Call of Courage: 7 Novels of the Galactic Frontier

by C. Gockel

  “Atilio. I failed him.”

  “You aren’t responsible. There is a limit. You have to leave some of it to the Fates.”

  Her next words seemed to travel from far away. She had no intention of uttering them, but they appeared nonetheless:

  “Captain, have you ever known one of my kind to become a Citizen?”

  The question seemed to catch him completely off guard. He hesitated, dragged a hand across the back of his neck. “I’m not going to lie to you...”

  “I see.”

  Somewhere, Lineao was probably smiling with smug satisfaction.

  “Why did you ask me that?”

  “On the planet, there was a cleric to the Fates…”

  Sela stopped abruptly as if realizing her surroundings. She perceived a subtle movement in the darkness beyond her captain’s shoulder. There at the junction of wall and doorframe nested a crawler, an automated unit used for ship-wide surveillance.

  She had wanted to tell Veradin about the deserter-turned-priest, about watching the Storm King from planetside, about the warring jangle of doubts now taking root in her mind. And about the anguish of watching her son die without ever being able to tell him that his mother had known him, was proud of him.

  “I apologize, sir.” Sela lowered her head. “I’ve already taken too much of your time.”

  “No apology necessary.” He studied her, his gaze questioning.

  She glanced up. A second crawler had appeared on the ceiling above them.

  “I should go, sir.”

  He returned Sela’s salute. As she turned, he pressed a hand on her shoulder. “No.”

  She looked down at his hand, then up at him. “Sir?”

  “What did you want to tell me?”

  “This was wrong of me, sir. I shouldn’t even be here uninvited.” Her voice was barely audible above the rustle of fabric and the whisper of the environmentals. “It’s not Decca—”

  “I know Decca. The fleet XO just spent the past three hours reminding me of it. And right now, Nyxa can have it.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You came here to tell me something. I want to know what’s bothering you.”

  Sela was intensely aware of the crawlers now but did not pull away.

  “Captain,” she warned, casting a wary glance around. He could be so careless, and nearly contemptuous, toward Decca. He had never been raised as a breeder.

  “Sela, what is it? You can tell me.”

  Can I tell you? Would you understand? Trust was not the question. She bore it wholeheartedly for this man.

  “Atilio—” she began.

  Heavy footfalls echoed from the corridor. Sela pulled away from him and straightened her shoulders.

  “Captain Veradin.”

  Two troopers tromped into the corridor, shattering the strange tension. From the gleaming black of their lowered visors and heavy, oversized armor, it was easy to tell they were SSDs: suppression and surveillance deployment for internal lawgiving and infractions.

  Sela licked her lips. Something was wrong. The crawlers had only just appeared, and she and Veradin had committed no real transgression in their interaction. Although she had danced tantalizingly close.

  Her hand moved to the spot on her thigh where her sidearm would be, had she not surrendered it to the armory tech.

  “Speak,” Sela demanded and took a half-step forward, barring the path between the SSDs and her captain.

  “Captain Veradin, come with us.” The guard ignored Sela, who stiffened at the slight.

  “Why?” Veradin asked.

  “You’re under arrest, sir.”

  “What charges, sub-officer?” Sela blurted. “Under whose authority?”

  The smaller trooper seemed to regard her for the first time. Although it was impossible to see her expression under her lowered visor, Sela detected the slightest tone of reverence in the woman’s voice. “Stand aside, Commander Tyron. Please.”

  “Whose orders?” Sela repeated.

  The SSDs shared a look before the female one answered. “Officer Trinculo.”

  “The Information Officer? Silva pulled the Information Officer into this?” Veradin said, astonished. “I’ve had assurances from the XO that the issue had been resolved.”

  It was absurd, even by crester standards. Silva had wrangled Veradin’s arrest for what amounted to a conflict of egos. This was not something to appear even briefly on the radar of someone as powerful as Trinculo. His authority superseded even the battlegroup’s commander.

  “On what charges?” Veradin demanded.

