Star Runners

by Clayton J Callahan

  “Right.” Rodger smiled. “Happy anniversary.”

  “Happy anniversary, hubby. How’s Sheila?” Mark inquired.

  “She’s fine. She is leading the physical fitness classes for the children at the school. We have over three hundred families living on Alexandria now. Lots of refugees coming in from the outer provinces.”

  Mark lifted an eyebrow. “Things still going to hell in a hand-basket?”

  “You have no idea, dear. Right now I’ve got ‘His Nibbs,’ Duke Flavious, wanting to commandeer the Azanti Guard to attempt a coup on Capital.”

  “Oh hell, Rodger. That’s bullshit!”

  Rodger let loose a chuckle. “You always had a way with words, Mark.”

  “Never to the manor born was I.” He winked. “But I married well.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” The image reached out to slap Rodger on the shoulder, but the hand passed right through. “So, what are you going to do about Duke Fancy-pants?”

  “Not so fancy at the moment. He’s ‘forsaken all badges of high office save that of the crown imperial.’”

  Mark shook his head. “What an ass-hole.”

  “An apt description,” Rodger agreed.

  “So, back to the question; what are you going to do?”

  Rodger’s eyes sank down to the floor. “I have no idea. You worked with the Azanti. They’re each the epitome of the perfect soldier. Given an order from someone above and off they’ll go. Merrily marching to their deaths with a song in their hearts.”

  Mark’s image nodded. “Even if the song’s a funeral dirge.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re going to need those Azanti, Rodger. You’ve done a great job of holding your sector together. Hell, sometimes I think the Azanti Expense is the only civilized sector left in the whole damn galaxy. But the barbarians are still chomping at our gates. As-Shok’s boys could mean the difference between survival and…well not survival, for you and those three hundred families. I bet if you had a little more muscle to flex you might even be able to beat the darkness back a bit, but you don’t even have any naval support since Admiral Cho’s squadron got recalled. Right now you’re in the middle of a giant shit storm, hubby, and the Azanti Guard are your only umbrella.”

  “Eloquently put, Mark.”

  The image shrugged. “You were always the public speaker, not me. What does Sheila say you should do? She used to be a general, did she tell you of any plans?”

  “She didn’t say anything. I only just gave her the news before I came to see you. Like I said, happy anniversary.”

  “Well, hubby, let’s see if I can give you an anniversary present. Who do Azanti obey?”

  Rodger blinked. “Us of course, we’re their masters. We beat them in war, and now they acknowledge mankind as their superiors.”

  “Not mankind, Rodger. If that were true they couldn’t be used to put down human rebellions. Remember, they’re soldiers. Soldiers follow orders based on the chain of command. Pecking order is what it is. Plain and simple. You’re screwed as long as As-Shok, and his boys see Duke Dumbass as the man with the higher rank. Now, what can you do to change that?”

  “Nothing.” Rodger replied. “Flavious was born a duke. Heaven itself can’t erase that mistake.”

  The apparition of Mark rolled his eyes. “Think man. Your wife wears a black belt right?”

  “Yes,” Rodger admitted. “Actually she’s earned quite a few of them.”

  The image of Mark’s face stretched into a wide grin. “And they respect her because the Azanti understand what that black belt means in human culture. But, what if she wore a black sash?”

  * * *

  Station Alexandria’s grand dining hall didn’t see much use anymore. The vaulted room with the banners and tapestries took hours for the servants to dust, but the effect was dazzling. For dinner they prepared roast garganchia beast with potatoes and an Italian salad on the side. Dessert consisted of glazed pool-ball fruit, and the coffee was excellent. The company, however, left something to be desired.

  Unfortunately, when dukes speak, people have to listen. “The empire has been run into the ground by incompetents like Emperor Henrik. Raising taxes on those whose industry powers the economy while frittering money away on pet universities and other ‘social causes.’ These are tough times that require a firm hand. We can afford no such luxuries these days! Don’t you agree, Lady Sheila?”

  Rodger’s wife shifted in her seat. “I suppose you’re referring to military policy, Your Grace.”

