Call of Courage: 7 Novels of the Galactic Frontier

by C. Gockel

  Beneath the nearly manageable riot of pain and ice, a great sinking stillness washed over her. She may as well have been adrift in the same void that encompassed the rusted little vessel they called the shelter. She was as devoid of course or purpose now.

  Where was Lineao and his talk of Paths now? Perhaps he would have laughed at her.

  “I need access to get a trans out,” Veradin announced. His voice, so long held at a tight whisper to avoid the detection of the sensor drone, seemed overly loud against the metal walls. “I have to find someone…anyone in Origin that will listen to me. First has to know that they made a mistake.”

  Haven’t you heard? First doesn’t make mistakes.

  “We must stay away from Origin at all costs,” she said, flatly.

  “Or even a way to get a downlink to the Regime datafeeds.”

  “To do what, sir? It is strategically unsound.”

  The words strategically unsound were often his invitation to argue. His shoulders went square and stubborn.

  “I need to know what’s going on, why this is happening,” he said, kneeling before her. The desperation seemed to radiate from him and enliven the soreness in her chest, increasing it. “I need to find someone. If this is happening to me, then she could be in jeopardy as well. There has to be a way to find her.”

  She? That now too-familiar icy barb reappeared as she thought of the image capture in his quarters. Her captain with his arm thrown around a dark-haired beauty.

  “The moment the IDS matches our ident, they will destroy us,” she argued.

  Automated weaponized beacons that guarded the outskirts of Origin’s more developed regions were capable of destroying a non-reg vessel like the Cass. Especially one that lacked appropriate clearance. Approach of Origin was tantamount to suicide. But there might be a means to gain the information he wanted. Possibly…

  He studied her face. “You have an idea, don’t you?”

  “We have to capture a Fleet coms array.”

  Veradin smiled broadly. There was no joy in it, only recklessness. She immediately regretted sharing the idea.

  “Ty, I could kiss you.”

  “One assault per day is enough for me. Thank you, sir.” Sela turned away, feeling her ears grow hot.

  The gutted remains of the coms array lay scattered across one corner of the deceptively large cargo hangar of the Cass. Sela scowled at the rolling lines of data on the portable interface, but it made no difference. This was her fourth time through the snarled mess.

  “It’s just like I said. There’s nothing more here.” She sighed. An intense headache thudded behind her eyes.

  “That’s good, right?” Veradin had stopped pacing. Now he sat on the last step into the cargo bay, his interlaced fingers cradling his head.

  “I’m not sure how, sir.”

  The trans to the account of Information Officer Trinculo had been stark, simple. It called for the arrest of Jonvelish Onid Veradin. No charges or accusing parties listed. Although the trans bore the emblem of the Council of First, it seemed…off.

  The branding of a Kindred as a traitor would be prime gossip disguised as news for consumption by Citizens in the Known Worlds beyond Origin. Yet there were no other feeds that mentioned the Veradin Kindred. Nothing in the fugitive codex or the First-controlled media feeds. It was a single bloody missive meant to be quiet, unrecognized. And seemingly designed to not cause a ripple.

  “Suspicious does not begin to cover that,” Veradin muttered.

  “Is it possible that Trinculo was implicit?” Sela offered. “Perhaps Captain Silva had this arranged?”

  Veradin dismissed it with a shake of his head. “Such an action is rather dramatic, even by Kindred standards. Silva is a prideful fool but knows our rules. It’s too risky. And there’s no style to it. No trial means no audience.”

  “When they came to get you in the hangar bay, it was a show for everyone,” Sela said. “But when Trinculo arrested you, even the surveillance crawlers had disappeared. They didn’t want a record.”

  She had heard tales of the back-biting and political wrangling that took place among the cresters for influence within the Council of First. But to seek to have a perceived political threat killed was the equivalent of declaring war on another Kindred and its allies. As a soldier, she found that part easy to understand.

