Call of Courage: 7 Novels of the Galactic Frontier

by C. Gockel

  He eyed Beowulf, occupying the only chair other than Tremmilly’s. “Can you please have him move? I need access to the controls.” Tremmilly signaled the big wolf-dog, using only her eyes. Beowulf obliged. Jaydon took his seat and checked the console and terminal screen in front of him. “Follow my lead and I think I can get you to the dock at least.” He looked like he’d cleaned up a bit, his hair less grungy and somewhat cleaner clothes on his lanky frame.

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the console and hit the transmit toggle. “This is the civ ship A'Tal's Revenge. We declare a state of distress.” Jaydon let off the toggle, turning to gaze at Tremmilly as he waited for a response.

  A moment passed, and just as Tremmilly began wondering if the transmission had gone through, a harsh burst of static came over the speakers. Then, a voice. “Civilian ship A'Tal's Revenge, you must leave this sector. It is in a state of conflict and has been declared off limits for civilian traffic by the Ashamine. Please acknowledge receipt of this transmission and turn away at once.”

  Instead of following the instructions, Jaydon took manual control of the ship, increased thrust, and began flying towards the dock. Once under way, he sent: “Transmission garbled. Unable to understand. Must land as soon as possible.”

  “Civilian ship A'Tal's Revenge, I repeat, you must leave this sector. You may not land here. Reverse course! I repeat, you may not land here.” The voice had gained a note of panic, evident even through the poor quality transmission.

  “Kind of odd they don't want us to land when we declare an emergency, even with the Enthos nearby and a riot on the asteroid. I wonder what's going on.” Jaydon drummed his fingers on the console, his face a thoughtful scowl.

  Tremmilly was having a hard time knowing what to think of this man. One minute he was drunk, and now he’d taken control of the situation and was handling it well. Hopefully he doesn’t report me for theft once we dock...

  “What do we do now?” she inquired.

  “Well, it's pretty simple. I keep disregarding their orders, and then we land. I hope they don't suspect we have any mischief planned, because if they do, they'll send slugs through this heap. In the meanwhile, tell me why we are going to Bloodsport and why it's important enough that you stole my ship.”

  She did as requested, deliberately going through the entire story. The voice interrupted her several times, making the same warnings and demands as before. Tremmilly told Jaydon almost everything, including her vision of the man on Bloodsport. One thing she didn't reveal was Psidonnis' prophecy. That felt personal, and she wasn't ready to share it with this man, even if he was showing more character and integrity.

  “That's quite a tale,” Jaydon replied when she’d finished. He bit his lip, frowning slightly. Tremmilly knew parts of her story, principally those she attributed to a power guiding her, were far-fetched when viewed from outside. She hoped Jaydon wouldn’t draw attention to this. “So you think there is a guy down on Bloodsport who needs our help, someone who will be crucial to saving humanity?” He raised one eyebrow.

  “Yes, that's exactly what I think,” Tremmilly yelled. She hadn’t meant to be so forceful, but her insecurity made her irritable.

  “Calm down,” Jaydon said soothingly. “I wasn't trying to insult you. It's just a lot to take in. You have to admit that. I'm still going along, aren't I? If I thought you were crazy I would be tying you up, turning around, and getting the dark fires out of here.”

  Tremmilly shuddered involuntarily at the thought of being bound, but quickly regained her composure. “I'm sorry for snapping. I know how crazy it all sounds.”

  “I understand,” he replied, still in the same soothing voice.

  Time passed in silence, Tremmilly still worried he was going to turn her in once they reached the orbital dock. As more time passed, a new question began nagging at her. She tried to think of a subtle way to approach it, but nothing came to mind.

  “Why did you decide to help me?” she blurted, surprising herself.

  “Well, I don't have time to explain it completely, but let's just say you remind me of someone I used to know. I missed the opportunity to help her, and things turned out pretty bad.” Jaydon had a far away look in his eyes, and Tremmilly could see pain written on his face.

  “I'd like to hear about her someday,” Tremmilly responded, matching the soothing tone he’d used earlier.