  Flavious’s grin turned feral. “Naturally, rebellion must not be tolerated. The day is long past when we can waste time with commoners who seek to rise beyond their station. I offer Tarkan as an example.”

  “You may not be aware, Your Grace,” Rodger injected, “but my wife served as a marine officer on Tarkan back during the Screaming Eagle Rebellion. She saw things go from bad to worse as the military presence increased.”

  “That was a long time ago, dear husband. I’m sure His Grace has kept up with the latest in strategy and tactics. Why, I imagine if he were in charge, the war on Tarkan would have gone very differently.”

  The duke puffed up with pride. “Indeed, I would have reduced Paradise City to ashes on day one. I can state quite assuredly, had I been in command, there would have been no day two for that insurrection.”

  “I think we understand each other, Your Grace.” Sheila replied. “Warriors such as we share a common bond that surpasses mere intellect. A kind of instinct born of combat for which there is no substitute.”

  “Indeed,” Flavious agreed. “The crew of Agamemnon and I also share that bond. Why, they have known nothing but battle since I took command. Such a bond is beyond sacred. It is the essential ingredient to victory.”

  Sheila gently cooed, “And how do you plan to bond with our Azanti Guard, Your Grace?”

  “Excuse me, My Lady?” Flavious blinked.

  “The Azanti are, in many ways, the ultimate expression of the warrior ethos. They obey orders from their commander, of course. But mere obedience does not ensure victory. One must share with them that certain esprit de corps.”

  Duke Flavious leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard. “Do they not know of my reputation as a soldier?”

  Rodger saw the dark tunnel that had opened up in the conversation and sprang to keep anyone from going down it. “Of course they do, Your Grace. I think what my lovely wife meant was that they have had no direct experience with you personally and since you do not share their culture…”

  Flavious finished, “They may not understand my ways?”

  “Exactly, Your Grace,” Rodger replied. “It took me years to earn their trust in battle. I had to show them that, although I am not one of them, I respect their ways and honor their traditions. Only once I won their respect was our success universal in this sector.”

  Now it was time for Flavious to shift in his seat. “I don’t have years for them to learn my ways or for me to learn theirs.” The room grew quiet as everyone regarded their desserts. “Lord Rodger, you said there was some kind of ceremony tonight?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. A Qua-Delok will be held to induct new warriors into their ranks. No Azanti is an adult until he or she wears the black sash. The ceremony introduces them into the sacred circle of arms, and Azanti would rather die than betray that brotherhood.”

  Flavious took a sip of his coffee. “I will attend, Lord Rodger. When and where will it be held?”

  * * *

  It was midnight, as Station Alexandria reckoned it, in the Grand Atrium. The dome above showed the light of a million stars as planet Tlaloc wobbled in and out of view. The entire Azanti contingent crammed into the great hall. The initiates, their trainers, and families stood around the central dais awaiting the beginning of the rites. Lord Rodger and Duke Flavious stood on the dais by War-master As-Shok and his violet-sashed leadership cadre. As-Shok lit the gas fountain and fire erupted from the brazier i
n the center. Fire, that ancient light of destruction and comfort, played an important role in the ceremonies of so many cultures—human and alien.

  Forsaking Common English, As-Shok called the crowd to attention in his native tongue, a raspy language full of fearsome grunts and howls. The room fell silent as he recounted bits and pieces of the proud heritage of his warrior people. The great Azanti Empire reigned supreme among the stars for thousands of years. That is until they delegated the care and development of their technology to slaves. That is until their restless pursuit of war prevented the growth and development of a society that can only take place during peace. That is…until they met the humans. But even so, they remained true warriors who never lost their traditions of honor, courage, and obedience. They remained, the fearsome Azanti race!

  A commo stud on Rodger’s hand buzzed. He suppressed a smile as he shut the device off, then he whispered into the duke’s ear. “Now the Azanti who are to be elevated to fight-leader will approach the flame.”

