by J. N. Chaney
Senator Stone introduced his crew to Magnus’s troops, and the steward offered the troopers beverages and a light snack. Gilder declined and insisted that he head straight for the engine room with the ship’s engineer. He was young and enthusiastic, but that counted for something in moments like this.
As much as the whole situation had taken a peculiar turn for the best, Magnus still wanted to get off the cruiser as fast as possible. She’s married, for galaxy’s sake!
The senator invited the others to sit, but the troopers waved him off, Magnus insisting that their armor would mar their furniture.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the senator replied. “Please make yourselves at home.”
“You said you had a daughter on board?” Haney asked, taking a seat.
“Yes, yes. She’s sleeping,” Valerie replied. “I’ll fetch her right away. She will absolutely love meeting some real-life Marines.”
Magnus watched, perhaps a little too long, as Lady Stone exited the lounge and walked down a hallway that led to the staterooms.
“So, Lieutenant…” the senator said, handing him a cup of tea.
What was it with everyone serving him tea lately? At least this guy didn’t have a wall of buckets.
“Where did our distress signal summon you from?” continued the senator.
“We were on Worru, sir, making for Oorajee.”
“Oorajee?” The senator’s eyes lit up, lips held a few centimeters from the edge of his cup. “I hear that’s become quite the hot spot in recent days.”
“You could say that,” Magnus replied.
“I’m eager to hear how the negotiations went.”
Magnus lowered his cup and held the man’s eyes, suddenly unsure if he should say anything. Didn’t he know? “Senator Stone, if you would permit me, when was the last time you were in touch with the Republic?”
“Just before we jumped into subspace three days ago. Whatever disabled our drive core also took out our long-range sensors. It was all we could do to send a subspace distress communiqué.” The senator placed his cup on his saucer and set them both down on the table. “Why? I sense you have something to tell me.”
“Senator…” Magnus hesitated. “The negotiations were…” His mind flashed back to the explosion in the mwadim’s palace. He saw the bodies flying, heard the screams, saw the flames.
“Say it straight, trooper. You’re talking to a Republic senator.”
“Someone sabotaged them.”
“They what?”
“Someone bombed the mwadim’s palace just as the meeting got underway.”
The senator looked bewildered, blinking as he processed the information. “You’re absolutely sure of this?”
“Sir, I was there.”
“You were there?”
“Yes, sir,” Magnus said. “As far as I know, I’m one of two survivors. Right now, my entire platoon is MIA. That’s who I was headed back to help find before… before I—”
“Before you were tasked with helping some nobody senator and his family on a broken-down yacht who have enough environment and food to last them months while your men remain unaccounted for on a hostile world.”
Magnus froze, staring at the man. He resisted the urge to say, You’re damn right, yet he honored the senator’s attempt at straight talk. It was refreshing.
“It’s all right, Lieutenant. I said it, so you don’t have to. And if it were me, I’d be thinking the same thing.”
“Thank you, Senator.”
“We’re not all power-hungry buffoons on Capriana, you know. Some of us are almost tolerable. You, on the other hand”—the senator reached over and placed a hand on Magnus’s shoulder—“are the spearpoint of all our decisions. And if I wasn’t aware of that before, I certainly am now. I’m sorry for your losses, Lieutenant.”
Magnus knew a player when he met one. But as much as he wanted to hate this man for his perfect face—and even more for marrying the most beautiful woman Magnus had ever met—he simply couldn’t bring himself to mistrust this senator’s words. Which made Magnus hate himself, of all people. I’ve already been hating myself for so long; it can’t make much difference if I keep it up a little longer.
“Thank you, sir,” Magnus replied. “But until I personally confirm their status, I haven’t lost a soul.”
“As you’ve said.” The senator raised his cup to salute Magnus.
Just then, Lady Stone reappeared, holding hands with a small blond girl. Everyone stood and watched as the tiny waif entered the lounge. Her eyes were puffy from being awakened long before it was time, and the girl squeezed a small stuffed animal against her pajamas. Lady Stone brought the girl to stand in the circle of adults and introduced her.
