Nearspace Trilogy

by Sherry D. Ramsey

  I nodded. “I think I will.”

  Chapter 43 – Luta

  And the Stars Slipped Past

  A WEEK LATER we were on the Tane Ikai, heading out from Kiando with a cargo load of ore bound for Eri. We’d each spent hours sitting with a Protectorate officer who took our depositions, telling them the whole story—or as much of it as we were willing to tell. I wasn’t sure what to say about Jahelia Sord, so I said as little as possible, painting her as a minor PrimeCorp flunky, which I think she was. I don’t believe she had prior knowledge of all that PrimeCorp had done, and as for the files she had—well, she didn’t have to leave copies of them, but she did. If they wanted her take on things, they’d have to find her themselves. They had the datapad she’d left, and I was sure it would take them a while to sort through that treasure trove of evidence.

  The Protectorate had also paid me well for our trouble, and I’d put that to use in a few more upgrades to the ship, and bonuses for the crew. They’d been through a lot. But we were running a far trader, after all, and even with the possibility of war darkening the horizon, that still meant carrying cargo where it needed to go.

  Hirin and I were alone in our quarters, settling in to sleep, but the return to normal routine had, instead of settling my mind, rekindled old worries. We still hadn’t addressed the problem of exactly how we were going to run the command structure of this ship. But I had to work up to that.

  “Anything new with PrimeCorp?” I asked, resting my head on Hirin’s chest. “I keep expecting to hear that a PrimeCorp-Chron fleet is pouring through one of the wormholes into Nearspace.”

  He stroked my back, his hand warm through my sleepsuit. “I don’t think that’s imminent. The Corvids are still there, remember. And now the Protectorate knows what’s going on—or at least some of it. The politics will simmer and bubble while the Protectorate investigates. And once word gets out—”

  “Which it’s bound to do,” I interjected.

  “Yes. Then there’ll be an uproar like Nearspace has never seen. But it’s hard to say when that will happen, or what the ultimate fallout will be.”

  “I don’t like to think of those Chron—the PrimeCorp allies—out there hating us. Trying to find a way into Nearspace like angry wasps outside a screen door. I don’t like that at all.”

  “At least we know not all Chron are like that now. And I don’t like it either, but we have to live with it.” He kissed the top of my head. “Kind of like our own little problem.”

  I propped myself up on an elbow and forced myself to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to give up being the Captain of the Tane Ikai,” I said, and felt a huge weight lift from my shoulders. At last, I’d come right out and said it.

  He nodded. “And I’m not comfortable being nothing but a tagalong on the ship.”

  “You were never that!”

  “Sure I was,” he said, rolling over to stare up at the viewport above us, and lacing his fingers behind his head. “I made up a job for myself so that you could deal with the crisis, but I never felt like I belonged in it. It’s not like we have a need for a full-time weapons officer on board.”

  “We might before too long, if PrimeCorp has its way.”

  “I hope not. I’d rather not get a job that way.”

  I lowered myself down beside him, staring up at the stars. He slipped an arm under my shoulders. “Although it has come in handy,” I mused. “We don’t seem to stay out of trouble for very long, since you came back on board.”

  He shook me a little at that, and I laughed. It felt good. Finally I said, “So we have to find a way to run a far trader with two Captains on board, is that what you’re telling me?”

  I felt, more than heard, him chuckle. “Seems that way. Think it’s possible?”

  I drew a deep breath and hugged him close, feeling the smooth steady hum of the drives, knowing we were, finally, in the right place at the right time.

  “Well, we made it work when things were the worst,” I said. “Surely we can come up with something when we’re not in the middle of a crisis. I think anything’s possible,” I added, “as long as I’m with you.”

  Baden had the night duty tonight, and his voice came over the ship’s comm. “Captain, message incoming for you. Admiral Lanar Mahane, of the NPV S. Cheswick.”

