Stars Forever Black: Book I of the Star Lion Saga

by A. L. Bruno

  Dasa looked up at him, her eyes imploring. “I can’t let him get away with this,” she said. She pushed herself up onto one arm, her breasts pressed into his side. “We both know what he’s like. He killed the—”

  Dasa suddenly stopped, her eyes going wide. She sat straight upwards and pulled her knees into her chest. “No,” she moaned. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Gishkim raised himself to his knees and stared at her. “W-what do you m-mean, “killed”?”

  Dasa blinked, tears running down her cheeks again. “The last administrator didn’t have an accident,” she whispered, then shook her head vigorously. “I can’t say any more.”

  Heat flooded Gishkim, and he found himself gripping the silk bedsheets beneath his fingers. He already knew what Kawin was capable of; he had seen it himself. He realized with a start that Dasa was in real danger, and he along with her.

  That, Gishkim decided, was not acceptable.

  “Y-you can’t d-do it,” Gishkim said. “It’s t-t-too dangerous.”

  “He has to be stopped!” Dasa implored. She got up on her knees and grabbed Gishkim behind the neck, her eyes boring into his. “If he isn’t stopped, he’ll only get worse! I’ve seen men like him before and…” Her voice caught and she looked down, ashamed.

  “I k-know,” Gishkim said. He raised her chin and smiled. “T-that’s why I n-need you to t-tell me w-what I have t-to do.”

  16

  T.S.S. Hyperion

  Captain’s Cabin

  Command and Control Module

  Phelspharia

  18 December 2356

  Commander Zaid Conrad had seen Lydia Boothe angry before. In the second year of their academy days, a civilian had deliberately tripped a cadet during the Naptown Half Marathon. Conrad watched awestruck as Boothe chased down the assailant and threw him past the spectators into a brick wall. Though she’d been disqualified—and earned a host of additional duties unbefitting a second-class midshipman—the tripped cadet finished the race. No one else bothered the cadets for the remainder of their time at Annapolis.

  That day taught Conrad a simple truth: though Boothe was slow to anger, you did not want to be on the receiving end when she finally snapped.

  That’s where Jason Roberts found himself now.

  Roberts’ haggard face hung in the air above Boothe’s fold-out office table; the holo-attenuated colors of the Phelspharian room behind him bathed the ship’s darkness in hues of crimson.

  “Explain to me again,” Captain Boothe said, her voice taut, hands clenched, “how you thought it would be a good idea to walk out on a transcontinental interview?”

  Roberts closed his eyes and pursed his lips. He’s out of his depth, Conrad thought, frustrated. He cursed himself again for not making a more compelling case to keep Roberts aboard.

  “No excuse, ma’am,” Roberts finally sighed by way of reply.

  Conrad snorted angrily, then suppressed a groan of embarrassment. The anti-radiation treatments he’d endured over the previous six weeks had many side effects, not the least of which were increased girth and a short fuse. He’d begged Boothe to let him ride out his recovery from a sickbay berth, but she’d disagreed. “We’re not at war, Zaid,” she’d reassured him. “And I know what you’re like when you’re not busy.” So, he pressed on, doing his treatments every morning, exercising when off shift, all while studiously ignoring the constant itch of his entire body as it healed.

  On one hand, the constant discomfort worked in Conrad’s favor. Being the “bad guy” was part of any executive officer’s job. Unfortunately, the side effect had also cost him his bearing, his patience, and even his ability to communicate without losing his temper. Now he faced a crew that were more scared of him than they were the constant threat of death outside the thin hull of their ship. While some XO’s might have been happy with that, it sickened Conrad to his core.

  “I need more than that, Commander,” Boothe replied, pulling Conrad back into the room. Dammit, Conrad thought. I can barely think with this garbage in me.

  “I’m aware of that, ma’am,” Roberts replied. The SIGINT officer shifted in his seat. His wristcom image split out gradated blocks of interpolated data around the transmission’s borders to compensate.

  For a long moment, Boothe said nothing. She cast an ominous look at Conrad. “And their people gave us no warning about what he would go through today?”

