Witch Nebula (Starcaster Book 4)

by J. N. Chaney

  Tanner held up a hand. “I understand that. I’m not proposing to purchase your ship. I was thinking more of a partnership agreement of some sort. Maybe—and I’m just thinking out loud, here—we could offer you preferred trade access throughout Allied Stars space in exchange for an opportunity to study your tech.”

  Now it was Bertilak’s turn to hold up a hand. “Captain Tanner, you may have noticed that I am less concerned with the structure of your society, and by association, your military. Is it fair to assume you’ve seen this?”

  “It is,” Tanner said.

  “I am Bertilak. I am my own island in a sea of stars, and thus, I am bored.”

  “You’re . . . bored?” Tanner’s brows shot up, but he did his best to remain crisp and professional.

  “Yes. Bored. Your probe into how to best leverage my ship is . . . cumbersome. Not unexpected, but still, not what I hope for as I move from star to star, ever seeking distraction. It may be that I have a proposal to fit both our needs, though it will not be standard. Not by any measure of your Orbital Navy,” Bertilak said. He was watching Thorn as he spoke.

  “I’m listening,” Tanner said, head tilted. He was openly curious, and Thorn didn’t like the direction they were heading.

  “A wager.”

  “A wager? What sort of wager?”

  Bertilak leaned forward. “You and I will fight. If I win, I will bring you aboard my ship, and we will travel together, and you can learn whatever you wish about my technology. If you win, I shall give you a free run of my ship now and spare you the miserable experience of being my traveling companion.”

  Silence hung in the air. Thorn saw the XO’s eyes widen. Tanner just stared. “Fight?” he asked. “As in physically fight one another?”

  “Well, we could take up firearms and shoot at one another, but I don’t think that actually being seriously injured or killed would suit either of us. We’re not animals, you know.”

  “I appreciate the offer, Bertilak,” Tanner said, sitting back, “but I’m afraid I must decline. I can’t simply leave the Hecate and take off to parts unknown with you—even if there is a certain appeal to it.”

  “There is?” Thorn muttered, and Tanner shot him a glare.

  “Would you be willing to take on Bertilak, Lieutenant Stellers? I understand that you’re quite the capable hand-to-hand fighter, and you’ve made it clear that you find him more than a little fascinating.”

  “You do?” Bertilak said, grinning widely. “I am flattered, Lieutenant, and I mean that sincerely.”

  Thorn looked from one to the other. “You’re proposing that I fight Bertilak, sir? I’m a Starcaster, not an engineer. Me traveling with him would be—I’d be a glorified observer, in truth.”

  “That only matters if you lose,” Bertilak said, his grin widening even more. “Do you expect to lose, Lieutenant?”

  “It’s a good point,” Tanner put in. “If you beat him, we get full access to his tech right away.”

  “That sounds like a good deal,” the XO said.

  Thorn shook his head. “Sir, this is . . . crazy. You’re proposing I fight Bertilak over his tech?”

  Tanner’s gaze bore into Thorn’s eyes. “Why not? Even if you lose, and you become Bertilak’s guest for a time, it will give you an opportunity to learn other things about him—things that you’ve admitted are quite unique.”

  Bertilak’s eyebrows shot up. “Ah, and what unique things would these be?”

  “Lieutenant Stellers has observed that his magic doesn’t seem to interact with you or your ship at all,” Tanner replied. “Given the reliance of the Nyctus on their own use of magic, that could prove pretty damned useful.”

  Bertilak’s grin faded a touch. “I knew that you exploited this thing you call magic in pursuit of victory in your war, but I had no idea that I am allegedly immune to its effects. Now that is interesting.”

  Thorn turned to Tanner, determined to keep an imploring tone out of his voice. “Sir, I think my time is better used here, aboard the Hecate.” The situation—absurd as it was—was spiraling out of control.

  “Again, you’ll only leave the Hecate if you lose,” Tanner replied.

  Thorn drew in a breath through his nose, eyes going up to the ceiling. “Yes, sir, I get that. But—”

  “Look at this way, Lieutenant,” Bertilak said, “it will give you something useful to do.”

