SeptStar

by Blaze Ward

  Hadi Rostami was a scholar, masquerading as a naval officer. A bureaucrat. Many would seek to insult him by using the term, unaware how important those folks truly were.

  Feeding the three hundred thousand men of a Septagon was an exercise in logistics that showed on a daily basis what utter amateurs some of the greatest so-called commanders in human history really were. Logistics had destroyed Napoleon and Hitler, just as it had shown Wellington and Patton to be the better men.

  A single battle might be won on heart, but an entire war is won on boots and bread. Septagon Vorgash was among the best in the fleet for that reason.

  So Amirin Pasdar, possibly the greatest warrior-commander alive right now, had sent his bureaucrat out to chase down his greatest enemy.

  Because logistics works both ways. You cannot flee if you must stop to forage. And if you break up into smaller elements, forcing a single pursuer to choose his prey, you weaken yourself as the final confrontation approaches.

  Kathra Omezi could not break away from her squadron without leaving someone vulnerable, a lone calf. So she would be hindered by them.

  Hadi would use that knowledge as he planned.

  The clock was nearing zero.

  SeptStar, like its prey, was a central pillar of a vessel, around which a ring was hung at the waist. The ring spun to supply the illusion of gravity, but both vessels had their command nodes on the central hull, in zero gravity.

  But it did not feel right to give this command seated. Even more so because the three men with whom he shared this bridge were seated ninety degrees apart from each other, around the circular hull.

  Hadi unbuckled and rose, holding on with his toes to a bar set for this purpose. Already, he had been forced to change the standards of uniforms for his new crew, as such bars and other devices damaged the polish on leather boots. They wore cloth straps around their boots now to protect the polish, and removed them when they rode down into gravity. Eventually, he might have to locate an expert who could supply his crew with better footwear, as he and his men moved beyond the rigid structures of the Sept.

  He reached down and triggered the switch to allow his voice to reach every corner of this vessel, including the weirdly-lit suite where the aliens resided. He would deal with them later, but this was a human task now.

  A Sept Imperial thing.

  “All hands, this is Aspbad Hadi Rostami,” he said calmly, listening to the echoes in the room. “Our day is at hand. Septagon Vorgash has tasked us with completing the mission that they cannot. Bringing the Mbaysey to heel. Or destroying them, if they refuse. The Naupati has chosen you men as his instruments of justice, of all the possible sailors and warriors on Vorgash. We will make him proud, just as we will bring glory onto our Emperor.”

  Hadi paused to take a deep breath and let his words settle the men.

  “Navigator, your course has been laid in,” he continued after a moment. “Initiate.”

  “Initiating breakaway,” the man replied formally. “All systems nominal. Valence drives charged.”

  “Make your jump,” Hadi ordered the man.

  SeptStar leapt out of the universe.

  Somewhere, with a team of deathless hounds leading him, he would run Kathra Omezi down.

  And destroy her.

  Twenty

  Kathra studied the planetary system below her from the bridge of SeekerStar, looking over Ife’s shoulder, at least metaphorically. In zero gravity, they weren’t even on the same plane.

  Kanus. Home of the Kaniea. Birthplace of A’Alhakoth ver’Shingi, now known as Spectre Twenty-Three.

  The start of a new phase in Kathra’s life and the lives of the entire Mbaysey.

  On a projection of the explored galaxy, with Earth and Rhages centered, Kanus was a simple dot clear out on the edge, towards the base of the arm containing those two worlds. Not all that close to the center of the galaxy as such distances went, and emotionally it was forever away from where she’d come.

  And this was just the start. A world on the nearer edge of Anndaing space. Part of their trade empire, except empire was the wrong word.

  Trade Confederation, perhaps. A place where eleven species lived and traded with each other, plus however many strangers might wander in from the edges of the maps.

  Humans had probably made it at least this far at some point. They were like that.

