by A. C. Ellas
Cai waved a hand toward the other seats. “I’m fine, this is normal, it’ll pass.”
Evie glanced at Nick, so he nodded confirmation. “He always looks like this fresh from the Chamber.” Nick pulled out her seat then pushed her in once she’d sat down. He went around the table and sat across from her; Cai was at the head of the table.
The adjuncts brought the meal in, starting with the crisp salad made from vegetables grown in their own carefully nurtured garden. A hearty soup followed, and then, the lasagna was served alongside handmade bread. Cai selected a light wine to accompany the meal, and once everyone was eating, he said, “I received a batch of dispatches when we passed the beacon.”
Due to the difficulties involved in passing messages to interstellar spacecraft, the United Republic had created a network of special satellites that orbited a few million klicks inside the heliopause of every system occupied by the Republic. The bulk of their bodies consisted of stacked crystalline data storage shielded by a gravitational field that caused even gamma rays and micro-meteors to swerve around them. Most importantly, these satellites were connected to one another through quantum pairing. Every time a ship passed one, the AI would routinely query the beacon for messages, and if any existed, the messages would be downloaded to the ship and deleted from all the beacons in the network.
“Anything interesting?” Evie didn’t hide her eagerness at all. Dispatches were often the highlight of the week, especially for a ship that spent much of its time in enemy space as they did.
“Perhaps. I don’t pry, but I couldn’t help but notice the origination label. You received something from a Doctor Demos of Athens University.”
“Ah! I met Nikolau on that dig in Thessalonika, the one where we excavated an old gladiator arena. He specializes in Rovani archeology.” Evie grinned at them as she noticed their interest. “I’d be happy to share anything he sends with you. I know you’re both interested in the Rovania.”
“Thank you,” Nick said immediately, Cai echoing his words with a great deal of warmth.
In fact, as soon as the plates had been cleared away, Evie accessed the message. She read aloud the note attached to the data. “My dearest Evelyn, I thought you might enjoy a look at some of the old recordings we found in a cellar on Samos. The recordings were partially damaged, but we were able to convert the data to a more stable storage media, clean it up and partially restore it. All my best, Nikolau.”
Evie opened the package, and Cai smoothly transferred it to the largest of his in-chamber screens. The first piece was a still image of a male Rovani. The creature was tall and powerfully built but also sexy. His fur was tawny golden, marked with bronze stripes and spots and looked incredibly plush. The Rovani’s wild mane was bronze like the markings; his slit-pupiled eyes glowed like molten gold. Steel chains ran from rings affixed to both ears to the ring dangling from the nose. There was also a solid steel collar around his neck and bands around wrists and ankles. At first, that much steel seemed like overkill, until you stared into those cold eyes, and then, it didn’t seem like nearly enough. The caption read, “Tachero, out of Mathina, by Telthis, in the line of Nathizo, born 1184 New Era, retired to stud 1297. Arena Champion.”
“I’m not sure if he’s more lion or more tiger, but from the look in his eyes, he’s all killer.” Cai shivered. “I’d hate to have faced him in the ring.”
“You’d have lost,” Nick said absently, still staring in absolute fascination at Tachero. “I’ve heard of this one. He was the only undefeated Rovani gladiator in the history of the games—he didn’t lose a single match—but his own fame was overshadowed by that of his son. Tachero was War Leader Yeraki’s father.”
The rest of the data was even better—recordings of some of Tachero’s actual matches. They were uncensored recordings and included the victor’s sexual use of the loser for the matches that didn’t end in death. Nick felt his crotch tightening as he imagined being put to Tachero’s pleasure. The Rovani was not only powerfully built, but also very well endowed. There’d be no mistaking that massive cock for anything else as it plunged into the body of its conquered opponent.
