The Shadow Among The Stars: Book One of the Dread Naught Trilogy

by Dylan Sanchez

  The Ly Aulth were a loose confederation of organizations that other races would normally consider criminal. Infighting between their drone swarms over territory or trade routes was frequent, but they responded to any aggression or slight by another race as a unified and surprisingly angry whole.

  Their chaotic lack of an Over-government had resulted in a number of diplomatic incidents, and at least one occurrence where inadvisable AI research resulted in an automated battle group crippling an entire cartel fleet and then wandering into Human space in search of resources. The Marines had cleaned up the AI craft and threatened to enter Ly Aulth space with a Battleship to prevent another such occurrence from threatening Human worlds. Since then the winged aliens had been quite delicate in their dealings with Humanity, but were still brash toward the Qixing despite the lucrative trade routes passing through T’hròstag space between them.

  “I don’t want to belabor the point, so other than letting me say I told you so, I’m guessing there’s more to this call?” Bryluen crossed her arms, more upset about the consequences of the Qixing’s initial non-committal response than she let on.

  “You … have at the least earned that. A terrible choice was made, and I will bear the weight of that. In light of our failures, we have rescinded our previous position on the treatment of The Dreaded threat, and I am resigning from my position this evening. We are re-routing Interior Guard units to reinforce threatened colonies, and we have redoubled our attempts to locate the enemy objective on Gru’Thiall. Moreover, we have made a decision regarding cooperation with Dread Naught.”

  The Operative’s eyebrows raised as Rur’Thu continued. “You had proposed we deploy an operative as a Qixing liaison for Dread Naught. We are normally loathe to loan out military assets of any kind, but an up-swell in demand for solutions from our people has brought the Sentinel Ministry to authorize an agent be sent to you with a sufficient level of authority to coordinate Qixing military units in our space. Moreover, as a gesture to Humanity, and you in particular, this agent will serve under your command.”

  Bryluen’s grip on the table beneath her tightened in expectation. “And who, might I ask, would this Qixing military agent be?”

  “Well, Dame ...”, the diplomat smiled, a motion aoue was clearly unused to. “I believe you will be quite pleased with whom we have deployed.”

  Vort glided gently to the ground below Raven’s Landing, which extended out from the mountainside on sleek supports above him. The soft orange grasses tickled his sides as he walked along the steep incline. His wing was healing well. The skin of his wing joint still needed to remain covered but the joint was working well enough for him to carefully extend his wing and glide some. His flesh itched from its rapid healing, but the unpleasantness was well worth the rate at which he was regaining the use of his wing. The CSOE’s research had done a fine job of developing medicinal solutions for Vort, though his own altered Explorer’s physiology certainly didn’t hurt.

  Vort’s people tried their best to be kind to strangers but he was still impressed with how quickly Humanity had taken to him, especially after studying its history.

  Over the past centuries massive changes spurred by technology and philosophical development had altered the Human race’s outlook on the universe and the way it viewed itself. Gone were past ages where exploitation of the poor and mass State violence caused one to thrive. Numerous wars had shaken the Human race, and many mishaps marred their early stellar colonization efforts, but today they were on a fine footing as a stable presence with healthy social and political systems.

  Vort felt fortunate he had crashed or appeared on a Human world. The Qixing would not have been unpleasant, but he certainly doubted they would have allowed him part in an endeavor like Dread Naught. The T’hròstag may not have even recognized he was intelligent, and may have shot first before asking questions. He shuddered to imagine having been acquired by the Ly Aulth—he almost certainly would have been forced into some form of labor or combat by one of the many perfidious cartels whose profit and power reigned above any recognizable ethics.

  The magnitude of his fortune in being displaced between galaxies was mind-blowing at the least. Even so far away from his people and his society, so removed from the carefully cultured state of peaceful civilization his species had wrenched from its violent past, he still found people he could count on and who cared for him.

  He strolled along the forest floor, watching long-legged mammalian creatures hop among the branches of the trees above. Eventually he would make his way back to the lift on the side of the landing pad, but until then he would enjoy his walk and do what he had always done: appreciate the wonders he found wherever he went.

