“Enter,” growled Mohk.
The door slid open, and Dur stepped into the room.
“What is your report, and why did you feel the need to deliver it in person?”
“It is about our special prisoner, my Lord Mohk, and I am mindful of your orders about any new information I am able to glean from her.”
The Nell glanced up from his vidscreen with a look that chilled Dur to the bone. “Go on.”
“The Ruam child has been making utterances during her sleep cycles in the control tank. ‘Talking in your sleep’ is how my people refer to it. These utterances all have to do with a family member named Galen coming to rescue her. During her waking cycle she often gestures angrily at me or others in the security team and issues verbal threats along the lines of ‘my brother is going to kill you’ and ‘my people will destroy you.’”
Mohk frowned. “You take sleep babbling and threats from a child seriously? Dur, you are weaker than I thought.”
“Ordinarily, my lord, I would not pay them any mind. However, I have been studying the Ruam, and I was struck by an ability some of their nobles are alleged to possess.” Dur watched as Lord Mohk turned this information over in his head. He’d hooked him.
“Telepathy.”
“Yes, my lord. We believe the child possesses that ability and has connected on a subconscious level with a brother and”—Dur paused a moment for effect—“a larger hidden remnant of Ruam.”
Mohk’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a way to confirm your theory?”
“I am working on it, my lord. I wanted to make you aware of this information in hopes it might be of interest to you.”
“It does interest me, Dur,” said Mohk, stepping out from behind his desk. “Very much.”
Dur flinched when the Nell placed a foreclaw on his shoulder, dangerously near his neck.
“By sending a single Ruam noble back to the High Command, I had hoped to lessen their resistance to my return. The discovery and capture or destruction of a sizable Ruam remnant would put an end to my exile at once!”
“As is my hope too, my lord. Shall I contact the High Command on your behalf?”
“Not yet. Confirm your theory. Expend all resources necessary to discover if what she speaks is based in reality or in her imagination. Then, find a way to track the other Ruam.”
“Yes, my Lord Mohk.”
“I may be going home soon, Dur, and I am pleased.”
**
It was Galen’s turn to keep watch in the command pod during the next sleep cycle. The others tried to convince him that a Ruam lord didn’t need to do this, but he’d insisted. The Ghost Star was his ship, and if he wanted to stand watch, he was going to do it. Not that there was anything to stand watch for. The Ghost Star had completed roughly two-thirds of her jumps to Tac without any incident. The whole journey had settled nicely into a routine. On his watch, Galen played a digital card game with Bartrice called scoop. It was a game of chance built around assembling certain combinations of cards into the highest or scoop hand.
“Your father and I used to play this all the time when we were first married. Scoop and kissing took up most of our time. I’d say we kissed even more than—”
“Stop. Too much.”
Bartrice’s brow furrowed momentarily. “Yes, it is. Sorry.” She paused, a distant look in her eye.
“What’s wrong?”
“There is an intruder.”
Galen’s muscles tensed. “Intruder?”
“Internal sensors are picking up a unique biosign signature in the cargo bay that does not belong to anyone onboard this vessel,” said Bartrice.
“Show it to me.”
“Attempting. Cam feed has been disrupted on a shipwide basis.”
“Patch me into the crew’s quarters.”
“Attempting. Comlink has been disabled on a shipwide basis. Crew quarters have been locked down.”
“Locked down?”
“Unknown biosign is moving out of cargo bay and toward central systems core. Unknown biosign has entered central systems core. Unknown biosign—”
Bartrice blinked once, then disappeared when the whole command panel went dark.
“Bartrice? Bartrice activate.” Nothing. “Anybody? Hello?”
Galen stood, his heart racing. He opened a storage compartment on the chair where he kept his knife, only to find it was missing. What is going on here?
