Star Brigade: Resurgent (Star Brigade Book 1)

by C. C. Ekeke

  “What the hell is your problem Lieutenant?” The Kintarian was twice Sam’s size, but she still furiously hauled him up roughly to his feet.

  V’Korram was looking surly again. “This exercise is ridiculous, Sam. I was trying to end it for all our sanities so we can do more meaningful simulations.”

  “By getting all the hostages killed and your teammates subdued? Congratulations, Einsteiner!” Their subsequent words were lost in a rising chorus of angered voices. Rigorous simulations combined with successive failures were just too much. Something had to give. Honaa was hissing. Sam was still yelling. Somewhere in the background Khrome’s laughed at something. V’Korram growled, his teeth gnashing. Tyris and Jan’Hax played the blame game, getting in each other’s faces and bellowing. All these voices came together in a distorted, incomprehensible din.

  Habraum felt numb, physically and emotionally numb. To his ears the quarreling sounded less like noise and more like a furious pounding. To his eyes it was the sight of sentients part of something greater than themselves fracturing at the core, all stupidly arguing over their own shortcomings. Then Surje’s voice caught his ear. “How long do we have to keep this up? We’ve been busting our asses for days—.”

  Habraum wheeled on him. “Until we get it right, Ensign. And by how abysmal this session was, that won’t happen anytime soon!” The scolding words silenced the discord. Nobody spoke, not even Khrome.

  “Your performances were all deplorable,” Habraum stated without preamble. The only movement came from the pulsing blue glow on the walls. His eyes narrowed. “We will go through these drills again and again until you learn to work as a Star Brigade combat team,” Habraum pounded one fist on the other to emphasis each point. “Think long and hard about how you’ll do BETTER tomorrow. These drills only get harder. Dismissed.”

  The rest of the Brigade, sans Sam and Honaa, somberly exited the HLHG room, murmurs buzzing around the motley group. V’Korram started striding toward the exit.

  “Not you Prydyri-Ravlek,” Habraum added with cold courtesy.

  V’Korram stopped and snapped his head toward the Cerc, his long ginger mane flicking over his shoulder. His green-flecked eyes cast a surly glare in Habraum’s direction. The Kintarian turned and strode forward silently, stopping right in front of Habraum to emphasize his four-inch height advantage. Habraum wasted no time reaching the summit of his displeasure.

  “Abandoning your squad, and then endangering the safety of your team members to name a few things. Your actions during this session were unacceptable.”

  “May I be frank Captain?” V’Korram began growling in reply.

  “No, you can’t,” Sam advanced. “How many ti—.”

  “Commander,” Habraum cut her off coolly. Everyone yelling wasn’t helpful.

  “Except for Captain Ishiliba and Commander D’Urso, they are all too unseasoned to even view a battlefield, let alone step foot on one,” V’Korram snarled, body hair bristling.

  “You do your job and I’ll worry about their weaknesses, Lieutenant,” Habraum countered, forcing himself to maintain some composure, which wasn’t easy. “Their inexperience is fixable. My problem right now is you being a fubbering klonk.” V’Korram’s scowl deepened, if possible. Just then the HLHG entrance hissed open. Lethe glided in and slowly approached the group.

  “You’re either a team player or you’re done,” Habraum continued. “There is no place here for anyone not committed to Star Brigade.”

  V’Korram straightened up and crossed his arms. “Ironic, as you left when Star Brigade needed you.”

  One could have heard an atom split after that. There was a strange, closed look on V’Korram’s face. Undoubtedly, he knew he had crossed way over the line. But Habraum actually chuckled a little. “That’s one.” The Cerc raised his index finger to emphasize the point. “You don’t get two.”

  Under his tawny fur V’Korram’s face noticeably reddened. No other words were needed before he quickly retreated from the HLHG room. Once the door hissed shut, Sam whirled on Habraum. “I understand how you feel Braum, but you could’ve gone easier on these kids. This was a minor setback.”

  “Minor setback?” Habraum snorted. “What if anyone in UComm saw this?” Honaa was silent during the exchange, looking run down. The HLHG room door hissed open again, drawing the Rothorid’s eye.

  “Is this why you brought me back?” Habraum pressed in heatedly, unable to contain himself any longer, “To fix one of your messes that you couldn’t cover up?”

  Sam purpled with rage. She lashed out cat-quick, her fist smashing hard across Habraum’s mouth. An explosion of pain lit up his jaw. Habraum staggered back, but kept his footing.

