Alsea Rising: The Seventh Star (Chronicles of Alsea Book 10)

by Fletcher DeLancey

  At three hundred lengths, they could see the southern half of the Argolis continent and the northern coastline of Pallea.

  At three hundred and fifty, the Phoenix slid into view, watching over its sister ship.

  “They’re like two-egg twins,” Salomen said. “So similar, yet so different.”

  “I always thought the Phoenix was the most beautiful ship I served on,” Alejandra said. “But the Seventh Star makes her look plain. The white hull, the artwork . . . just glorious.”

  Onscreen, Ekatya spoke for the first time in several ticks.

  “Chief Pilot Candini, initialize engines.”

  “Acknowledged.” Candini was all business now, her expression serious and her hands moving lightly over the console. “Fusion reaction underway. Temperature and pressure rising.”

  Tal inhaled and let it out slowly. The Seventh Star had not brought its engines to full power since the crash. This was the true test.

  “No leaks or fractures detected,” Candini reported. “All systems nominal. Temperature and pressure rising at acceptable rates.”

  “From a cold start,” Prime Builder Eroles said, “the engines take four point six ticks to reach a sufficient power level for normal operations. We checked and tested every part of these engines on the ground, but for safety reasons, we could never allow the fusion reaction to reach full power.”

  “So now we wait,” Kameha said.

  “Now we wait and trust in the skills of our builders and scholars. Stand by.”

  “As if we could do anything else,” Lhyn grumbled. “Ekatya must be ready to chew through a tension bolt right now.”

  Tal watched the curve of Alsea through the shuttle windshield and marveled that with such a view, she could be worrying about engine pressure.

  “Threshold approaching,” Candini said after an eternity. “Three, two, one . . . there we are. Engines at full operational power!”

  “Is it holding?” Kameha asked. “No surges?”

  “Too soon to tell, Chief, keep your shirt on.”

  “We’d never guess those two have known each other for cycles,” the first announcer said dryly.

  “True words,” said the second. “But I’d rather hear them like this than fully professional, wouldn’t you? If they’re at ease, we have nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not worried. Do I look worried?”

  “Stop chewing your thumbnail and ask me again.”

  Tal chuckled in spite of herself. They were doing a good job of distracting viewers during this tense period of nothing happening on screen.

  “Admiral Serrado,” Candini said suddenly.

  “Serrado here. How does it look?”

  “Admiral.” Her voice was grave. “I have to report that . . . every single indicator is normal and the Seventh Star is ready to roll!”

  “Candini—oh, for the love of flight.” Ekatya was laughing. “You meant it literally.”

  All of Alsea saw the Seventh Star lift herself away from the boosters and spin gracefully through two complete barrel rolls. On the half of the screen devoted to the ship’s bridge, Candini let out a whoop of pure joy.

  “She’s alive and kicking!” she called out. “Come on over, Admiral, your ship is waiting for you.”

  “Give me a few ticks,” Ekatya responded. “We’ve got seventy-eight boosters to take care of first.”

  “Sending ‘go home’ command,” Kameha said.

  In perfect synchrony, thirty-nine boosters released their grip on the slings, flipped around, and shot back toward Alsea. The remaining thirty-nine reeled in the slings, tucking them into tight cylinders and housing them in compartments that opened for the purpose. Newly streamlined, they reversed direction and followed their brethren.

  “The boosters will be landing back at the launch site,” Eroles explained for the viewers. “We’ll inspect them, make any necessary repairs, and reuse them for our next launch.”

  Kameha grinned up at her. “Nice to have proven the technology, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes.” Eroles allowed her delight to show for the first time. “The possibilities now are endless!”

  “Candini,” Ekatya asked, “is the shuttle bay pressurized?”

  “Still full of healthy Alsean air, Admiral. The doors are open and force fields are in place. I’ve even turned on the gravity plating.”

  “Very well. We’re coming in.”

