* * *
Transit from Godannii 2 (66 hours remaining)
Peacemaker Blue Flight
“Docking complete,” Shild commented to Di-Po over the Blue Flight’s intercom. “Standby to receive the Deputy Selector.”
“I’m in position,” she replied from the forward port hatch. They’d climbed to the Thrustcore as quickly as possible to retrieve the young Sidar and prepare for the jump to Uuwato. “We have capture, and the hatch is green.”
“Open the hatch,” Shild ordered. Di-po opened the hatch, and the Sidar strode in quickly, carrying two bags.
“Close the hatch,” Hak-Chet said. “Lieutenant Shild, disengage from the Thrustcore but do not separate.”
Shild’s face screwed up in concern. “Sir, with respect, even if we’re using shunts, we should get away from other traffic in the area.”
Hak-Chet laughed. “That other traffic is going to shunt away to a separate destination within about eight-tenths of a second of your own transition, Lieutenant.”
“Sir?”
“There is a Human expression I’ve come to love. Trust me.” Hak-Chet looked up into the port hatch camera as if looking right at Shild’s face. “We must make them think they’ve been abandoned. Our young ones do not know the capabilities of this vessel, and I am not prepared to make them known to our potential adversaries. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Shild replied. “But did you see that feed? The GenSha have killed one of the Jivool and accused them of many—”
On the camera feed, the Sidar raised a small forearm. One long, bony finger raised up and pointed, and Shild clamped his mouth shut. “The ISMC pretty much admitted to doctoring footage and manipulating the electromagnetic frequency. While not illegal, it’s concerning.”
“They threatened the lives of the Peacemakers,” Di-Po said. “They’re immature and inexperienced, but they do not deserve to die, Deputy Selector.”
“For the last time, please call me Hak.” The Sidar adjusted the shoulder strap of one bag. “Now, Shild you’re going to get a timing feed from the Thrustcore in about two minutes. Disengage and move three meters from their hull. Power up the shunts and transition when they tell you to. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly, sir.”
“Good. Your course is Uuwato at the fastest possible speed.” Hak-Chet nodded at them.
Shild tapped his slate. “Blue Flight clearance codes transmitted, sir. We’ll have gate confirmation in two minutes.”
The Sidar scratched the side of his long face. “I imagine the situation here will get much worse over the next several days. Time really is of the essence for our young friends down there. Everything that we can do to shave time off our transits is necessary.”
Shild nodded to himself. “Makes sense to me. Disengaging from the Core in 10 seconds. Power plants to transition settings, and shunts are standing by to match the Core.”
“Very good, Lieutenant Shild,” Hak-Chet said. “When the Core says it’s time to go, we go.”
“Fair enough, Hak.” Shild saw a timer appear on his heads-up display. At 30 seconds to go, Hak-Chet and Di-Po entered the bridge and quickly strapped into their seats. At 20 seconds, Shild powered up the shunts, matching the rising power signature from the Core a few meters away. At zero, both ships transitioned into space, but Shild hadn’t seen that. Despite his experience, the idea of transitioning so close to another ship doing the same thing at the same time scared him, and he closed his eyes.
Then again, for most pilots, every transition was a blind one. More or less.
* * * * *
Chapter Twelve
Uuwato (Oogar Homeworld)
Capital City-State of Saasarra
Having said goodbye to Emonk and Graa’vaa, Hr’ent squinted his eyes as he rolled his flightcycle out of the cargo bay of the shuttle and down onto the hot tarmac, then moved it a dozen meters off to the side beyond the flight line. He’d forgotten how bright Uuwato’s sun was. Ocono’s standard G-type star, Malibeth, was a solid 150 million klicks away. At that distance, it gave off warm radiance that had almost seemed too dim, but he’d gotten used to it.
