Hell's Reach (Galactic Liberation Series Book 6)

by B. V. Larson

  “Thank you. You’re so kind.” She squeezed his hand.

  Loco resisted reacting. She reminded him a little of the Tachina clones, the way they had of making your head swim...

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “Belinda, are you using pheromones or anything like that?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Some special perfumes or products that make people like you better?”

  “No. But Chiara let me use some of her makeup.”

  “What about... does your body make anything like that naturally?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Were you... captured when you were young, like Chiara? Or were you...?”

  “Bred for the job?” Belinda asked. “I really don’t know. They never told me. I asked, of course, but Contract work was all I ever knew. Then my Contract was sold. Fortunately, Lutan didn’t want to abuse me or Brandon. We were just... decorations. I guess we were lucky. Eventually we’d have been implanted, probably many times.”

  “I’m really glad you got away... and again, I’m sorry about your brother.”

  “Me, too. But... it’s okay. The Breakers are like my brothers now. They said they adopted me.”

  “Really?” A suspicion tickled Loco’s mind. Lonely spacers... a beautiful young Contractor, naive and unaccustomed to normal human society... all packed together on a tiny ship. Not good for discipline, and not good for the one young woman.

  Loco let out a long breath. “Look, I know Chiara’s the captain here—”

  “—and you’re First Lieutenant Paloco.”

  “Right. Guess I am. Then even though you’re free, as a part of this crew, you have to follow my orders.”

  “Of course, Loco,” she said, brightening a little.

  “Good,” he said. “Then hereby I order you not to flirt with or be affectionate with the Breaker men we rescued. Not until this mission is completely over and we’re safe at home. Then you can do what you want, as a civilian—but not now. Be polite and helpful, but no making out, no sex, nothing like that.”

  She looked startled, but not upset. “Aye aye, First Lieutenant Paloco. But… can I ask why? I like them.”

  “Because... because in our culture, sex is more complicated.”

  “I’m very well trained in its complications.”

  “No, not the act. I mean, the emotional and practical implications of sex. In close quarters like this, it could get ugly. You could cause jealousy, possessiveness, competition, fighting... At the very least, it could strain discipline in our very tight space. Understand?” It amused him to hear himself giving a Straker-style speech, but he couldn’t stop.

  “No,” she said, “but I trust you’re in command, Loco. Chiara says you’re the best at what you do.”

  “Ha, no, that would be a guy named Derek Straker.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Loco. I can’t imagine a better Manager... First Lieutenant, I mean. This Derek Straker—is he a better lover?”

  “You sure ask weird questions.”

  “Is he?” she insisted.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Is he a better conversationalist? Is he kinder, smarter, funnier, better looking?”

  “Um… not really.”

  “Then why do you say he’s the best?”

  Loco sighed. “Because I’ve always looked up to him. He’s like my big brother.”

  “I looked up to my big brother too, but I was better than he was at some things.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. How is it you’re so smart?”

  “Because I’m looking at you from the outside. And you’re looking at me from the outside, so you think to wonder things like whether I have pheromones, or what would happen if I was affectionate with the Breakers. Things I haven’t even thought about. Everybody has their skills, Loco. One of my mothers used to say that there’s no point in complaining that fish can’t climb trees. If you want to climb a tree, find a monkey. Let a fish be a fish in the sea.”

  “Gods—you’re going to make somebody very happy someday.”

  Belinda took his hand. “But not you.”

  “I’m with Chiara.”

  “You love her?”

  “I—might.”

  She smiled. “And romantic love is exclusive and monogamous in your culture?”

  “Uh…” Loco pulled his hand from hers, gently. “The ideal love is, I guess. That’s the message we get from most sources. Find your one true love, and then stick with it.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  An odd look crossed Belinda’s face, something hard to interpret. “She has a bigger love in her life than you, Loco.”

  He stared, astonished. “Who is it?”

  Belinda stood, suddenly nervous. “It’s not my place to say. I have to go.”