  The broadcast closed out the view from the bridge, now devoting its full space to the vidcam in the shuttle as Ekatya flew toward her ship. Despite the enormous distance separating them, Tal thought she could sense the merest brush of her emotions.

  Fanciful, perhaps, yet stranger things had happened.

  She watched raptly as the gleaming ship drew nearer, its white hull reflecting light from the planet beneath. Soon it filled the windshield. A dark square loomed before them, and they passed into the narrow confines of the exit tunnel, familiar green guidance lights flashing down its length. Ekatya emerged into the vast, empty bay and set her shuttle down without so much as a vibration, from what Tal could see.

  “We’re in and securing the shuttle,” she said. “Have a cup of shannel ready for me on the bridge.”

  The split screen returned, showing Candini looking flummoxed. “Er, we’re going to need Kameha to power up those systems, Admiral.”

  “You mean you didn’t bring a flask from home?” Ekatya pulled a thermal flask from a console and held it up for the vidcam. “I never leave without it.”

  She rose from her seat, the vidcam following as she activated the door release and walked down the ramp, Kameha and Eroles close behind. They crossed the empty space and vanished through a door, while the announcers explained that until all systems were brought online, the maglifts were unpowered. Admiral Serrado, Prime Builder Eroles, and Chief Kameha would be using chases and brace shafts to reach the bridge. The vidcam—which was using the shuttle’s quantum com as a relay—could not follow.

  In the interim, the scene shifted to the control room, where a party was in progress as the builders and scholars celebrated their success. Footage taken in the room during the launch was now aired, showing utter silence and worried faces when the faulty booster was dropped with its partner, increasing hope as the ship rose, more silent tension while waiting for the engines to reach critical threshold, and finally the moment when Candini announced the successful restart.

  Tal’s pregnancy hormones leaked from her eyes again as a roomful of focused professionals leaped from their seats, laughing and crying while they touched palms and gestured ecstatically at the scene on the wall display. Tears rolled down many faces when they watched Candini’s barrel roll, even as their grins threatened to blind the vidcam’s optics.

  Salomen handed her a kerchief.

  “Thank you,” Tal said, drying her eyes. “Maybe by the time it’s my turn again, the healers will have found a solution for this hormone problem.”

  Alejandra laughed loudly. “That’s why I like you. You’re a dreamer.”

  “Yes, she is,” Micah agreed. “But dreams are what made this day possible.”

  With the kerchief balled in one hand, Tal placed a call. Onscreen, the control room director waved his arms, quieting the party.

  “Hoi, hoi, I’ve got someone wanting to talk to us!” In a lower voice, he added, “You’re on the speaker.”

  “This is Lancer Tal. I had two speeches prepared for you today. One of them I discarded the moment Chief Pilot Candini rolled the Seventh Star.”

  The project workers burst into applause, accompanied by whoops and cheers.

  “The other I’m setting aside as well, because you don’t need to hear what a historic moment this is. You know it. You’re living it. What I want to say is simply this: congratulations. You have done a spectacular job and made all of us proud. Alsea now has two paths to the stars and a bright future indeed.”

  More cheers, a few whistles, and many expectant faces. They were waiting for more.
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  “If I know Admiral Serrado, and I do—” She paused for the laughter. “She’ll be on the bridge in another tick. So I won’t linger. But before I go, allow me to offer a more physical manifestation of Alsean gratitude for your performance. If you’ll open the control room doors, you’ll find it sitting outside.”

  Two builders standing nearest the doors looked at each other in surprise, then raced to open them. The vidcam zoomed in on the stack of crates.

  “Glasses are in the two crates on top,” she said. “Drink a toast to yourselves first. You deserve it. After that, I leave it up to you. Enjoy!”

  She ended the call, savoring the roar of approval as project workers swarmed the crates, unpacking glasses and bottles of Valkinon and handing them out.

  “Right, I’ll ask,” Lhyn said. “How did you manage that? You’ve been with us the whole time and haven’t made a call.”

  “I had it delivered this morning. Once they closed their doors for the prelaunch, no one was going to open them again.”