“Everyone, this is Piper.” Valerie held the little girl’s shoulders. “Piper, this is—”
“Him,” Piper said suddenly, pointing a finger at Magnus. “It’s him.”
21
“Buckle in!” Ezo yelled as he and TO-96 raced through Geronimo’s startup sequence. Awen took a seat behind the two command chairs and fumbled with the harness buckles. Her hands shook due to equal parts nerves and fatigue. The cockpit hummed with activity as switches flipped, screens glowed, and systems cycled on.
“Geronimo Nine, Geronimo Nine, this is Plumeria Tower. We’re reading drive-core initiation on platform thirty-nine. You do not have clearance for startup sequence or takeoff.”
TO-96 looked at Ezo. “What would you like to do, sir?”
“Put me through.”
The bot touched the dashboard. “You’re good to go, sir.”
“Tower, this is Geronimo Nine. I’m not sure what you’re reading. Our systems here are nominal.”
“Negative, Geronimo. Sensors clearly indicate that—”
“I’m sorry, come again?” interrupted Ezo.
The tower comms operator let out an exasperated sigh. “I said, our sensors—”
“I still can’t read you, Tower. This must be really irritating.” Ezo glanced at TO-96. “How we doing, Ninety-Six?”
“Thirty-seconds, sir.”
The tower operator’s voice was hard now. “Geronimo, we are sending a control crew to board your vessel and initiate the suspension of your credentials until such time as the—”
“Suspend my credentials?” Ezo said in mock surprise. “But then, how can I fly my ship?” He waited as the tower operator hesitated.
“You—you won’t be able to fly your ship. That is the whole point of suspension!”
“Can you explain that to my wife, then? Because I don’t think I can break the news to her myself.”
“Actually sir,” TO-96 said, muting the comm. “My records show that—”
Ezo cast him a mirthless smirk. “Not now, Ninety-Six.”
The bot looked away then back at Ezo. “Ah. I see. You are attempting to engage in witty banter with the tower operator through the use of sarcastic falsities in order to delay their confiscation of our ship. However—”
“Sometimes, your brilliance amazes even me.”
“Why, thank you, sir,” the bot said as Awen chuckled. “But—"
“Don’t mention it. Time?” Ezo asked.
“All systems are ready for takeoff, sir,” TO-96 said.
“Open the line again.”
TO-96 unmuted the link just in time for them to hear the tower operator spitting orders into the microphone, seasoned with enough vulgarities to make him unprofessional but not enough to get him dismissed from his post.
“Tower, I truly appreciate your attempts to threaten us. It’s exemplary. However, we are leaving nonetheless and wish you the very best. Oh, and please give our regards to”—Ezo leaned back to Awen—“what was his name again?”
“Master So-Elku,” she answered, cringing as she spoke the traitor’s name.
“Master Su-Echo,” Ezo said. “Geronimo Nine, out.” He turned to his copilot. “Take her up.”
“Aye, sir.”
Awen felt the ship lif
t off and bank sharply to the left. She reached out to steady herself, leaning against the turn.
“You expecting any pursuers, Star Queen?” Ezo asked over his shoulder.
“No, I—wait. Star Queen?”
“Sure. You probably still have that stardrive on you, right?”
Awen instinctively placed a hand on the satchel. “Maybe.”
“That’s a yes. Which means you didn’t give it to your big boss man, which means he’s pissed at you. That means you’re a big somebody now—a big somebody with information about something in the ’verse that people want. Big somebodies with stuff other people want are royalty. So I call you the Star Queen.”
“Sir, sensors show energy-disruption cannons powering up. They’re going to fire on us,” TO-96 said.
“Power to the rear shields.”
“Right away.” The bot tapped faster than Awen could see. “Power redirected.” Just then, two blasts of energy slammed against the hull, shoving the ship forward. Awen’s head hit the back of her seat.
“They’re pulling out the big guns for you, Star Queen,” Ezo said.
“They’re—they’re shooting at us?” Awen asked, bewildered.
“As I said, you pissed somebody off. Fortunately, they want what you have, and they want you alive.”
