Star Streaker Boxed Set 1 (Star Streaker Series)

by T. M. Catron

  Lord Francivi Aron looked conniving as ever, with his crooked-tooth smile and his thin, pallid face. Lieutenant Arnold was brown-skinned and young. Probably close to Devri’s age. He looked nervous, but he saluted Davos and stood up straight, waiting to be addressed.

  Harrison McConnell looked like he’d just been dragged from under a table. His robes were dirty and crumpled, his face red. But he stood as still as he could manage. Aron must have put the fear of Triton into him to get him to sober up on the way over.

  Without standing on ceremony, Davos nodded at Arnold, signaling him to begin his tale. The young man cleared his throat and tried not to stare at anything in particular as he recounted his run-in with Devri and her crew. The details about the encounter were fuzzier than Davos would have liked, but Arnold gave vivid descriptions of the crew members and the ship which had been called the Stanley Alto.

  McConnell snorted.

  “Something funny?” Davos sneered. The man really was an idiot. Davos could see why Devri despised him. It was a shame he belonged to the most influential family on Xanthes.

  McConnell glanced at Aron and then shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Always one to detect a lie, Davos stalked over to McConnell and stared him down. “You don’t think Devri is on that ship?”

  “Oh, umm. Yes, sir, I do think she is.”

  The younger man’s eyes shifted slightly. The ZOD in Davos’ eye registered an elevated heart rate. McConnell was hiding something.

  “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “No, sir.” He returned Davos’ gaze without wavering.

  Davos’ mouth drew into a thin, hard line. He would have taken the opportunity to threaten McConnell, but Lieutenant Arnold was looking distinctly uncomfortable. Davos didn’t care about the fool’s discomfort, but he didn’t want him telling people that Davos threatened his future son-in-law, either.

  “Lieutenant,” he said, still staring at McConnell, “tell me what happened after you boarded the ship.”

  “Ah. That’s when things get a bit confusing, sir.”

  “Did you see my daughter or not?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m certain I did.”

  Davos walked over to Arnold. “Is there something to make you doubt it?”

  “Once I got onboard, I spoke to her. She recognized me—we went to the Xanthes Flight Academy together.”

  “Did you?” Davos scowled. Sending her to that Academy and indulging her whims had been one of his biggest mistakes.

  “Yes, sir. And I remember putting her in energy cuffs.”

  “You what?” Davos fumed. “You imbecile. How dare you put a noblewoman in cuffs without direct written orders!”

  Arnold winced and said weakly, “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Davos had long ago lost his patience. The lieutenant was lucky that he made it a policy not to strike Unity officers. But he was sorely tempted.

  “And then what happened?” he ground out through his teeth.

  “And then—” Arnold glanced at Aron, as if for help. But Lord Aron eyes were as cold as ice—he wasn’t going to bail him out. Arnold’s voice grew to a whisper. “I lost her. I led her to the stairs where her crew was. Her CO told me to unlock the cuffs, and I did.”

  Davos roared, wishing he had something in his hand to chuck at the lieutenant. He really wanted to throttle him.

  Aron, seeing Davos ready to burst a vein, intervened. “And then I suppose you just went back to your own ship and flew away?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  McConnell snorted again, close to laughter. All three stared at him as if he’d come unhinged.

  “Out with it, McConnell,” Aron said.

  McConnell snickered again and held up his hand in apology. “My lords, did you expect anything less from Devri?”

  “Not less,” Davos said, glaring at Arnold. “But I do expect Unity officers not to lose their heads when she smiles at them.”

  “Sir!” Arnold said, stung. “It wasn’t like that. Something happened on that ship. I don’t know. One minute, I was in control of everything, and the next, I couldn’t remember where I was or why I had her in cuffs.”

  “Are you sure she didn’t knock you over the head for using cuffs on her?” McConnell asked.

  Arnold turned red. “I’m glad you find this so amusing.”

  “Oh, I do. I really do. None of you”—he looked pointedly at Davos—“in here know anything about Devri.”