  But they might have come as lone merchants or travelers on a ship, rather than an entire tribal squadron come to trade and explore. To seek the sparsely inhabited systems where they might mine the giants for gases, the asteroids for metals, and the comets for water.

  All without ever setting foot on a planetary surface.

  Kanus maintained an independent Customs Union with the other systems, but used modern, Anndaing vessels. Modified versions of the transport that Crence Miray had used to come aboard SeekerStar. Some were armed. Others were pure rescue vessels to assist a ship in distress.

  Nobody had ever seen anything like one of her ’Stars.

  For one, the Anndaing used a gravity system vaguely similar to the human one, but apparently smaller while still much more efficient. Kathra had not yet determined if the next vessel she built should have one.

  On the one hand, a ship could be compact and more durable, since it didn’t have to spin like a top. On the other hand, those would be complicated parts that needed to be replaced on a regular basis, bought from some Anndaing ally’s factory.

  It would also tie her down and make her dependent on someone else.

  SeekerStar only needed fuel derived from those gases they mined, and minerals left over from planetary formation. And physics.

  Kathra did not need anyone else, except to provide the tribe with the vast amounts of grains that could be more efficiently grown on a planetary surface, letting the ClanStars focus on exotic and interesting things that they could trade amongst themselves and send as tribute to the other ships.

  “Everyone behaving?” Kathra asked the room.

  “So far,” Ife replied, grinning. “Most of the squadron is hard at work on the edge of the system, escorted by about half the comitatus. They know not to embarrass you today. And the locals are no more twitchy than one would expect, with twenty-seven alien ships that just showed up on their scanners broadcasting an Anndaing trade request.”

  Kathra nodded. Smiled even. From here, everything was just points of light in the distance, set against the darkness. Even the Anndaing TradeStation in the near distance was nothing more than a slender column, which alone marked it as something outside the normal.

  Sept stations tended to be flat cylinders connected together on the level, like clover leaves. This was a top rather like SeekerStar, with perhaps forty levels, all of which had docks.

  Not that SeekerStar could dock with something like that, but the two were darkly mirrored.

  “And the station?” Kathra asked.

  “Waiting for you to fly over and say hello,” Ife nodded.

  “Good enough,” Kathra decided.

  She kicked off and headed aft quickly. The ride down to the flight deck was the longest part, and then she was aboard Spectre One and launching into the gap.

  No SkyCamels today. Tomorrow, most likely, once there had been conversation to establish rules and rates.

  Eleven Spectres flew in a formation that only looked random to an outsider, with her and A’Alhakoth being escorted by the other nine.

  “Spectres One and Twenty-Three, preparing to land,” Kathra said in Anndaing as she approached the large bay.

  It would hold one of those transports easily enough, so she could have stuffed two more fighters in here, given the skill of the pilots, but Kathra wasn’t showing off today.

  Best to keep a few secrets, just in case.

  Inside, the deck was simple steel, so the magnets in her landing gear would hold her in place quite well. She still rotated on her gyros before setting down, lining the nose of her craft up with the bay door.

  And the gu
ns, as well, just in case there was a need to blast her way out of here later. Kathra doubted it, but she was an alien on someone else’s station, in their system, and had only A’Alhakoth’s three years out-of-date memories to go on.

  And whatever lies that grinning shark had sold her for a pocket full of magic beans.

  She laughed to herself as her Spectre settled.

  The bay door closed and she could hear and feel atmosphere begin to fill the volume.

  At some point, she would need to upgrade at least one SkyCamel to mate-dock instead of taking up a full repair bay, but she might just buy one of those transports instead, depending on how expensive a mechanic might be to hire for it.

  Out and up, Kathra emerged from her top hatch at the same time as A’Alhakoth did. Locked her hatch. Climbed down the ladders to the deck.

  They wore tangerine today. And pistols, diplomacy be utterly damned.

  We are comitatus. You make way.

  But she smiled as she met the young Kaniea woman midway and started across to the main hatch where a party was no doubt waiting for her.

