Stars of Blood and Glory

by Joe Vasicek

  “Now we see just how invincible these Hameji really are,” Kenta muttered.

  The floor shuddered, making Katsuichi grab his armrest for support. “Give me an update,” he said. “How are we doing?”

  “The Miyamoto and Hirohito are taking heavy fire. Commander Amano of the Hirohito has given the order to abandon ship—”

  “But we’ve taken out two of their larger capital ships,” said the gunnery officer, unable to contain his excitement. “A third is moving to withdraw—we can do this!”

  Katsuichi’s eyes widened in amazement, and chills shot from the back of his neck to the ends of his fingers. We’re winning, he thought to himself, suppressing the urge to shout. By the ancient holy stars of Earth, we’re actually winning.

  Without warning, the light blue marks representing Colonel Webb’s ships flickered and died, one by one. Katsuichi frowned. “What’s that? What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said the communications officer, “but it appears that the colonel is withdrawing his fleet. His flagship has left the battle, and I can’t pick up his signal anywhere else in the system.

  “Leaving? What do you mean?”

  “It’s true, sir,” said the pilot. “The other Federation ships have just jumped out. We’re—we’re alone.”

  Blood rushed to Katsuichi’s cheeks, and he clenched his fists in rage. “How can he leave right now? What can he be thinking? We’re—”

  “Calm, Katsuichi-sama,” said Kenta, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Your men need you.”

  Katsuichi collapsed in his command chair, his head in his hands. Without Colonel Webb’s forces, the Hameji could focus all their strength on the Rigelan fleet. The fifth and sixth fleets were coming in fast, but there was no guarantee that they would arrive in time to save them. If they continued, they might still win, but the casualties would be very, very high.

  “The Hirohito is down, sir. The Roppongi is also coming under heavy—”

  “Sir! Hameji reinforcements are jumping in across the sector!”

  Katsuichi looked up as little clusters of red started popping up all along the edges of the holographic projection. His stomach fell—it was a second Hameji fleet, almost as large as the first one, high enough up the gravity well to eliminate whatever positional advantage the Rigelan forces still held.

  “Your orders, sir?”

  “We can’t do this,” Kenta said under his breath. “Even if we give our lives, we can’t win this battle.”

  Katsuichi groaned, his hands shaking. “Give the order to fall back,” he said softly.

  “Yes, Sir,” said the pilot, his voice subdued. “What about the Musashi and the Yamamoto?”

  A deep sinking feeling welled up in Katsuichi’s gut. He clenched his fists in frustration, but knew he had no choice.

  “There’s nothing we can do for them. Tell Commanders Akira and Satoshi that their names will be held in the highest honor for their sacrifice.”

  The pilot nodded, while the communications officer, tears in her eyes, relayed the transmission. Katsuichi swallowed hard and covered his face with his hand.

  “You did the right thing,” said Kenta as the Divine Wind jumped out. “Better to win another day than to lose everything through no fault of our own.”

  “We were betrayed,” Katsuichi muttered. “The colonel abandoned us.”

  Kenta grunted, but said nothing. Katsuichi, unable to keep his composure, stormed angrily out of the bridge.

  * * * * *

  Abaqa pounded his fist against his gunboat’s instrument panel and swore in his loudest, angriest voice. Three days out from capturing the planetborn princess, and still he couldn’t escape the jump beacons set by those pesky … whoever they were. After so much time in deep space, this cat-and-mouse game was starting to grate on his nerves. He’d already exhausted his gunboat’s energy reserves, and both of his jump drives were spent. It’d be several hours before he’d be able to attempt another jump—hopefully, without getting interdicted again.

  He gripped the flight stick and activated the gunboat’s main railgun. At least these jump beacons gave him some opportunity for target practice. He brought his ship around until the small, barrel-shaped object was right in his cross-hairs. “Goodbye forever,” he said, squeezing the trigger. The overhead bulkheads rumbled, giving him a feeling of intense satisfaction as the shots tore through the target and turned it into a mass of flying shrapnel.

  With that done, he sighed and rose to his feet, ducking as he stepped into the gunboat’s narrow cabin. The girl sat in the corner with her hands behind her back and her knees against her chest; he’d adjusted her bonds after she’d complained about feeling sore. Her clothes still lay in a pile on the floor where he’d kicked them, though he hadn’t stripped her down completely yet.

  “Hungry?” he asked casually as he opened the compartment for the food synthesizer and began processing their lunch. He didn’t really expect an answer, though—not with the gag over her mouth. Still, her glare was so venomous that he had no trouble guessing her answer.

  “Hey, it’s not my fault we’re still here,” he said, giving her a shrug. “If it were up to me, we’d be back with my brother’s fleet already, and you’d be comfortably settled with the rest of the concubines.”

  She shouted something at him, but the gag muffled her voice enough that he couldn’t hear it. He pulled out the bowl and walked over with it to the corner, squatting down beside her.

