by C. C. Ekeke
“I’m back with Star Brigade,” Habraum spoke again, exuding a calm poise he did not feel. “But my combat team is light years from being field ready. I need your help. I need you…on Star Brigade.”
Truly? Marguliese said as a few yellow ciphers reflected off her arms. Of course I will assist you.
Habraum’s mouth went dry. He gawked at the Cybernarr. “You’ll help? Just like that?”
Would you rather I draw out my response time for your offer?
“Oh no,” Habraum said hastily. “It’s probably best that I come get you, most likely after tomorrow.” A Cybernarr trying to enter Union Space would surely grab UComm Border Security’s attention, particular with the anti-Cybernarr tech they employ.
Will my presence create any problems for you?
Habraum thought of the risks; UComm, the Kedri, the Thulicans. Khrome. “Let me fret over those problems,” he said adamantly.
19.
Liliana Cortes heard the news last night.
She was one of seven Brigadiers chosen for today’s UComm field exercise. Her reaction had been a medley of shock, anxiety and queasiness.
The queasiness didn’t present itself until morning, after Liliana ate a nouribar for breakfast.
She ran to the lavatory and retched the food back out.
“Madre, I’m a doctor, not a Star Brigade field operative,” she moaned while washing her mouth out with water. In the mirror her honey complexion had turned ashen, her delicate features awash with fright. She gripped the sink, fingers trembling. When Liliana had told her parents about reenlisting in Star Brigade, her doctor mother’s horrorstruck expression painfully came to mind—quickly followed by frosty contempt. The Cortes matriarch’s disapproval had been even worse than when Liliana accepted the xenoimmunology fellowship on Hollus three years prior. She knew you weren’t strong enough, a voice scolded. And with how rough these three weeks had been since Lily left her boring, but cushy job on Terra Sollus to rejoin Star Brigade, her mother’s pitiless skepticism didn’t seem so unfounded.
When it came to shooting with her sonic abilities or firearms, Lily’s accuracy was exceptional. She could thank Sam thank for that, dating back to when they trained together during her medical fellowship.
Every other aspect of her Brigade training had been a disaster.
The end of each day brought new aches and bruises from bungling her way through field simulations, barely surviving survival training, getting trounced daily in hand-to-hand combat drills.
The lone solace Lily had found was from her Medcenter night shifts. While its primary functions were to serve the officers aboard Hollus Maddrone, the Medcenter’s other main function was medical research. The latter aspect had been the incentive that convinced Liliana to become a full-time Brigadier in the first place. Her Medcenter boss, Chief Medical Officer Rwynyr Simony was an odd but chipper Xyobian xenobiologist, with a proclivity for random cartwheels…in midsentence. He had been nothing but encouraging of her research on the physiology of maximums, never questioning her research choice. “As long as you’re producing results that can get published and aren’t wasting my resources, study Kheldoroshii mating habits for all I care!” So Liliana had no intention of sharing her reasons.
The doctor had half-hoped that her poor training performance would place her in the Medcenter full-time. But now having to go on a field exercise where she would most like embarrass herself and Star Brigade…on a spaceship traveling through hyperspace. Her stomach churned into queasy knots again.
Then Liliana remembered both Sam and Captain Nwosu’s faith in her from day one. This and a queer desire to prove that contemptible Kintarian, V’Korram, wrong hit Liliana like a ruthless meteor strike, goading her into her the black, silver and red field uniform.
Dios Mío, Liliana thought as soon as she reached the launch bay where Star Brigade would be departing. A huge, sleek battle cruiser loomed before her. She knew enough about space vessels to identify this one as Century-class in size, easily dwarfing the shuttle which Liliana had taken to Hollus. The nose was a spoon-shaped front beak, tipping the elongated triangular-middle region and half-discus wings on either side near the rear engine section. Both wings were studded with pointy weaponry. A shimmering cobalt hull coated the cruiser, with some glowing areas sprinkled here and there.
Dock workers and astromechanics buzzed like worker bees around the ship and the open entrance ramp jutted out of its belly, making certain that the ship was ready for the rigors of deep space travel. All the safety precautions did zilch to dissuade Liliana’s fears—and space sickness! She stood frozen, legs unresponsive. “We’re going in that?” she whispered.