  “I went to school with her!”

  “And yet you didn’t know her well enough to anticipate a double-cross.”

  Davos snarled. “Watch your mouth, McConnell. Are you suggesting Devri is duplicitous?”

  “No, sir, only resourceful.”

  Davos loomed over McConnell. “And you think you can be just as resourceful?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you are implying it.” Davos glared at him out of habit, but he was thinking. If McConnell claimed to know his daughter better than her own father, maybe he should send the man out to get her. He was a bungling, greedy idiot, but at least it would get McConnell out of the way for a while. And maybe he’d make a fool of himself somewhere other than the taverns on Xanthes. Yes, it was a good idea. Davos jabbed a finger into McConnell’s face. “Pack a bag.”

  McConnell paled. “Sir?”

  “You have just become the new head of the search for Devri. If you know her as well as you claim, finding her and her ship shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. If you want to marry her, you’ll go out and get her.”

  McConnell sputtered. “But sir, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

  “We have a description of the ship. I’m having security videos sent as we speak.” Davos jerked his head toward Arnold. “And the lieutenant here will escort you wherever you need to go.”

  “I will?”

  “If you don’t want to be stripped of your rank and thrown in with the enlisted, then yes, you will. You will ferry McConnell and find my daughter.” Davos glared at them. “And make sure my future son-in-law doesn’t get distracted by anything along the way.”

  McConnell and Arnold both gaped at Davos. Arnold, who had too much to lose if he didn’t comply, pulled himself together and saluted. McConnell, however, looked like he would argue.

  Seeing McConnell wavering, Lord Aron cleared his throat. “I’m sure Harrison would love to bring his future bride back to Xanthes.”

  McConnell glanced at Aron, looking defeated.

  Still feeling like they were keeping something from him, Davos narrowed his eyes. “It should be an honor, McConnell. You still want to marry my daughter, correct?”

  His tone dared McConnell to say something in disagreement. Like Devri, McConnell didn’t have a choice in the matter, but Davos would sooner betray the Emperor than let McConnell admit he didn't want to go through with the marriage.

  McConnell tore his eyes away from Lord Aron to look at Davos. “Of course I do, sir. The honor will be all mine.”

  “Good. We don’t have a minute to lose. You leave tonight.”

  A Conversation

  BONUS Short Story

  A week after leaving Prometheus, life aboard the Star Streaker had improved. Rance had sent a message to her father from Waystation 10, a space station between Prometheus and the Nilurian Belt. It handled millions of transmissions a day from thousands of ships, the perfect place to send an anonymous message. As soon as he received it, her father would have tried to trace her. But with all the traffic, spotting Rance on security footage would have been difficult.

  Communicating with Davos at all was risky. In the five years Rance had been captain of the Star Streaker, she’d never been tempted to contact him. But she and the crew agreed that the attack on Prometheus was bigger than Rance’s issues with her father or the threat of an arranged marriage.

  Her biggest worry was that Davos had a description of her ship, but it had been a risk she was willing to take.

&nbs
p; The risk had paid off. A day after she sent the message, Unity ships descended on the Nilurian Rebels besieging the planet. Either Davos had received Rance’s message, or a separate call for help had gotten through the rebels’ blockade. A terrifying battle had ensued. But after two days of intense fighting and bitter losses on both sides, the rebels fled the planet.

  Prometheus was in ruins. Whole cities had been destroyed. Millions of people had been displaced.

  And no one knew why. If the Nilurians had intended to start a war, they had given up quickly. Unity was currently pursuing the scattered remnants of the rebel fleet across the empire.

  A happy consequence meant that Unity would no longer actively hunt for Rance and Solaris. It wasn’t the way she wanted, but she was grateful for a reprieve from being chased everywhere she went.