One match was different—it wasn’t Tachero fighting but another Rovani. This one was silver and smoke to Tachero’s gold and bronze, his mane was black and diamond, and his eyes blazed like emerald fire. Tachero had fought with the mace, this one fought with a double-ended fighting spear. Both were powerful, quick and deadly as well as beautiful. Evie drew in a sharp breath and froze the playback on a particular frame. She magnified the caption. “Yeraki, out of Zora, by Tachero in the line of Nathizo.”
They all took a second, closer look. The relationship to Tachero was obvious, only their coloring differed. Nick thought Yeraki the more handsome of the pair, but he wondered if he’d still think that after looking Yeraki in the eye. Was the son a cold-blooded killer, too? History implied that he might have been. He was an Arena Champion as well as the infamous War Leader who’d first led a successful slave uprising before defeating the alien Q’Kathi. Nick wondered what his life had been like, how bad had it been, that revolt had seemed a viable option? In the end, the Rovania had died free, but they had all died.
Chapter Four
“This is Space Corps Frigate Laughing Owl. On the authority invested in us by the Aldebaran colonial government, we are commandeering your vessel under United Republic regulation four dash seventy-seven dash forty-three dot one eight nine six. You will immediately dock your vessel at Rumstein Station where you will offload all cargo and nonessential equipment. You will board the maximum number of civilians your ship can support for rapid transit to Epsilon Tauri. Please acknowledge this message at once.” Cai finished sending his transmission to the mid-sized ship. The hull was battered and patched, the profile no longer symmetrical. It was part trader, part miner, and as independent as anyone could be in this day and age. He mentally counted the seconds for his message to reach them, for them to formulate a reply, for the reply to reach him.
“Fuck you, Laughing Owl. You got no right to do this. This ship’s my livelihood. If I dump my cargo, I’ll starve.”
About what he’d expected. “You will be compensated for the value of your cargo,” Cai replied patiently. “Failure to comply with this order is not in your best interest. Not only will you be charged with treason, but I am also authorized to use force to take your ship, and if that happens, you will not be compensated for your cargo, assuming you survive the marine assault.”
The silence was much longer this time. Cai felt the tingle of the tramp freighter’s scan and purposefully let them detect his armament. He hadn’t yet been forced to take one of these tramps, and he didn’t want to, it was so much better, not to mention faster, to just get the half-crazed captains to comply.
“Who the hell are you? I’m gonna put your name in my formal complaint!” The freighter was changing course now, onto a heading that would lead to Rumstein Station.
“I am Astrogator Cai, and you may complain all you wish about being forced to leave a star system before the Rel attack comes. Laughing Owl thanks you for your cooperation in this matter, as do the women and children whose lives you’ll be saving.” After three solid days of redirecting tramp freighters like this, Cai had gotten more than a little used to their blustering ways.
“Laughing Owl, I don’t have jump capability.”
“I am aware of that. Once you onboard your passengers, you are to set course for the Epsilon Tauri hardpoint where you will rendezvous with the Hunter Space Lines cruise liner Nebula Dreamer. Nebula Dreamer will piggyback you through the jump to Epsilon Tauri.”
“Roger wilco, Laughing Owl.”
Cai snorted in amusement at the old-fashioned radio slang, and although the tramp had said he’d comply, Cai watched him long enough to be confident that he was, in fact, heading for the station.
Another transmission pinged him; this one had full visual feed as well as audio. Cai accepted the call but did not o
pen a visual of his own. The man on his screen was a hunk—wavy golden hair, dark blue eyes, a tanned and masculine face with a square jaw, good cheekbones, and laugh lines at the corners of his lips. His features were even and proportionate to his clean-shaven face.
“Very nice,” Nick murmured on their private channel. “You’re cuter though.”
“He looks familiar,” Cai muttered back, wondering why he felt so certain that he knew this man.
“Laughing Owl, this is Samuel Hunter of Hunter Space Lines. I know you’ve already commandeered Nebula Dreamer, but I wasn’t sure if you were aware that we have three other liners in this system right now. I’d like to offer them for the rescue operation.”
“Mister Hunter, this is Laughing Owl. According to my data, your cruisers Quasar Dancer, Star Princess, and Queen Andromeda are inactive secondary to necessary repairs.”