He walked to the blast door and listened, but he couldn’t hear anything on the other side. Glancing at his battle suit, he briefly considered changing its color to match the ship’s gray interior, but discarded the thought. Too late to hide from whatever’s out there. He waved his hand over the door pad and it slid open. Why isn’t this door locked? The passageway was brightly lit, but as soon as he took a few steps into it, everything plunged into total darkness.
When the emergency lights flickered on, Galen saw something that made his blood run cold.
Chapter Fourteen
At the far end of the passageway, charging at full speed, was a Nell.
Galen snapped out of his stupor and jumped to the side. The Nell skidded to a stop, its thick, razor-sharp foreclaws cutting furrows into the deck. Galen leaped to his feet and got his first clear look at the Nell as it stood under one of the emergency floods. Something was familiar about this intruder, but Galen couldn’t put his finger on it until he noticed the battle scars put there by Nolo.
This was the same Nell who had killed his father and the Ghost Star’s crew. This was Lord Mohk.
“How did you get on my ship?”
Mohk ignored the question and sprang forward with astonishing speed. Again, Galen was only able to jump out of the way at the last moment, sending a well-placed kick into the Nell’s abdomen as he narrowly avoided a sweep of the deadly foreclaws.
The Nell gasped and steadied himself against a bulkhead. “I see you have some fight in you, like your sister did. She fought until her dying breath.”
Each of the Nell’s words tore into Galen like a fighting blade, cutting and smashing against his very soul. “You will pay, Nell!” said Galen, his voice strained.
Galen advanced on the leering Nell, then stopped. Standing in front of him was not the sinister Nell lord, but Burr. Galen blinked. Was he hallucinating? Where was the Nell? Burr took a step toward him, and Galen leaped back. “Stop!”
Burr lifted a small handheld. He swiped his thumb across several times, causing him to transform from Ruam to Nell and then back again. “No, it’s not a trick. A technological trick to be sure, but I’m not a Nell lord trying to deceive you. This was your test. Bartrice. Activate.”
The lights came back on, and the locked doors to the crew quarters whisked open. Messel and Iden stepped out tentatively.
“My test?”
“Yes. You failed,” said Burr, tossing Galen’s blade to him. “As I suspected, you do not have the Shre ability. I must admit I’m relieved, as if you did, I probably would’ve been torn to pieces.”
Messel and Iden exchanged glances, a look of disappointment mixed with relief on their faces. “This is good. I wasn’t quite clear how we were supposed to calm him down once the change happened,” said Iden.
Messel put a comforting hand on Galen’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Just confused,” said Galen before turning to Burr. “Why did some of us get that terrible power and not others? And why did you suspect I couldn’t transform?”
“The short answer is we don’t know,” said Burr. “The long answer involves what amounts to a fairy tale. As to why I had my suspicions, most who can transform have already done so by the time they’re your age.”
“Tell me the fairy tale.”
Burr leaned against a bulkhead and winced. “I do believe you cracked one of my ribs with that kick, Lord Bray.”
“Sorry. I was just—I thought you were really . . .”
Burr lifted one hand and waved Galen off. “No worries. I deserved it, I
suppose,” he said, taking a slow, deep breath. “Now, for the story. Legend has it that at one time, the Ruam and the Shre were as separate as we are from the Nell or any other sentient species in the galaxy.”
Galen’s brow furrowed. “Wait. How come there aren’t Shre anymore? I mean, where did they go?”
“We don’t know. They disappeared early in Ruam history. If it wasn’t for our noble’s transformation ability and a limited fossil record, well . . .”
“I’m sorry I interrupted. Go on with the story.”
Burr nodded. “Our two species evolved on Tac and largely ignored each other aside from occasional squabbles over territory and whatnot. Then one day, the story goes, a Ruam noble and his young daughter were out hunting. A Shre huntsman happened to be in the same area of forest. The Shre heard some rustling in the brush ahead of him and, without seeing his prey, tossed a handful of throwing scales—”
Galen’s eyes lit up. “Shre have throwing scales?”
“Apparently.”
“Sorry. Go on.”