  While at Waystation 10, Rance contracted to courier a shipment of completely ordinary, harmless neural circuits for a small armorer. The circuits were used in heads-up displays for custom helmets. The most out-of-the-ordinary thing about them was that they were legal. Rance triple-checked the company’s credentials before agreeing to transport them. She didn’t want any more trouble, nor was she keen to endanger her crew’s lives again.

  Ever.

  Two days after taking on their cargo, Rance walked the ship on night patrol. She padded through the peaceful ship in her bare feet. The ice-cold metal floor bit into her skin, but it felt good, kept her alert. Being in her bare feet wouldn’t be prudent if they ran into trouble, but Rance’s broken toe, although healed, still ached when she crammed it into boots. Her other injuries were in varying states of healing, but she could walk and move around without much discomfort.

  Always having someone on duty didn’t use to matter much in hyperspace. Unless the Star Streaker was going to be sucked into a black hole, they had been safe in their little dimensional time bubble. But ever since Solaris had told her that the empire had ships that could follow another ship into hyperspace, Rance had insisted someone be on duty continuously.

  She walked into the galley, intent on finding a midnight snack. Since Solaris had gone to bed hours before, she was surprised to see him sitting at the table, eating a piece of double chocolate cake. Beside him, his handset sat on the table, projecting a holographic, 3D puzzle into the air. He swiped lazily at a puzzle piece, assembling a monochromatic image that looked like an ancient sailboat on the water.

  After weeks of tightening their belts, the crew could finally afford to feed themselves. Moira had paid Rance handsomely for getting her off Prometheus. After the loss of Sonya, Rance hadn’t wanted to take the money. It didn’t seem right to profit from so much loss. She would have gone to Prometheus even if they had known about the pirates ahead of time.

  Rebels, not pirates, she reminded herself.

  But Tally had pointed out that if Rance didn’t take the money, their days of flying from system to system would be over. And the crew needed to be paid, the Star Streaker repaired. It had received some minor damage to the hull during their flight, but also several circuits boards had needed replacing after Deliverance shorted them out.

  Rance grabbed a clean fork from a drawer and leaned across the table to steal a bite of Solaris’ cake. Chocolate wasn’t her favorite, but she figured her body was still healing from all its injuries, and she needed the extra fuel.

  “Did you learn to steal cake at your father’s dinner parties?” Solaris asked without looking up from his puzzle. His face had almost healed, his humor somewhat returned. He’d been more quiet than usual, though. They all had.

  The cake was better than Rance had expected. She sat down across from him and smiled ruefully. “Davos’ chef used to make cakes so tall they reached the ceiling of the solarium. Or they mimicked the purple fountains in the courtyard, with icing that looked like flowing water.”

  “You lived such a hard life out on Xanthes.”

  “It had its challenges. Ever been to a nobleman’s party?”

  “Once, on Triton.”

  Rance raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really.”

  “Lots of fake hair, copious amounts of makeup, and more scheming than a cave fox in a hen house.”

  “What were you doing at a party on Triton?”

  “Chasing down an interplanetary assassin.”

  “You’re just making that up.”

  Solaris swiped the final piece of his puzzle into place and then looked up. “I’m not. Former Galaxy Wizard, remember?”

  “So, tell me about that.”

  “The assassin?”

  “Being a Galaxy Wizard.”

  “As I told you a few days ago, those aren’t things I can talk about.”

  Rance rolled her eyes. “Just talk about it in general. I’m not looking for imperial secrets. Do you miss it?”

  Solaris sat back, regarding her. “Do you miss being a nobleman’s daughter?”

  Rance shook her head. “No.”

  “Well then.” Solaris looked back at his cake as if he’d just answered her question.

  “But you’re thinking of going back,” she said, realization taking hold. The idea made her stomach queasy, although she didn’t want to think about why.

  “If rebels are openly attacking Core worlds, the Wizards will need everyone they can get.”

  “Will they accept you back? I thought you were a wanted man.”

  “I am. And I haven’t changed my mind about their new methods. But under extenuating circumstances, they might grant clemency so I can work for them again. There aren’t enough Galaxy Wizards anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “Recruitment is low. They handpick people. Orphans, mostly.”