“Actually, yes,” boomed a deep, accented voice. Liliana turned to see Captain Nwosu striding up to her left. He had shaved away any stubble that sprouted during training, leaving only a well-trimmed goatee. His outfit varied considerably from her standard Brigadier outfit. The white and royal green colored nanoweave armor with goldenrod shoulder plates, gauntlets and boots, fit his broad-shouldered and sinewy physique like a glove, cutting quite a formidable image.
“The Phaeton’s a beauty. One of three new attack cruisers straight from the UComm Shipyards at Mekaal.” Nwosu gazed at the ship affectionately, his eyes sparkling like twin pools of gold. He then noted Liliana’s lack of enthusiasm. “You weren’t expecting a rubbish name like Bird-of-Prey, yea?”
“No sir,” Liliana fake-smiled, her stomach twisting up again. Nwosu’s face was more handsome and approachable when he wasn’t in command mode barking orders.
Nwosu studied her more closely. “You yakked this morning.” It wasn’t a question.
His hazel-gold stare hit like a neuro-stungun. Liliana stared back blankly. Whoa! Forget the nausea. Her round cheeks warmed and she nodded guiltily.
The Cerc captain chuckled. He towered over Liliana by over half a foot. “Lemme guess, the bollaberry and cream nouribar?”
Again Liliana gaped. “H-how did you know?”
Nwosu shivered in disgust. “That flavor’s dreadful on bad nerves.” He gestured to the ship, his smile lingering. “We’ve a solid combat team on this mission. Your stomach still work?”
Liliana frowned at the odd question. “I think so.”
“Then yo’llright,” he grinned in typical Cercidalean optimism. “Come on. We’re hauling off soon.”
With that Nwosu released her from his gaze and marched toward the Phaeton’s entrance ramp. He greeted each dockworker and astromechanic by name before disappearing into the ship. Liliana shook her head to clear it and sighed. Nwosu’s words lifted a substantial weight off her shoulders, at least enough to get her legs moving. Once inside the ship’s passenger/cargo section, she entered the main bridge.
The wide circular expanse of the bridge bustled with activity; comm, weapon array and tech stations blinked rapidly with displays and consoles. To her left Khrome and Tyris quietly bickered at the tech station, the former toying with a strange device. But Liliana had no time to wonder about its purpose as she was still taking in the rest of the ship. At the bridge’s midpoint was a sizeable table and TriTran display of the Cercidalean Sector, where V’Korram sat engrossed in his datapad, still looking surly. The doctor couldn’t help but note how gracefully catlike the Kintarian’s posture was for one so massive.
Beyond that, on an elevated level were the flight controls and main viewport, occupied by Captain Ishiliba, an unfamiliar pilot and now Captain Nwosu, who had just approached the cockpit. Sam, also in her field outfit, winked at Liliana before leaving the comm station to join Captains Nwosu and Ishiliba.
Liliana did a double take. Sam’s skin-tight field outfit—if one could call it that—was crimson with a wide white strip patterned down the middle on both front and back. The uniform’s low cut on both sides showed off some skin on Sam’s back and much more of her front. Did she pour herself into that? Liliana chuckled at the outfit’s absurdity.
“Ensign,” V’Korram’s growl jolted Liliana fr
om shock, and soured her stomach again. “I would have words.”
I would have you airlocked into space, the doctor fumed, but held her tongue. Lily had planned on avoiding him. The Kintarian’s green-flecked eyes stayed on his datapad as she approached.
“If we are to work together, then it is best that we clear the air,” V’Korram growled, touching the dot that was Cercidale on the TriTran display. Instantly the dot ballooned into a diagram of Cercidale and its many moons. “I will be more patient with your shortcomings, if you are willing to surmount them.”
Sam made him ‘apologize,’ Lily realized, almost laughing in his face. Probably the closest to an apology she would get from V’Korram. “I’ll be sure to do that. Since we’re clearing the air—.”
“Good. Now leave.” V’Korram cut her off, ears flattening. Liliana took the hint this time, shaking her head and moved closer to Khrome and Tyris.
“What are these?” Tyris asked. He expertly tossed up one of the tiny mechanisms Khrome had creating by hand from spare electronics. “Another failed mechanical aphrodisiac?”
