Starcaster Complete Series Boxed Set

by J. N. Chaney

  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 Starcaster. 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. Tho
rn’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 when 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.

  She wondered what the message itself said.

  “What do you mean they won’t see us?” Kira ground out, rubbing the bridge of her nose with two fingers.

  Damien shrugged. “I’ve got two messages into Tadrup. He hasn’t responded to either of them. In the meantime, I have gotten several messages, basically empty statements saying nothing, just bureaucratic gobbledygook.”

  “Bureaucratic gobbledygook? So, just regular Danzur conversation, then.”

  “There was one notification updating us on our docking fees.”

  “Docking fees? For a diplomatic mission?”

  “Well, at least our diplomatic credentials haven’t been rescinded. That’s something, anyway.”

  “We need to talk to Tadrup.”

  “Which is why I’ve been trying to message him,” Damien replied. “I’m open to suggestions, though.”

  Kira looked around the Venture’s interior. The little ship suddenly seemed like a safe place of refuge—but a terribly vulnerable one. It would only take a matter of minutes for the Danzur to seize control of it if they wanted to. And even if they undocked and tried to just run, they’d likely never survive the transit through Danzur-controlled space long enough to fire up the Alcubierre drive—

  Unless Kira Shaded the ship, which she could do. The result of all that would, of course, be the end of the diplomatic mission, and quite likely the start of some severely tense relations with the Danzur, if not outright war.

  She sighed. “We need to try to get these talks back on track.”

  “Agreed. We’ve already used most of our resources, though. We don’t have much clout left. Well, except for Thorn Stellers.”

  Kira shot him a glance. “You’re not serious.”

  “About handing him over? Of course not. I’d like to think that that’s not how we do business.”

  Try as she might, Kira could see no situation that ended with them handing Thorn over to an enemy. But who knew what might happen if the situation got desperate enough.

  “I suppose we could try to sweeten the pot of trade deals,” Damien said. “I mean, I do have a little more latitude to do that without going too far out on a limb.” He glared at the deck. “I just don’t think it’s going to help. The Danzur want something from us, something we haven’t yet offered them.”

  “Yeah
. Thorn.”

  “Not necessarily,” Damien replied. “It’s an outrageous request, and they have to know it’s an outrageous request.”

  Kira crossed her arms. “You’re assuming they think like we do. Maybe dealing in lives is just another form of . . . I don’t know, commerce, or trade, or whatever to them.”

  Damien shrugged. “Possibly. But I don’t think so. There’s nothing in the background briefing materials suggesting it, and I can’t think of anything we’ve seen since we arrived that would really indicate it, either.” He shook his head. “No, they must know we’d never agree to hand over not just a citizen, but an ON officer.”

  “And a Starcaster,” Kira said. “Quite likely the most powerful Starcaster at that.”

  “Mind you, I suppose there is a risk that we’re misreading them, in which case their next move would be to take us hostage and offer to exchange us for Stellers.”

  Kira shook her head. “Not going to happen. At least, not while I can still put up a fight.”

  Damien gave her a narrow-eyed look. “That might be our ace in the hole, you know.”

  “That might—what?”

  “We’ve never actually come out and said that you’re a Starcaster—it’s not something the Danzur need to know. But they obviously know about the existence of Starcasters, probably from the Nyctus.”

  “Okay.”

  “Well, if the Danzur suspect that you’re a Starcaster, they might be leery of making any sort of direct move against us.”

  “Sure, but for how long?”

  “Long enough for us to do what we’re going to do next.”

  Kira gave Damien a puzzled glance. “Which is?”

  “Ah, well,” Damien replied, “you see—I have absolutely no idea. I was hoping you did.”

  They eventually decided that the best approach was a direct one of their own. If the Danzur were leery of Kira because they suspected her of having unknown powers, then they would use that to their advantage.

  “I’ve set up a meeting with Tadrup,” Damien said. “When we said we were willing to talk about Stellers, he grudgingly agreed.”