SeptStar

by Blaze Ward

  Kathra rose now and exited her cabin, still too wound up to consider sleeping. Nights like this, she frequently would pick a direction and walk long ways around the deck a few times until she was finally tired, or at least relaxed.

  A quarter of the way around, she ran into Erin, walking towards her with the same saunter to her step. They met midway and stopped.

  “Can’t sleep,” Kathra said as Erin started to open her mouth.

  “Me, neither,” the other woman replied.

  Erin turned and they started walking.

  “I’m worried about Daniel,” Kathra admitted in a low voice.

  Erin knew the truth. As much as Kathra had a sister, it was Erinkansilemi. They had no secrets at this point, all the more so because of Daniel and his abilities.

  “You cannot be two places at once, Kathra,” Erin reminded her.

  Kathra stopped walking so suddenly that Erin had to turn around.

  “What?” Erin asked.

  “Why not?” Kathra asked.

  Erin blinked. Opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again.

  “What did you have in mind?” Erin asked quietly.

  “The Ishtan were tracking Daniel,” Kathra said. “Probably they were able to see that gem, since Urid-Varg took it from the most powerful of their kind before he killed most of the rest. They cannot find us here, except by asking travelers. That gives us time. But they could come out of a jump wherever he is, with whatever allies they have recruited, and ambush him.”

  “And you don’t think Daniel could take care of himself?” Erin smirked.

  “Not against the Sept,” Kathra snapped. “Or a Free Worlds pirate in Ishtan pay. Big guns could batter him to death while he fought against the snakes trying to take over his mind. He knows that. Presumably the Ishtan do as well.”

  “What about the being in two places part?” Erin asked now.

  “The Sept are only after me because I am the leader of the Mbaysey,” Kathra said, starting to walk again. Erin fell in beside her, thumping on the odd strides because she hadn’t worn her boot. Just the metal heel. “The rest of the Mbaysey are not safe, with me here or gone.”

  “They’ll get up to mischief without you around,” Erin noted.

  “Will they?” Kathra countered. “We have a relatively safe place we could trade. An ally by marriage in A’Alhakoth’s father. On top of that, the Anndaing and others are aliens who are not likely to be viewed by the Sept as anything but monsters if they make it this far. Even the Kaniea would be suspect, since they are blue.”

  “What do you propose?” Erin’s voice got reserved.

  “Concursion,” Kathra said. “Leave most of the tribe here while I take SeekerStar to wherever Daniel is and make sure he is safe. And then keep him with us in the future until the Ishtan are no longer a threat.”

  “You are not leaving me here with the old women, Kathra Omezi,” Erin growled.

  Kathra grimaced. Of course Erin could read her mind.

  “Who, then?” Kathra asked.

  “Iruoma is fierce enough to deal with those whiny farts,” Erin laughed. “But she was with Daniel before and would be no more willing to remain behind than I am.”

  “It cannot be anybody in the comitatus,” Kathra decided. “None would forgive me, if we ran into trouble and had to fight without them.”

  She fell into silence and thought. Erin knew her well enough to do the same.

  They walked.

  “Perhaps, it is time for the Clans to grow up,” Kathra finally said.

  “How so?” Erin asked, matching her stride for stride.

  “We will not return to the land here,” Kathra said. “But Anndaing space might be a good place to establish some sort of permanent base. A TradeStar, if you will. Or a CityStar, if we could find the money and expertise to build such a thing.”

  “TradeStar?” Erin asked, her face twisted sideways in confusion.

  “A ClanStar in more or less permanent station here,” Kathra said. “Perhaps the forerunner to a TradeStation-sized ship that could waddle along with us like a Septagon when the whole tribe moved on, one of these days.”

  “And the growing up part?” Erin pressed.

  “If I need to be gone for an extended period, the twenty-two clan elders would need to make decisions as a collective. Enough of them are still fiercely loyal to Yagazie’s dream that I don’t have to fear a revolution in my absence, I don’t think. Grandma Ezinne is not the only woman who still has a tattoo on her face.”