  “But what if it hadn’t worked?”

  “Ah. I had two deliveries, in truth. If the launch failed, they’d have found grain spirits instead of Valkinon.”

  “Appropriate for drowning sorrows,” Micah said approvingly. “I’m glad it wasn’t necessary.”

  “Words for Fahla,” Alejandra agreed.

  The view shifted from partying project workers to the bridge of the Seventh Star, where the pilots jumped to their feet and saluted. “Admiral on deck!” Candini called.

  “Settle.” Ekatya strode across the bridge, looking very much at home. Behind her, Kameha and Eroles veered off to the engineering and operations consoles on the lowest tier, while Ekatya walked up to the second level to greet Candini and an awed-looking Tesseron. “Well done, both of you. Let’s get this ship operational.”

  What surprised Tal more than anything else was how quickly the ship’s primary systems were brought online. After the fraught lift to orbit and the lengthy wait for the engines, it seemed as if the rest should take considerable time. But as Ekatya had told her earlier, and the announcers explained now, the ship was built for a quick recovery from any interruption in power. In a battle, those resilient systems could be the difference between life and death.

  “Prime Builder,” Ekatya said, “please call the Phoenix and put it on the upper display.”

  “With pleasure.”

  Tal found it jarring to see the Prime Builder working an operations console like a junior officer, but it was clear that Eroles was having the time of her life. She entered the final command with a firm tap that made her bracelets chime. “I have the Phoenix on the com.”

  Ekatya looked up at a familiar face on the display. “Captain Sayana. I hope you don’t mind a little company up here.”

  “Mind? I couldn’t be more delighted. The Seventh Star is a splendid ship with a brilliant name. And a decent temporary pilot.”

  “Hoi!” Candini protested. “I’d like to see you find a better one!”

  One side of Rahel’s mouth tilted up. “Admiral, your shakedown team is in our shuttle bay, ready to transfer to their new home and duties. Is the Seventh Star prepared to receive?”

  “Ready and waiting, Captain.”

  Rahel ordered the launch, and the coverage switched to a new location: the Phoenix’s shuttle bay, where viewers followed a group of excited staff as they boarded the largest shuttle. Though most were Alsean, four stood out for their smooth foreheads: Gaians who had once called themselves hangers or slaves and were now known as members of the Confederated Worlds. The term “Voloth” had shifted its meaning on Alsea, becoming a pejorative not used in polite company.

  Ekatya’s new crew members settled into their seats, smiling widely and offering greetings to the vidcam as it floated through the shuttle to the cockpit. This part of the program was the result of a suggestion from Rahel, who had pointed out that few Alseans had any idea what their orbital lives were like, so why not take them along for the ride?

  Thus viewers were treated to a front-seat vantage point as the shuttle rose from the deck, traversed the exit tunnel, and emerged into space. They were there during the flight, the landing next to Ekatya’s shuttle on the Seventh Star, and the maglift ride to the bridge. They watched the staff take over various consoles and explain their purposes as, one by one, secondary and tertiary systems were brought online. In a particularly interesting segment, they followed three engineers down to the engine cradle to watch the gigantic surf engines as Candini ran the ship through a series of piloting tests.

  For the next hantick, the screen shifted between interior views of the two crews at work, and exterior footage taken by accompanying fighters as the Seventh Star engaged in shakedown maneuvers and the Phoenix kept pace. The two ships circled, spiraled, dipped into the thermosphere, and danced through space in a ballet that occasionally had Tal in tears. She hid them from the others, but Salomen pulled her close each time.

  “She’s come a long way, hasn’t she?” Salomen asked as they watched Rahel give orders with easy confidence.

  Tal nodded. “It’s hard to believe that Ekatya had to talk her into accepting.”

  “She wouldn’t have for anyone else. Those two were brought together by Fahla. She once told me that Ekatya knew what it meant to be an outcaste. She said she wouldn’t wish that on anyone, but it did mean that Ekatya understood her in a way others couldn’t. That made her the perfect instructor.”