  Thorn stopped, turned, looked squarely at the alien. “Clarify that for me, Bertilak. Now, if you don’t mind.” Spots of color rose on Thorn’s cheeks, and Tanner shifted in his chair, sensing an open anger in the Starcaster that was a new and disquieting side of him.

  Bertilak gave Thorn a sympathetic look. “I understand that you have been . . . less than capable lately. I don’t presume to understand the reasons why, but this would give you an opportunity to contribute a great deal to your war effort.”

  Thorn just sat, staring as the alien trash-talked him in front of the captain. It was, Thorn had to admit, a surreal moment. A column of resentment erupted inside him. He didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. He’d done some amazing, entirely unprecedented things to advance the ON cause, and he’d paid for it with his blood and years off his life.

  And now it was all being called into question—granted, in a glib, personable tone, but still—he was slyly being called a coward, and a useless one at that.

  Thorn finally found his voice, clearing his throat to buy a moment as the heated response cooled on his tongue. His words were replaced by something only mildly less aggressive, a fact that Tanner saw at once.

  “Fine,” Thorn snapped. “I accept this idiotic, primal challenge. I’m going to whip your ass, and then I’m going to watch as our crew unbolts your ship down to the frame, and there won’t be a fu—”

  “We get the point, Stellers,” Tanner interrupted, smoothly ending the rant before it could really gain altitude.

  Bertilak laughed and slapped the table, his face split by a smile of comical proportions. “The fighting spirit is here! I knew you had it in you, friend. I believe you have a gymnasium aboard your fine ship—when you are ready, I will meet you there, and we shall settle our wager with a clean brawl and clear hearts.”

  Thorn looked at Tanner and the XO, but there was no help from them. So he sighed, took the measure of Bertilak once more, and felt his anger begin to rise all over again.

  “Bet on it, you big green bastard.”

  Thorn pulled off his training shoes and socks and stood, limbering up with the practiced ease of someone who had been in a fighting circle once or twice. Thorn was a seasoned fighter who used every part of his body to win.

  In short, he fought dirty and made no apologies for it.

  As an orphan who was small, he’d learned to be quick. When he gained height and strength, he learned to be ruthless.

  The gym was empty, except for Osborne, who regarded Thorn with a gentle amusement at the absurd nature of what was about to happen. A fight. An actual fight, and one that had massive implications for the war effort—and Thorn’s career.

  Osborne, who had a secondary duty as the ship’s sports and fitness officer, chose to retreat to a wall, where he stood, watching the door for Bertilak’s arrival. The rest of the crew not involved in repairs, or other ship operations, would watch the fight through the intercom’s vid-link, since the gym was much too small to accommodate many spectators. Osborne had wisely decided that, given that they had no idea how wildly the big alien fought, they also had no idea how safe it would be to be near the combat.

  And so, Osborne hugged the wall, hands on hips and eyes darting with unusual speed from Thorn, to the door, and back to Thorn, who stepped into the middle of the gym, his feet silent on the padded floor. He wore a black gi he’d picked up during the Hecate’s last stopover at Code Gauntlet. The loose-fitting top and trousers were far better for sparring than the regular gym gear he used to wear. More importantly, Thorn fancied the outfit gave him a persona outside his role as a Starcas
ter. Clad in black, Thorn was a simple fighter—a man waiting on his role in a contest, and doing so with an expression so bland as to be unreadable.

  Osborne turned to Thorn. “Technically, Bertilak’s late,” he said, checking the time. “He has another three minutes, and I guess he forfeits.”

  The door slid open and Bertilak strode in. “Did I hear something about forfeiting?” The alien grinned at Thorn. “Have you decided you wish to join me on my travels after all, my friend, so we can just forego the fight completely?”

  Thorn shook his head. “You wish. I only hope you aren’t too lonely once you start on your way.”

  Bertilak laughed, removing his vest and the belt still hung with myriad gadgets. He kicked off his sandals and padded toward the center of the gym. “Two competing versions of reality, eh? Well, let’s see which of us can make theirs ring with truth, shall we?”