“Those were energy-disruption pulses,” TO-96 added, his head rotating to look at her. “They are meant to disable us while simultaneously opening our command interface to an extra-local takeover. They are powerful, but they will not kill you, Awen.”
“Thank you for the reassurance,” she said, eyes wide.
“This also means you haven’t opened the stardrive yet,” Ezo concluded.
“Maybe,” she said less confidently. “Where are we going?”
“Deep space. Ninety-Six, course laid in?”
“Affirmative, sir. However, I might remind you that jumping while in atmosphere not only poses significant risks to the local population but lessens our jump success to seventy-one percent, given Worru’s substantial gravity well.”
“And what are the chances that those cannons disrupt our shields before we reach a safe distance?”
“I calculate a forty-three percent chance, sir.”
As if on cue, another pair of disruption pulses struck the aft shields. This time, the cockpit lights went out.
“And now?” Ezo asked.
“One-hundred percent, sir,” the bot replied in a forlorn tone.
“Punch it, ’Six!”
Awen watched as the sky outside the ship stretched away from them as if pulled by elastic bands. Then it snapped the ship forward into a sea of elongated starlight.
Awen had excused herself from the bridge and gone to her quarters to wash her hands and face. She was on the edge of exhaustion and knew that if she didn’t get sleep right away, she was going to cause harm to her body. Yet she wondered if she’d be able to sleep, given all that had happened.
Awen felt as though her life had gone from normal to light speed, just like the ship. Acting as the emissary to the Jujari had been enough excitement for one lifetime. But being captured by a warlord, transported by a bounty hunter, betrayed by her master, and then surviving a desperate escape from Plumeria… she’d hardly had time to take a breath let alone process it all.
The worst of it, however, was that she felt alone. Her parents were light-years away, the Order was no longer safe, and she was on some random trading vessel with a narcissistic bounty hunter and his improvised robot. All at once, she found herself wishing Magnus hadn’t gone back to his unit. Maybe there was a way he could have stayed. But that’s just silly.
Awen’s door chimed, and the speaker emitted a thin voice. “It’s Ezo. May I come in?”
Awen sighed, reached for the towel, and pressed the open button with her elbow.
“How you feeling?” he asked.
“I’d rather not answer that right now, Ezo. But thank you for asking.”
“Fair enough, fair enough. So, where do you want to go, Star Queen?”
Awen massaged her eyelids, wishing someone else would answer the question for her. The truth was, she had no idea. And somehow, she felt Magnus might know where to go next.
“I really just want to go to bed,” she said, to which Ezo raised an eyebrow. “By myself.” She wasn’t sure how much more of this character she could take. I know where I want to go: as far away from him as possible. But seeing that Ezo was her only viable means of transportation, ditching him didn’t seem like the most prudent option.
Awen took a deep breath and threw the towel into the sink. “You said we’re headed to deep space, right? So let’s start there.”
“The farthest sector of the Omodon quadrant,” Ezo said. “There shouldn’t be any traffic to speak of, so we’ll be able to spot a tail if anyone is following us.”
“You think someone is following us?”
“No, but we try to take precautions.”
Awen nodded. “Smart. And if someone is following us?”
“Well, outer Omodon is home to some fairly unsavory systems that—oh, I don’t know—may or may not be easily stirred up if a reputable bounty hunter were to advertise that a certain vessel had a very high price on its hull.”
“That’s convenient,” she replied. “Too bad we don’t know any reputable bounty hunters.”
“Hey, you don’t know Ezo,” the man said, pressing a hand to his chest. “You just give him a bad rap because he got mixed in with the likes of Abimbola over a bad poker-chip flip. Ezo’s a really nice guy, though.”
“I’m sure he is,” Awen said. “And let’s just keep it at that. Nice Guy Ezo.”
“Yeah, Nice Guy Ezo. That’s me.” He brushed a hand through his hair. “So, you ever going to open that stardrive?”
That was the question that everyone seemed to have in common. And the truth was, Awen wanted to know what was on it, too—now more than ever. Who knew what So-Elku would have done to her if she’d resisted him further. Or what he would have done after she opened it. Awen shuddered to think of that. She only hoped that Willowood was all right. The elder had risked her reputation to save Awen without needing any explanation. Perhaps she even risked her life.