  “Trinculo was not behind this. I’ve known Information Officers like him before. He is a self-righteous functionary, a blind follower of orders—which he’s made abundantly clear today. He lacks the imagination required to become corrupt,” Veradin added. “Something’s missing here.”

  A new idea struck her. Who else was curious about Jonvenlish Veradin and might access his file? When she searched the index that monitored access, she sat bolt upright at the results on the screen: the Ravstar seal. It represented a secretive division within the Regime, mainly associated with weapons tech and development. They were black ghosts operating well off the radar. They were not something you wanted to know too much about.

  “Sir…” she hesitated. “Why would anyone with Ravstar attempt to access your files?”

  “Ravstar.” He breathed the word, eyes widening. “Erelah. But why?”

  “Sir?”

  “Erelah Veradin.” He regarded Sela with a red-rimmed stare. “Find her, Ty. Please. She’s a civilian consultant appointed to Fleet. I need her location.”

  Inwardly, Sela sighed. She did not want to know about this mystery woman.

  I am nothing if not duty bound.

  Again, she searched the interface. Each time she spliced the interface frame from the array was another chance at their detection. If the wrong person were looking at the right time, the Cassandra’s location would be known.

  The response to this search was too quick.

  “There’s nothing here, sir. Just a civilian birth record.”

  He frowned, quickly striding toward her. “Nothing?”

  “There’s no location listed, Captain.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Veradin peered over her shoulder at the tiny screen. With an exasperated grunt, he snatched the handheld from her. He thumbed through the screens, muttering, “She has to be somewhere.”

  Sela peered up at him, waiting for answers.

  A new and strange uneasiness rattled her raw nerves. There were barely visible shapes moving in very murky waters here. That same internal something, a quiet voice that dwelled at the back of her skull and had served her as long as she could remember, now screamed warnings.

  This is wrong. Search no further.

  “So much doesn’t make sense.” Veradin lowered the handheld. His distant gaze rested on the rusting wall of the hold. “We have to find…someone. There have to be loyal Kindred somewhere. Divus. Novian. Someone.”

  Sela knew where this was going.

  “Attempting to contact anyone is strategically unsound,” she warned. “Enforcement agents would expect that. We’re not going to be dealing with inexperienced SSD troopers anymore. It’ll be EEs…enforcement elite, sir.”

  Veradin was back to stubborn, gone-square mode.

  “Cap’n, why would Ravstar seal your records?” When he did not answer, she tugged at his arm. “Who is Erelah? Your mate?”

  His gaze cleared. It was as if he remembered she was there.

  “Mate?” he scoffed. “No. She’s my sister.”

  Relief melted the ice. Sister.

  She nodded but did not truly understand. Sela was sure she had half-siblings, dozens perhaps, all sharing the same birth mother, a duty-bound breeder in a kennel along the fringes of Origin. It was a violation of Decca to know them. They had lived, and perhaps died, ignorant of those with whom they shared a bloodline. The concept of any sort of attachment to them ended there. The men and women of her company were more like brothers and sisters than any of those strangers. That had been the intention.

  My strength is the soldier beside me. My heart and mind, I give to the Regime with h
onor; I forsake all else.

  “Erelah was always determined to do what she wanted.” His expression saddened. “Smart. Too clever for Uncle to send her off to study in a temple somewhere. She joined Fleet after his death. I wasn’t too happy with her for doing that. It’s been a while since I last talked to her. We didn’t leave things on the best of terms.”

  Sela shifted, unsure. This was alien territory and forbidden. It had never occurred to her with any great detail that cresters had personal lives and histories filled with complicated entanglements. She was uncertain what she was meant to say or do.

  “I don’t know why someone would just…hide her,” Veradin said, slowly circling the dismantled drone, studying the scarred deck plates. “How do I find her? What if she is in danger as well?”

  The fact that his sister’s location was unknown suggested that danger had already found her. But Sela kept this observation to herself. He was already prepared to take reckless action to make simple contact. It would not serve to motivate him further.