Golm, however, Uuwato’s F-type blue-white star, was larger and hotter than its G-type cousins. It glowed just above the western horizon, settling over the rolling hills in the misty distance. He dared not look at it directly, but the hot, white glow filling hazy, moisture-filled skies felt comforting. At nearly 250 million klicks away, Golm made the blues and greens of the forests a deeper, richer color than he remembered. It also made for thick polar regions where many of the Ferals chose to live. Uuwato was cooler than Ocono, as well, but they shared a geography of large waterways and wide oceans.
As he pushed his flightcycle a few more meters from the shuttle, he noticed the slightly greater pull of gravity his world placed on body and machine. That, too, would take some getting used to. When he was far enough away from the shuttle for takeoff, he glanced at the thick forests lining the western and southern edges of the starport and smiled. Such forests covered most of the world, except for a belt of deserts around the hot equator and the large ranches that had been carved out of the forests for the various livestock his people preferred to eat. In fact, he was looking forward to a massive kurka steak as soon as he got home, for the meat on Ocono had seemed substandard to him. Kurka, a massive, fatty, semi-aquatic quadruped of Uuwato, had always been a favorite, and his mother was sure to have a freezer full waiting for him. She always did.
He sucked in a lungful of air and let it out slowly, savoring the moment. He picked up the scent of burned jet fuel and the electric twinge of ion drives, but over it all was the fresh, living-green smell of his homeworld…rich with life and dangers that most sentient lifeforms in the galaxy would find truly terrifying, even more so than the crews of Besquith he’d spent the past 170 hours drinking and carousing with.
Say what you will about Besquith, but those bastards really know how to party. He’d been able to hold his own in the lounge on board the Thrustcore, but it was a near thing. When he wasn’t carousing, he’d run through a dozen new Peacemaker training sims that had appeared in his queue. He might be contemplating leaving, but he wouldn’t succumb to short-timer’s disease. Until and if he decided to quit, he’d stay as sharp and frosty as any good Peacemaker should.
He had to admit, he felt rested, albeit a bit hung over, and he’d avoided all thoughts of the future, but it was time to get back on track. His conversation with Graa’vaa had added fuel to the fire of his decision-making process, but he couldn’t deny she had a point. Turning away from the Peacemakers might be the biggest mistake of his life. Then again, it might be just what he needed to do.
Justice or money.
He checked to make sure his travelsack was well-secured on the back of the flightcycle, pulled on his flight jacket, and slid his rucksack over his shoulders. He suddenly wondered if his jacket would be enough for the chill air at altitude, but there was nothing to do but suck it up. His mother’s mansion was only 40 or so klicks from the starport. He was about to slip on his goggles helmet when a sleek, black, limousine, that would have seemed like a moving truck to most other races, rolled through the gate at the far end of the tarmac.
“Oh, shit,” he said as a sinking feeling pulled at his guts. “Not now.” He hooked his helmet and goggles on the controls of the flightcycle, slipped out of the rucksack, and wearily pulled off his jacket, laying them both across the seat.
The stretch limo rolled silently across the tarmac, its electric turbines barely making a sound as it pulled up in front of him and came to a silent stop. He didn’t have to guess who was inside.
The rear door flew open, and his mother leapt out. She wore a fine, gray pantsuit that had no doubt cost more than the Peacemakers would pay him in a month and a string of green, Uuwato-native pearls, each as big as the tip of his finger. He’d seen the necklace before, and it made him dread what he suspected lay ahead of them. His mother only wore that necklace for i
mportant business functions and parties with her rich friends.
“My cub has come home!” she cried. She crossed the three meters between them like he was on fire, and she was his only hope. She practically tackled him as she wrapped her massive arms around his torso, and he had to put a foot back to keep them from toppling over his flightcycle. She nuzzled his neck, then sniffed a circle around his face in the familial greeting of their race.
Hr’ent bowed his head as she did so, and then nuzzled the side of her neck in greeting. He had to admit, it was good to greet her in this fashion. The Oogar generally didn’t behave this way around other species, and he’d missed the more Oogarish aspects of his race while away. His people were much more attuned to scents than many of the other races, and they found comfort in frequent sniffing.