  “Ssssamantha!” Honaa hissed out in horror, rushing between the two officers a moment too late.

  Habraum blinked away as much pain as he could. That reaction hadn’t surprised him, honestly.

  Sam’s face emptied of rage, only to fill up with panic. “Shit,” she hissed under her breath.

  By her horrified expression, Sam knew Habraum as commanding officer could relieve her for insubordination if he wanted. Then I’d have one less seasoned officer.

  He straightened back up and casually rubbed his jaw, as if it weren’t throbbing like mad. “The truth’s still the truth,” the Cerc said coolly.

  “Captain Nwosu.” The sound of Lethe’s tripled voice bearing such unexpected bother drew everyone’s attention to him. Habraum frowned at the Kudoban in confusion.

  “Looks like you’re running an airtight ship here, Nwosu,” said a cold, mocking voice behind Lethe.

  Honaa hissed threateningly. Sam turned white as a sheet.

  Rogguts, please tell me he didn’t see what Sam just did. Habraum bucked his teeth so hard he thought they might shatter, slowly turning to face Atom Greystone. The Defense Ministry liaison was leaning against the wall opposite the HLHG room, a wicked smirk on his face.

  I am sorry Habraum. He saw the session…and its aftermath, Lethe psychically conveyed.

  Habraum’s neck muscles tighten as he bit back a curse. Just when this couldn’t get any worse… “What do you want?” he snapped.

  “Observing, not touching anything, just like we agreed,” Greystone raised his hands disarmingly as he walked forward with chest puffed out. The fake glee coloring his voice turned Habraum’s stomach. “. But I couldn’t help but observe the less than exemplary performance by the Brigade. It was—.”

  “Something that will be fixed,” Sam broke in. “And it’s none of your goddamn business, Greystone.” The two locked eyes. It was hard to see which face disclosed more hatred.

  “Oh, but it is very much my business, Commander.” Greystone’s eyes darted back at Habraum. “My superiors have a vested interest in what goes on in this starbase. And they’d love to know that the Great Habraum Nwosu is in over his head with managing the Star Brigade.”

  Honaa bared his needle-like teeth, which made Greystone recoil. Habraum forced on a cool smile for show. “No one ever said fixing the Brigade would be easy. Rome on Old Earth wasn’t built in a day.”

  Greystone’s sneer grew another inch. “Well, even if I said nothing, ultimately you’ll have to hand Star Brigade over just to keep your sanity. Face it, two senior operatives and a pacifist who also runs this starbase are your only support. A year ago there were four Colonels and seven Captains of Star Brigade counsel, and it was tough for even them.”

  Those words were a swift kick to Habraum’s stomach. Management once field assignments started coming in had never crossed his mind. He felt all eyes on him, waiting for his next move.

  Habraum buried it all, the uncertainty and fatigue, under a calm visage. “You finished?”

  “Oh, not by a long shot—.”

  “No, you are finished, Greystone. Now get the hazik off this starbase,” the Cerc spat. Sam and Honaa moved to stand side by side with Habraum.

  The sneer on Greystone’s face vanished as quickly as the two Brigadiers advanced. “This
isn’t over.” Greystone snootily puffed out his chest and turned to walk out. Habraum watched him with baleful eyes. Once there was some distance between him and Habraum, all his insufferable bravado returned.

  “Mark my words, Nwosu,” he called. “By this month’s end, you will be begging me to take the Brigade off your hands. If not, I’ll just take it anyway.”

  But Habraum was already done with him. “Off you go,” He waved a dismissive hand at Greystone as he exited the HLHG Suite. Sam moved to leave when Habraum seized her roughly by the arm and leaned in close. “I don’t care that you’re one of our only seasoned Brigadiers left. Pull a stunt like that in public again, and what I said to V’Korram applies to you,” he said in a voice as cold and hard as stone.

  Habraum watched Sam’s eyes fill with momentary fear, felt her tremble from top to bottom. The silence between them grew loaded and heated, as if no one else was around. After what felt like an eternity, Sam turned and stared straight ahead, her face a bloodless mask that revealed nothing. She gave a terse nod of acknowledgement.

  Not good enough for Habraum. “I can’t hear you.”

