Call of Courage: 7 Novels of the Galactic Frontier

by C. Gockel

  “You do look refreshed,” Benson replied. “No denying. Man, when we unloaded from the meat wagon after your last game, you looked buggered. I thought maybe the sniper had nicked you or something before I term’d him. Can't deny we were all bummed your spew missed Hatcholethis though. Woulda been a good ending to a blighthearted day, and at least you would have gotten merry outta your pain.”

  “Yeah? Well, I don't think it would have gone well for me had I hit him. I suppose the fact I racked him a ton of money would have helped. And thanks for taking that sniper out. You saved my ass.” As Maxar finished the sentence, a tall blond man entered the staging area, taking his place on a platform at the front of the room.

  “Give your attention,” he said, voice harshly ringing off the room’s metal walls. Maxar and his teammates quieted down and listened intently. The briefing was important for developing strategy for the upcoming game. No one wanted to risk their lives by ignoring it. “Today will be irregular,” the blond man continued.

  Upon hearing these words, Maxar became more interested. Irregularities meant a possibility Bloodsport security might be compromised somehow. Somebody, somewhere might make a procedural mistake. He focused harder, trying to spot any opportunities.

  No one had ever escaped the Bloodsport asteroid. Many had tried. Maxar could remember several he’d seen killed in the attempt. He’d also been forced to watch the lethal hand-to-hand cage matches of those who’d been caught. All the would-be escapees were experienced operators with good plans. But then again, none of the runners were me. A small, wry smile crossed his face.

  “As some of you know,” the briefer said, “Entho ships have been bombarding Haak-ah-tar with a new kind of weapon. The buggers don't seem to know how to use it though, because they aren’t inflicting much damage. Since the Enthos are in system, however, attendance for this next game will be low. In accordance, Bloodsport is scaling down.” He then went on to read the list of those participating and those sitting out. Maxar heard his own name in the latter list. Yes! If he was in the game, any chance of escape was seriously decreased. The security in the fighting areas was too tight. In the barracks though...

  The briefer continued, “Those of you who are still on for the game—” A screeching alarm drown out his words.

  An ear-splitting announcement boomed, “Bloodsport is under attack, I repeat, Bloodsport is under attack! All participants return to your dormitories immediately! All security and gaming personnel, perform your emergency duties. This is not a drill. Bloodsport is under attack!”

  They sound afraid, Maxar thought, hope soaring. This is more than I've dreamed of!

  For a moment after the message ended, everything remained calm. Maxar could see comprehension becoming apparent in the eyes of everyone around him. A roar of mingled hate, rage, and elation rose from the competitors. Chaos exploded like a malfunctioning worm drive. People dashed in every direction, their intentions a mystery. Maxar remained seated, finishing his escape strategy.

  He caught sight of Benson, who was staring intently at him, a gleam of excitement in his eyes. He too was still seated, as calm and composed as Maxar. Benson was never very intelligent, Maxar thought, but he has a soldier's mindset and follows my lead.

  Maxar turned, feeling more hope than he had in years. “If we can get to the shuttle dock, we might be able to use this riot to get off the asteroid. The spectators will be evacuated. Security might be buggered enough not to notice a couple extra people on a shuttle.”

  Benson's eyes narrowed. Maxar could tell he was unsure of the plan. Just then, several chairs came hurtling through the air. Maxar dove away, unharmed. He saw Benson had also avoided the projectiles. “Damn,” the other man sputtered, making a profane gesture towards the throwers. “This is going to the dark star!”

  Maxar understood the pent-up rage at Bloodsport and its personnel, but he would use this opportunity for more productive endeavors. Most of the rioters had a natural, unrestrained love of violence that had landed them here in the first place. They were now focused on getting revenge. Maxar watched the briefer and his aide get bludgeoned to death. It was a grisly sight. Other rioters were bent on destroying as much of the facility as possible, using chairs to smash doors and the meager decorations of the briefing area.