“You didn’t have to come for me, Mother,” he said, disengaging himself from her grasp. He held her at arm’s length. “In fact, I would have preferred—”
“I’m so glad you’re home,” she blurted. He didn’t know if she cut him off on purpose, but it wouldn’t have been the first time she avoided something she didn’t want to hear.
So it begins, he thought. He sighed and gave her a half-felt smile.
“It’s good to be home,” he replied. “I take it you want me to go back with you?” He really didn’t want to. His mother’s affectations were bad enough, but limos and high-priced living were something he’d never grown accustomed to. Sure, it had its advantages sometimes—his flightcycle was a good example—but she was the one who loved to prove to others how successful she’d become. He remembered growing up in poverty, and there were times when he missed that life…not the poverty so much, but the simplicity of it. His mother, on the other hand, reveled in all of the finer things her first-generation riches could provide.
“I insist!” she said, giving him a smile that told him she wouldn’t accept no for an answer.
He considered telling her he couldn’t leave his flightcycle and needed to take it home or risk it being impounded. It would be a lie. The thing had a top-of-the-line autopilot that could get it home on its own. Something, however, stopped him. He remembered his conversation with Hak-Chet, and he remembered there was a question he needed to ask her. He didn’t know how she would respond, but he realized he didn’t give two shits if he upset her.
He needed an answer.
“Very well, Mother,” he said. “Hang on a minute.” Slipping an arm through the shoulder strap of his rucksack and grabbing his helmet, goggles, and jacket off the flightcycle, he dropped them in the boot, a small cargo area in the front of the machine. He then called up a function on his slate and programmed in a short flight plan for the vehicle’s autopilot. He pressed his thumb on the ignition panel, and the turbines spun up with a whine, forcing his mother and him to step back as dust and gravel kicked up beneath the fans. The flightcycle lifted off the ground, the turbines spinning a little harder in the higher gravity. It rose straight up, rotated 90 degrees, and shot off in the direction of his mother’s mansion. “All right, Mamma, let’s go.” He held the door open for her, then followed her into the luxurious, burgundy hide interior.
He dropped his rucksack on the seat beside him and sat back, delighted at settling his massive frame in seats designed for Oogar. She’d taken the seat across from him, and there was a rectangular package next to her, wrapped in black cloth that looked a bit old. She handed him a cocktail, a ruby liquid on the rocks. He recognized it immediately as tsialle, a distilled spirit of considerable potency made from a pulpy, indigenous fruit. It was his favorite drink.
He sniffed at it longingly. His mother knew him well. It was nearly impossible to find tsialle off-world. The bitter, almost acidic taste was something most of the other races described as jet fuel…or poison. He took a sip and let it burn its way down his throat. The burn felt good, so he took another sip as the limo slowly accelerated away and made a wide, sweeping turn to head back toward the gate.
“Thanks for the drink,” he said, meaning it.
“Of course,” she said. “I know you must have missed it.”
“I did,” he replied, nodding. His words suddenly caught in his throat. He had to ask the question, but he wasn’t sure how to begin.
“What is it?” she asked, seeing his hesitation. She really did know him well.
“There’s something I need to ask you, and I’m not sure how to ask.” His brow furrowed, and he bit his lower lip.
“You can ask anything you want, My Cub,” she said. “You know that.”
He let out a somewhat nervous breath.
“All right,” he finally said. He stared into her eyes, intent on watching her reaction. “Who was my father? I’ve never asked before because you never offered…but now I need to know.”
Her eyes went wide with surprise, and then he saw her emotions settle into something like relief, like when an old pain suddenly goes away. It was her turn to bite her lip. She absentmindedly placed her paw on the package beside her, and her gaze shifted to the rear window, as if she were looking at something far off in the distance.
“It must be fate,” she said quietly, as if to herself.
“Fate?” Hr’ent asked. That didn’t make any sense.