“HAH. Don’t need one, unlike you.” Khrome feigned amusement, putting the finishing touches on a gadget. “This doohickey will blow you to smithereens if you keep doing that.”
The Tanoeen stopped twirling the gadget. Khrome guffawed and snatched it away from him.
Tyris’ slanted indigo orbs narrowed even more. “Where is that?”
“Where’s what?” Khrome replied idly.
“The Smithereens?”
Khrome eyed the Tanoeen irately. “Smithereens is human slang for blowing things up, Einsteiner.”
Tyris furrowed his icy brow in perplexity. “Why not ‘huge explosion?’”
“I don’t know! Do I look like a human? We got three on the same bridge as you. Ask them—!”
“Enough!” V’Korram roared, drawing stares from Sam and Captain Nwosu. Tyris and Khrome stared back at him in mock surprise. “All you two do is blather on like clowns. Act like Union Command officers for once and cease your…offbeat shenanigans!”
Khrome’s noseless face crinkled up as he burst into laughter, a metallic ring in it. Tyris’s cackling sounded like cold wheezing, even with no visible nose or mouth.
V’Korram’s feline-like face scrunched up furiously. “What?”
“Offbeat shenanigans?” Tyris wheezed and clapped. “Who says that?”
“Him, apparently.” Khrome pointed at a livid V’Korram. “And here I thought it was quirky hijinks.”
Tyris’s beady cobalt eyes widened, as if from an epiphany. “Wacky repartee, perchance?”
That was it for V’Korram. With a snarl he uncoiled cat-like from his seat and stormed off the bridge, his footfall never making a sound.
“Offbeat shenanigans rule!” Khrome crowed as the bridge exit closed. He and Tyris fist bumped up and down, followed by a hand salute. The Thulican then gave Liliana a thumbs up.
“Behave kids,” Sam admonished with a smile, returning to her conversation with Captain Nwosu. Liliana giggled for the first time since stepping foot on this wretched vessel.
“Brigadiers,” Nwosu’s voice boomed from the helm of the bridge. “Prepare for takeoff.” The Phaeton’s stellar drive engines hummed to life, sending a shudder through the bridge. Liliana flattened in her seat.
So much for that short-lived relief, she thought, refusing to look at the main viewport.
20.
Honaa’s laughter whistled through his needle-like teeth in quiet, sissing noises. From Hollus Maddrone’s launch bay out into Zeid’s emerald skies, Phaeton’s liftoff was smooth and swift. Using the ship’s controls were as effortless for Honaa as breathing. His rounded pilot seat, made of the foam/metal alloy kollesium, adjusted perfectly for a Rothorid as soon as he sat down, opening up a tail-hole to slip his tail through.
But those comforts played no part in why Honaa was so amused. He had the antics of his nervous co-pilot, Perseus Liddell, to thank for that. The 21-year-old Martianborn was on loan from AeroFleet Academy due to Star Brigade’s shortage of mission pilots.
Barely a child, Honaa thought, watching Liddell efficiently manage his flight controls. But the unease of inexperience colored his movements. “Slingshot jump marker dead ahead, sir.” The Rothorid turned to see the blinking buoy a few hundred metrids ahead, marking the proper area to slingshot jump.
“Acknowledged Ensssign, prepping ssship for ssslingshot jump.” Honaa punched in the proper commands with scaly and clawed fingers. The hyperdrive navcomputer blinked with readiness.
“Initiating ssslingssshot jump now,” Honaa rasped with satisfaction.
With a few keystrokes, the emerald clouds of Zeid on the viewport blurred into bright green streaks for a few nanoclics, blending beautifully into the familiar glowing starlines of hyperspace. The jolt of the jump sent a shiver down Honaa’s tail, followed by a yelp from the ship’s bridge. Cortes with her ‘hyperspace phobia.’ Honaa pretended not to notice her cowardice. Just then the streaking starlines of hyperspace swiftly reverted into individual stars, with Zeid nowhere to be seen.
Honaa hadn’t felt this energized in months—years in fact, his whole being alive, like when he’d been given command of his first combat team six years ago. Yes, this was just a military exercise, but Star Brigade getting an invite spoke volumes—the circumstances of that invite notwithstanding.
