so much as roll them around in his throat for a while and even Seth had to pay close attention to understand his accent. “You’re not expected. Got anything for me?”

  “No, unfortunately. Hoping you have something for me. Looking for some fast cash, actually.”

  The Magran pursed his fleshy lips. “Got a shipment of guns looking for transport out of Aikhor.”

  “Need something bigger than that. What’s the deal out on Rishabel? Heard rebels are taking on extra crews.”

  Faran shook his head. “You don’t want to get mixed up with that lot. Whatever they’re smuggling is red hot. Dead people dropping into real-space and now Air Command is nosing around. Sent some sort of investigation to see what’s going on by the jumpsite. They might block it altogether.”

  “For everyone’s safety, of course,” Seth added.

  “That’s the story. The Shri-Lan shifted the drop to Belene-34. If you’re interested I can send my regards. Personally, I wouldn’t touch it.”

  “The Shri-Lan’s running this?”

  “Yeah. Hiring private charthumpers to run errands. The goods go from there to who knows where. Not a lot of volunteers, from what I hear. You need a spanner to get to Belene, though. No open jumpsites going out that way.”

  “Good. Got me a crew,” Seth said, looking past Faran at Khoe who was busily poking around the Magran’s own data system.

  “Business must be good if you can afford a spanner.”

  Seth shrugged. “Can always be better. Who do I see?”

  “Put down near a charming place called Dead End. Pretty much the only settlement on the whole damn planet. There’s a hangout there run by a Centauri named Tieko. He’ll set you up. Don’t drink the water.”