  Three of the great blue aliens, accompanied by their trainers, ascended the few, short steps and joined their masters on the dais. As-Shok asked each if they were ready to die for Azanti honor, and each stated, “yes.” At As-Shok’s order, the trainers stepped forward and untied the black sashes that denoted the former, lower rank. He handed each initiates a wrought iron shaft resembling a fireplace poker. The three gave their trainers a solemn bow and then approached the fire. In turn, they draped their sashes over the hooked end; then, with great dignity, each surrendered a black sashes to the flame.

  Rodger whispered, “They will now request to serve at their new rank and state the reasons why they believe they are worthy.”

  Flavious nodded as Lord Rodger again stepped away from his ear. The duke seemed restless with the tedium of the ceremony. The use of the Azanti language made it hard for even Rodger to follow at times, but he suspected Flavious was annoyed for another reason. For once in his noble life, Flavious wasn’t the center of attention.

  As-Shok tied three red sashes on the initiates as they rendered their master the imperial salute. Their war-master returned the human gesture and the three departed the dais. Lord Rodger, once again, leaned toward his duke’s ear. “Now the ten novices will present themselves. They have no trainers as of yet and are unproven. Their initiation will be a harder one, proving that they are indeed worthy. Their relatives will stand by them.”

  Ten sashless young Azanti approached the steps and ascended the dais with heads bowed low. Their relatives introduced them to As-Shok who questioned them each in turn. Rodger whispered, “As-Shok is now asking if they wish to renounce their former life of peace and embrace a life of war.”

  The ten answered as one with a single, guttural word that simply meant “yes.” As-Shok made the same motion as before to direct them to the flame but gave none of them a hooked rod. The initiates then each held out a hand over the flame while As-Shok recited an ancient poem. When he spoke the last word, ten hands slowly withdrew from the fire. The rhino-hard blue skin resisted, but each palm would still bear a scar to be healed. Finally, the initiates were presented with a recruit’s black sash to be tied on by their relations.

  “They have passed the test, Your Grace. Each has now been admitted into the ranks of Azanti warriors and will be given trainers to school them in the arts of combat. They are as one against all foes. No Azanti will deny them their place of honor. They are now part of the brotherhood, or sisterhood if you will, and nothing save dishonor in battle can ever change that.”

  “This is how one gains their trust?” the duke asked.

  “Absolute trust, Your Grace. Trust, obedience, loyalty, honor, all the great traditions of the Azanti are now theirs to share.”

  Flavious smiled a crooked grin. “Then there will be one more initiate tonight.”

  “Your Grace?” Rodger asked.

  “Tell As-Shok that I wish to undergo the Qua-Delok now.”

  “But, Your Grace, that honor has never been given to a human before,” Rodger replied. “It would be considered an extremely bold gesture.”

  The duke let out a gruff chuckle. “Story of my life, Lord Rodger. Now, arrange it.”

  Rodger approached As-Shok and made his boss’s desires known. As-Shok resisted at first, but Rodger explained it was Duke Flavious’ most sincere wish.

  “He will have to undergo all aspects of the trial, My Lord.”

  Rodger looked back at his boss who gave a curt nod. “Apparently, the duke is willing, As-Shok. If need be, I will make it an order.”

  The orange eyes closed slowly. “I will do as you ask, My Lord. As I expect those under me to do as I command.” The eyes opened and turned to Flavious. “Do you have any family to speak for you?”

  “Lord Rodger is my brother in blood royal,” Flavious announced.

  Rodger nodded.

  In a stately tone, As-Shok said, “Then state your deeds that entitle you for this honor.”

  “I am Duke Flavious, Knight Commander of the Imperial Sea. I have commanded fleets of warships in battle and emerged victorious. All my life, I have practiced the art of war, and I have always stood ready to fight any who would present to me even the most modest of grievances. In my chest beats the heart of a warrior, and I demand to be admitted into the Azanti brotherhood of arms this day.”

  As-Shok turned to Rodger. “Are the words of his mouth words of truth?”

  “Every word he said was true, War-master,” Rodger replied in all sincerity.

  As-Shok asked, “Do you renounce the life you had before to embrace a life of war?”

  “Yes!” The duke declared.

  As-Shok motioned to the flame. “Then approach the place of fire and show that you are worthy.”

