Call of Courage: 7 Novels of the Galactic Frontier

by C. Gockel

  The difference between us is ludicrous, Felar noted calmly, sizing up her opponent. She scrutinized him with an appraising eye, as she had been taught and had practiced many times before.

  Not impressed, she decided finally. Despite his large size, huge muscles, and menacing demeanor, he was soft. Even with his technical training and long hours of PT, he was inexperienced. He didn't possess the hard look of a veteran. He had no scars. And despite all this, his biggest weakness was underestimating his enemy. Alexhion was too busy making jokes and smart remarks to give Felar a second look.

  Harmoth brought Alexhion's antics to an end by walking to the middle of the circle. “Let’s try to keep anyone from getting too injured, OK gentlemen? Oh—sorry, I mean gentleman and lady.” He stretched out the last word, turning it into a jeer. “First one to tap out, go unconscious, step out of the ring, or sustain a fight stopping injury, loses.” Felar bowed to the IT, though she hated to give him that courtesy, and Alexhion did the same. This formality completed, Harmoth left the ring and Felar turned to face her opponent. She began bowing to Alexhion, but as she did so, he lunged towards her.

  OK, so he is going to continue disrespecting tradition, Felar thought, circling away. He pursued her around the edge of the ring, but she easily kept out of range. This fight will be on my terms, by my rules.

  After a few minutes, he tired of pursuing her, stopping in the middle of the ring. “Afraid of me, pole sucker? Don't want to let a drop of blood soil your pretty new fatigues? I wasn't aware they let weak little pink holes into the Commandos, even if they do have such hot bodies. How many officers did you have to pleasure to get through Dog School?” He made a suggestive gesture and looked to the audience for approval. It was at this moment, while he was distracted and playing to the crowd, that Felar struck.

  She deftly closed the distance and drove her fist into Alexhion's lower back, punishing a kidney for his lax attention. A flicker of pain crossed his brutish face, but he quickly controlled it. Felar wasn't bothered. She knew how pain lingered there, how it bored deep into you. Aim here, she remembered a trainer telling her, just before he’d driven a solid fist into her left kidney. The blow hadn’t crippled her, but over the course of the instruction, each subsequent strike had added up.

  Felar quickly retreated to a safe distance, her mind resuming its embrace of the void. She knew she had the edge, but she wouldn’t allow herself to become overconfident. That kind of mistake usually ended with a painful loss.

  Alexhion began grunting and bellowing like an incensed predatory animal. Spittle flew from his mouth and his eyes had a crazed, maniacal look in them.

  Good, Felar exulted, the madder he gets, the more mistakes he’ll make. Sure enough, Alexhion charged, and this was another opportunity Felar was ready to exploit.

  Dodging left, she dropped low to avoid his grappling arms. Felar kicked out her right leg, tripping Alexhion as he ran past. His momentum kept his upper body hurtling forward, while his legs stopped abruptly. Her body shuddered from the impact of his massive legs, but she held strong.

  Alexhion’s arms kept him from smashing his face into the cold cement, but the strain of his frame was too much for the bones that supported it. With an audible snap, Alexhion's left arm broke below the elbow. As he rolled to that side, the splintered and shattered bone tore its way through his skin. The wound shone, glistening red and white, the blood already starting to flow.

  Felar looked down on the prone form with regret. She had not wanted to hurt him like that. She had meant to win the fight, but not with this result. Now this man would be out of service for at least a week while nanomachines helped his body knit the bones back together. And whether Felar supported the war or not, every Conscript, Initiate, Enlightened, Separate, and Ascended was needed for the final, massive offensive.

  Felar felt guilty for needlessly injuring Alexhion. She didn't enjoy his pain. Someday he would be a good soldier... Hopefully... Maybe... She approached him, intending to assess his injuries. Her conscience would not allow her to watch this man suffer, even if he had wished her harm. IT Harmoth and all his Initiates were just standing around the circle, doing nothing, looking shocked. He is losing blood. Their squad medic should be doing his job, Felar thought, feeling irritated.