  I sensed, more than saw, Hirin’s smile. “Well. I wonder what my little brother wants now?”

  “Just checking in? Or preparing to ask another favour for the Protectorate?”

  “I’m not agreeing to anything, not until we’ve had a rest. I can’t believe he’d even do that—but knowing Lanar, he might. I’m not willing to take the risk. Baden, tell my brother I’m asleep, would you? I’ll message him tomorrow.”

  “No problem, Captain.”

  I grinned at Hirin, and he chuckled and kissed my forehead. Whatever Lanar wanted, whatever PrimeCorp or the Chron might bring tomorrow, it felt far away from us tonight. We settled in to sleep while the stars slipped past outside our ship.

  Epilogue – Jahelia

  “PITA? ANY RESPONSE yet from our contact at Genusana?” I asked. I kicked my feet up on the main console of the Hunter’s Hope—or rather, the Shadow’s Eclipse, as her newly forged papers and new drive signature proclaimed her to be—and blew on my cazitta to cool it.

  “Came in while you were getting your drink,” Pita said. “He’s doubling his offer if you’ll sign a statement stating exactly where and how you obtained the tech.”

  “Kristos. This guy must be new to the black market. He thinks we actually sign things?”

  Pita blew out a very human-sounding sigh. “He did say double, Jahelia. He probably wants some kind of assurance that you didn’t steal it from another corporation.”

  I surveyed the cockpit of my little ship, feeling more at home than I had in a long time—not since, if I’d admit it to myself, I’d felt, for a short time, like part of the crew of the Tane Ikai.

  I shook myself, and put my focus back on my ship. It hadn’t even been all that difficult to get her back. A close-mouthed dealer who’d practically drooled over Maja’s shorted-out force field generator, even in its current sad shape—that had brought enough credits to get me back on my feet. A Protectorate friend who owed me a favour—a big favour—and could sneak me into the Protectorate’s impound yard on Renata. They’d hauled the Hunter’s Hope there, searched it and found nothing too interesting I guess, and consigned it to the back of the yard until someone could deal with it further. Once we made it inside, Pita had it back under my control within fifteen minutes, and I don’t even know if anyone noticed us leave. My stuff—including my vazel staff—was gone. That gave me a pang. But it could all be replaced.

  Now I was looking for someone interested in the datachip the Corvids had given the Lobor historian, Cerevare. She’d left it behind in her quarters, and I’d had the presence of mind to search those quarters before anyone else on the Tane Ikai did. They were pretty taken up with getting the Captain to safety. I’d made a copy of the data for myself, and erased the chip itself. For now I was only selling the tech, but alien technology from a race that no-one even knew about yet? That alone was a treasure worth bargaining over.

  “Well, if he’ll pay double for a signature, maybe there’s someone who’ll pay double without one.”

  “PrimeCorp probably would,” Pita suggested. “They’ve got access to almost anything Chron, but not stuff from the crows.”

  “Not PrimeCorp,” I said, a little more vehemently than I’d meant to. I’d keep my promise to Luta Paixon, and I wouldn’t sell it—or anything else—to PrimeCorp. That wasn’t even a difficult promise to keep. In retrospect, I could see how Alin Sedmamin had used me, even while I thought I’d been using him. He’d seen my pain and my need for revenge, and he’d used that to send me off to do his bidding. I’d only thought I was in control. I could see that now.

  I stood and paced to the rear of the small cabin, still restless. I could see it, but I didn’t like it. I’d
thought I knew what I wanted, too—what would make me happy. Revenge on Emmage Mahane and her family. A way to let go of the past, finally, to shake off the ghosts of my mother and father and get on with my own life. And I’d ended up suckered in to Luta Paixon’s happy little family, trading away my sweet revenge for a brief taste of belonging. Actually caring about other people for a while.

  “Well, I can set a course if you tell me where you want to go,” Pita said. “If it’s not going to be PrimeCorp and it’s not going to be Genusana, where to?”