“He tossed a handful of scales at the source of the noise. A horrible cry was heard and, when the huntsman came to see what he had hit, found the noble weeping over his daughter’s corpse. The creature was so deeply moved by guilt and sorrow over his careless deed, he offered his life for hers right there on the spot saying, ‘My soul shall pay for your child’s life, and from this point forward, she and her descendants shall be protected from harm.’ He lay on the ground, closed his eyes, and breathed his last. Then the girl gasped and was alive. Her father was overjoyed and swept her into his arms and took her home.”
Galen leaned forward. “But that’s not the end of the story, is it?”
“You are correct, Lord Bray, it is not. Several standards passed, and the father had all but forgotten about the Shre’s promise when it came that his daughter was attacked by a pack of wild trobes while out gathering herbs. The noise from the attack was so loud, it brought the father and the villagers running to the source as fast as they could. When they came upon the scene, they found the girl sitting quietly on the grass, sorting her herbs in the midst of twelve slaughtered trobes.”
“Whoa!” said Galen, his eyes widening.
Iden nodded. “I know. I love that part, too.”
Burr continued “‘What happened here, dearest?’ said the father. ‘Is there a warrior I should thank for saving my daughter?’
“‘No, father,’ said the girl. ‘It was the Shre who protected me, as he promised he would.’”
Galen stared at Burr for a moment, then laughed. “That’s a great story, but you don’t believe it do you?”
“I don’t know what to believe. As far as our science can tell, there is no physical difference between a Ruam who can transform and one who cannot. We know it is mostly females who receive this ability, but on rare occasions it occurs in males. It’s been studied off and on by our greatest scientific minds for centuries on end, and no satisfactory explanation for why a transspecies transformation is possible has emerged. I am a man of science, and as much as it may pain me to offer a theory based on no facts whatsoever, I must believe your father and others like him were descendants of that young noble girl and had a piece of the Shre’s soul dwelling within them.”
**
The rest of the jumps to Tac were largely uneventful, with the exception of the time they dropped out of tripspace much too close to a massive ore freighter. Like the Ghost Star, the freighter didn’t have an identity beacon, so Galen guessed they were smugglers, too. The Ghost Star veered off and bent another bit of space before vanishing.
Sometime later, the ship dropped out of tripspace for the last time on this leg of their journey and entered an unremarkable system with three rock planets and two gas giants circling around a medium-sized yellow star.
“Which one is Tac?” said Galen.
“The one in closest orbit to the star,” said Burr. “Take us there, Messel.”
“Acknowledged.”
**
Less than a day later, they approached Tac, the former Ruam home world. The planet was a dusty brown, with no visible water features. It also appeared to have a sizable asteroid for a moon, but as they drew closer, Galen could see it was actually an OS, or orbital station. “Look at the size of that monstrosity!” He had Bartrice do a scan and whistled when the specs came up. “It’s big, but it’s also a mess.”
“You’re looking at an old Ruam station. A lot of our hardware was left lying around after the great fall, and someone took over its management,” said Burr.
“Someone who did not care much for routine maintenance,” said Iden. “Look at its skin, all scarred and pitted. Hundreds of standards of particle impacts and boltfire have left their mark.”
“Were you expecting this to be here?” said Galen.
Burr shook his head. “No, I wasn’t. It was probably discreetly brought here after the fall. The craft that buzz around it are of the hard-to-catch variety. My guess is this base now serves a less-than-savory clientele.”
Galen slapped himself on the forehead. “Ah, what a doch! The station is called Zed, and these days, that planet’s called Anvil.”
“You’ve been here before?” said Messel.
“No, but it’s famous among smuggler folk—the less-than-savory clientele, as Burr put it—mercs, people on the run, and maybe even a few pirates. Far enough away from the Imperium core to be tolerated, or at least ignored.” Galen stared quietly at the vidscreen for a moment. “I’ve heard the only rule is no fighting of any kind is allowed.”