  “Yes, sir,” she answered stiffly. “Permission to have my arm back…sir.” Habraum released her from his grip. She marched out of the HLHG Suite, livid. In the past, he had usually soothed that hot temper of hers with a laugh and some calm words. Yet today’s appalling performances and what she pulled in front of Greystone soured Habraum to his core. Besides, if he let her actions go unanswered, Sam might never respect his new position. She needed to learn her place.

  Habraum wheeled around on Honaa, despite their tenuous truce, steeling himself for a lecture of some sort. “I agree with you…on both areasss,” the Rothorid conceded wearily, much to Habraum’s surprise. “The performancesss are not up to Brigade ssstandard.” The veteran captain looked rather pallid in his maroon scales, and his ribbed tail hung limp as if he was having trouble holding it upright.

  “Honaa,” Habraum began, concerned.

  “Bessst we begin again tomorrow,” the Rothorid cut him off. He tread towards the exit, walking sluggishly as if he’d aged twenty years.

  Lethe’s spindly fingers on his shoulder stopped the Cerc before he could follow his former mentor. “I will talk to him, after he is mentally and physically replenished. As you will with Sam, once she calms.”

  Habraum almost objected, but fatigue made him grudgingly nod in agreement. His mind was so cluttered, he barely recalled the translifter back to his quarters. Soon the adrenaline wore off, and the soreness of training hit him like a hovertram. Again, he was glad he had made no more false promises to his dead wife. Star Brigade truly was a mess. Fixing it would take longer than a month or two, longer than he had hoped. How could Sam and Honaa let these Star Brigadiers, rookies or not, get so…disorganized?

  You owe Star Brigade nothing, a voice pleaded. Walk away, before you get killed! The voice had belonged to Mirräe Ivers, Jovian’s widow, after Habraum told her his intentions to return to Star Brigade. Mirräe, not wanting to attend another funeral, had walked out of his life in a rage. In his weariness, her words had been truer and sweeter than she had known. For a lingering moment Habraum wanted to leave; take Jeremy and go back to the simplicity of Covingshire on Terra Sollus.

  Or better yet, head back to his homeworld Cercidale and his sprawling family of siblings and cousins. A smile tugged at his lips thinking of the family ranch, seeing his mum and dad. He missed his twin brother Heitheniel madly, and Jeremy would do well being around Heith’s four youngsters. Habraum’s second youngest brother Ronson had recently completed the mandatory two-year PLADECO service required of all young Cercs, and from what their father had inferred the younger Nwosu sorely needed some direction from the older brother he idolized. Then there was skinny little Olevander, the youngest Nwosu, almost finished with eleventh level schooling and would soon start his two years of military service. Habraum longed to muss up his sister Gillory’s bushy fro of hair again and hear all about her traveling doctor adventures. Even seeing Obarom, the younger brother Habraum liked the least, wouldn’t be so unwelcome—.

  No, Habraum forcibly pushed all the gooey nostalgia behind the unkind barrier named duty. He had given his word, promised Sam and Honaa and all these greenhorns that he’d fix things. Habraum would leave only after Star Brigade was whole again. Some bad training sessions and toothless threats from A-TOM Greystone would not sway him. The dim corridor leading to his quarters was close, but seemed to be miles away. Putting his hand on the access identifier next to his door, it beeped confirmation of his ID and slid open. Jeremy would be asleep by now. With clear effort Habraum stumbled in.

  What greeted him was the sound of the holoview in the common room.

  “Lights, dim,” he said distractedly. The illumination came instantly with a soft glow, showcasing his furnished apartment. The Cerc found it odd to see the tall and slim figure of the humanoid-like babysitting companiomech that watched his son standing in resting cycle near the kitchen. He found it even odder that the 60-inch holoview monitor, hovering before a wall in the common room, showcased the TransNet-friendly face of IPNN’s Pellagra Harrihu. Pellagra, another crimsonborn human, had an ever-chipper uptick to her northern Cercidalean brogue that always irritated Habraum. Jeremy forgot to turn it off again, Habraum grimaced as he heard the gist of Pellagra’s report.

  “...numerous reports coming of a vicious attack of the predominantly human colony of Vesta. According to authorities, it is believed to be the work of the Korvenite Independence Front, which hasn’t been seen since its dissolution at the hands of the Union Command three years prior.”

  Imagery of ruined neighborhoods and charred remnants flashed across the screen. Habraum frowned. The screen flashed back to Pellagra, whose face sported a scripted onscreen disdain. “Casualties maxed at fifty-four humans and the injured at eighty sentients before the colony’s Regulat intervened.”