“This,” she said, patting the package. “I figured it was time for me to give it to you, and it’s part of the answer to your question.”
“What?” A wave of confusion washed over him.
She looked at him as only a loving mother could.
“My Cub…” She paused, closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them to meet his with an expression full of earnest intent. “Hr’ent, your father gave me this not long after you were born. He wanted you to have it. He said it might help you find a path when you felt most lost.” She paused again and looked out the window, her face full of feelings he didn’t recognize. He’d never seen her like this.
“Mother?” he asked, feeling a bit concerned. This was not what he’d expected.
She shook her head and returned her gaze to him.
“Son,” she said slowly, “your father was a Feral.”
“That’s what I’ve been told,” Hr’ent said, “which is why I asked the question.”
“Told?” she asked, surprised and concerned. “By whom?”
“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “You were about to tell me about my father.”
She sighed.
“Very well. I knew the Peacemakers would tell you, eventually.” She breathed in deeply. “His name was Jorai, of the clan Golramm, and we met when I was on a mission for the Temple. Bringing the Elemental gods to the Ferals was something of a fad when I was young. It’s not much of a thing today, but 25 years ago, it’s what we did.” She smiled. “I met him in a village just south of the northern polar circle…a place called Trum’dokai.” She looked out the window again as the lights of the city slid by. “We discovered a Connection between us, the Fire of Hearts, and we mated.” She paused for a moment, seemingly struggling with what needed saying. “That first year was cold and glorious and full of adventures I couldn’t have possibly dreamed of as a cub. And then, when spring was taking root and sending the snow to run in the creeks and rivers of Trum’dokai, a rival Clan attacked us in the dead of night. There was a battle so horrifying it nearly drove me to madness. Your father reveled in it. He was injured—slashed deeply in several places—but by Feral standards, his wounds weren’t serious.” She locked eyes with her son. “Have you ever seen what Ferals can do to each other with their bare claws, when the rage hits them, and they let the beast that sleeps within us all off its chain?”
Her question struck deep at Hr’ent’s heart. He’d struggled with that beast all his life, and he’d been able to keep it chained—at least mostly—since he was old enough to stand. She’d taught him early on that giving into the rage was something civilized Oogar simply didn’t do.
“No,” he replied, but he could imagine, particularly given the things he’d wanted to do to Rs
ach and others over the years. He knew what he was capable of, and at times it scared him shitless.
“I’ve never seen so much blood,” his mother said, and the fear was palpable in her voice. “It was everywhere. It stained the snow, the tents, and the Ferals. Thinking back, I think I was the only one who wasn’t covered in it.”
Hr’ent could see where this was going.
“You left him, didn’t you?”
She hesitated again.
“Yes.” She glanced out the window and then returned her gaze to her son. “It was a few weeks later. In the dark of night, when the mission’s shuttle was coming in to deliver supplies to the missionaries. I wrapped you up in hides your father had cured for us, sneaked across our tent, and pulled the flap aside as quietly as I could.” A weak smile passed her lips, one of longing and perhaps even regret. “I should have known I couldn’t sneak out on a Feral.” She chuckled. “Jorai asked me if I was leaving him. I told him I was. For a moment, I thought he might fly into a rage. I feared he would demand that I leave his only son with him…to stay in his world. I wanted you to be raised in mine, where you would never have to suffer what I saw so many Ferals suffer that night.” Her voice trailed off.
“What did he say?” Hr’ent asked, feeling a pang of compassion for his mother. She had risked the rage of a Feral to take her child out of an openly violent life. He knew she loved him, but he didn’t know how far she’d been willing to go. The truth was, Ferals were a deadly race. It was why the civilized areas of Uuwato had designated large swaths of the planet’s surface as Feral-only zones. Nobody went there for fear of being torn to pieces. They were even used as a warning by parents when their cubs were misbehaving: Be good, or I’ll give you to the Ferals. Hr’ent had never been told that, for reasons he now understood, but all of his friends had heard it from the time they were born.
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