  “If we get out alive, I promise to tell you. At any rate,” he said, snapping out of his reverie, “we need a plan for once we get inside the landing dock. I assume you—or we, I should say—need to get down to the asteroid itself. The only way to do that is by shuttle, so we'll have to—uhhhh—procure one, as you procured my ship.” This last he said with a grin on his weathered face, and Tremmilly couldn't help but smile back. “Not that I've forgiven you just yet,” Jaydon said, laughing. “That one you'll have to earn.”

  As they continued talking, the ship moved closer and closer to the dock. After several minutes, Jaydon guided the A'Tal's Revenge into the incoming area of the facility. The space was expansive, but barely any ships were present. All vessels had Ashamine insignia on their hulls. Odd to see so many official ships in a place used solely for entertainment. Tremmilly also thought it strange so many were still here even when this locale was declared a conflict zone.

  “They're probably all watching the riots,” Jaydon said, sensing her question. “I'm sure they are paying a lot of Ashcreds for the privilege. Most of those ships are diplomatic vessels. Likely a bunch of High-Elders somewhere on the orbital dock.” Tremmilly felt disgusted. The more she learned about the Ashamine, the less she liked it.

  Jaydon set the ship down lightly and pointed out the flight deck window. “Look over there,” he instructed, sounding resigned. “I hope you understand what you've gotten us into. I need to go back and disable something so it doesn't look like we were faking the emergency.” With that, he rose and went through the door, leaving Tremmilly to watch a platoon of heavily armed soldiers running towards the A'Tal's Revenge.

  I hope I know what I'm doing, she thought, unsure what to do next. She still felt she was doing the right thing, but the situation’s severity had increased exponentially. This path is right, at least I know that... I hope...

  Watching the soldiers accomplished nothing, so she stood up and followed after Jaydon, signaling Beowulf to do the same. When she reached the cargo hold, Jaydon was reattaching a wall panel, wiping his grimy hands on his clothes. “That should hold up to cursory inspections at least,” he stated.

  A loud pounding sounded on the exterior door and a muffled voice ordered them to open up. “Hold on, we're dealing with an emergency,” Jaydon hollered. He then lowered his voice to a whisper and looked Tremmilly straight in the eye. “We don't have long, but we need to get our stories straight. You're my daughter. Your mother died when you were young. We were trading when our worm generator malfunctioned and were forced to land here. Keep it simple and straight and we might have a chance.” He spun on his heels and headed towards the door, hitting the open button before Tremmilly could point out that unless they were selling garbage, there was nothing tradable in the hold.

  Hopefully no one else notices...

  As soon as the door opened wide enough, a soldier slid through the opening, his comrades just behind him. They quickly secured Tremmilly and Jaydon in restraints, but were unsure of what to do with Beowulf. “He's big,” she told them, “but is completely harmless.” Tremmilly signaled the wolf-dog with her eyes and he relaxed, although she could see he was still alert.

  A detachment of soldiers surrounded Beowulf, guns trained and ready to fire. They attempted to muzzle him using cordage, but didn’t seem to know the right knots. Finally, they gave up, settling on having three soldiers watch him. “If he so much as growls, we shoot,” one of them announced.

  “As I said, he's harmless,” Tremmilly replied, hoping Beowulf would continue following her command. As the trio watched, the rest of the group quickly
swarmed over the small ship, prodding piles of garbage and searching every trash heap and service panel. Evidently they didn't find anything of interest, because after several minutes they returned empty-handed.

  A large, muscular man walked towards them, the soldiers in front of him clearing out of the way. Tremmilly was unsure of military rank and procedure, but everyone took orders from him, making him someone important. “You have landed at this dock when expressly ordered not to,” he growled, voice harsh and low. “This facility is under security lockdown, elevating the offense from minor to severe.” This evidently excited the man, as his eyes burned with anticipation.

  “We had an emergency. We couldn't under—” The man standing next to the commanding officer cut Jaydon off with an open-handed slap. His slight frame and dress uniform made Tremmilly guess he was an aide rather than a soldier.