  “Belinda—?”

  She shut the door behind her, and Loco turned back to stare at the console.

  He was still staring at it when Chiara returned to the cockpit. She made a significant course change of nearly twenty degrees, but they were still outbound toward flatspace.

  “What’s that course change about?” he asked.

  “My usual practice. Since we’re on the inside of the rough sphere of curved space, if we change course, anyone lurking out there trying to ambush us has to move laterally to do it—and the sooner I change course, the farther they’d have to move, and the harder it is to remain stealthy. In another hour I’ll change again. Bring predictable gets you killed.”

  “Or... gets you hurt?”

  Chiara turned to face him, lifting her feet to fold them under her muscular thighs. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m not exactly who you want me to be all the time. I’m sorry I’m not perfect. I’m sorry if I have walls and armor. I can only be who I am.”

  “It’s not about who you are. It’s how you treat me, what you’re not telling me.”

  “What am I not telling you?”

  Loco shrugged helplessly. “I keep finding out things that you’ve withheld, so how do I know?”

  “I don’t owe you complete... what’s the word?”

  “Forthrightness?” he suggested.

  “Disclosure. It’s not dishonest to keep my own confidences—and those of others who trust me.”

  Loco was going to say something about the bigger love Belinda had mentioned, but suddenly thought better of it. Instead, he stuck with an argument he was sure he could win. “What’s confidential about your ship’s capabilities, or your cargo, or your intentions on this mission? I’m part of your crew now, so I really do need to know everything.”

  Chiara let out a long breath, perhaps in relief, perhaps in belated agreement. “Yeah, okay, you’re right about that one. Let’s go over all the ship’s systems, starting now. We can keep working in sidespace. Not much else to do.”

  “Good, good.” Loco took his victory and sat on it, so to speak, spending the next hours in a thorough overview of the Cassiel, her modifications, her capabilities, her quirks and tendencies, her weaknesses.

  “Hey, what’s Cassiel named after, anyway?”

  Chiara cleared her throat, and her face took on a coldness he hadn’t seen before. “Cassiel is the name of an archangel. It means God Is My Anger. He’s the angel of tears. He presides over the death of kings. He is terrible, implacable, and vengeful.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot in a name.”

  “She’s worthy of it,” Chiara assured him.

  “Are we talking about the ship, or you?”

  “I dunno, Loco. You tell me.”

  “Come on, Chi. Don’t be that way. I care about you.”

  She sighed. “I know you do. I care about you too.”

  “But I’m not your top priority.”

  “Am I yours?”

  It had been a retort, but Loco considered, trying to give a serious, straight answer. “In the long run, you could be—if you want. In the short run, getting the other B
reakers back has to be. You know that.”

  “Exactly my point. Right now, my priorities include this ship, our lives, the Breakers on the ship, the Breakers we’re trying to find, our people back on Utopia—damn it!” She lifted her hands to yank on her cascade of raven hair. “I don’t have any headspace for this other shit right now.”

  “Shit like us?”

  “Don’t take offense where I don’t mean any. You know what I’m saying. Stuff, mess, complexity.”

  “I always found a good relationship made things less complex.”

  “And who the hell are you to talk about good relationships?”

  He smiled bleakly. “I have a good one with the mother of my son Derek, even if it’s not passionate anymore. And I know one when I see it. Like Straker and Carla. They fight, but they’re always solid. They’re more effective for it, not less.”

  “Don’t push me on this, Loco. We’re compatible. I love the sex. You’re fun to have around. The rest is distracting, and distractions can get us killed. Can we put all the relationship stuff on pause for now and focus on the mission? Please, Lieutenant Paloco?”

  “Aye aye, Captain Jilani. Or should I call you Francesca?”

  Chiara blushed. “Where’d you get that name?”

  “Going through the ship’s files. Seems too formal, though. How about... Frankie?”

  “Now you’re just getting me back for calling you Mikey.”

  He grinned. “Yup. If you wanna dish it out, you gotta be able to take it.”