  Thorn stopped short. Was Bertilak making some sidelong reference to Thorn’s magic? Thorn had never explained any of the details of how he did the things he did—so who had? Or was there something more going on here?

  “Thorn, you ready?” Osborne asked.

  Thorn shook away his moment of surprised suspicion and nodded. He stepped toward the center of the gym and stopped a few paces away from Bertilak. As he did, he found himself keenly aware of how much the big alien towered over him. Thorn was going to have to win this fast, because a drawn out fight would probably favor Bertilak, especially if he were able to get his greater mass and longer reach into play.

  “Alright, you both know the rules,” Osborne said. “Any questions?”

  Thorn shook his head. “Nope.”

  “I have one,” Bertilak said. “For Thorn. Why don’t you like me?”

  Thorn just stared, blinking. Not what he’d expected, but still, the question was oddly insightful, given how excessive Bertilak appeared to be.

  Osborne stepped back and shouted, “Fight!”

  Bertilak’s smile faded. “It’s a simple question. Why don’t you like me? Ever since I came aboard this ship, you’ve mistrusted me. I don’t understand.” His face had gone completely somber, even grave, by the time he’d finished speaking. It was unsettling and gave Thorn pause.

  Strange time to want to do this, Thorn thought, but whatever. “I just think—”

  It was all he got out before a massive fist slammed into his face like a meteor strike.

  Thorn reeled backward, greenish light and a shrill whine filling his head. Desperately, he raised his hands to block any more blows, but a fraction too late. Another huge fist crashed into his stomach, doubling him over.

  Thorn gritted his teeth and charged, lashing out with his own fists, trying to shove himself deeper inside Bertilak’s threat range, frantically hoping it would minimize the alien’s ability to bring those huge fists into play. At the same time, he kicked up and out, his foot connecting with something that felt like a slab of ablative armor. Still, Bertilak grunted with the impact, giving Thorn a faint hope that he might be able to—

  A grip like a hydraulic vice snapped closed around Thorn, then it lifted him and smashed him down against the padded deck. The hit drove the breath out of Thorn with a heavy oof and left him momentarily stunned.

  Through watering eyes, Thorn saw Bertilak back away. The big alien was grinning again, apparently content to wait for Thorn to get back up.

  So Thorn did, levering himself up to his knees, then clambering back to his feet. The whine shrilling away behind his eyes had abated some. He raised his fists, then licked at something warm and sticky smeared across his lips.

  Blood from his nose, which was probably broken.

  Thorn shook his head. “Sucker punch, huh? That”—he licked away blood again—“says a lot about you, Bertilak.”

  The alien looked anything but apologetic. “The universe is an unforgiving place.”

  Thorn launched himself, trying to land a sucker punch—actually, kick—of his own. Thorn’s best trick was his ability to kick high, something he’d honed over years of fighting his way through orphanages, foster placements, and shithole planets as he labored alongside what amounted to little more than criminals. More than once, he’d ended a fight with it.

  It almost worked.

  As Tanner sometimes observed, almost was good enough for horseshoes, hand grenades, and thermonuclear warheads, but not something like this. Thorn’s speed and power caught Bertilak by surprise, but he was just a little faster. The alien dodged back, at the same time snapping his hands out to grab Thorn’s foot and shove it to one side. The unexpected change in his momentum left Thorn fumbling. He pitched backward, catching himself with an outflung hand so he didn’t end up completely on his back again. But Bertilak had already reversed direction and bore in, driving Thorn to the mat with his weight.

  Thorn struggled for a moment but couldn’t shift the alien off of him. Worse, Bertilak was able to get his hands free, while keeping Thorn pinned with his legs long enough to wind up and deliver a massive blow—

  To the mat beside Thorn’s head.

  Osborne’s whistle blew. Bertilak immediately stood and backed away, stretching out a huge green hand to help Thorn stand.

  For a wild instant, Thorn considered just saying screw it and flinging himself at Bertilak, sucker punching him the way the alien had done to him. But he choked back his outrage and accepted the offered hand. Bertilak pulled him to his feet like he was lifting a child.