  Erin absently touched the barcode on her right cheek. The one that was an exact duplicate of her grandmother’s, the infamous Ezinne. The thing that had once marked the old woman as property of a Sept noble, a Vuzurgan.

  “And Linga ver’Shingi?” Erin asked.

  “What happens if we turn him into a Trade Factor the likes of that fat bastard that built SeekerStar for us?” Kathra asked. “Isaev, without the shitty parts of his personality.”

  “How big are you dreaming, Kathra?” Erin gasped.

  For the first time in a while, Kathra heard something other than gruff determination in Erin’s voice. Awe, perhaps.

  “It was not enough that we escaped Tazo,” Kathra said. “The Sept sent assassins to kill Yagazie for that and put me in charge well before I was ready. They did not stop when we fled Sept space. They will not stop now. We need allies who can help us when they come this far into the galactic interior, or who can come to the aide of the Free Worlds when the Sept inevitably starts to push on their border.”

  “So we’re done fleeing?” Erin growled.

  “We are,” Kathra nodded. “I would like to take the war to them. But I will need a lot of support to do so. That includes the whiny old farts on the ClanStars. But it also includes a Kaniea Jarl named Linga ver’Shingi, and whatever others Daniel and I can find.”

  “About damned time,” Erin said.

  Kathra nodded. She had been fleeing from the Sept for her entire life.

  She was done running.

  Twenty-Eight

  Crence walked into this last meeting with great trepidation in his hearts. Wyll had basically demanded a few minutes, back on the station, even as Koni Swift was stowing the last finfull of boxes that he hoped would make him rich.

  More rich. Crence Miray was already one of the most successful trademasters of his generation. He could not rest on that, however.

  His pups would never want. Their pups would not, if his children had even half the success he had enjoyed to date, and that was before Kathra Omezi.

  But Crence Miray wanted to leave a mark on the galaxy that would still be here in ten thousand years. When pups born then might bear his name as a talisman of luck and honor.

  Hopefully not for being the biggest fuckup in Anndaing history. He had no doubts that his arriving on the doorstep at Tavle Jocia would set in motion a major realignment in trade across this entire quadrant of the galaxy.

  Humans, as far as Omezi had shared with him, only saw that gap of uninhabited star systems that were still marked K’bari on his own maps, and thought that perhaps nothing lay beyond it. No great civilizations, ancient by human standards. No masses of civilized worlds hungry for new goods.

  The Anndaing were just as guilty, as the K’bari had effectively blocked them for so many generations, and the memory served as something of a psychological wall even today.

  Crence Miray and Koni Swift would shatter that delusion.

  What would happen then?

  All these thoughts chased themselves back and forth in his hammer as he opened the door and found Wyll Koobitz already seated and a steward standing nearby, ready to take drink orders. A plate of fried squidlings sat on the low table between the two chairs, missing a few already.

  Wyll held a goblet of fermented boullo juice in one hand as Crence approached.

  “The same for me,” Crence decided, pointing to Wyll’s glass.

  If the boss was drinking alcohol tonight, then hopefully it was a social
event, and not a dressing down.

  Crence sat and the steward exited. The room was similar to the one earlier, with only two chairs and greener carpeting.

  Crence studied Wyll’s face and grabbed a squidling.

  “I suppose you were already aware that the Guild Council cannot be gathered fast enough to stop you,” Wyll said in a droll, severe voice that still had a touch of humor under it.

  “The thought had occurred to me,” Crence managed as an evasion.

  Wyll could pull rank right now and order him to stand down until the Council dragged his fins up in front of them for a formal hearing.

  “I am less worried about the Sept,” the Banker continued. “My staff read the necessary parts over the last several hours and conclude that their threat should best be measured in years and perhaps decades, even if they decided tomorrow to invade us.”