Iden snorted. “How civilized.”
“They’re hailing us,” said Messel.
“Lord Bray, in my opinion we should pay a visit to Zed before going down to the surface so as not to draw attention to ourselves. I doubt anyone comes here to land on that ball of dust, and I think it would arouse suspicion were we to do so,” said Burr.
Iden cracked his knuckles. “We can say we’re here to resupply.”
“That’ll work,” said Galen. “Messel, open the com to Zed for me.”
After a relatively quick exchange with a cranky station master, Galen was given instructions to dock at one of the smaller tubeports protruding from the planet side of Zed. The tube clamped onto the Ghost Star’s air dock and formed a perfect seal.
“Usually we gotta do some jimmying to get a good seal like that,” said a port jockey when Galen and the others stepped off the ship. “It’s almost like your lock and our port were made for each other.”
“Yeah, weird, huh?” said Galen.
“Say, who built your ship, anyway?” said the port jockey. “Ain’t seen one like this before.”
“Couldn’t tell you. Won it in a game of scoop.”
“Must’ve been some game!”
“You got it! Hey Hex, close her up good and tight. We’ll be back in a blink.”
“Sure, boss man.” The bot pulled back into the ship and closed the exterior door.
“Boss man?” whispered Iden.
“You rather he called me Lord Galen in front of a stranger?”
“Smart bot.”
The jockey pulled a handheld out of his pocket and entered some data. “You the captain? Kind of young aren’t you?”
“Maybe. My clients don’t seem to have a problem with me.”
“That’s what counts, innit? Name?”
“Chorl Amto.”
“Ship’s name?”
“The Backstabber.”
“Nice. Cargo?”
“Empty. On the way to a pickup.”
“Anything interesting?” said the jockey in a lowered voice.
Galen grinned. “What do you think?”
The jockey stared at him a beat. “Understood. Need any repairs? Our rates are pretty good, considering how far out we are.”
“Naw, she’s in decent shape. How’s your fuel?”
“Medium fresh.”
“Rate?”
“Three thousand creds per half b
ox.”
“That’s robbery!”
“Not like we got a lot of competition.”
“Okay, top her off, and that’ll be it. Imp credits good here?”
“You know it.”
“Okay, back in a couple.”
Galen led his stunned crew into the depths of OS Zed.
“Aren’t you full of surprises, Chorl?” said Messel.
“What can I say? This kind of stuff is like coming home for me,” said Galen. “My dad would’ve gotten him to knock the fuel price by a third, but I didn’t want to waste any time haggling. Oh wait.” Galen ran a few steps back toward Bartrice. “Yo, where’s a good place to get some chomp around here?”
“Hulla’s the only place I eat when I’m working,” said the jockey. “It’s all fresh kill, and they got a decent ship’s brew, too. Take the green tube express toward the hub. Third stop from here.”
“Got it.”
They rode the green tube express, in reality a string of ancient and rickety tube cars, down three stops and jumped out in front of Hulla’s—a dive in every sense of the word. They grabbed a couple of tables away from the door and sat down. Galen handed out some menus. “I’d stay away from anything with special or surprise printed next to it,” said Galen. “That usually means it’s something they couldn’t sell the day before or, by the looks of this place, the week before. Also avoid anything that has curl in it. You can pick up some nasty gut parasites from curl meat if they don’t cook it long enough.”
A barely functioning bot waiter approached them. “What can I get you?”
The others all had a slightly nervous look in their eyes, so Galen spoke up. “Okay then, I guess I’ll do the ordering. Um, give us two pitchers of your ship’s brew, and . . . how are your ribs?”
“They’re what we sell the most of,” said the waiter.
“Okay, give us three racks of ribs and a couple sides of fried starchers, and we should be good,” said Galen.
Burr eyed the waiter bot as it took the menus and then headed toward the kitchen. “Its servos need adjusting. I should ask if it would like me to fix them.”
Ghost Star Page 8