  “None,” Conrad said, the word coming out far more harshly than intended. “Lt. Malley showed me their pre-landing communications. All it said was that he’d be greeted once he landed.”

  Boothe slammed her right fist into the table, scattering a stylus onto the diamond plate of the deck. Conrad blanched. Two years out here is wearing on her, he thought—not for the first time. Deep space surveys were offered only to the coolest heads in the TSF, and Boothe was damn-near arctic. Yet no one had done two straight years in the black without even a single resupply run to wind down. If she’s this ragged, Conrad thought, how is the rest of the crew holding up?

  “Unacceptable,” Boothe snapped, once again pulling Conrad back into the moment. Her jaw was canted to one side, her space-pale cheeks manifesting a blotchy flush. “Is this sort of thing usual for their Kionel?”

  Roberts squinted. “Yes and no,” he replied.

  “You’re not helping, Commander,” Boothe warned.

  “It’s the truth, ma’am,” Roberts replied with impressive composure. “The Kionel is a hard ass to every world leader on the planet. No one’s immune.” Roberts paused, more words at the back of this throat, but he thought better of them and closed his mouth.

  “But…” Conrad prompted.

  Roberts blew out an exasperated sigh. “...but he doesn’t usually do this when he first meets guests.”

  “Then why did he insult you?” Conrad asked, his voice rising despite his efforts to control it.

  “I honestly don’t know, sir,” Roberts replied, exhausted.

  Boothe cocked her head rigidly, considering her options. “What’s the likelihood he’ll authorize our base?”

  “Judging by today,” Roberts replied, “I’m not sure he even wants us on orbit.”

  “What they want isn’t the issue,” Conrad flared. “We need to get that base down there for their protection.”

  “Which is why we should brief them on the Motinai,” Roberts pressed again. He’d pushed that idea before he’d disembarked, to the point where Boothe had jumped down his throat about it. The kid’s tenacious, Conrad thought, I’ll give him that. “I know it breaks FC protocol,” Roberts continued, “but they need to know what’s going on outside of their heliosphere.”

  “No,” Boothe snapped. Her cheeks were still ruddy, but Conrad was relieved to see her reassert some degree of self-control. “Do you really want a repeat of what happened with Gant?”

  Roberts looked away, embarrassed. “Of course not, ma’am.”

  “But we can’t let them have the upper hand,” Conrad blurted angrily. Dammit! he thought. I didn’t mean to say that out loud! He gritted his teeth and pressed on. “Have Malley do deep dives into their secure communications,” he continued, steadying his tone by sheer force of will. “I’ve already talked to her about it. She’s certain their encryption is nothing her team can’t untangle.”

  Boothe fixed Conrad with a critical stare, “And is that all she said, Exec?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Conrad responded. He could feel his face heating at her inference. “She said her people could handle it.”

  “She’s wrong,” Roberts countered. “We’re already overtasked. The more we dump on them, the less effective they’ll be.”

  “The mission is what matters, Roberts,” Conrad replied, relieved for the distraction. The flush in his cheek embarrassed him and he wanted to look away but couldn’t. You don’t show weakness to subordinates.

  “The mission won’t happen without the people who make it happen,” Roberts challenged, indignant. As always, the scar on
his face remained a stark white as he lost his temper.

  “Enough! Both of you!” Boothe’s voice rang from the metal walls of her cramped office. Roberts bit back his opposition, visibly frustrated, while Conrad snapped eyes ahead, not wanting another dose of his commanding officer’s wrath. Boothe took a moment to regain her composure and continued. “The XO is right,” she affirmed. “We’ll have Malley task her staff accordingly.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Roberts blurted incredulously. “Am I to understand that I’m remaining planetside?”

  “They wanted you, Mr. Roberts,” Boothe replied. “They’ve got you.” Her eyes narrowed as she leaned in towards the holo emitter’s capture planes. “The base is all that matters. Am I clear?”

  Roberts straightened. “Aye, ma’am.”

  Boothe struck a glowing red toggle on her holodisplay and Roberts vanished from the room. The moment his face dissolved she sagged back, leaning on her left arm and placing her fingers to her forehead. “He’s not ready for this,” she said, simply.