  “It's a full on riot,” Maxar agreed with Benson, voice calm and steady. “And you are welcome to stay here. I'm sure if you go join the action you'll do fine, for now anyway. What's going to happen when the Blood gets back on its feet and starts to exert control? I doubt any of you live to fight another match, even if you want to. Of course—” he paused dramatically, smiling, “you could come along with me. Just for the fun of it, of course. At least then you would have the chance of escape offsetting the certain death awaiting here.”

  Benson's eyes once again narrowed, only this time, no chairs flew their way. After another moment or two, he said, “Sure Maxar, why the buggers not? How can I say no?”

  “You can't, and that's why I like you. No matter the situation, you always see sense and act on it.” Maxar rose, grabbed a piece of chair that would serve well as a club. “Grab something and let's go. We don't know how long this damned opportunity will last.”

  Maxar led them out of the briefing room, dodging rioters and security personnel locked in heated combat. He didn't count on much time to complete his plan. As expected, the security forces were already cracking down hard. Hopefully the Enthos would continue their attack, further confusing and hampering the Bloodsport overlords.

  To his amazement, Maxar realized he had a huge smile on his face. Its presence was unfamiliar, yet welcome. Maxar felt a strong emotion well up deep inside him. It was so foreign it took a moment to identify. Happiness , he thought, happiness... It was strange, out of place. Feels good.

  He didn't understand his elation. Maybe it’s because I’m finally doing something productive? Maybe it’s the hope of a real future, even if I’m always on the run? Whatever the cause, it was good. It felt like liquid sunlight coursing through his veins.

  Maxar ran towards the participant sector exit, dodging other Bloodsporters and security personnel alike. He flew down several small corridors, bypassing huge groups of combatants that would take too long to fight through. Maxar had spent a long time memorizing the more obscure areas of the participant sector, but that work was finally paying off.

  When they reached the exit leading towards the shuttle dock, Maxar was both elated and crushed. The door itself was unguarded, but was in full lockdown. Two security guards lay on the floor, blood pooling next to them.

  “Watch my back,” Maxar said running over to the door control panel. He quickly paged through several menus, using all his hashing skills to break deeper and deeper into the interface. In his time on Bloodsport, Maxar had bought knowledge from every hasher he came in contact with. Now, he hoped one of their techniques would work. The matrix tile overload exploit, he thought, remembering one of the more obscure hashes. Several taps on the screen, a moment of waiting, and the door opened.

  “Woah,” Benson announced. “You'll have to explain how you did that later.”

  “Sure thing,” Maxar replied. “Hey! The door just opened,” he continued, raising his voice so a nearby group of rioters would hear. As if controlled by one mind, the crowd turned and ran towards the exit. Maxar and Benson stood to the side, letting them through. “That should help soften the way.”

  After a few moments, Maxar followed. The exit was the first of many major obstacles. His path was still fraught with danger. But this might actually work!

  19 - Tremmilly

  Beowulf whined, startling Tremmilly out of her thoughts. The room shifted and she felt herself rise. Tremmilly saw her body below her, Beowulf nudging it anxiously. Noor-5 fell away. She began accelerating. Stars blurred, leaving bright streaks across her vision. Tremmilly knew she should be frightened, but something about the experience made her calm, at peace.

  After an indefinable amount of time, Trem
milly slowed. She passed a barren, desert planet, its surface sparsely inhabited. Soon, an asteroid came into view. She slowed even further. Tremmilly stopped above the asteroid, noting extensive structures. Directly below was a military-looking complex. People fought outside on the pale gray surface of what she thought of as an asteroid or moon. They were killing each other, filling Tremmilly with sorrow.

  Then, she was moving again. The whole scene shifted drastically. Tremmilly wasn't herself anymore, yet she knew she still existed. Looking out of his eyes gave her a different perspective on the world she had seen earlier. Now she was inside the complex. It was in chaos. She had never seen anything like it in her life, yet he stayed calm, which soothed Tremmilly. Her new perspective was exhilarating. She could feel muscles moving, could sense emotions. Tremmilly was unable to take action or hear his thoughts, but felt totally integrated otherwise.