  She reached the fallen man and bent down to start first aid. At this range, she could hear Alexhion mumbling. At first, she thought the man was delirious and speaking incoherently, perhaps having sustained a head injury. Once she leaned in closer however, she could make out the words. He was cursing her, using livid, horrendous profanities, some of which Felar had never heard before. She considered herself well versed in swear, so hearing new curses was quite a surprise. I’ll have to remember a couple of the more colorful ones. They were actually pretty good.

  Not touching him and remaining out of reach, Felar looked closely for any additional injuries. She saw none. His head seemed uninjured as well, as evidenced by his vocal abilities.

  Her initial assessment complete, Felar decided there was nothing she could do for him. If the squad medic wouldn't help Alexhion, she would have to call in support from the medical unit. They would do a more thorough examination, set the arm, and see if it would require direct surgery or if nano-tech alone could repair the damage.

  Rising to her feet, Felar noticed the malicious looks of the men standing around her. Earlier, they had all worn expressions of perverse delight. Now, they were furious.

  The Initiates started closing in, eyes burning with vengeful intent. Felar tried to regain her void state, but she found it impossible to maintain the cool demeanor that had served her so well. Her body began tensing up. Her head swiveled around furiously, trying to anticipate who would strike first.

  Felar regretted having taken off her tactical belt, knowing if she hadn't, she would have access to her twin combat swords. Their vicious, tungsten alloy blades would cut a path through these monsters, and she would be able to break the circle before they injured her. She knew they wouldn't kill her, but that knowledge didn't bring comfort. A death would result in a court-martial. The sentence to Bloodsport would be more brutal than the murder that brought it about.

  No, they won't kill me, she thought desperately, but who knows how bad they’ll hurt me once I'm down. A flash burst through her mind and a black, warm mass engulfed her.

  02 - Wake

  Wake stared out across the jagged, snow-covered peaks of Traynos-6, his gray eyes taking in the panoramic vista far below. He found the barren landscape comforting. The bleakness helped him forget.

  He felt responsible and knew the deaths were his fault. When he inadvertently looked in the direction of the accident site, his mind tried not to recognize the familiar landmarks.

  “Wake!” a friendly voice said, breaking him from his reverie. He turned to face the hatch accessing this small perch on the side of the great mountain. Raimos, his superior officer, stood in the entryway.

  “Oh—hey,” Wake replied, distracted and lacking enthusiasm.

  “It's almost time for third meal,” Raimos said. “Just wanted to make sure you didn't forget to eat, like earlier today.”

  “I'm not hungry. Maybe I'll get something later.” Wake turned back to the desolate vista. He knew Raimos wanted to help, but he needed to be left alone, needed time to think.

  “Well... OK,” Raimos responded after a brief pause. “Look, I know you're torn up about the miners, but they were just miners. They signed up for duty here and were compensated well for taking that risk. They knew the dangers, and they still came to Traynos-6.”

  “You don't think I know that?” Wake shot back. After a brief pause he continued, but this time his voice was softer, more conversational. “I understand they knew what it was like here. What they didn't realize was there would be danger in using an Ashamine built structure.”

  Raimos didn't say anything for a while, his gaze fixed on the mountains. “There is something I need to tell you,” he said finally, tone becoming official
. “I was going to wait until you recovered from the shock a bit more, but the Elder Council moved quicker than I anticipated. I've done all I can to block it, but it didn’t help. They are going to put you on trial for the accident. So, you need to pull yourself out of this slump and start figuring out how to defend yourself at the hearing.”

  Wake felt like he’d been punched in the gut. A flood of new emotions merged with what he’d been dealing with earlier. His stomach became a rancid cocktail of grief, remorse, and helplessness. A fleeting sense of suspicion played across his mind, but Raimos resumed speaking before he could explore further.

  “Anyway, I'll keep doing all I can to terminate the trial. It may or may not help, but I'll do my best.” Wake smiled weakly at his friend, feeling gratitude. “Oh, one more thing: Orders came through not to reopen the incident area. I don't know why, but Command says we aren’t to reestablish it.” He gave Wake a moment or two to respond. When he didn't reply, Raimos continued, leaving the deck as he spoke, “Wake, pull yourself out of this blightheart. Grief is one thing, but beating yourself up is another. It was an accident. Come down and get something to eat. You’ll think and feel better with a full stomach.”