  “Sir, the IO gave explicit instructions—”

  “You’re not taking him,” Sela growled, filled with challenge.

  “Commander Tyron, our orders are from the IO. If you do not comply, you will be punished.”

  “Fine. Punish away,” she snapped.

  “Ty, stand down.” Veradin grabbed her arm.

  “Captain?”

  “You heard me. Stand down.”

  He kept his eyes on the two SSDs, but his expression told her something else. He saw it too. This was far more serious than a pissing match with an over-inflated ship’s captain. The two officers showing up in the bay to lead Veradin to the XO had been for theatrics, drama for everyone to see. It sent a message of discipline being served out, even among the cresters. This action was secretive. Not the way Regime did things. This was wrong .

  Sela realized that the two crawlers had disappeared. Incredibly, this scene was not being recorded.

  She turned her focus back on the two troopers and gauged her odds. With a little luck, she might be able to disarm the one on the left before…

  “No. You can’t, Ty. Think,” Veradin whispered as he stepped past her. He turned his back to the troopers and clasped his hands behind his head. “Breathe. Count to ten.”

  Panic washed over Sela as she watched them place the restraints on him, like some common criminal.

  “Ty,” he said, facing her. His expression was stony, jaw set. “Do nothing. This is not your fight. I order you to stand down. I’m going to take care of this. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir. I hear you.”

  She saluted him, arms stiff. Technically, she had just lied to her captain. Sela had no intention of obeying his orders.

  Chapter Five

  Count to ten. Breathe.

  The trick Veradin had taught her still wasn’t working.

  “Officer Trinculo.”

  Sela nearly regretted speaking when Trinculo’s flat gaze moved over her. His mouth pulled into a distasteful bow. It was as if he had been expecting her. His frown deepened as he studied her head to toe. At that moment, she was fully aware of her mired utilities and grime-covered face. Her appearance might have evoked awe in the Fleet techs, but Trinculo was far from impressed. No doubt, he would have expected her in full dress before even considering appearing at his hatchway.

  She did not even own a dress uniform.

  The stout older man resumed his reading. She stared uncertainly at the top of his thinning silver hair.

  “Officer Trinculo,” Sela repeated. “Sir?”

  “Commander,” he said, seemingly engrossed by the reads on his desk. “Are you lost?”

  “I would speak with you, sir.”

  “It is little wonder Captain Veradin is arrested if he does not discipline his second for her unacceptable attitude and manners to superiors. Perhaps Veradin’s correction is overdue then.” Trinculo said with a bitter sigh, leaning back in his chair.

  She flinched. Not much. Just enough to earn a renewed scowl from Trinculo. She swayed from foot to foot, uncertain.

  “Are you going to enter or jitter about in my doorway, Commander?” he asked, perhaps realizing she was not going to leave.

  She stepped into his suite, ducking her head beneath the low-set jamb. Immediately she saluted. When it was apparent he would not return her salute, Sela snapped into a straight line, eyes firmly fixed on the seal of First set in the bulkhead above his desk. Her
fists folded against her thighs.

  She began, “Captain Veradin’s arrest—”

  “Commander Tyron, you will cease your inquiry.”

  “This is a mistake,” she blurted.

  “Mistake? You judge the decisions of First and call them mistakes? All I know is my duty, Commander. Does that make you wiser than me as well?” Incredulity filled his voice.

  Her eyes widened. “First? Then it was not Silva…”

  “You will cease this, Tyron, if you value your position. You have already endangered your career because of the wayward influence of Captain Veradin.”

  His influence? Her eyes left the seal over his shoulder and fell on his face.

  “Perhaps it was an oversight to appoint one of his kind as your captain, that damnable Miri sect with their high-handed preaching of equality for breeders…of all things.” Trinculo seemed to nod to himself in agreement. “He has done you a disservice by treating you in such a way to make you think you are special…equal.”

  The open insult to Veradin made her furious, but she held her tongue.