  “I still need answers. I’m going to get them. I know approaching Origin is dangerous. But there has to be a way in.” His eyes were fixed on a distant place when he spoke. “You don’t have to come with me. You’re caught up in something here that should have never involved you. We’ll find some place safe for you—”

  “What! No, sir.” Sela stood up. The sudden movement drove a wedge of pain into her chest.

  But he kept talking. “This is all my fault…somehow. It’s not your fight.”

  “That won’t matter, sir,” she said.

  She snatched the handheld back and thumbed through the screens to show him what she already knew.

  There, listed like a footnote for daily ship’s business for the Storm King , was the death warrant for Commander Sela Tyron, for desertion of duty, signed by Information Officer Trinculo. Sela thrust the screen back at him.

  “I’m as good as dead again anyway.”

  Part II

  The Humans. They arrived as refugees, claiming that their home, Earth, lay among the stars well beyond ours. They journeyed an impossible distance, made short by their surprisingly clever ability to make use of a natural tear in the fabric between worlds: wormholes, they called them.

  Had they met us first, the Eugenes, the tale of their arrival would have been different. Perhaps we would have even helped them. But the Fates placed them in the path of the Sceeloid, our sworn enemy.

  Of course, there were those Eugenes who welcomed the Humans as the Palari, the lost children. It was a story passed down through the hundred ages even before the Council of First sat in judgment of all. Every Eugenes child, noble or base born, knew it well.

  The Fates, mystical sisters that governed the lives of all living things: Natus, the mother; Metauri, the task maker, and Nyxa, the cruel. There had once been a fourth sister, Miri, the youngest and granter of mercies. She was the one charged with determining the Paths of Eugenes souls, but the task grew heavy on her heart. Miri sought to rebel against her sisters and created the Palari, brothers and sisters of the Eugenes that had free lives with no set Paths. She hid her children away and sent them into the far darkness of the wild stars, the place we now call the Reaches, to fend for themselves. There they dwelled, well beyond the roving, wizened eyes of her older sisters.

  One day the fierce dragon, Sceelo, came to the Fates, demanding the gift of Sight that the Fates possessed. He wished to see into the hearts of all Eugenes, his enemy, and to better know their weaknesses.

  The Fates laughed at Sceelo’s boldness, sending him away. But Miri followed him in secret. Worried for her lost children, she struck a deal with him: She would grant him the Sight, and in exchange, Sceelo would protect the Palari. The cunning dragon agreed, but the moment his Sight was granted, he killed Miri and consumed her body. The children of his body came to possess the Sight as well.

  When the remaining Fates learned of Miri’s murder, they were powerless to destroy Sceelo, for he could see into their hearts and minds and outsmart their schemes in battle. For many years, Sceelo terrorized the Eugenes, slaughtering them easily by using his stolen gift. Although the Fates could not take back Miri’s gift, they could change the Eugenes. If a Fate touched a newborn Eugenes within three nights of his birth, his heart and mind would be protected from the prying eyes of Sceelo’s wicked Sight.

  After many years, the Eugenes grew stronger, vanquishing Sceelo and his soldiers. He was forced back to his lair at the entrance to the Reaches, where he ruled all. The children of the Fates were safe from Sceelo, except for the forgotten Palari, who would forever be vulnerable to Sceelo’s Sight.

  When the Humans came in their great battered vessels full of many families, you would not know one from a Eugenes. The differences were minor and easily missed by the untrained eye. Of course, their speech was indecipherable. Their tech was miserably primitive. To many, it was an embarrassment to embrace these frail backward beings as kin. This small, pitiful group fell upon Eugenes shores seeking refuge from the Sceeloid, who had tried to consume them like the great fabled dragon from long ago. The Sceeloid had enslaved many of them, burning into their minds with the Sight.

  The Humans that had escaped this danger brought the disease of weakness with them. And, in the end, some believe we had little choice but to do what came next: extermination.

  “Observations on a Ruined World”

  Helio Veradin, Seventh Councilman of Argos

  Excerpt from his speech to the 498th Assembly of the Council of the First Children of the Fates in protest against the Purge of Humans from Eugenes space.