  “I can take it. In fact, I’d like to take a break in bed... as soon as we’re safe in sidespace.”

  Loco checked the chrono. “Thirteen minutes.”

  “Get Raj back on the tail gun.” Chiara made one last course change. “As soon as we cross into flatspace, we activate everything—sensors, point defenses, the whole ball of yarn. No need for stealth at this point. Not that Cassie is truly stealthy—just low-profile.”

  When the countdown hit zero, the two powered up all systems, especially the multiphasic sensors. “Nothing,” Loco said.

  “Good. We’re almost safe.”

  “Almost?”

  “Remember, Hercules got ambushed coming out of sidespace. We can’t be sure somebody hasn’t developed some kind of tech to figure out where we transit in. I’m going to arrive far, far out in flatspace and make a couple of random jumps inward. It’ll use more fuel, but it’s all I know to do.”

  “Won’t they see us coming?”

  “Yeah. But better than getting killed. And the area where we’re arriving has a lot of traffic, a lot of comings and goings.”

  Loco fixed her with an accusing glare, only half-joking. “You haven’t said much about where we’re going. More secretiveness?”

  “We’ve been busy. I planned on briefing everyone fully in sidespace.”

  “I hope you’ll soon be de-briefing your First Lieutenant.” He snapped the waistband on his briefs, just to be obvious.

  “I thought you military types didn’t approve of sleeping with the boss.”

  “I never slept with my boss until now.”

  “Good to hear. I don’t think he’s your type.” Chiara pulled out a sheaf of hardcopy from her tunic, and a data stick. “Okay, Lieutenant Paloco, take a look.”

  He started reading. “Hell’s Reach?”

  “Some call it Hellheim, or Hell’s Homeland. And it’s just as bad as its name.”

  Chapter 19

  Hell’s Reach, SBS Trollheim.

  “General Straker to the bridge.” The SAI’s voice echoed through the public address system in the crowded gym, where Straker was pumping iron in triple gravplating. He’d woken with surprisingly little hangover, and the workout had sweated out the lingering aftereffects.

  Physical aftereffects anyway.

  As the klaxons for Alert Status One hadn’t sounded, he grabbed his comlink and said, “Ten minutes.”

  A fast shower and fresh uniform later, he stepped onto the bridge, nodded to Salishan, and turned his attention to the holotank. An icon blinked, ahead along the ship’s plotted course. “What is it?”

  “Distress beacon. Furmian trader, it looks like.”

  “Furmian... why does that sound familiar?”

  Zaxby spoke from the auxiliary Sensors station. “The assault carrier Richthofen masqueraded as a Furmian trader when we approached Terra Nova.”

  “Right... nomadic humanoids. Closed societies, each ship a tribe unto itself, like bands of Roma gypsies on Old Earth. Is their ship any threat?”

  “Not conventionally. It’s big—pushing the sidespace limit—but not heavily armed. They stay far into flatspace and transit out if threatened. In fact... ” Salishan’s face expressed deliberate puzzlement. “In fact, they never send one of their motherships into curved space. They detach smaller vessels to trade or deal with outsiders. That makes it particularly weird they’re this deep into the nebula. It’s all curved space within the boundary. They’re trapped.”

  “And transmitting a distress call. How far away can it be heard?”

  “The distress call? With all the interference, they’re lucky anyone ran across them.”

  Straker chewed his lip. “So no chance this is a trick? An ambush?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far... but the odds of them laying specifically for us are small, I’d say. I propose we be very careful, though. The Furmians are known for their tricks, but mostly in shady trade deals. There’s a saying: if a Furmian shakes your hand, check your pockets. Then again, some stories say there are no better friends to be had. A complex society.”

  “Let’s see what they want.”

  Salishan gestured at Comms. The main screen changed to show a vidlink of a youngish, pudgy humanoid male, apparently on the bridge or command center of the ship. His skin was purplish and his head-covering seemed to be made of fine orange feathers—or perhaps the feathers grew like hair from his head. Other than that he seemed quite human. Convergent evolution, or a split from true human stock back in the days of the First Expansion?