  Cycle through the airlock, marveling at a system where they irised open silently.

  Kathra emerged first.

  The hallway had something of a crowd, but she could see big, blue men politely holding folks at a distance. Closer, two Kaniea males, a female, and an Anndaing, all dressed in what looked like formal robes to Kathra’s eye.

  Everyone was shorter than her. Significantly. Half a head or so for the men. The tiny woman was A’Alhakoth’s size.

  Kathra stopped at a polite distance and bowed her head, feeling Spectre Twenty-Three doing the same on her left wing.

  “Greetings and welcome to Kanus,” the Anndaing said carefully, returning the bow in the same manner that Crence Miray had done.

  “It is my exquisite pleasure to visit the home world of one of my comitatus women,” Kathra replied, watching the Kaniea pupils slit hard in surprise at her linguistic abilities.

  As if she hadn’t been working her ass off for this very moment since she identified her next goal.

  “I am Morgan Wilzae,” the shark said. “Trademaster In Residence. This is Dola Masumi, Ambassador, and his deputies, Evgi Wallicki and Ae’Alreth Zarrani.”

  “I am Kathra Omezi,” she said formally. “Commander of the Mbaysey Tribal Squadron and leader of the comitatus. A’Alhakoth ver’Shingi, Spectre Twenty-Three.”

  More bows. The Kaniea had a history similar enough to humanity that they shook hands, a custom once designed to show you weren’t holding a blade in it.

  Even the Anndaing joined in.

  Quickly, they were moved to a large room dominated by a table, except that this was not a dining hall. Looked like a space permanently dedicated to meetings.

  Part of Kathra was appalled at the hideous waste to have such a space, but she also recognized that Kanus did not face the daily crush of poverty of a poor tribe hiding and fleeing in space.

  This was what wealth would look like.

  If she survived the next round of adventures and problems to grasp it.

  The Kaniea across from her looked apprehensive, but the trademaster was possibly a close cousin of Miray, from the smile on his face and the way his eyes studied her.

  “We met the vessel Koni Swift,” Kathra said as everyone got settled. “Trademaster Crence Miray bartered with us.”

  She pulled an Anndaing coin from her pocket, placed it on the table, and left it at that. The Anndaing wrapped up so much behavior inside such a term because it conveyed a level of trust and civilization between well-met strangers.

  “And they did not choose to accompany you to Kanus?” the Ambassador asked carefully.

  Kathra felt confident at this point that she spoke enough of the tongue for polite, casual conversation, but A’Alhakoth leaned forward to translate now. Things were going to get technical and complicated.

  “We did a deal with them,” A’Alhakoth smiled. “A line of credit drawn on the Anndaing Merchants Guild Bank, against the services of two of our ambassadors that they are currently transporting to Ogrorspoxu.”

  Kathra smiled politely at the two different ways that information was received. The three Kaniea were all surprised and perhaps pleased at the news. The Anndaing’s hammer flexed forward so far that she wondered if it hurt.

  “Ambassadors?” he asked after a beat just long enough that maybe the others had missed it, but not Kathra. Nor A’Alhakoth.

  Time spent educating human women and trading information and goods with Koni Swift’s crew.

  “The Commander’s chef is fluent in Anndaing, in spite of being human,” A’Alhakoth said into the gap with just a hint of a smile. “That allowed the Mbaysey to come directly to Kanus now, instead of calling on Ogrorspoxu first.”

  The shark’s eyes swelled outwards so far that Kathra wondered if they might indeed pop out of the sides of his hammer.

  “And you intend to trade here as your first stop?” Morgan Wilzae asked, perhaps a touch breathless.

  As in, just how wealthy might the Trademaster In Residence get, if friendly aliens suddenly showed up here with stories, materials, and needs? And brought the entire trade sector to town to do deals?

  Kathra smiled. It was something that human, Kaniea, and Anndaing shared, so he would react.