  Where to, indeed. I stood still in the middle of the cabin, cupping the warm mug in my hands. Really, I could go anywhere. I didn’t feel driven any more. I didn’t feel tied to the past. I felt . . . I felt free.

  It simply hadn’t happened the way I’d expected.

  Maybe the most important things in life rarely did.

  I flopped into the pilot’s chair, set my drink in the holder, and fired up the main drive. “Let’s do Genusana after all, Pita. They’re a good, clean company. If he wants me to sign something, that shows they’re on the bright side of the law, right?”

  “If you say so. The course is laid in. But two minutes ago you were against signing anything.”

  I kicked the drive over and swung out of the shadow of an asteroid where I’d been parked, waiting for my messages to come in and pretty much staying out of the Protectorate’s way. I’d heard a rumour they might want to talk to me, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to do that yet. Or ever.

  “I had a chance to think about it, Pita,” I told her with a grin. “After all, there’s nothing that says I have to sign my own name.”

  Beyond the Sentinel Stars

  Sherry D. Ramsey

  Beyond the Sentinel Stars

  Copyright © 2017 Sherry D. Ramsey

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage & retrieval system, without written permission from the copyright holder, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third party websites or their content.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this story are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to persons living or dead would be really cool, but is purely coincidental.

  Published by Tyche Books Ltd.

  Calgary, Alberta, Canada

  www.TycheBooks.com

  Cover Art by Ashley Walters

  Cover Layout by Lucia Starkey

  Interior Layout by Ryah Deines

  Editorial by M. L. D. Curelas

  First Tyche Books Ltd Edition 2017

  Print ISBN: 978-1-928025-78-8

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-928025-79-5

  Author photograph: John Ratchford

  This book was funded in part by a grant from the Alberta Media Fund.

  For Julie and Nancy: friends, partners, story doctors, and red-pen-wielders extraordinaire.

  “OUR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower’d, and the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky . . .”

  -The Soldier’s Dream by Thomas Campbell (1774–1844)

  “The Chron incursion heralded the bloodiest, scariest, most bewildering chapter in the history of humankind. They attacked without preamble, without parley, without provocation. They were not interested in taking prisoners, negotiating terms, seizing assets or ransoming us to their will. They were simply here to kill us.

  And a century and a half later, we’re still left to wonder why.”

  - Dr. Simon Parsengill,

  Legacy of the Chron War: Humankind’s Greatest Unsolved Mystery

  March, 2278

  Chapter 1 – Lanar

  Dangerous Times

  THE CAFF WAS bitter, the company grim, and the cinnamon pano not even half as good as Commander Yuskeya Blue’s. In the Nearspace Protectorate’s administrative boardroom on FarView Station, the stale scents of long-past meetings, recycled air, and lingering recriminations commingled unpleasantly. The chairs in the boardroom grew increasingly uncomfortable, in direct proportion to the number of times the same discussion points had circled the table. And considering the topic under discussion, the Protectorate motto, In Astra Pax, seemed out of place on its engraved plaque at the far end of the room. Peace Among the Stars, indeed. We couldn’t even get peace in this room. I rubbed my knuckles over the worn fabric on my chair’s arm rest, gauging whether the time was right to speak yet.

  “I still say we take the fight to them.” Admiral Antar Mauronet drummed his blunt fingers on the polished surface of the table. The short-bitten nails betrayed an anxiety he took pains not to display to his fellow officers. “The Chron are bogeymen left over from a century and a half ago. We can’t allow those old fears—”

  “Completely irresponsible,” Fleet Admiral Chanda Botek interrupted with a thoroughly insulting snort. I hid a half smile behind my hand. One of the highest-ranking Vilisians in the Protectorate, Botek had a reputation—well-earned, in my experience—for speaking her mind. Her long black braid swung behind her chair as she shook her head in disapproval, prismatic rank insignia glinting at the throat of her dark blue uniform. “We know little to nothing about the Chron’s activities during that time. The reports we have indicate that they’re every bit as dangerous now as they were the last time we had the misfortune to encounter them.”