  “Are we going to behave this time?” he asked, holding the bowl in front of her. She glared at him, but nodded.

  With his free hand, he undid the knot and pulled off the gag. She gasped and shook her head, making her hair dance over her bare shoulders. She had rings around her eyes now, and the bruises on her arms had puffed up a little, but she was still as spirited as ever—and just as beautiful.

  “My brother is going to find me,” she said, her voice deadly low. “He’s going to come for me, and when he does, he’s going to make you wish you’d never been born.”

  Abaqa laughed. “The fire of hope burns eternal, but every star in the universe will eventually grow cold.”

  “Let me go.”

  The desperation was definitely under the surface, but it was there. Perhaps she’d actually break before the voyage was up. Still, he had to admit, she had a lot of spirit for a planetborn wench.

  “I can’t,” he said, stirring the synthmeal with his spoon. “If I untied you, you’d probably try to kill me—and where would that put us? Can you fly this ship?”

  “I don’t have to,” she said. “My brother will come for me.”

  He took a spoonful of the dull gray porridge and held it out to her. With as much defiance as she could manage, she opened her mouth and let him feed her.

  “We’re practically in Hameji space already,” he said. “Even if your brother did show up to rescue you, he’d never get out with his life.”

  “You’re lying,” she said. Still, she was unable to hide the fear in her eyes.

  Abaqa shrugged. “It makes no difference in the end.”

  “How do you knmmmfm,” she said, mumbling as he stuffed another spoonful of synthmeal down her throat.

  “How do I know? We’re only a few dozen light-hours from Eyn-Gatta, where my brother’s fleets are stationed.”

  She scowled at him, but her eyes still shone with fear. He fed her another spoonful.

  “Still, if that is your brother, he’s got a lot of spirit to follow us out this far. A lot of spirit, just like you.”

  “Is that supposed to be a come-on?”

  He blushed. “No. When I make you my concubine, I won’t need to bother with come-ons.”

  “Ha! That’s a laugh. What are you going to do, bathe me in scented oils and make me hand-feed you from a baby bottle? No, let me guess—you’ll post pictures of me in your bedroom and pretend to do naughty things to them.”

  “Shut up!” he said, blushing even deeper.

  As he fed h
er another spoonful, the lights overhead turned red, and alarms began to blare across the cabin. In an instant, he was on his feet, running for the cockpit.

  “Hey!” the girl called out after him. “You spilled that disgusting stuff all over the floor!”

  He didn’t have time to respond to her, though—the sensors had picked up a ship coming out of jumpspace only a few hundred kilometers away from him. He switched off the alarms and powered down as many systems as he could, cursing himself for not thinking about that earlier. With his jump drives still powering up and nothing in local-space except dust and gas, he had nowhere to run.

  “What was that?” the girl called out. “Is that my brother? I told you he’d come for me!”

  “Shut up!” he shouted, his hands trembling. He trained the telescopic cameras on the craft and zoomed in—it was them them, all right. And it looked like they were launching fighter drones.

  “Or what?” she yelled back, encouraged now by the alarm. “Or you’ll toss me out the airlock? It’s not going to save you—you’re only chance is to hand me over.”

  An alert started blinking on the main display. It was a transmission from the incoming ship. Without thinking of the girl, he brought it up and hit play.

  “Attention Hameji vessel,” came an older woman’s voice, speaking in Gaian. “This is Captain Danica Nova of the Rigelan-aligned Tajji Flame. Power down your ship and surrender at once.”

  “See?” squealed the girl. “See? I told you he’d come—I told you!”

  Abaqa clenched and unclenched his fists. For a moment, he considered putting up a fight, but the Tajji Flame was much larger than his gunboat, with almost three times as many fighters. Without any backup, he was as good as dead the moment he powered up his weapons.

  Instead, he activated a high-level distress beacon, using the codes his father had taught him. It was an embarrassing way to end his first mission, but he had no doubt that his brother Jahan would come for him—especially with Eyn-Gatta so close by.

  After a few seconds, the alert flashed again. “Hameji vessel, depower your distress beacon and submit to boarding at once.”

  “If you want me to stop transmitting,” he answered in Gaian, “then come here and shut it off yourself.”

  He waited again. No response. On the sensors, the Tajji Flame grew closer.

  Abaqa groaned and returned to the cabin. The girl was laughing manically now, hardly able to control herself.

  “How does it feel, big boy? What are you going to do when you’re the one tied up?”

  “Your friends won’t get very far,” he told her. “In just a few hours, this place will be teeming with my Hameji brethren.”

  “It doesn’t matter. In just a few minutes, this ship will be teeming with Federation marines.”

  He scowled at her, but inwardly he knew she was right.

  * * * * *

  “Let’s get that distress signal down,” said Danica. “Carve that gunboat to pieces if you have to, Tajjashvili—but make sure the princess is still alive.”

  “Understood.”