  Crence nodded. He’d talked to Daniel and Commander Omezi extensively on the topic, even going so far as to buy a small tablet device from her, after which Omezi had filled it with a variety of notes on the Sept from her own records.

  That woman had a hatred for the ages. Crence was just glad she had seen him as a potential ally and not a threat. SeekerStar could have annihilated Koni Swift, had she been of a mind.

  Wyll took a drink and munched on another squidling. The steward returned with a second glass and left the bottle when he departed.

  “What is Daniel Lémieux?” Wyll Koobitz asked in a hard voice when they were alone again.

  Crence took a sip and let the sweet, smoky taste linger on top of the salt from the squidlings. That question had kept him awake several nights on the trip home.

  “More than human, and less so,” Crence offered. “Joane Obiakpani is what she appears: a gruff, technically-minded warrior. Slowly learning Anndaing, with a Kaniea accent that is evolving as she spends time with my crew and later with her people. Tough and stubborn, but alien and on edge around us for that reason.”

  He paused, looking for the words.

  “Daniel talked and acted like an Anndaing merchant or scholar from the first moment we met him,” Crence continued. “He claims that Urid-Varg tried to take him over, in ways he will not elaborate, but that Kathra Omezi did kill the salaud eventually. Daniel was changed anyway, at least to some extent. Again, he will not explain, but he does indeed read Anndaing, K’bari, and Ovanii like a native. I don’t know anybody who can read the old Ovanii texts.”

  “Is he Urid-Varg?” Wyll asked.

  “If he is, he is playing a game with tides so long that they might not come to crest in my lifetime,” Crence answered. “I think that Urid-Varg did do things to him to make it possible for the man to become his servant, but failed before he could finish. Perhaps some shard of the conqueror lives on in Daniel, but he certainly hasn’t shown the kinds of power or threat that would have made me want to space him.”

  “And now you wish to leave?” Wyll pivoted.

  “Tavle Jocia represents a trading coup of the first order,” Crence reminded his boss. “As well as the opportunity to catch the Free Worlds off-guard and gather enormous amounts of intelligence on them. We only have Omezi’s word on things, and Daniel’s, but they would not have given us this much data to work with if they really had something to hide.”

  “And the Sept?”

  “Again, Commander Omezi and Daniel, and even Joane, consider them a threat to the civilized galaxy that must be resisted,” Crence said. “They say that non-humans are not particularly welcome there, but merchants are less hassled. Perhaps, when I return, your bosses will want to finance a mission into Sept space. The Se’uh’pal are apparently ubiquitous, so maybe we hire them to haul some of our people there undercover to inspect things and see what truths we can find.”

  “I dislike the thought of another war coming,” Wyll grimaced and took a sip.

  Crence stole two squidlings this time.

  “Do the humans suspect the shape of Anndaing space?” Wyll asked.

  “I don’t think we qualify as a conspiracy, Wyll,” Crence countered. “Just a form of government that is uncommon in human space, although Daniel suggested that it existed in the distant past on their own homeworld. It is unlikely that we would have to send the Call to Armada yet. If nothing else, our logistics train to attack a Sept world would be just as long and tortured as theirs to come here. It is more likely that we might do something in the meantime to surreptitiously help the Free Worlds resist Sept aggression.”

  “What would Kathra Omezi do, if she had no other hindrances?” Wyll asked.

  And Crence finally understood the purpose behind a private room, less than an hour before Koni Swift’s scheduled departure.

  “Fight them,” Crence answered, drawing on similar conversations with the woman before she left, and Daniel since. “Plausible deniability?”

  “Freedom fighters are just another shark’s outlaws and pirates,” Wyll quoted the old scholar. “If one batch of humans want to inflict damage on another batch of humans who might later be a threat to the Merchants Guild and our worlds, we should perhaps investigate the possibilities of everyone fighting over there, before we have to fight over here.”

  “So I should take a hard, straight run to Tavle Jocia?” Crence asked, understanding that there were many things unsayable at this point, even among their own kind.