“Laughing Owl, those ships are being refit, yes, but we’re talking about décor, not anything that would render them unfit for space. They have skeleton crews aboard as well as their Gators—I calculate that you could get close to ten thousand souls out in each one of them.”
“So many? That’s twice your rated capacity.”
“For a short hop like this, we could double up without adversely affecting the ships. We have more ships converging on Epsilon Tauri to take the refugees off the freighters and miners; they can also relieve the crowding in these three.”
“Mister Hunter, I commend you. It’s been a pleasure working with Hunter Space Lines.” Cai could only shake his virtual head in awe at the generosity of this man. He mentally contrasted it to the grudging acceptance at the threat of force he’d received from the independent miners. Stereotyping said it should have been the other way around—the independents should have bent over backward to help and the callous corporate ships shouldn’t have given them the time of day.
“Just doing my duty as a member of the human race.” Samuel Hunter offered a wry smile. “I do have one request though.”
“Go on,” Cai said cautiously. He’d learned to be wary of requests.
“Could we have pictures of your Gator and officers, please? For our records, of course.”
That was unusual but certainly seemed harmless. It took Cai less than three seconds to assemble the requested data and transmit it. It took much longer for the data to span the distance between Laughing Owl and where Samuel Hunter was. Cai also sent instructions on where each of the three volunteered space liners should go before he turned his attention to tracking down another tramp freighter.
* * * *
“Seek out the one named Kye and you shall have your answer.” That’s what the Guild finder had told them after Jason had run away. For years, Sammie had kept looking, never giving up hope. He had even started looking at Astrogators, since they were all given three-letter names, but there was no K-Y-E in service. There was a K-I-E, and also a K-A-E, but neither of them were his missing brother.
Chance had brought him out here to Aldebaran to check on the refit of the three cruisers just as Laughing Owl had arrived with warning of an impending Rel attack. He’d run a routine scan of the ship to verify its legitimacy, a Space Corps ship couldn’t be easily counterfeited, but pirates were endlessly inventive. The ship’s registration SCS-0193-CAI checked out—an Owl-class frigate with a solid record of service under Captain Nick Steele.
Sammie had felt a jolt as his attention had fixated on the Gator’s name. C-A-I. He called up the governor, an old friend of the family. “Say, Charles, that frigate that’s just arrived? How do you pronounce the Gator’s name? I don’t want to offend him when I call to pay my respects.”
“Astrogator Cai isn’t the ass most of them are,” Charles replied cheerfully, giving him his answer in context. It was pronounced Kye.
Sammie had planned his next moves carefully. The Guild was fanatical about the privacy of their Astrogators. They didn’t even make static images of them available, nor did the Space Corps. Why should they? The Astrogators never left their ships, ships they were neurologically attuned to, so there was never a need for an ID check on them. In the end, all he’d had to do was ask. Cai had sent him the data without even hesitating or wondering why.
There were butterflies in his stomach as he vetted the data as safe from any known computer viruses, not that he thought there was a chance that a Space Corps Gator would send him corrupt data, it was just a routine habit. He opened the file and drew in a sharp breath. There was no mistaking the man for anyone but his missing brother. The platinum blond hair was as tousled as ever, the man’s face was sharp and angular, his eyes intensely blue, almost violet. He was still a slender reed but no longer scrawny looking. The slight quirk to one of those pale eyebrows hinted at the personality beneath.
“So, you were hearing voices,” Sammie muttered to the image, as if it could respond. His next step would land him in deep water if the Guild ever found out. He composed a carefully worded message to include with the data packet he put together. After the fight, he’d send it to Laughing Owl.
Chapter Five
Laughing Owl was patrolling the route to the Epsilon Tauri hardpoint. The three cruise ships were docked at the three largest moon bases, many of the smaller installations were already empty, a variety of small craft were pushing their structural tolerances as they raced for the perceived safety of the waiting Nebula Dreamer, which had already made two round trips to ferry the rescue crafts across the jump. Two more Owl-class frigates had arrived as stealthily as only an Owl could manage, and they were assisting in the process of prodding the rescue craft along.