  Flavious strutted up to the fire and stuck his left hand over the flame, and if he held it a little higher than the earlier initiates, no one spoke of it. As-Shok again recited the Azanti poem as Rodger watched the duke’s face contort in pain. With the last word spoken, Flavious couldn’t snap his hand back fast enough. Rodger caught a glimpse before the hand was shoved into a waiting armpit. His Grace received a good first-degree burn but would recover.

  As-Shok handed Rodger a black sash to tie in a neat knot around the duke’s waist. The war-master concluded the ceremony with, “You now bear the rank of brother warrior among us.”

  “And we are to do great things together!” The duke declared. “Lord Rodger, tell them.”

  Rodger blinked. “Tell them what?”

  “Come on, man. This is as good a time as any.” Then, turning to As-Shok he said, “I am assuming command of the Azanti Guard of Station Alexandria. You will be marching onto the Agamemnon tomorrow, and under my leadership, you will acquire even greater accolades for the Empire of Mankind and the Azanti race.”

  As-Shok looked at Lord Rodger who smiled and shrugged. As-Shok stated, “Warrior, you wear the black sash.”

  Flavious looked at the cloth around his waist. “Yes, I am a member of the Azanti brotherhood. Am I not?”

  “Yes,” said As-Shok.

  Flavious balled his right hand into a fist. “So, I now command you, as an Imperial Duke, and a brother Azanti.”

  “No,” replied As-Shok.

  Flavious threw up his arms. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

  Rodger spoke up. “He means the opposite of ‘yes,’ Your Grace. You left your previous status behind. You renounced your former life and donned the black sash. Every Azanti on this station just witnessed you do that. As-Shok is your war-master now. You are not his.”

  The duke’s eyes hardened. “I have a warship docked to your station, Rodger. Does that mean nothing? Why, when I…”

  Rodger cut him off. “When you do what, Warrior? By virtue of her imperial military rank, my wife assumed command of the Agamemnon as this ceremony began. It seems your spacers were quite happy to learn that they would no longer be taking part in this hopeless civil war.”

  As-Shok said, “Do not fear, Wa
rrior, I personally will see to your training. You may find it harsh, but if you dedicate yourself fully, you may attain the rank of fight-leader in as little as ten standard years.”

  “And what,” Flavious demanded, “is a ‘fight-leader?’”

  Rodger smiled. “It’s the equal of a corporal, Your Grace. Quite an achievement, if you survive the training.”

  “Lord Rodger, you are a traitor!” Warrior Flavious screamed.

  “To you, yes. To the empire, no,” Lord Rodger answered. “There will be no coup. But don’t worry, I’m sure the empire will continue to pull itself apart without your help or mine. As for the Azanti Guard, you and they will continue to protect civilization in this corner of the galaxy. That’s the only way I know to give humanity a fighting chance at survival, and despite the works of men like you, and humanity deserves that chance!”

  The End

  About The Author

  Throughout his life, Clayton J. Callahan has made his living in the armed professions. In the 1980s he served in the US Navy with an anti-terrorist unit. After 9/11, he enlisted in the US Army and is now an Iraq War veteran twice over. Between deployments, he's worked as a deputy sheriff, a correctional officer, and as a federal agent for US Army Counterintelligence.

  Callahan’s writing tends to stress the human element of every story he tells. He believes that people want to connect with people through fiction. Therefore, he strives to make his characters as interesting and as human as possible. He does this through his own unique sense of humor and life experiences. As most of his life experiences revolve around soldiers, police officers, spies, and criminals, such people feature prominently in his work. In this, he puts stereotypes aside, making each and every character someone real enough to have a story all unto themselves.

  He is primarily considered a science fiction writer. However, Callahan has also written historical spy fiction, ghost stories, games, and non-fiction books.

  Other Books by Clayton J. Callahan

  Books by Seka Heartley

  Clayton would also like to recommend some books by his good friend Seka Heartley. However, readers should keep in mind that Seka writes strictly for the twenty-one and older crowd and is NOT the same person as Clayton J. Callahan. They are different authors entirely!