  “Do you think I am blind, Tyron? I know of your…inordinate loyalty to Veradin. As a soldier of the Regime, you have a sworn oath to uphold the teachings of Decca. He is your superior. You are his subordinate in more ways, may I point out, than one.” The disgust was plain in his expression.

  Rumors and half-truths were his business, Sela realized. Of course, Trinculo had heard the stories. But they were just stories. Regardless, she felt the flush invade her face.

  “You will quit this…adolescent fawning at once.”

  He rose and stepped around his desk, hands clasped behind his back as if he were loath to chance touching her.

  “Why risk everything for a half-imagined romance with an officer who is clearly off limits to a breeder such as yourself? You must obey Decca, Commander Tyron.”

  “Captain Veradin and I have never—”

  “You disobey Decca, you disobey First.”

  Sela drew her chin up. She looked directly into his face now. Her words were edged with frost. “First would have seen us die, abandoned on that planet. Death without honor is not Decca. Should not the same Decca guide First as well? Is it not interesting how First decides when Decca is convenient or not?”

  Incredibly, she heard Lineao’s words coming from her own mouth.

  “Enough!” Trinculo’s hands curled into fists.

  “Captain Veradin is why I am alive. Not First.”

  “Jonvenlish Veradin is dead quite soon. He will be collected at the next FP transfer.” He leaned closer. No more yelling from him, but a soft, steely voice. “Tyron, do you wish to join him? I can grant your fondest wish and see to it you are shackled at his side.”

  Dead. They were going to kill him.

  She blinked. Her shoulders sagged, and her breathing hitched. It felt as if something within her had crumpled. She was hardly aware of stepping closer.

  “Do you not ask why, Officer Trinculo?” Her voice was quiet, almost introspective. “Why does First destroy an officer that has served with unwavering loyalty? What are the charges against him?”

  “They are of no concern to you, Tyron.”

  “Sir, Captain Veradin has—”

  “This decree was issued by First. It is sufficient for me. That should be sufficient for you, breeder.” He jabbed a bony finger into her sternum. “Whatever thoughts are loose in that spongy mass you call a brain, Tyron, you are wise to ignore them.”

  “He is innocent.” Her throat tightened under the threat of tears.

  “Innocence. Guilt. These are things judged by our betters.” He leaned close, his chin nearly bumping into hers. “First ordered your birth and can order your death, breeder. You will forget Captain Veradin. Understood?” His mouth was a compressed white hook.

  She stared at him, unblinking.

  “Am I clear, Commander Tyron?”

  “Crystal. Sir.” She spat the words.

  “You were never in this room, Tyron.” He turned his back on her, returning to his chair. “You will never return to this room. Or speak of this again .”

  She did not wait for Trinculo to dismiss her.

  Count to ten. Count to a hundred. Breathe.

  Not working!

  The shower’s icy stream pelted her scalp. Sela leaned her forehead against the blissfully cool tile. The water cut tiny valleys into the collected grime that covered her body. Around her feet small puddles of mud collected, another memento of Tasemar that refused to leave her.

  The showers were abandoned at this time in the Storm King ’s duty cycle. It was one of the few places she could be alone to think.

  A quiet, formless sobbing tried to escape her throat. It had been a very long time since she had done this. Last time she had cried, or the closest to it, was back in the kennels, after what had happened with Stelvick. She now felt just as powerless as she had then.

  Sela had hated Jonvenlish Veradin at first. She specifically remembered wishing him ill from the moment she had heard of his assignment as the new battalion leader. She had not yet seen the man, but already fantasized a less-than-charming end to his career.

  When the former captain, an ancient bastard named Ithrall, had kicked it in his sleep, Sela had been granted probationary command over D Company. Field promotions of breeders like this were not unprecedented. They were often temporary and made out of necessity. Their battlegroup had been engaged in a conscription sweep near the Allights, with trained reinforcements from Origin delayed by nearly a year. With Ithrall’s death, Sela was the most senior among the platoon commanders.