  The following morning Nicadzim was strolling through the lobby on his way to the library, where Vort had invited him to watch an episode of a show they had been viewing together. He held a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, and wore flannel pants and a fitted shirt. As he passed the fountain he heard the doorbell: a tone centuries out of date that Bryluen almost certainly chose for its inherently welcoming feel. Nicadzim supposed the Qixing specialist had arrived, and moved to greet them.

  His long legs carried him up the entryway hall, and he opened the door to see the newest addition to Dread Naught. Due to their differing biology, Qixing had different age markers than humans. Their keratinous lips tended to grow slightly softer compared to the hard rigidity of young age, and could stain depending on lifestyle. Their hair became more coarse and usually lightened in tone a bit at a time. Though their skin did not wrinkle, it did fade from the extremities inward as the replacement of placoid scales slowed with age. Nicadzim therefore guessed the Qixing woman was older than him by a slight margin, perhaps closer to Bryluen’s age.

  Her skin was a rich emerald green that faded to a lighter shade past her elbows and knees. She had a round face with rounder cheeks scattered in periwinkle constellations of freckles. Her narrow eyes were close together and consisted of vibrant, razor-thin violet irises around large pupils. Above each eye was a wire-like burnt sienna eyebrow, and she had a broad nose whose nostrils sat slightly above where the bridge of her nose ended. Her narrow mouth and lime lips formed a natural pout highlighted by a white strip of paint down the center. The Qixing’s long hair contained several shades of sunset oranges and yellows, and was bound by carved coral bands into a tight loop behind her head like a halo.

  She was short, with wide hips and a heavyset build that kept her from looking quite as dwarfed as she stared up at Nicadzim. She was clad in a red robe with broad tapered sleeves and a silken skirt embroidered in delicate designs. The robe’s wide collar exposed a swath of deep green skin down to just below her singular collarbone. Tiered jewelry hung from her ears and neck, splashing down the broad slope of her upper chest. A pair of octagonal, bronze-colored rings were pierced through her lower lip. Despite the delicate finery in which she was clad, she exuded an undeniable air of politely restrained threat.

  She smiled warmly, exposing a row of pearlescent teeth and sea-foam colored gums. Her full cheeks caused her smile to accentuate the softness of her face, though a keen observer familiar with Qixing would note the soul-piercing sharpness of her gaze. This was all the more heightened by the slow motions of her eyelids, less a gentle wave of lashes than the predatory confidence of a jungle cat. Nicadzim extended his palm facing upward, and she placed her own manicured hand on top of it. Her fingernails were short and round, encompassing a hemispherical portion of the top of each finger tip. Nicadzim only faintly noticed the devotional band delicately marked into the Qixing’s left ring finger. Due to their constant shedding of scales, Qixing could not permanently tattoo themselves with ink. Instead they had long employed scarification techniques, often using a laser. Her hair began to shift to the right of its own accord as Nicadzim looked on.

  She spoke in a pristine accent carrying with it the full weight of the half-tonal modalities of her native tongues, bringing a choppy quality to her words. Her voic
e was otherwise a smooth, pleasant alto that infused her vowels with depth and warmth. “I am Olyuxanag’E Fong’thith’ja Belzxilenth’Wa Ho’Xal, Storm Mother of the House of Ho’Xal.”

  Nicadzim replied stoically. “I am Nicadzim Kuzmako, representing the CSOE.”

  With introductions established, both inclined their heads and simultaneously spoke. “May the days between our meetings be fruitful.”

  The formal greeting completed, they straightened and withdrew their hands. Rather than sending just any Qixing, the Commonwealth had deployed a Storm Mother of the royal lineage. While all children of the House of Ho’Xal served in some aspect of the military, the rank of Storm Mother was illustrious and encompassed a great degree of skill and live combat experience.

  The Storm Mother promptly but politely requested to speak with “the Lady of the House.” Nicadzim had no doubt that meant Bryluen, and keyed her over the intercom by the door. Within a surprisingly small amount of time Bryluen appeared at the end of the hall in pajamas, a huge smile plastered across her face. With a lightning-fast acceleration the Qixing sprinted past Nicadzim and collided into the Operative’s arms hard enough to produce a thumping sound, her hands placed on the insides of Bryluen’s shoulders.