  “Reports that are completely unverified,” Mauronet snapped.

  Silence descended, prefaced by a sudden intake of breath by all present. Not quite a gasp, but something closely related. Everyone managed not to look directly at me.

  Mauronet visibly checked himself. I caught the hint of a flush creeping up his neck as he turned to me. “With all due respect to your sister, Admiral Mahane,” he said gruffly. “I’m not suggesting she’s unreliable.”

  “No, no, only her reports,” I said with a nod. He bristled, but I ignored him and continued, “And those have been fully corroborated by our own Commander Blue. Who is, as I’m sure you’ll agree, quite reliable. To say nothing of Lieutenant Gerazan Soto, another Protectorate officer with a stellar record and a recent encounter with the Chron. Who, you might recall, demonstrated their threat level rather obviously by destroying the ship to which he was assigned. The Protectorate ship.”

  I didn’t particularly like Admiral Mauronet. I’d watched with some surprise as he rose from a brash cadet through the Protectorate ranks to Admiral. His often-unguarded temper and a certain deficiency of tact would have hampered his promotions had I been the one signing the papers. But I’d declined that level of responsibility several times over, and I had to live with the decisions I’d opted to let someone else make.

  I did take a certain amount of pleasure in knowing that although Mauronet considered me a brash youngster myself, I had a good twenty years on him. Since I’d joined the Protectorate at the ripe old age of forty-five, though, I’d been a member of its ranks for only a few years longer than he had.

  At any rate, it made me quietly happy to see the flush continue its slow crawl up his neck and face, finally reddening even the patch of pale skin poking through a fringe of salt-and-pepper hair on top of his head.

  “Of course,” he agreed, since he wasn’t foolish enough to cast aspersions on the credibility of other Protectorate officers. Not in this company. “I’m just saying that their situation—caught off guard in an uncharted system, stranded, encountering a new species of aliens—well, the threat might have appeared worse than it was.”

  “I hardly think you can blame rattled nerves in this situation, Mauronet. As Admiral Mahane points out, they blew up the Domtaw.” That was Mare Ker, the Vice-Admiral in charge of the Lambda Saggitae system and the Protectorate Admin-governed world there, Anar. Ker and I had once taken down a data
-running ring operating between Anar and its sister planet Damir, and I knew she respected those who served under her command. Mauronet’s arrogance obviously rankled the diminutive Vilisian, and she glared at him as she spoke.

  Around the table, others shifted uncomfortably in their seats. I suspected more than the well-worn chairs were bothering them. Only Mauronet had declared himself willing to rush headlong into full conflict with the Chron, although I felt confident we all knew it was coming.

  “We simply need more data,” Harle Southwind said from the seat next to mine. “We need to understand the extent of the threat. And we’ll have to accept whatever help the Corvids—if that’s what we’re still calling them—are willing to offer.”

  Southwind’s Lobor features held the quiet imperturbability so characteristic of the wolf-like aliens, and he spoke with calm and practicality. That nature made him perfectly suited to his position in the Protectorate Authority’s top investigative division. Only his left ear, flicking back and forth, betrayed his agitation. With our chairs clustered close in the cramped boardroom, I could almost feel the fervid heat radiating from his body.

  “The Council wants to send a full diplomatic mission to the Corvids,” Chanda Botek said. She sighed and pulled her braid forward, running long amber fingers down the intricate weave. Even Fleet Admirals could have a tell for emotions, and coupled with the faint metallic scent in the air, I knew she was battling frustration. “But they’re currently in a full-blown tizzy over how best to get there and what gifts to bring, if you can believe it.” She let the braid fall away again.

  “How to get there? Won’t they take one of the diplomatic launches with a Protectorate escort?” asked Harle Southwind.