  “You will speak when Separate Domis tells you to,” the aide announced, tone conversational. Jaydon nodded and lowered his head. The fire in his eyes gave away his defiance to Tremmilly, but none of the soldiers noticed.

  “We are required to thoroughly check this ship and its occupants. I hope this will not be a problem?” Separate Domis was excited once again, eager to have it be just that.

  “No, no problem, sir,” Jaydon answered. Separate Domis nodded his head slowly, eying each of them. After several long moments, he turned to his men.

  “First and second squad, search and detainee detail. You know the procedure. After you finish, bring the detainees to the security sector. I will give you further orders there. Remaining squads, back to ready state at assigned duty stations. All squads, execute!” As the last word left his mouth, a flurry of action ensued.

  Tremmilly was briefly puzzled at why they had been left on the ship, but after a minute it was clear they were being used as a kind of measuring instrument. Their captors watched them closely. Probably hoping to spot a tell if they are close to anything hidden. Fortunately, Tremmilly had nothing to hide and if Jaydon did, he’d concealed it well.

  After what felt like hours, but was probably less than two, their guards led them from the ship. They marched Tremmilly, Jaydon, and Beowulf across the dock's massive floor, the expansive spread made to hold ships several times larger than the A'Tal's Revenge. This place must get a lot of business, Tremmilly realized. The memory of her dream returned and the thought of what was done in the name of entertainment, sports, and justice made her nauseous.

  They walked for several minutes, finally coming to the edge of the docking area. The troops led them into a small corridor, terminating at a passcode-protected door. The squad leader entered the code, but was too fast for Tremmilly to see. As they passed through, she looked back and saw there was no corresponding keypad on the interior. That's a small blessing, she thought, even though she figured it probably wouldn't matter.

  After walking a short way down the hall, they stopped in front of a door with a thick pane of security plasti-glass embedded in it. The interior looked like a cell, and in combination with the view port, it was quite obvious they were being locked up. Tremmilly still couldn't see what the squad leader was entering on the pad, so she looked around instead.

  She analyzed her surroundings in much the same way she had done back on Eishon-2, only here she saw nothing she liked. The small, dim lights left ugly shadows that pooled on the floor. Several huge conduits ran along the ceiling from further down the hall, a ninety degree turn allowing them to snake through the wall above the doorway directly opposite the cell. Why this area of the dock was so dark and dreary while the rest was glamorous and clean was anyone's guess, but Tremmilly figured it all part of their attempt at intimidation.

  With a soft triple beep and a whir, the cell door began sliding open. The squad leader was turning on his heel when the door opposite the cell began opening too. Everyone turned to look.

  When the door was half open, a figure sprang through, hitting the ground and rolling. It came up slashing with a long knife. The blade sliced through one soldier’s abdomen, sharpened edge slipping through a joint in his battle armor.

  The figure turned towards Tremmilly. For a fraction of a second, their eyes locked. The man—for she could clearly see his features now—had a stubbly, shaved head and pale, ice blue eyes. He was tall and lean, with a look that reminded Tremmilly of Beowulf when he was hunting. It was a presence that always chilled her. And then, all at once, connection . She had looked out of those eyes, had shared space in that body. The man standing in front of her, blood covering the blade in his hand, was the reason she was here. He was the goal, and now that she saw him, she was terrified. Follow your intuition, she admonished herself, the words seeming empty and useless with this killer in front of her. What have I gotten myself into?

  And then their link broke and everything began happening at once. The intruder had caught them off guard, but the soldiers were professionals and recovered quickly. Each of them unsheathed knives that were nearly as long as the newcomer's. They can’t use rail pistols in this small space. Too much risk of hitting their friends.

  Without a weapon, Tremmilly found herself wanting to fight for freedom, but unable to do anything against the armed and armored foes. Beowulf had no such inhibition.

  Tremmilly watched the wolf-dog spring into the fray, teeth bared and hair raised. From the short glimpses she caught, it seemed he and the new man sensed each other, understanding the other’s intent. To Tremmilly, they appeared a manifestation of the same being—a snarling, bloodthirsty, killing entity. Glad they are on my side, she thought, dodging a guard and his bladed fist.