“What about us?” had become the single cry from the inhabited planet as the civilians realized that they weren’t being rescued. Any ship that lifted off the surface was immediately commandeered to aid in the evacuation of the various space installations that didn’t have the benefit of an atmosphere or natural gravity. “Hold fast and hope they don’t bombard you,” wasn’t a satisfactory answer, but it was the only answer they could give.
The first Rels entered the system days later than Cai had originally estimated but still too soon as far as the half-completed evacuation was concerned. The fleet hadn’t arrived yet, either, though that didn’t surprise Cai in the least.
Nick immediately sent the other two frigates a message. “Omani Owl, Boreal Owl, this is Laughing Owl. I suggest we stage hit-and-run attacks on lead elements of enemy fleet. The civvies will flee on their own now that they can see the threat.”
“Concur. I’ll concentrate on the left side of their formation.” That was Captain Ezra Buchanon of Boreal Owl.
“Do you want the right or the center?” Captain Darren Shaw of Omani Owl wanted to know.
“We’ll take the center,” Nick replied cheerfully. “I have a few ideas.”
Cai was already maneuvering. Stealth wasn’t a consideration in this situation, so he poured on the power as he accelerated. He fed his gunners coordinates in real time, updating their targets moment by moment. His pilots were in their fighters, their engines hot and ready to launch as soon as Cai gave them clearance. At point seven five c, he cut his thrust. That was as fast as he dared go, not only for his own structural safety, but also because any faster than that, the energy requirements were too great for the theoretical gain in velocity.
Nick pinged him via the shipnet on their private channel. “Cai, I have a crazy idea to float past you.”
“I’m listening.” They had closed half the distance to the oncoming Rels now. In another billion klicks, he would launch fighters.
“Skip and shoot.” With the words came the concept of Laughing Owl skipping, appearing right next to a Rel, shooting and skipping on to the next one.
It was a brilliant idea but risky. Cai wasn’t sure he could hold up his end of it, skipping wasn’t easy, even if he’d done it before. First practical consideration. “How would the gunners get their targeting data?”
“They wouldn’t need any—we�
�d be close to point blank.”
Second practical consideration. “The risk to the fighters—”
“Don’t launch them until you can’t skip any more. I know you can’t take them all with this method; I’d be happy for even a few.”
“It’s worth a try,” Cai admitted. He told both the gunners and the fighters what was planned then called up the jump protocols and entered the number storm. “All hands, prepare for emergency FTL transit. Collision rules apply.”
The bridge both repeated him and added, “All hands must be in an acceleration couch in three minutes from mark. Three, two, mark. Repeat, all hands must be in an acceleration couch in three minutes. Cai cannot stop for you. Get your ass in a couch on time or kiss your ass goodbye.”
That last line was so unexpected it almost caused Cai to lose concentration. Firmly, he turned his attention away from the bridge and immersed himself in the elegance of the equations he needed to solve. He picked his target—the closest of the Rel ships that he could sense—armed his missiles then twisted the heart of his singularity partway. He hovered on the event horizon of the wormhole, partially in subspace, partially in real space, out of phase with the one, out of sync with the other. It was painful but not structural-damage-occurring painful.
He released his hold, popped back into reality and fired a broadside at pointblank range. The results were as impressive as even Nick would have wished; the enemy ship spun away, flames erupting from multiple hull breaches. Cai followed with a second round of missiles to finish them off. He selected another target and twisted reality again. Once more, he felt the peculiar stress-pain of the skip, but it was short-lived and he entered normal space exactly where he wanted to be, fired his missiles and killed another enemy ship.
“I don’t know how many more times I can do this,” Cai warned Nick as he searched for another target. “The stress caused by balancing on the event horizon is immense. Once actual structural damage occurs, I’ll be forced to desist.”