  She had grown accustomed to the role and made the mistake of thinking of it as her own when Jonvenlish Veradin appeared out of nowhere, brandishing his crester status to claim her command.

  A typical Kindred. Typical crester.

  Clearly still, she could remember standing at attention, wronged and full of righteous fury, in what was now his ops room. Veradin practically lounged in the room’s only chair. He propped his glossy black boots at the edge of what was now his logistics table. The collar of his jacket was undone, tunic belt loosened. Distractedly, he raked his fingers through his short dark-brown hair while reading Sela’s file, the summary of her life. He yawned.

  Does my life bore you, crester?

  “Sela Tyron, Commander. Eight campaigns. As many commendations for bravery. Six for valor. Field promotion over Deinde. Held that what? Over a year now?”

  It was evident he did not expect her to reply as he continued to read from the handheld’s screen.

  “The other platoon commanders sing your praises. Incredibly, you have made not one entry for discipline or corrections for any of the one hundred and eight soldiers under you. Why’s that?”

  This time he was expecting an answer. She stared holes through the Great Seal in the wall over his head. Her hands balled into fists. “Never had cause, sir.”

  Do you think me incompetent? Perhaps I let my soldiers run rampant, like the breeders we are?

  Veradin was oblivious. “They say mixed companies are harder. But D Company, not a conscript to be found, all Volunteers.”

  Sela had no idea who the Sceelah “they” were, but it was insightful. There had been an occasional conscript come through. They never lasted long. Sela had never bothered to figure out why.

  Interesting how he chose the polite word: Volunteers as if he were afraid he would offend. She had heard far worse from cresters.

  But Veradin addressed her as if he were speaking to another crester. She suspected he was trying to confuse her and play at some sort of psy-analytic to trip her up.

  He frowned at something he read in her file. “You declined advancement into Special Ops Elite. Any Volunteer would jump at such an opportunity. Why?”

  “I was needed here, sir,” she answered stiffly. It was a half-truth.

  Mere months after she had assumed temporary command of Deinde, she had received the trans from Origin. It was the firs
t time in her life that she had ever received any sort of communication from outside of her battlegroup. The invitation to join SOE had been another surprise, but by then she knew her answer. Atilio had resurfaced in her life, and she knew that she was not going anywhere.

  She tore her gaze from the seal. As their eyes met, he gave her a lopsided smile. Sela guessed it was meant to be charming or affable. It really just made her want to punch him.

  For the first time, he demonstrated his uncanny ability to guess her thoughts. “Tyron, I’m not your enemy here. Can’t you get to know me before you hate me?”

  She did not answer, only watched him. He didn’t need a response, as he seemed to do the talking for both of them.

  “I know what you think: here’s some ignorant crester…that’s what you call a Kindred like me, right?”

  She watched him. Is that what someone told him? Use their words, their slang, and you’ll fit in.

  “So here I am, some ignorant crester. I took what you deserve. I took your command.”

  Bricky bastard, I’ll give him that.

  “But you don’t deserve to command an infantry cache,” he added, flopping the handheld onto the table. Her career quantified, neatly encompassed and apparently dismissed.

  “Sir, I—”

  “I think you deserve better,” he said. “You deserve more. You’re not some simple grunt, Tyron. Don’t think like one.”

  Veradin pushed away from the desk. He rose, seemed to consider pulling his tunic back into more orderly lines and gave up.

  Sela frowned. Certainly, he was testing her or, worse, mocking her. This was entrapment.

  “Sir?”

  “Tyron, I am selfish. I need a second with your skills and your strengths. You know the soldiers under you. It makes little sense to start over with an entirely new second. I know why you made no discipline entries: loyalty. No one commands that. It’s earned. You’ve already earned it from this company; I have a long way to go to get it.”

  Cresters don’t talk to breeders like this. It just doesn’t happen.

  “So, Commander I will make you a deal.” He stepped around the desk. Sela was surprised to see that he stood nearly a half-head taller than she. Cresters were always shorter.