  His lip movements showed he was speaking some other language, but the auto-translation came through in good Earthan. “Hail and well met, human warship. We could use some help, if you can spare it. I’m Dromian, Senior of the Homeship Rodolfian.”

  “I’m General Derek Straker,” he replied. “You don’t seem very senior.”

  The man inclined his head in acknowledgement. “My father was killed in the attack which left us stranded here four months ago. My mother is... unwell, so I assumed leadership in the crisis. However, our succession issues are irrelevant to our current situation. What we really need is to escape this Divines-forsaken nebula.”

  “How do you envision us helping... and how do you expect to pay?”

  “Pay? Why, General, do we look rich enough to pay? We were hoping for simple humanoid kindness and solidarity.”

  Straker resisted his urge toward generosity. “I run a mercenary outfit, Straker’s Breakers—which means just like you, we have to get paid for our services. In goods, in money, or in reciprocal services.”

  “I’m sure we can work something out, though we are a poor and misunderstood people.”

  “Yet I’ve heard tales of enormous wealth on your Homeships. Who attacked you, anyway, and why?”

  “A force of Korven and Arattak, perhaps because of those ridiculous myths about our wealth... or perhaps because, for them, the real wealth is in captives. Yet Furmians are a proud people, and will never be enslaved. We prefer to retreat, but when we can’t, we fight like cornered cats.”

  “Rats,” Straker corrected automatically.

  “You compare us to the Rodentia? If we were not in such a desperate position, I would challenge you to a duel.”

  “Sorry, no, I was—it’s a translation issue, I’m sure, not an intentional insult. Point is, we’re sworn enemies of this Korven-Arattak alliance too. They hijacked one of our ships and crew, and we’re running them down.”

  “Then your
insults are forgiven. It would seem that our interests are aligned at the moment. If you help us leave this accursed place, I pledge to be generous with whatever we can spare.”

  “How did you end up here anyway? I thought you don’t risk your Homeships in curved space.”

  “My father was a determined man. One might even say obsessed. The Korven have done us grievous wrong. At first, we remained outside the nebula and sent in our away-ships, but we lost so many of them that he decided to risk the Homeship. It was a foolish decision, and it cost him his life—and the lives of many others. General Straker, I have thousands of suffering, lost people here—innocents, civilians, children. We need your help to get back to our place in the galaxy.”

  Straker considered. “Start with information, up front, as a gesture of good faith. Everything you know on this nebula, this area, your experiences here—everything.”

  Dromian drummed the fingers of both hands on his paunch. “That’s quite valuable in itself.”

  “Then we’ll count it against the value of our help—but you’d better decide fast. We’re in a hurry, and you don’t seem to be in imminent danger of death, so we can always come by afterward. If we survive.”

  The Furmian smiled broadly. “Of course, of course we’ll provide the information. I’m initiating a datalink now.”

  Straker glanced sharply at Zaxby, who nodded and tapped at his own head with the tip of a tentacle. “Don’t worry. My intrusion defenses are impenetrable. Ah, yes. Standard protocols... a very standard set of malware... designed to mask a much more sophisticated suite of worms and thieving macros... which is why my system is completely air-gapped. There. I’ve quarantined or eradicated all viruses and other unwanted programs. Datalink established.”

  “I don’t call sending us malware a friendly act,” Straker said to Dromian.

  “Yet in return, your Ruxin officer made similar attempts.”

  “Good for the goose... ” Zaxby muttered.

  “I’m sure he’ll quit his offensive cyber-warfare,” Straker said with a raised voice and a glare at Zaxby. Muting his audio briefly, he spoke to the crew. “Cut it out, would you?” Turning back, he forced his frown to fade away and addressed the Furmian trader. “Dromian, send the information, and it better be useful. If we like what we see... what do you need first?”