  Pellagra’s report continued as the holoview switched to real-time footage of Chouncilor Bogosian exiting a small cruiser on Galdor, smiling and waving to the crowd. The tall, wiry man strode proudly in a crisp crimson suit, flanked by his usual entourage of aides, advisors and Honor Guard. Habraum snorted with considerable disdain. Accompanying them were several towering Kedri warriors, all muscled like yosk bulls and decked out in dark metal armor, their facial expressions ranging from glares to scowls. There was no sign of the Sovereign Orok Kel in the gathering, which was expected. The Lord Imperator of the Kedri and their countless dependencies rarely left the star-spanning empire that he ruled.

  “When the Chouncilor was asked about the recent Korvenite attacks,” Pellagra continued, “he had this to say: ‘The Union won’t be intimidated by gutless, xenophobic terrorists. The KIF will be dealt with. Nothing will stop the GUPR from building a long-lasting relationship with the Kedri—.’ ”

  “HV off,” Habraum growled. The holoview screen and Pellagra’s chipper voice winked out. The Cerc honestly didn’t mind the Chouncilor; Bogosian was actually one of the better ones. Except that Habraum could not look past Bogosian’s shameless hatred toward Korvenites. With the stringent policies the Union leader had put on that species, Habraum couldn’t really blame them for rebelling again.

  “I’m watching that, Daddy.” Habraum almost jumped in shock. Jeremy sat slouched on the couch behind his father, feet swinging off the edge. Dressed in oversized red pajamas, he regarded the Cerc seriously. “You said it’s rude to turn off the HV when someone is watching.”

  “Why are you still up, sprout?” Habraum scolded. “And where’s the caremech watching you?”

  “My caremech is prepping my bed. And I wanted to see why you forgot about today.” Jeremy hopped off the couch with an unwavering stare that made the Cerc feel as if he were looking into a mirror.

  “What do you mean ‘about today?’” Habraum’s voice promptly died in his throat. He remembered.

  “Oh no!” the Cerc slapped a hand on his forehead. “The polyma
ero season opener! It totally skidded off my thoughts!” The Quinchester Transients versus the South Sheffield Knights at the Eastland Sphere, the legendary rivalry in the popular sport of polymaero—at Terra Sollus’s biggest sports arena.

  Originating on Galdor as an underwater sport, polymaero’s aquatic elements were traded in for maneuverable antigravity suits that the seven-player team donned while trying to toss or whack a large bouncing ball into the goal of the opposition. Both Habraum and Jeremy had been looking forward to this match for months. He had promised Jeremy that he would be home in time to watch the matchup tonight. “Sorry sprout! Work ran far too long,” he moved forward to contritely embrace his son…

  …but Jeremy backpedaled, wanting none of that. Habraum froze, surprised and a little hurt.

  “Daddy,” the boy began, as soberly as a seven year old could. “I know that you want Star Brigade to work and stuff. But you forgot a lot of things like this before Mommy died, and it really sucked for her.”

  Habraum flinched at those words. “We don’t say ‘suck’,” he snapped, trying to regain some footing.

  “It hurt her feelings,” Jeremy amended, folding his arms like Habraum. “It hurt my feelings, too.” The Cerc gaped. Suddenly, Star Brigade could have blown up in his face for all he cared. The guilt of letting his son down hit like a hard slap. Habraum had sworn that he’d be more present for Jeremy, unlike before. Unlike my dad, constantly on freighter runs. Yet despite his goals, history was repeating.

  Jeremy fixed the saggy right pant leg on his pajamas and straightened up. “That’s all. Goodnight, Daddy.” With that the boy turned and shuffled up the stairs to his room. Jennica would have known what to say, what to do. Habraum, instead, stood like a mute statue in the dim light of the common room.

  Later that night sleep came to Habraum in brief spurts, filled with dark dreams poisoned by present and past. Jeremy’s sullen disappointment…Jennica’s sad, resigned smile before she departed for Cercidale…Mirräe Ivers’s earthshaking fury after hearing that he was rejoining Star Brigade.… his very massive and very dead teammate Pel Makenokom glowing brighter than a sun, ringed by a swarm of implacable foes. The determined look on Pel’s ursine features was forever burned into Habraum’s brain—right before the Suuruali discharged a swell of scorching light that swept everything away.