  Chapter Nine

  Two Years Ago…

  “Beautiful.”

  Erelah Veradin did not realize she had said the word aloud, watching the twisting azure swirl of the nascent flex point’s visible light distortion wave on the monitor. The phenomenon, a very safe fifty-thousand meters away from the station, was easily explainable as a matter of excited electrons colliding around the fold-center—a rather dry way to describe something so lovely.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Senior Tech Adan Titus muttered under his breath.

  Erelah glanced at him, realizing he was staring, again, at her. She briefly met his gaze. He grinned. The blood rushed to her face and neck. Adan never missed an opportunity to flirt.

  Old Sissa would have frowned in disapproval. A proper lady would have discouraged Adan’s overtures from the start. After all, Erelah was to join the Order of Miri to become a priestess one day. What would Uncle say…?

  Neither one of them were here anymore. Were they?

  Erelah focused on the monitor. As she blinked, the light evaporated, replaced by the silver-skinned stryker prototype her team had dubbed the Jocosta .

  She released a relieved sigh, shared by the other members of the team. Then all remained silent, anxious for the sensor report.

  “Systems nominal. Shielding at full. Internal sensors indicate an increase in temp,” Myrna called, reading breathlessly from the transmission of the unmanned craft. “Hull’s intact. Impulse, atmo, are all good.”

  Someone whooped joyfully. It was probably one of the other civilian consultants. Like Erelah, they tended to be a little more obvious in emotional displays. She joined the collective chuckle. There was a good reason to celebrate. They had succeeded where previous NeuTech teams had failed: the first vessel to make a jump without a flexpoint in the history of Fleet or anywhere, to her knowledge. The test results were far from final, but this was an incredible breakthrough.

  This could change travel among the Known Worlds forever. Transport between regions would no longer be governed by control of mapped flex points and the territories surrounding them. A vessel—more accurately, a vessel equipped with a j-drive device like the one on the Jocosta —could create an artificial access and egress point. And to demonstrate this ability with something as small as a single-manned stryker compounded the success. Until now, the smallest vessels with conduit travel capability we
re the outmoded Cassandra models. But those still relied upon mapped flex points.

  Erelah tried to stem her excitement. There was still a great deal of data to review, but there was a glimmering certainty to today’s success she could not deny at her core. This was it!

  It was not her team’s efforts alone that had allowed them to reach this point, only continued research that they had been chosen to undertake. Each success and failure had been built upon the last. The Jocosta Project was decades old. She had dug up early records, basic notes really, that dated back to the time of the Purge. None of the previous NeuTech teams had gotten this far…until now.

  If only Uncle could have lived to see this. What would he have said? Would he have been proud?

  That thought muddied her excitement. Her uncle had been a pacifist, and stern in his criticism of the Regime. Even now she could visualize his disapproving frown. And she was not foolish. She knew the backers behind the NeuTech installation were far from peaceful in their dealings. That was not how the Regime enforced the will of the Council of First. It would be childish to assume otherwise.

  Certainly her brother, then, would share her joy, were she not bound to secrecy. The level of security at the installation raised paranoia to an art form. It was nearly half a year after her arrival before she had been permitted to send a carefully worded and highly edited trans to Jonvenlish.

  “Excellent work, Lady Veradin.” Adan placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezed once. “Congratulations!”

  Erelah smiled, allowed herself to be pulled back to the present. The moment Adan had learned of her hereditary title, he wasted little time in using it to embarrass her. She had begged him not to call her that around the Jocosta team. But he meant it now as a form of good-natured teasing. No one else had seemed to notice.

  The title had been bestowed upon Erelah with Uncle’s death. Helio Veradin had disowned the only other surviving member of her Kindred, her brother, Jonvenlish. It was a little family drama that had no use on a research installation, except as distracting gossip. Having a title of lord or lady here only set the owner apart. It was not very useful when trying to promote a smooth work environment, especially when surrounded by conscripts and techs.