  “Wasn’t our call,” Conrad replied. “If we had the time—”

  “But we don’t,” Boothe interrupted. “Get down to Malley. I want to know all their diplomatic communications, all their intelligence data… everything. They’re not catching us off guard like this again.” Boothe nodded curtly, silently dismissing Conrad.

  “Aye, ma’am,” he said, moving to the hatch.

  “And Zaid,” Boothe called, before he could exit.

  “Yes, ma’am?” he replied, knowing what was coming.

  “Keep it professional.”

  Conrad swallowed; eyes averted. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, then left the captain to her work.

  “You wheezed a lot less today,” Lieutenant JG Ariana Malley offered to Conrad as they made their way from the ship’s gym to Officer’s Country. Her copper hair was pulled into a ponytail revealing a constellation of freckles dotting her pale neck. She smiled at him with lips a bit too wide for her face; her brown eyes bloodshot from sweat pouring into them as they ran. Every inch of her exposed skin glistened in the dim lights of the Command-and-Control module’s passageways.

  “A little better every day,” Conrad replied, repeating Doc Nesheim’s mantra. His heart pounded so loudly it sounded like a kettle drum in his ears, but he forced a smile out anyway.

  “Two more weeks,” she offered, turning around and jogging backwards effortlessly. Her faded green tank top advertised a restaurant called “Bottle Tops” in Mid-Pacifica, while her academy-issued leggings had only just begun to show signs of wear. “It’ll all be over in two weeks.”

  “Your words, the universe’s ears,” Conrad responded. As they came to his quarter’s hatch, his casual tone dissolved into duty. “Lieutenant, we have some work to go over, if you have a minute.”

  Malley read Conrad’s change and her demeanor instantly shifted. “Of course, Commander,” she replied.

  Conrad nodded, then entered his quarters. Like any living space aboard a Terran Star Force vessel, its lines were defined more by accidental gaps in engineering layouts and less by any desire to provide comfort to its crew. Still, he had the space to himself—to say nothing of its running water shower—and he coveted its privacy.

  The hatch had barely clanged shut behind them before Malley was on him. Her hands pulled his mouth to hers and she kissed him hungrily, sweat making her lips even sweeter. For a moment Conrad let it happen. I need this, dammit! But then, gently, he pushed her away.

  Malley looked up at him, surprised. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Conrad replied, actively ignoring the heat of desire pulsing through him. “I actually do have work to discuss.”

  “Oh,” Malley replied, a little embarrassed—then curious. “Oh!” she frowned. “What’s going on?”

  Conrad flopped into the fold-up chair by his retracted desk, while Malley settled at the edge of his bunk. “We need to re-task your people,” he began. By the time he finished explaining the captain’s wishes, Malley looked dumbstruck, her mouth agape.

  “We’re finally getting our heads around their ancient languages,” Malley said, incredulous. “We nearly broke our crew and the AI with that, and now we’re supposed to just stop and switch gears?”

  “You told me you could do it,” Conrad challenged.

  “Yes, but after we finished this work,” Malley replied. “If we stop now, we’re going to lose so much momentum that it’s going to take months, maybe years to recover.”

  “If we don’t get a base down there then all of that work is going to be wasted anyway,” Conrad replied. Malley looked away, disappointed, and his heart ached. Part of him wanted to fold her into his arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay, but he fought against it. It’s the meds, he reminded himself. They amplify everything.

  “Does Jason know?” Malley asked.

  A flash of jealousy shot through Conrad’s limbs like lighting through a cloud. “Commander Roberts is aware, yes,” he replied.

  Malley read his tone, offering a bemused smile in return. “Good,” she replied, her eyes sparkling. She assumed an exaggerated at-attention stance. “As long as Commander Roberts is aware, I’ll do my best.” Relaxing again, Malley leaned forward, pulling his hand to hers. “You’re just so damned cute sometimes.”

  “Cute?” Conrad replied with mock indignation. He kissed her knuckles lightly. “Is that what you call your XO?”

  Malley’s face fell, and she withdrew her hand from his. She looked down, pensive, and when she looked back up all levity had left her face.