  The two women spun from the impact and then held close to one another for several seconds, their strict postures and authoritative demeanors softening at each others’ touch. The Storm Mother’s head rested neatly in the curve of Bryluen’s neck. They both took a deep breath, gently kissed, and quietly exchanged some private words.

  Nicadzim smiled. “Ah! She was your ’Missus’! I should be less surprised that you would marry a warrior princess!”

  Bryluen kissed the Qixing’s green forehead. “This is indeed my wife, Bel’Wa. And she’s a warrior queen to me!”

  Bel’Wa convulsively yelped in a high pitch at odds with her bearing, then clamped a hand over her mouth. “By Commonwealth law it is actually illegal for her to call me a Queen, since I have royal blood!” She punctuated her next sentence with thumps of her palm on Bryluen’s upper chest. “That’s never stopped her—but! It’s! Normally! In! Private!”

  Bryluen shrugged and smiled. “I’ve missed you more than you know.”

  Bel’Wa smiled broadly. “Well, I think I might know, actually. It’s been far too long, tye’tyito.“

  “It really, really has. Nico, help me wake the others and let’s all gather in the lounge to meet this wonderful lady.”

  Soon after, Dread Naught was assembled with coffee (tea in Vort’s case) and various breakfast food. Kirby wore a loose, white t-shirt and shorts, while Runner was in athletic wear pants with a tank top clutched in one hand as if he couldn’t decide whether to actually put it on or not. The vigilante’s chest tattoo glowed softly in the dim pre-dawn light. Bryluen and Bel’Wa sat close together. The Qixing’s hand stroked the Operative’s leg with mindless fervor, and Bryluen’s arm held tight around her shoulders in turn. The two women had clung to one another like teenagers in the throes of first love ever since Bel’Wa arrived, apparently intent on making up for lost time during the previous months.

  Bel’Wa’s bearing was an interesting sight: the way she walked, the way she sat down, and the careful, precise way in which she ate all made it evident she was nobility. Her tone of voice and speaking volume were precisely controlled, and her words chosen carefully when needed. At will she would snap into vastly more casual and even undignified behaviors as if she had been suddenly transformed, the force of her personality enough to break through a life of etiquette training and martial discipline.

  “How are you healing, Kirby?” The Storm Mother asked.

  Kirby made a quizzical expression over the top of her coffee mug. “Oh, I’m comin’ along well, you know how it is.”

  “It looked like a nasty hit, I’m glad you’re alright. That thing was an awful beast.”

  The jockey froze. “Oh my god, that was you?!”

  Bel’Wa giggled. “Yes, that was me! She didn’t tell you, did she? She does that. She loves her secrets.”

  Bryluen laughed. “Well, given how much of me my bosses have seen, I like to keep things to myself when possible.”

  Vort’s skin glowed in almost the same periwinkle color as Bel’Wa’s freckles. “Thank you for your help, Storm Mother. It touched me that you went to help me so quickly.”

  “My honor is yours. I was worried when I saw you get hurt as well. I’m glad you’re alright!”

  “Madam Bel’Wa,” Nicadzim rumbled, “You were of the royal lineage, correct?”

  She nodded at an angle. “I am. Twenty-second in the line of succession. I will never see the throne myself, but have certain rights and lands afforded me on Torva’Ang—as well as a number of armored undergarments in case someone tries to assassinate me.”

  “S-so how did you two meet-t?”, asked Runner.

  The wives looked at each other for a moment. Bel’Wa breathed deeply as Bryluen spoke. “Well, some details are still technically classified, but suffice to say I was investigating stories about the possible reappearance of a serpent that had once been worshiped on a certain world out on the rim, while Bel’Wa was responding to a distress beacon from a crashed transport on the same planet. Several encounters with the largest terrestrial fauna I’ve ever seen and one harrowing rescue effort later, and we … were just struck with one another. She was incredible, skilled, unstoppable, brave.”