  Wake sighed heavily, his breath misting even though the observation perch was climate controlled. The exterior air was so frigid it was hard to keep the windowed room above freezing. He tried once again to lose himself in the barren landscape, but after a few minutes, he realized it wasn't going to happen. Raimos' revelation had pushed him over an unknown edge. Now it was impossible to not think. Wake decided he had to reason it out, had to find a better way to deal with his grief and guilt. Maybe it was time to quit mourning and start processing. He felt his attitude shift.

  The twelve miners had died on a structure Wake was charged with maintaining. That would mean the Ashamine would hold him liable. He hadn't anticipated the trial though. These types of accidents aren't that rare. With an empire as big as the Ashamine, things went wrong regularly. But I’ve never heard of a trial, not without extreme negligence, which I obviously didn’t do. Also out of character for the Ashamine was the decision not to reopen the affected mining area. Wake didn't know much about mining operations here on Traynos-6, but he had heard the now-closed area contained some of the richest frozen gas deposits on the planet. Why would they abandon it?

  His mind drifted back to the events leading up to the accident. He recalled typing a report that used the words “unsuitable for use” and “obvious manufacturing defects” in reference to the materials he’d ordered for bridge repairs. The reply had been: “Requested material was inspected before and after shipment. No flaws found. New materials will not be sent. Use previously shipped materials.” He had up-channeled more reports and requests, but each time he did so, increasingly strong orders came down to use the parts. In the end, he had been forced to do so.

  Am I sure it was the bad parts that caused the failure? Wake thought about the plans, maintenance schedule, and memories of time spent on site. His workmanship had been good, he was certain of that. It had to be the materials! Then a new thought, something buried deep in his mind, rose to the surface. Why did they force me to use faulty parts? Why didn't they just send new ones like procedure dictates? His sense of unease rose as he thought about the implications.

  Wake had been raised to be devoted to the Ashamine. All the meetings, rallies, and his time in Youth Core had showed him just how great the human interplanetary government was. His parents were diplomats and had wanted Wake to follow their path. They’d sent him to several elite schools in preparation for his “great service”, as they had put it. But Wake didn't want to be a government functionary, going to formal events and maneuvering for political power. He wanted to make a real difference by helping people and making their lives better. So Wake rebelled against his parents and enlisted with the Engineering and Building Division.

  “We are extremely disappointed in you,” his mother had seethed the day she found out. “You were meant for bigger things. Building colonies? You're wasting your potential and everything we invested in you. You could do so much more for the Ashamine!”

  He had been with the Engineering and Building Division for six years now, and his parents hadn't contacted him since he’d left home. He knew initially they had been shunning him with the hope he would change career paths. As time passed however, they’d forgotten him in their fervor for the Founder and the Entho-la-ah-mine war.

  When Wake had first left home, his devotion to the Ashamine had equaled that of his parents. Once out in the real world however, he had seen many things that had caused him to rethink his absolute faith in the government of humankind. Not that he was ready to forsake the Ashamine—or even wanted to—but he felt he had a more balanced view now. He was still impressed by the Founder, holding a deep conviction that he was a great man and faithfully did what he could to help humankind advance in the Akked Galaxy.

  Slowly, thoughts about the building materials returned. Am I being set up? The prospect of a trial was adding a new crack in his weakening faith in the Ashamine. He was truly sad the miners had died and wouldn't duck responsibility for his workmanship. I won’t take the blame for careless manufacturing, inspection, or shipping, though, he thought. I won’t go down for a crooked bureaucrat's gain.

  Raimos would do his best to stop it, but Wake knew the trial was inevitable. If they tried him justly, based on his maintenance of the structure, he would keep his faith in the colossal government. Otherwise... Well, if it was handled unfairly, he would fight against the injustice as hard as he could.