  Rance remembered what Solaris had told her that night at Moira’s, while they watched Prometheus burn, about losing his family when he was very young. “Orphans like you?”

  He nodded. “Like me.”

  “Do you think of yourself as an orphan?”

  “Nah.” He smiled. “I have you, Captain,” he said, then added as an afterthought, “…and the crew. Before that, I had the other Wizards. They were my family.”

  “I imagine they are holding a grudge since you left.”

  “You could say that.”

  Rance eyed the rest of his cake. She was burning with questions. Her curiosity had intensified ever since they’d left Prometheus, but she’d never found the opportunity to question him. Until now. “What did you do to become the most wanted man in the Galaxy?”

  Solaris smirked. “Thought you didn’t like chocolate.”

  “This chocolate is okay.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it had already been dished out. I was feeling too lazy to fix myself something.” Rance stole another bite and winked at him.

  Solaris looked at her warmly. “Are you flirting, Rance Cooper?”

  Rance turned as red as their pet cappatter’s fur and choked on her cake. She sputtered for an embarrassing length of time, in which Solaris got her a cup of water and stood at the ready, possibly to do the Heimlich maneuver.

  When Rance managed to breathe again, she waved him off. “I’m not going to die.”

  “Good. It would be unfortunate if your dying breath were used to flirt with me.”

  Rance took a sip of the water and washed down the burning in her throat. “I only wanted your cake, not to flirt with you.”

  Solaris sat down across the table and laughed, his first in days. “You could have asked.”

  Then, he pushed the rest of it over to her.

  Rance smiled at the gesture, but she wasn’t sure she wanted anymore after she’d nearly asphyxiated on the last bite.

  “So?” she asked. “Why do the Galaxy Wizards want you so badly?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Rance waited for Solaris to begin the story. But he didn’t. Instead, he busied himself with turning the holographic puzzle around and around on its axis.

  “I don’t have those portentous dreams much anymore,” he whi
spered after a moment.

  Rance lowered her voice, too, although they were the only crew members awake. “The ones about the galaxy burning? Isn’t that a good thing?”

  Solaris met her eyes. Pain and regret crossed his face. His eyes had taken on a haunted look, one Rance was surprised to see on him.

  He took a deep breath. “It makes me wonder if I left the Wizards for nothing. What if those dreams were just… dreams? Leftover nightmares from my childhood?”

  “Then you left an organization you still didn’t agree with. Isn’t that the right thing?”

  “Yes. And no. Not the way I left it.”

  When Solaris didn’t elaborate, Rance toyed with pressing him for more information, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Whatever the reason, Solaris was haunted by something. If he wanted to share, he would.

  To steer the conversation toward a more innocuous topic, Rance asked, “How did you meet Harrison McConnell, then? Please tell me he wasn’t the assassin.”

  Solaris snorted. “I thought you knew him?”

  “I do—I’m still technically betrothed to him.”

  “Then you know that Harrison couldn’t assassinate anybody if they laid down at his feet and did it for him.”

  Rance laughed. “So how did you meet him?”

  “By chance. After leaving the Wizards, I hitched a ride to Xanthes to look for work, and for a lowly position on a ship where I could stay under the radar. Harrison was at the spaceport one day while I was asking around. His father runs it, apparently.” Solaris looked to Rance for confirmation.

  She nodded. “That and ten others across Xanthes.”

  “And yet you don’t want to marry Harrison? Why not?” Solaris grinned mischievously.

  Rance looked at the last bit of cake. Maybe it wouldn’t kill her. She stuck her fork into it. “Like you said, I’ve met him. That’s enough to deter anybody. So, then what happened?”

  “I asked if he knew of anyone needing a crew member, showed him my credentials.”

  “Your fake credentials. You lied to me.”

  “I didn’t. Everything I told you about me is true.”

  “You didn’t go to the Xanthes Flight Academy.”