  But he’d gotten wealthy by handling some of these odder jobs quietly for the Guild.

  “And straight back here, regardless of the transport options presented, unless you can convince someone to come to Ogrorspoxu.”

  “Loaded up with whatever books, videos, and intelligence-bearing materials I can haul,” Crence nodded.

  “Just so,” Wyll nodded. “I will continue to study Daniel Lémieux, as well as send someone to Kanus to get a better understanding of Kathra Omezi and her humans. It is not necessarily a gift tuna we should discount, but keep your fins upright, understanding that tomorrow might be the beginning of a new era in Anndaing history.”

  Crence nodded. He’d felt that same way the instant he scanned more than a score of completely alien vessels in the middle of what should have been nowhere.

  He snagged the last two squidlings before Wyll could get them, pondering his future. And everyone’s.

  What trouble would the humans bring?

  What trouble was he facing?

  But more importantly, how much wealth could he acquire in a single lifetime?

  Twenty-Nine

  Daniel had to agree with Crence Miray on at least this much. Ogrorspoxu was a paradise of a world, at least the capital city where he had landed.

  The city of Therly sat at the mouth of a great river of the same name as it debouched into a bay so large that it had looked like a sea in its own right when the shuttle had been bringing him and Joane to the surface. Mountains with a gap at the mouth of the bay blunted the effect of tides and storm, so the three days he had spent here in this hotel with the fantastic view of the bay reminded him of a small pond somewhere, like glass in the morning until the breezes finally ruffled the surface a little.

  The Anndaing had treated him like visiting royalty, so he presumed that Crence Miray and Wyll Koobitz had been impressed enough with the tales he had spun. Most of them were truth, with just some important parts left out. The parts that might get him killed by his new alien friends.

  He had a suite. Him in the big bedroom, with Joane in one of the smaller ones that was only the size of the comitatus dining hall on SeekerStar. His felt large enough to land several Spectres comfortably. Both of them were relaxing in the main room this morning, watching the rising sun slowly cast city shadows onto the water.

  Even the food had been excellent, as they finished nibbling on an early brunch, but Daniel had been able to spell out for the kitchen of the hotel exactly what he and Joane liked and how to prepare it after their time aboard Koni Swift. That had helped.

  The only thing he was really missing was fresh eggs from a chicken, but the sharks
had nothing similar in their pantry, so he had told them the mix of basic chemicals they could use to get a similar effect on grain to make it rise from a flatbread into the kind of loaf he preferred.

  Culinary revolution, one chef at a time.

  He checked the wall clock for the local time and realized that their visitor would be along shortly. Daniel rose and stretched, pulling everything tight and trying to look a little less rumpled than he probably felt.

  He’d given up formal and glad-handing when he walked away from the restaurant. Anyone else asking him to return to those ways would have gotten a piece of his mind, but it was Kathra.

  Enough said.

  A fin rapped on the outer door. Joane moved to answer, grinning at him as she did. No one could possibly be fooled into thinking she was just a harmless observer. Especially not when she was armed and refused even polite suggestions that her pistol was unnecessary in Therly.

  Daniel didn’t bother mentioning what he might do to a potential assassin. Better as a surprise.

  “Ambassador,” Joane bowed and genially waved Wyll Koobitz into the suite.

  The shark had arrived alone today, instead of in the company of some of the folks that had come previously, who never had questions but just silently observed.

  Daniel assumed they were spies for other factions in the Merchants Guild who needed to be assuaged as to what was going on.

  He got the shark seated and poured a mug of something more or less equivalent to hot tea. Perhaps a weak, sweet coffee. Hard to gauge without actually putting the leaves into the scrutinizer that Joane habitually kept with her.

  Daniel hadn’t cared enough to know, and didn’t ask Joane if she had.

  They made small talk over pastries that were the first steps away from sweetened flatbread into perhaps the world of scones. Daniel had a meeting scheduled with the head chef of the hotel later in the evening to expand that shark’s repertoire.