  Bel’Wa’s smile widened. “Tell them what you thought of me when you first saw my face.”

  “Well, post-mission she took her helmet off, and ...” Bryluen laughed and shook her head. “... she was more gorgeous than I could have hoped, I thought I might be hallucinating! And you?”

  Bel’Wa shifted in her seat, having been granted Bryluen’s go-ahead to speak about her appearance. “I had seen Humans a number of times, but ... never someone like her in a few ways. When I saw her armor and heard her speak I was already intrigued—I’d never heard an accent like hers, and she has always looked fine in her armor. Then at the end of things, when she took her helmet off ... I had never felt that way about a Human ... Mmmh.” The assembled group laughed. “We both just smiled and laughed nervously, I think we both realized what the other was thinking. We spoke a bit, and—then she just kissed me. I could hear my own heart in my ears like I was still a youth in Seminary School. We exchanged information, and had to go our separate ways then, but we started sending messages to one another and meeting every time we could soon after.”

  Runner sniffed. “That’s a g-g-great story. Figures, Bryl ne-ever does things by half-f measures.”

  “I try my best!”, the Operative quipped. “We’ve been together fifteen years now, married twelve, and it’s been a hell of a ride.”

  “You must never tire of telling each other about work.” Vort flicked his eyes back and forth between the married couple.

  Bel’Wa sat forward. “We really don’t! Whatever Bryl can tell me is certainly never boring. I have my own tales and problems—you wouldn’t believe what people try to get past us, or what sorts of things happen every day on the star-lanes.”

  Nicadzim spoke up again. “Bryluen, I will not identify you as someone who is enjoying being affectionate. I meant no offense by this.”

  “Oh, none taken,” the Operative shrugged. “I’m only married to one of you people, so she gets all of it. I’m really not all that outgoing a person, regardless. A lot of us Operatives are pretty reserved, period—not like I have plans to go out for drinks with the girls any time soon.”

  The jockey was looking down at the glass table, contemplating something. “How do ya keep it all going? Your relationship, I mean. Ya can’t see each other all that often, can you? And you’re in danger all the time, and it just ... how ’d’ya do it?”

  Bryluen folded a leg and set it on her knee. “We chat constantly, send each other pictures, speak over video as often as possible, and—”

  “—Ih ... I think I was about to interrupt with so
mething that wasn’t appropriate, actually, so carry on!”

  Bryluen laughed. “Well, even though we work apart and live away from each other, we’ve made wonderful memories and done amazing things.”

  Kirby nodded slowly. “You’re strong folk, but I’m guessin’ you already knew that. Now Bel’Wa, I didn’t get to watch ya all too much the first time we met. So, how do you fight? Like what’s your specialty?”

  Bel’Wa smiled. “Well, you might have noticed I won’t be doing much in the way of gymnastics any time soon—the shield honestly shows what I do best: I hold the line. I’ve got commendations in hand-to-hand combat, and a unit record for chest presses. The Gate Sentinels emphasize controlling the situation, and as a Storm Mother I am expected to be an island of stillness. I control the flow of the enemy and take control of a situation.”

  “Think you’d be up for teaching me a trick or two? I need the practice, I think.” Kirby shook her head slightly, again thinking about the Ur-Rabisu’s claw piercing her side.

  The Qixing’s eyes lit up. “I would! I’m going to throw you, though. A lot.”

  20. Blades and Biology

  After each member of Dread Naught finished breakfast and spoke some more with Bel’Wa, she proceeded with Bryluen and Kirby to the sparring mat in the exercise room. The golden rays of dawn lashed along the forested horizon like hungry flames. Kirby’s long legs were clad in olive leggings, and her numerous tattoos flowed out from around one of her many green sports bras. Bel’Wa released her hair from the coral loops and removed her jewelry, handing the accessories to Bryluen. Her hair fell down to her waist, the rough strands trying their best to pull themselves into messy waves. Standing together, the pair of women looked like a contrasting illustration of phenotypical variations. Bel’Wa drew her hair back up and secured it in a knot with several swift motions, before beginning to reconfigure her three-layered robe into a more suitable form for sparring.