  He was running through the pandemonium, dodging small knots of people brutally slaughtering each other. His strength was evident, and she felt he was capable of handling the situation. A deep, complex desire drove their body forward.

  A man followed them, but she sensed he was an ally. Tremmilly felt their movement slow momentarily to work through a group of rioters blocking the corridor. He became nervous. Time was precious.

  The mental pressure eased somewhat as they halted in front of a wide door. Above it was a sign labeled “Shuttle Service”. She sensed this was the destination. Tremmilly felt his tension rise as they crept through. Once inside, she saw many small shuttlecraft lined up in neat rows along the deck. Their swept back wings and elongated fuselages gleamed brightly in the artificial lighting.

  With a jolt of awareness, he spotted a group of security guards. The small man ran into the hangar and stopped next to them. Simultaneously, the guards noticed there were intruders in the room. They drew large pistols from shoulder holsters and fired.

  The first round whistled by their head, and she felt the wind of its passage on his cheek. Before the guards could tighten their aim, he dove behind the nearest shuttle. The small man was not as quick.

  As he and Tremmilly watched in horror, their ally took a round directly in the stomach. His midsection exploded. A spray of blood and tissue flew out behind him in a gruesome fountain. A silent scream escaped Tremmilly's lips. He bellowed in rage.

  Tremmilly became sick, dizzy, and disoriented, but she sensed he had been through much worse and controlled these emotions. Staggering to their feet, Tremmilly felt his sadness. They ran through the rows of ships in a haphazard pattern. From the small glimpses she caught, the guards were starting to spread out and lose sight of each other. She felt satisfaction and knew this was what he hoped they’d do.

  Carefully moving through the ships, they doubled back behind the guard the furthest from his comrades. He had no idea anyone was there until it was too late. Tremmilly felt his flesh as their hands twisted his neck. She heard a grinding noise, then a quick pop. The guard fell to the deck, dead. Picking up his flechette pistol, she felt his happiness rise. Tremmilly found it strange they’d killed the guard without remorse. Instead, revenge felt right. Their ally had been murdered. They would have found the same brutal end if the guard had better skills.

  Over the course of the next few minutes, Tremmilly experienced more killing as they eliminated each guard. Having a weapon made things so much easier. He thoroughly searched each body. Tremmilly felt his desire for something. Much of what they found was of little use, but then, he spotted it. The laser key was such a small, mundane object, but it brought so much joy.

  Key in hand, they ran over to a terminal screen and began entering commands. The first opened the hangar's exterior doors. A plasma barrier kept the area pressurized and separated from the vacuum of space. The bright blue field shimmered, magnetic lines of force evident in the swirling plasma. The next command powered up the closest shuttle. It was sleek, streamlined, and looked expensive. The ship lacked a wormhole generator, so leaving the system would be impossible.

  They quickly hopped through the shuttle's hatch, hitting the close button before the door fully opened. Sitting in one of the six chairs, they watched the surrounding terminal as the ship began a short self-diagnostic procedure. It listed their destination as “Bloodsport Dock” and that auto-nav was engaged. Tremmilly noticed the seats were plush and luxurious, but he seemed intent on other things. Once the self-diagnostic was complete, the ship rose off the deck and exited the shuttle bay. It passed effortlessly through the plasma barrier, accelerating. They watched out the large view window as the asteroid fell away below.

  “Thank you for visiting Bloodsport,” a voice said, startling Tremmilly. “Remember to register to watch upcoming matches. If a return journey is not convenient, all battles are streamed live over the Terminal Network. Check the Bloodsport Information Channel for more details.” The farther they got from the asteroid, the more relief he felt. He was calm, at peace, and most of all, happy.

  As the shuttle moved towards the large orbital ship dock, Tremmilly felt a tug. She was then outside him, moving quickly away. Stars streaked by for an indeterminable amount of time. She felt herself falling, then, a snap. It took Tremmilly several moments to orient herself. Finally, dull gray walls came into focus.