Honaa’s companion had noticed his renewed excitement when they spoke this morning, which was nighttime where his family lived on Rothor IV. His twin sons expressed the mock annoyance that always gave way to their usual enthusiasm. Chitchat with his elder offspring was easy and could pick up as if no time had passed between them. Not the case with his three younger offspring, whose lives he had mostly missed thanks to his Brigade duties. Those exchanges were stiff and awkward, his queries receiving monosyllabic answers. Ending transmissions with his family were always painful, this morning stabbing him through the gut. Honor your duty, honor the family, Honaa had repeated at least three times to surmount the heartache. Once Star Brigade is back on its feet, Honaa would be a more present father. Telling himself made it all easier.
“Current location?” Habraum Nwosu came up beside Honaa’s chair and scanned the star-filled viewport. The bald Cerc had hung up his AeroFleet pilot wings years ago, but Honaa still sensed Habraum’s palpable excitement when traveling through the stars.
“Near Ipsisss, ssssir. We’re five orvsss away from the rendezvous point in the Cercidale Sysssstem at maximum ssstellar.”
Habraum folded his arms and eyed the Rothorid. “Take us through Barsulae Asteroid Belt past Rhyne. Should shave 2.5 orvs off our trip. Captain, join us.” The Cerc then left flight control.
“Acknowledged,” Honaa punched the coordinates into the navcomputer, barely feeling the ship roll to starboard toward the asteroid field. Seeing Habraum back in uniform as a field commander felt right, only adding to Honaa’s good mood. “Got it from here, Ensssign?” he asked Liddell.
“Yes, sir,” Liddell’s voice cracked with unease.
“Carry on, Ensssign.” Honaa rose from his seat and approached the front bridge chairs. He found Habraum and Sam leaning in comfortably close, speaking quietly. Honaa never placed much stock in rumors about these two and their ‘friendship’ over the years. If they were true, he wouldn’t be surprised.
“It’ll be a flight group from my old SACOS mates, a small PLADECO Omega Group regiment,” Habraum stated about the Spec Ops groups attending today’s field exercise, “and definitely a Space Marines TROJAN fire team.”
“Two strike teams from PLADECO’s Aerial Nautical & Terrestrial Infantry are coming,” Sam added, crossing her legs in that ridiculous field outfit, “even though they’re not part of JSOG.”
The Cerc shrugged, golden eyes twinkling. “The more the merrier. ANTs always are fun to stomp.”
Honaa didn’t know if he felt more surprised or gladdened by Habraum’s newfound composure about this military exercise. “Quite
an attitude change from yesssterday, Nwosssu.”
Sam laughed. “I know, right?” She eyed the crimsonborn Captain warily. “What. Are. You. Hiding?” she demanded, punctuating each word with a poke to Habraum’s chest. “Talk.”
Habraum smiled sheepishly and threw up his hands. “Sleep can do wonders for one’s point-a-view. We have solid operators that can be a great combat team. Today is where that journey starts.”
“Greatnessss only comesss with field experience and maturity,” added Honaa, glancing over at Khrome and Tyris through narrowed orange slits. Tyris had poked one of Khrome’s gizmos, freezing it. The Thulican promptly gave him a light shove—light enough to only knock him out of his chair and not across the bridge. Honaa prickled. Yesss, the maturity isss definitely lacking.
Habraum stood up, turning to the bridge’s center table. “Then let’s hammer home the importance of this exercise.” Both Honaa and Sam nodded in accord.
“Brigadiers, fall in.” Liliana shut down her display with a few clicks on her datapad. Both Khrome and Tyris ceased their comedy routine and pulled into seats beside Honaa. Aside from the hiss of the bridge entrance, nobody noticed V’Korram return to the bridge until he had slid into a seat between where Sam and Habraum were standing. Both Brigadiers looked mildly startled by his abrupt appearance.
“Some ground rules before we brief you on this field exercise.” The Captain leaned on the bridge table with both fists. “First, you represent Star Brigade. Lolly-brained mistakes on the field reflect on all of us. We think, act and fight as a unit. There’s no I in team,” he then eyed Khrome with a half-smirk. “And the ME is irrelevant.
“Second, only codenames on the field. Let’s make sure those are known to all.” Habraum stood up at attention, glancing at his team. “Reign.”
“Jakadda,” V’Korram growled.
“Heatstroke,” Sam said.