  03 - Maxar

  Maxar Trayfis drove a thin metallic spike through the faceplate of his enemy’s environmental nominizing suit, shattering it. The void quickly sucked his atmosphere out, and the man began suffering.

  Inexperienced , Maxar observed, as his opponent attempted to hold his breath. It was a major mistake. His lungs would burst. He also failed to bring his weapon to bear on Maxar, not that he would have let him trigger it anyway.

  Rookie. In the next instant, the man dropped his rifle and opened his mouth. After another twelve seconds, Maxar saw him go limp and unconscious. Two minutes of painless rest, then the final oblivion. Maxar watched for a second longer, eyes narrowing. Lucky, he thought, emotions a mixture of remorse, boredom, and envy.

  Maxar slid stealthily back into the ridge’s shadows, a ghost of darkness. As he moved, he spotted a momentary glint near the edge of his faceplate's field of vision. Instinct took over, and he dropped down between two gray boulders.

  Sniper, Maxar thought, wondering how he’d been spotted. He brought out his optical enhancer and scanned for the threat, but found nothing. Several moments passed, then he dialed up the magnification, zoom, and every other enhancement the device was capable of. Nothing. Maxar knew if there was anything to see, he would have spotted it. His vision was perfect, and with the enhancer there was little chance of missing anything as large as a human. This left only two options: a comms drone or personnel observation cam. Both were extremely hard to spot, and as long as it wasn't an opposing player, it didn't matter anyway. Rising to his feet, Maxar cautiously resumed his trek.

  Back on the move, his thoughts crowded in. He wished it hadn't been necessary to kill the man. The death had been quick and painless, at least relative to what usually went on during the games, but Maxar would have rather just let him be. That wasn't an option though. Had the opponent spotted Maxar, he would have called in reinforcements and it would have complicated the mission. The man, whoever he had been, had never sensed Maxar's approach.

  Focus, he thought, dragging his mind back to what had kept him alive in such a deadly environment for so long. He had work to do.

  The match had started just a few hours ago, but to Maxar it felt like a lifetime. “Standard game,” the team commander had said. “Each side has a sec term in their base. First team to hash the opponent's terminal wins. All vehicles except spacecraft are authorized. All weapons except for nucle
ar are permitted. We have a hundred players to a side. All you buggering new meats, form up into infantry quads. Expect to die. Vets, I have assignments for you, but they won't be surprising.”

  After the group briefing was over, his squad leader gave him detailed instructions. “You’re solo, Maxar. Go in and soften up their base approach. Snipers, anti-tank emplacements, mines, and whatever else you can take out. You're the best we have for this.”

  “What about a stealth hash,” Maxar said, referring to a tactic that kept the battle from turning into a bloody frontal assault.

  “Nope. The Orator won't allow it. Apparently there are some important buggers watching this game. They don't want it to end too quickly or too easily.” Maxar's hope sank. The stealth hash had worked a few games past and both sides had suffered few losses.

  “OK, softening it is.” That was what he had been doing ever since the match had started.

  This is true blightheart, Maxar thought, working his way across the ridge. There were usually several snipers in this area. They used the high vantage point to get a good line of fire on the valley below. It was also a great position to spot and report troop movements.

  I wish someone would kill me like I did that guy. If I was a hardman, I'd do it myself. He hated the repetition and pointless death of the never-ending games. No matter how hard he fought, how many he killed, or how many matches he won or lost, there were always more games to come. It was eternal, and the only way out was to die or escape. And with the security on Bloodsport, the only real way is death.

  Being in a game always made Maxar remember his past life and what had sent him to Bloodsport. He’d been born and raised on Noor-5, a bustling stellar hub full of trade and rich merchants, along with a great deal of poverty and crime. He and his sister Emili grew up in a government care facility that was little more than a prison. Emili joined an indentured servant program when Maxar was 9, and she was 14, taking her out of the facility and sending her to Ashamine-2. She had written through the Terminal Network for almost a year, but had suddenly gone silent. Maxar looked for her in the Ashamine records when he got older, but she’d vanished without a trace.