  As her cognition formed back into the reality that was her and only her, Tremmilly felt her lungs screaming for air. It took a few seconds to realize she was holding her breath. Stale air exploded from her. She gasped, taking in huge lung fulls of air that made her head swim. How long was I holding my breath? And why? Moments passed, and her heart rate and breathing stabilized.

  What was that? Tremmilly wondered, mind still reeling. Beowulf continued nudging her, whining anxiously. Looking at the room’s display clock, she realized half a standard hour had passed. Was that real? Was it a vision? She embraced Beowulf, pressing her face into his long fur.

  This incident was just the latest oddity Tremmilly had been experienced. She felt she was on the cusp of a new reality, like she was touching something massive and unknown. It was scary, but also exhilarating. Sometimes it felt like she might even be able to see through reality, to view the underlying fabric of space-time. This all began when Psidonnis told me the prophecy, she observed.

  Tremmilly tried to analyze the experience logically. “I left my body and traveled,” she said. Beowulf's whimpers subsided. “So that seems to lean towards it not being a vision. Why go through the trouble of moving if it wasn't my actual consciousness that was there. And since time moved normally, it makes sense I was there in real time. But how, or why, did it happen?” The last question had no answer and was part of what was troubling Tremmilly ever since she’d left Eishon-2.

  Now she was on the orbital dock above Noor-5, had been for almost a week. Tremmilly smiled sardonically, finding it amusing her life was now guided by a mysterious force, just like the Dygars. The sect was peaceful, loving, and to be honest, laughable. It had seemed obvious their consumption of farcanthis leaves caused their strange experiences, but now Tremmilly wasn't so sure. She hadn't been anywhere near the hallucinogenic plant, yet had just experienced something she couldn't explain. This was different. Psidonnis had told her about the Dygar visions. They weren’t as vivid as what she had just experienced. Maybe their visions are because of farcanthis, she thought, but what caused me to leave my body?

  And even if she answered that question, did it explain what she was supposed to do now? Why was she connected to the man? Was he the important part, or the location? Tremmilly felt influenced by some entity greater than herself, driven to do things she had never imagined. Leaving Eishon-2, her birth world, was never one of her goals. Thinking back, Tremmilly realized departing Eishon-2 was allowing her to explore the galaxy. Perhaps the “influence” was just a strange way of convincing herself to go. Maybe I'm going crazy... Maybe I should have stayed on Eishon. It's where my parents wanted me to be.

  “Your father and mother came here a few years before your birth,” Psido
nnis had told her when she was old enough to understand. “On other worlds, lower class citizens live in densely populated city-states, mostly in the underlevels. These places are unpleasant. Your parents sought to escape the urban wasteland, wanting space to live and clean air to breath. They sold every possession and used the Ashcreds to buy passage to Eishon-2. Arriving with nothing, your parents homesteaded a small plot of land away from other settlers and made life work for them.

  “You were born a few years later. Your parents were delighted. Six years passed in happiness, some of which you probably remember.”

  Tremmilly stopped the remembrance, wiping away tears. The terrible plague had killed her parents. She hadn't meant to remember that much. The memory was painful, even after fifteen years. What caused it? she wondered. Was it carried on a cargo ship or was it spread by the Ashamine? It had been a vicious, nasty illness, causing intense pain. The victims ran high fevers, fell into comas, and bled out shortly thereafter. There was no cure, no answers, no proof about where the plague came from or why it had died off as quickly as it began. Why did it kill my parents and not me? Tremmilly hoped she might get answers while traveling. It seems like such a small chance, but anything is possible.

  After what had happened on Noor-5, she was willing to believe in small odds. She and Beowulf had been listening to a Divisionist orator rebuke the Ashamine and its war on the Entho-la-ah-mines. Tremmilly had found the man boring, but his words had some truth to them. It was unclear exactly what had happened, but an earthquake had struck the area and released a poisonous gas, killing many onlookers. Tremmilly would have been one of them, but a few minutes before, she had felt a strong push to leave the area, so she did.

  When the earthquake hit, Tremmilly was knocked to the ground. Thankfully, there were no tall buildings around her, and she escaped without serious injury. The poison gas had been localized to the crowd. If I hadn’t moved...