  “Ready?” Osborne said, raising a hand to resume the fight.

  Thorn started to tense—

  But he relaxed, released a breath that tasted of blood, and shook his head. Instead, he offered his hand to Bertilak to shake.

  “You’re conceding?” Osborne asked, his eyebrows arched in surprise.

  Thorn nodded, wincing as he did. “I might be stubborn, but I’m not stupid.” He wiped at his nose with his other hand. “I might still be able to win this, but I’m not sure . . . what shape I’d be in at the end of it.”

  Bertilak laughed and shook Thorn’s hand. “I am glad to see your ability to adapt, given the fact that I like you. It would serve little purpose to come aboard my ship for some interesting adventures, only for me to spend most of the time caring for a wounded hero whose condition was due to his endless valor.”

  Thorn returned to where he’d left his clothing and grabbed a towel that he used to dab at his face. It came away with multiple smears of blood. As he gathered his things, he shot Bertilak a sidelong glance.

  The sucker punch aside, Thorn knew—after grudgingly admitting it to himself—that Bertilak was simply too powerful for him to defeat in hand-to-hand combat. He had Thorn outmatched in every way; moreover, he seemed ready for Thorn’s moves in a way that either meant light-speed reflexes, or—

  Something else.

  And if there was something else, something Bertilak was hiding, he needed to find a way to figure out what it was.

  The door slid open, admitting Tanner and Raynaud, the XO. They congratulated Bertilak, then crossed the gym to Thorn.

  “You’ve made some of the crew very happy, Lieutenant,” the XO said.

  “Some of the crew?”

  “The ones who bet against you.”

  Thorn dabbed at his face again, grimacing as bright spots of pain lit up—mostly his nose, but also his right cheek and temple, and the left side of his jawline. “There were actually people betting for me? Remind me to buy them a beer.”

  “The real risk takers,” Tanner said. “And not many of them, apparently.”

  Thorn sniffed and coughed a bit as he swallowed more blood. “Nice to have the confidence of the crew,” he muttered darkly.

  Tanner, though, shook his head. “No need to be all sour about this, Stellers. In fact, conceding the way you did showed some character that I think impressed a lot of your shipmates.”

  “Even the ones who were hoping to see a lot more blood,” the XO put in.

  “So, Thorn, you are welcome to come aboard my ship whe
n you are ready,” Bertilak said. “Once the Hecate is back underway, we’ll start our own journey together. I must admit, I am quite excited, as this is all a new thing for us. For me, that is.”

  Thorn looked at him, eyes still unfocused. “Yes. I’m giddy.”

  Bertilak just laughed.

  Tanner smirked and shook his head. “There’s one thing that’s certain, Stellers.”

  “What’s that, sir?”

  The Captain turned and looked at him, a twinkle in his eye. “Better you fighting him than me.”

  15

  Kira stared at the Danzur standing in front of the door to her assigned quarters. “What do you mean, I no longer have access?”

  “It is the direction I’ve received,” the alien replied. “These quarters have been reassigned. I’ve been instructed to take you to new accommodation.”

  Kira decided not to argue as it would be a pointless waste of breath. She’d had enough experience with the Danzur. “Fine,” she snapped. “Lead the way.”

  The Danzur nodded and started along the corridor, Kira following. They descended a short flight of steps into a dingier, more mechanical-feeling part of the orbiting platform, another corridor lined with pipes and conduits. The Danzur opened a compartment and gestured inside.

  “This is your new accommodation,” he said. “The door has been keyed to you by facial recognition.”

  Kira peered inside. She saw a spartan bed, a table, a chair, a terminal—and that was it. There were no viewports, just blank bulkheads lined with yet more of the ubiquitous conduits. One of them hissed, carrying some fluid or gas with a faint, teeth-vibrating harmonic whine.

  “This is it?” she asked.

  The Danzur nodded, then turned and walked away.

  And that was that.

  Kira’s quarters aboard the Stiletto weren’t much, just a typical junior officer’s berth—and they were still larger and better appointed than this.

  The Danzur were clearly sending her a message. Okay, so this set the tone for it, and not a good one.