More questions tugged at Awen’s mind, and she knew her fatigue wasn’t going to produce cogent answers. There was still the matter of the bombs themselves. Who’d set them, and what did they hope to accomplish with so much destruction? And then there was the hover bot that had recorded the mwadim handing her the stardrive. It seemed as if someone had expected the handoff—and as if an informant had ratted on the mwadim.
More than anything, Awen wanted to know why she had been the one whom the Jujari leader had entrusted with whatever was on the drive. Was it a matter of mere convenience? If someone else had landed next to him, would he have handed it to them just as easily? Maybe there was something unique about her, perhaps because she was a Luma. But if that was the case, why not dispense with negotiations and set up a private meeting? The Luma would have jumped at the chance to entertain a private meeting with the distinguished, though violent, Jujari leader.
The questions were too much for her to handle, at least at the moment. She was tired of thinking, tired of trying to figure out how all the puzzle pieces went together. It felt like playing chess in the dark without hands.
Still, somewhere in the back of her mind, Awen felt like the mwadim had chosen her, intentionally singling her out as the one to inherit the stardrive. “Guard it,” he’d charged her with his dying breath. “Never let them find it.” There had been something earnest in the way he spoke to her, as if they were old confidants sharing a secret. He’d wanted to speak to her and no one else.
But then Awen found herself asking another question. When the mwadim charged me with guarding the device, did he mean the stardrive or what was on the stardrive? If it had been about keeping the device hidden, that secret was out. But if it was about what was on that drive, then… she couldn’t know how to pr
otect it unless she knew what it was.
She needed to open the stardrive, and sooner rather than later. If So-Elku and others were coming for her, as they most likely were, then she could only protect the contents of the drive in one of two ways: either she learned about what she was guarding before they could, or she died. Of course, there was always a third alternative—So-Elku could force her to reveal the contents and then kill her.
I’ll give him neither option. “I’m going to open the stardrive,” she said.
Ezo’s eyes went wide, and he clapped his hands. “Yes! Yes, you are! Let’s do this!” He spun around. “Ninety-Six, where are you?”
“Wait, what are you doing?” Awen asked.
“TO-96 is a navigation bot. Did you forget already?”
“No, I—”
“Whatever that thing shows you, whatever intel or coordinates—Ninety-Six! Get out here!—whatever reward in the labyrinth awaits you, he’ll know how to get you there.”
“I suppose that is helpful.”
“I’d say. Ninety-Six!”
“Coming, sir,” the bot said as his footfalls shuffled down the corridor moments before he appeared. “I was simply making sure that—”
“Never mind that. Awen’s going to open the stardrive.”
“The stardrive? How exciting for her.”
“For her?” Ezo asked, shooting the bot a surprised look. “Yes—quite so.” The bounty hunter walked over to the table in the middle of the room and cleared it for Awen. “Please, take a seat.”
Awen approached the table while reaching for the stardrive in the satchel. She sat to one side while Ezo sat across from her, and TO-96 stood between them.
“Ninety-Six, please lower the lights,” Ezo said.
“As you wish, sir.” Instantly, the lights dimmed, and only the floors emitted their constant white glow.
Awen held the gray cylinder in her right hand, examining it. Its irregular surface and many indentations held dried blood that was now brown and flaking. It was heavier than it looked, something she hadn’t noticed before. Or maybe her hand was just tired; it was shaking a little, after all.
In a strange way, she wished the mwadim was here to open this with her, to explain why he’d given it to her and what was so important about it. It would be like a professor leading a student through an assignment or a cherished text. Then she thought of her parents, who would marvel that their daughter would be entrusted with such a prized possession from a world leader. But they have no use for other worlds. She thought of Willowood and what her wise guidance might mean in a moment like this. And finally, she thought of Magnus. She missed his… His what? His strength? His ability to protect me? But she was able to protect herself even more than he was, and she was stronger than even his Republic armor. Still, she wished Magnus was present for reasons she could not explain.