  “I think it worked both ways,” Tal said. “Rahel understands her, too. They’ve taught each other.”

  Rahel had flourished under Ekatya’s tutelage, growing into a commanding officer known for both honor and compassion. She believed in second chances, and the Alsean and Confederated crew of the Phoenix, prone to mistakes as they learned their new duties, came to see her as their de facto leader long before she took over the command chair.

  She was onscreen now, congratulating Ekatya and her tiny crew on the successful performance of the Seventh Star. With the tests concluded, the broadcast was coming to its end.

  “Before we turn off these vidcams,” Rahel said, “I wonder if you’d like to test those engines one more time? Something different, just to see how good your temp pilot really is.”

  Ekatya could not hide her amusement. “A race, Captain? To where?”

  “Around the sun, six million lengths above the surface, and back to the space elevator. Loser buys a round for both commanding officer and pilot at the winner’s favorite bar.”

  “If I were still in the Protectorate Fleet, I’d have to give you a stern lecture on proper conduct for an officer on duty and appropriate usage of Fleet property.” Ekatya let her smile break free. “Since I’m in the Alsean Fleet, my answer can be much shorter. Captain, I believe you’ve maligned the superior abilities of my pilot. Obviously we’ll have to address that. I accept the challenge.”

  “Get your cinteks ready,” Candini called. “You’re paying.”

  “We’ll see. Give me one tick, please.”

  Tal’s earcuff alerted her to a call she hadn’t expected. The com code was a familiar one, and she answered with no preliminaries.

  “Are you calling for a judge?”

  Onscreen, Rahel nodded as she spoke quietly. “Will you?”

  “Gladly. Put me on.”

  “Thank you.” In a normal tone, Rahel said, “I’ve procured a neutral judge for the competition. Lancer Tal?”

  “I’m happy to oblige. On your return, fly past the elevator dock. I’ll tap into the external cam there and watch. Take your starting positions.”

  As the crews prepared, Tal’s attention was drawn to Rahel’s uniform jacket, made unique by its two producer-green armbands. Her status as the Bondlancer’s sworn warrior had earned the envy of half the population. Salomen’s courage and great heart gave her title more meaning than it had carried in generations, and Rahel was nearly as famous for their association as she was in her own right.

  Tal lifted Salomen�
�s hand for a kiss, then held it in both of her own.

  “What was that for?” Salomen whispered.

  She muted the call. “I have one tyree with her hands in the soil and another with her head in the stars. The two of you keep me in perfect balance. Our child will be born into such love, just like Little Chunk.”

  “For the love of Fahla,” Alejandra grumbled. “Not you, too.”

  Micah’s smirk melted into a softer expression as he watched them.

  “I feel . . .” She trailed off, searching for the right word.

  “Blessed,” Salomen said. With her free hand, she reached for Lhyn. “Beyond any of our dreams.”

  “My stars, yes.” Lhyn met her reach. “Not just beyond our dreams. Beyond our fantasies.”

  “Always the linguist,” Salomen teased.

  “Lancer Tal,” Ekatya said onscreen. “We’re ready.”

  Tal looked up at the vidscreen, showing the bridges of Alsea’s two warships. A tap unmuted her earcuff, and she closed her eyes, letting her empathic senses absorb the perfection of this day.

  “On my mark,” she said, squeezing Salomen’s hand once more.

  “Begin.”

  Glossary

  UNITS OF TIME

  piptick: one hundredth of a tick (about half a second).

  tick: about a minute (50 seconds).

  tentick: ten ticks.

  hantick: ten tenticks, just shy of 1.5 hours (83.33 minutes). One Alsean day is twenty hanticks (27.7 hours) or 1.15 days.

  moon: a basic unit of Alsean time, similar to our month but 36 days long. Each moon is divided into four parts called ninedays. One Alsean moon equals 41.55 stellar (Earth) days.

  cycle: the length of time it takes the Alsean planet to revolve around their sun (thirteen moons or approximately seventeen stellar months).