  “It is my hope that Kanus can become something of a base of trade operations for us, at least for a time,” Kathra said for A’Alhakoth to translate, watching the reaction on the four faces. “We are generally a nomadic tribe, but it is my understanding that humans are exceedingly rare in this slice of the galaxy, so we will trade. Perhaps purchase advanced technologies. And recruit.”

  “Recruit?” the Ambassador spoke up now, perhaps a shade put out.

  “The Mbaysey are not just human,” Kathra said. “Even my comitatus, the women warriors sworn to me life and soul, include a Kaniea now. The various ClanStars at the edge of the system contain seven species, although we are more than ninety-seven percent human at present. That is not necessarily a permanent condition.”

  “What is your goal?” the man asked, eyes narrowing.

  “Exploration,” Kathra replied. “Then trade. We chose not to remain part of the Sept Empire, a human thing, nor the Free Worlds, which is a multi-species political organization between here and the Sept Empire. What lies beyond you, closer to the galactic core? I might wish to find out.”

  She watched that information settle in on all four of them. Saw the way faces reset into different alignments as they began planning.

  With any luck, she wouldn’t need to run any deeper into the galaxy to escape the Sept or the Ishtan. She could just maintain the tribe here for a generation.

  Not that Kathra believed that for a moment.

  Twenty-One

  As a visiting Ambassador, Daniel rated a suite of rooms comparable to what the Trademaster, Crence Miray, had aboard Koni Swift. While he retired there in the evening to read, living there all the time would have been too much, even for an introvert like him.

  Instead, he tended to spend much of his time in the dining hall, just as if he were still aboard SeekerStar. The trademaster had a small library of actual books, printed objects rather than electronic files on readers, so Daniel had just continued on his earlier task of translating.

  Here, however, he was taking an Anndaing history book and translating it into Spacer, with a little French thrown in for good measure. Crence was going to get a copy, along with whatever else Daniel had done by that time.

  Including a book of Ovanii poetry.

  Daniel had chosen the book in front of him because it was history, but it was still more a volume on general trade than a review of the Ovanii or Urid-Varg. He could probably fill in everything they ever wanted to know about the Conqueror if he chose, but that wasn’t happening today.

  And the Ovanii barely rated one paragraph.

  At least there was information about the K’bari.

  The rise of a trade
confederation rivaling the Anndaing. Centuries and more of trade and conflict as the two sides largely carved out sectors of space for themselves and drew reasonable lines on maps.

  Again, Daniel knew more, just because he had a book he had already translated. And written from a K’bari point of view. And a K’bari ghost in his mind.

  A shape settled across the table from him. Unlike the trestle tables on SeekerStar, these were rectangles that would seat six, but you had to push them together for more, and then risked banging your knee on a leg when you sat.

  Daniel looked up from his homework. The shape had been too big and noisy to be Joane.

  Crence Miray sat across from him. Trademaster of the ship, which was roughly the equivalent of a captain or aspbad, depending on how you wanted to translate the relevant cultural concepts.

  Daniel closed his book and studied the shark. It was too early for the daily lessons in conversation. And it was just the two of them right now.

  Crence looked around once with those wideset eyes on that interesting hammer, but they were alone. For now.

  There was no threat emanating from the man, but Daniel reached out with his mind to listen to the shark’s emotions anyway. Two weeks away from SeekerStar just meant that he’d have one hell of a time getting back to Kathra if things went wrong right now.

  Or the Ishtan showed up.

  Not that he couldn’t get ugly if he had to.

  “Trademaster,” Daniel nodded, resting his elbows on the table.

  He liked the Anndaing man.

  “Daniel,” the shark replied with a quick smile.

  Daniel waited, unsure what the man was up to. He chose not to peek.

  “I wanted to ask why you had such a fascination with the K’bari and the Ovanii,” Crence finally said quietly.

  “But?” Daniel asked.

  “But I’m more concerned about how you can translate those two languages,” the trademaster said. “The K’bari have been gone for a long time, the Ovanii even longer.”