  Tremmilly watched the man dance through the soldiers, makeshift blade slashing and occasionally parrying a knife thrust. Tremmilly found it hypnotic, but it also made her sick to see the mutilation and crimson sprays.

  Beowulf was distinguishing himself as well. He had a tougher time than the man. His large muzzle was too big to slip between armor plates, but the soldier's unarmored throats fell prey to a side of her friend Tremmilly had never seen before. She didn't know who she was more frightened of: the wolf-dog or the man. Beowulf was covered in gore. His lustrous gray and black fur was stained crimson. From what Tremmilly could see, none of the men who faced Beowulf had any idea how to fight him. Apparently, dispatching dogs with knives was not part of their training.

  A hand grabbed Tremmilly's arm, causing her to utter a short, high-pitched scream of surprise. When she looked, she saw Jaydon standing beside her, grizzled face a mixture of emotions. “We gotta get out of here, get back to the ship,” he jabbered. “That guy and your dog are buying us time. We gotta get moving.” He tugged her arm again and continued doing so.

  “He's the one,” was all she could come up with, voice choked. Jaydon stared at her, his hand falling away. They both turned to watch as the man quickly finished the battle. Beowulf helped by flanking the last few opponents, snapping at the backs of their legs.

  “What do you mean, 'He's the one'?” Jaydon asked, brows furrowed. He'd lost some of his frantic intensity when it was apparent the man and Beowulf would win.

  “He's the one from the vision. He's the one we came here for. We have to get him out of here before he gets killed.” Her voice sounded wooden, even to her own ears. The amount of bloodshed was larger than anything she’d ever witnessed. True, the chaos on Noor-5 had been bad—the way the ground had split open and swallowed so many people into its seemingly infinite depths still made her feel sick—but it was more abstract than what was happening in front of her. And the way Beowulf was acting scared her most of all. He had been a gift from her parents. She had raised him ever since he was a tiny pup. He had always been protective, but this was extreme. The way he fought alongside the man, working as a pair to bring down the soldiers, was a type of behavior she’d never experienced.

  “Well, in case you haven't noticed, I think your man can take care of himself,” Jaydon said in a small voice, his words interrupting her revere. “Are you sure it's safe to take him a
long? That’s a Bloodsport fighter’s uniform. He's a convict. He’s skilled with that blade too and it's quite likely he’ll kill us once we are on the ship.”

  Tremmilly winced as the man dealt a particularly fierce blow, killing one of the few remaining soldiers. “No, I'm not sure it's safe to take him along, but I know it's what I'm supposed to do, what we're supposed to do.” Her voice had gained a steely tone of resolve, surprising Tremmilly. When she finished, Jaydon straightened up and took a deep breath.

  The universe holds so many intriguing secrets, Tremmilly thought, watching the man and Beowulf kill the last soldier, their movements so coordinated it seemed rehearsed. How this man and dog fought so well together when they had never met was just another faint glimpse of that world of secrets. She supposed they might share some kind of linked life force or essence. The thought buoyed her. Anyone linked to Beowulf can’t be bad, can they?

  “Fine animal,” the man said. He sounded tired, but a spark of admiration and joy lurked deep in his voice. He reached a hand down to pet the wolf-dog and Tremmilly thought Beowulf would do his standard low growl and baring of teeth, but the dog leaned in instead. It puzzled Tremmilly to see her old friend once again acting out of character.

  “We should be getting back to the ship and jumping the worm,” Jaydon said, head swiveling to watch both lengths of corridor.

  “You're right,” the man said. “Thank you for your help.” He paused a moment, eyes scanning the hallway as Jaydon had. He then turned and noticed Tremmilly for the first time since their initial eye lock. She could feel his scrutiny. “Have we met before? I feel like I know you, but your face is unfamiliar. My name is Maxar Trayfis. I would be grateful if you would tell me yours.”

  His politeness and its stark contrast to the prior violence stunned Tremmilly. “I… I… my… my name is Tremmilly. And this is Beowulf.” She motioned towards the wolf-dog, embarrassed by her discomposure.