  “We’ve already been busted once for this, Zaid,” she said. “I worry—”

  “Too much,” Conrad interrupted. He moved from his chair to the bunk and sat next to her. “First, as much as you make me happy—” he took her hand and pulled it to his lips again, “and you do— I’ve never allowed it to impact my duties. Second,” he continued, turning her hand over and lightly kissing the inside of her wrist, “this happens on every ship I’ve ever served aboard. The trick is to keep it under control.”

  “That can’t be true,” Malley retorted.

  Conrad nodded. “Oh, it is. Worst case was the CMO impregnating three line officers eight weeks out of Hadrian,” he replied. “Unlucky for him, we were short on flight-qualified doctors, so he ended up finishing out the entire cruise in lockdown.”

  Malley blew out an empathetic “oof”. “What happened when he got back?”

  “He was allowed to resign,” Conrad replied. “Ended up marrying one of the gals.” He frowned. “Or was it two? Those colony worlds are weird.”

  Malley laughed, and she was on him again, her lips full of heat and desire. He knew she should be helping him with Tenastan—the cover he’d used to convince Boothe of the need for privacy with her—but he didn’t care. The only time his skin didn’t bother him, the only time he didn’t feel the weight of the crew on his shoulders, the only time he felt like himself again were in the few stolen moments he was with her.

  Conrad’s wristcom buzzed. Malley pushed away so forcefully that he nearly hit the opposite bulkhead. She quickly put her hair and clothes in order.

  The wristcom buzzed again. Conrad turned to keep Malley out of view of the image planes. He tapped his wrist, ready to project command leadership as best he could.

  Captain Boothe’s face appeared in the center of the room. She stared out at him silently, her face drained of color.

  Conrad’s gut tightened. He’d seen Boothe angry before, but fear was something far rarer.

  “We have flash traffic from Terra, Exec,” Boothe said. Her voice sounded hollow. “Get up here now.”

  With that she was gone, leaving Conrad staring at his frightened lover in the dim cabin light.

  17

  Kionel’s Palace

  Old Palace Grounds

  Agrath’s Room

  Leonathier, Tenasta

  15 Sardua 1066

  A sharp rap at the door to Agrath’s
Room heralded Nashita’s arrival. Before Roberts turned his head she had stridden in, clipboard in one hand, a green plastic travel mug in the other.

  “Hurry up,” Nashita said by way of greeting. “We’re going to be late for breakfast.”

  And here we go again, he thought. He didn’t say it, of course. Instead, he forced a smile and offered a tolerant, “And a good morning to you, too.”

  Nashita shook her head and took a quick sip from her travel mug. “It won’t be if you fall behind again,” she said, barely taking the time to swallow. She closed the distance between them with a step, scanning his face and clothes like a medical sensor. Her gray eyes narrowed; mouth pinched tight. “Is that what you’re going to wear?” she asked, one finger tracing an invisible circle in the air.

  “It’s my uniform, so yes,” Roberts replied. He nodded towards her tan business suit. “Is that what you’re going to wear?”

  Nashita stiffened slightly before her chin jerked to one side. The beginnings of a smile pulled at her lips. “Was... was that a joke?”

  “If you have to ask, then no.” Roberts replied. He turned back to his distorted reflection in Agrath’s old mirror and frowned. His white, collared shirt and black pants, while serviceable, needed to be pressed, and his dress jacket had attracted a starfield of lint in the day since he’d arrived. “Is there an iron in here?” he asked.

  “In a five-hundred-year-old historical monument?” Nashita replied. “No, we don’t have an open heat source in here.” She moved around him and brushed errant fuzz from his shoulders. “If you need something cleaned, put it in the hamper.”

  “Hamper?” Roberts asked.

  Nashita didn’t answer. Instead, she grabbed his arm and moved him towards the door. “Come on,” she said. “You’ve got a big day today.”

  Again? Roberts thought as the room door slammed behind them.

  “Let’s go over your agenda,” Nashita said between mouthfuls of food. She moved her tray to one side and slapped her clipboard on the table in its place.