  Rina monitored the distress signal, checking it for secret codes and anomalies. It didn’t take her long to break it; the encryption was only basic, and she already had a good enough knowledge of Hameji protocols to know what she was looking at. When she found it, she ran it through her private datalink until she came up with a match.

  “Captain,” she said, “I’ve found something that might interest you.”

  “Oh?” said Danica, raising an eyebrow at her. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “The distress call contains a secret code,” she said, bringing it up on her screen. “It’s an identifier for high-ranking Hameji personnel. This one is for a son of Qasar, one of the highest ranking fleet commanders under General Tagatai.”

  “Qasar,” Danica muttered, bringing her hand to her chin. In the back of the room, Roman frowned and narrowed his good eye.

  “Which son?” he asked.

  “The son of his youngest wife,” said Rina. “A woman by the name of Sholpan.”

  “Abaqa. We’re dealing with Prince Abaqa.”

  Rina looked up quickly, barely concealing her surprise. How did these mercenaries know so much about the Hameji?

  “Roman, I want you to scour that gunboat for anything that might prove useful, then scuttle it,” said Danica. She turned to face her men. “Yuri, how long until we can jump out?”

  “About three hours at the earliest,” he said. “But we need longer to make a full jump.”

  “That’s all right, Lieutenant. Just get us out of this sector before the Hameji pick up that signal.”

  “We’re still a good ten to twelve light hours out from Eyn-Gatta. We’ll be fine.”

  Rina frowned at her screen. “Captain, it appears that the Federation has just lost a major battle at this system.”

  Danica turned to her and frowned. “What did you say?”

  “I’ve been monitoring the radio noise,” said Rina, looking up from her station. “There are a lot of Hameji transmissions, as well as a few distress signals from Rigelan ships. If the Federation had won the battle, it would be the other way around.”

  “Are you certain of this?” said Roman, rising to his feet.

  “I’m afraid she’s right,” said Yuri. “I’m picking up the same thing. This entire sector is swarming with Hameji.”

  Danica nodded grimly. “In that case, we must assume that they have pushed the Federation back to New Vela. Keep the ship-wide alert on level two, and be ready at any time for action. From here on out, we’re in enemy controlled space.”

  A buzzing sounded in Rina’s ear, nearly making her cringe. She sat back in her chair and rubbed it with her fingertips, closing her eyes as the intensity increased.

  All at once, something in her datalinks clicked, and she found herself standing—or floating, rather—in a white, featureless room. All bodily sensation left her as her mind received a message in the form of raw data.

  ATTENTION AGENT: STAND BY AND AWAIT DIRECTIVE.

  An instant later, she was back on the Tajji Flame, rubbing her head as if she had a headache. The buzzing died down, and she dropped her hand immediately, pretending as if nothing had happened. Fortunately, the other officers were too busy to notice.

  Await directive. She took a deep breath and instinctively reached down to the pistol on her belt, confirming that it was there, ready to be used when she needed it.

  Chapter 9

  “Let me go,” Hikaru yelled, her heart pounding. Explosions sounded through the bulkheads, and for a moment she feared that the ship would break apart. She wondered if she should try to make a break for the escape pods, but with her hands still tied behind her back, there was no way she could get to them.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but Abaqa appeared in the doorway to the cockpit. His expression was subdued, but she thought she could see a trace of fear behind his eyes. That, more than anything else, filled her with glee.

  “So you thought you could pull a quick one, huh?” she shouted at him. “Well, it didn’t work—so now let me go!”

  “Let yourself go,” he shot back at her. Then, kneeling on the floor, he pulled out his gun and knife and laid them out carefully in front of him.

  “What are you going to do, kill yourself?” she asked. “If so, good riddance.”

  “Of course not, you slut,” he hissed. “I’ve just been disabled. Your mercenary friends are going to be here in moments.”

  As if to confirm that, the explosions stopped, and the awful grinding of metal on metal announced that someone had docked.

  “So you’re just going to let them find me tied up like this,” said Hikaru, rolling her eyes. “Great idea—I’m sure they won’t think you mistreated me.”

  “I could still kill you,” said Abaqa, his voice low. “My brother Gazan certainly wants me to.”

  “Oh yeah? Then why haven’t you?”

  “Because I don’t think you’re worth dying
over.”

  The airlock door hissed open, and a massive, broad-shouldered man charged through. He was more than a full head taller than Hikaru, and the muscles on his arms and chest were huge, evident even under his dark brown battle armor. Though he looked as strong as one of the palace samurai, wrinkles creased his forehead just beneath his helmet. She looked up at his age-worn face and realized that one of his eyes was prosthetic. It glowed a dull red, like a laser waiting to be fired.

  “Help!” she managed to scream, doing her best to look helpless. The old soldier glanced at her for a second, but kept his assault rifle trained on Abaqa. He grunted something in a foreign language, and two other soldiers stormed in, surrounding the Hameji prince and making him lie with his face on the ground.

  “You are Princess Hikaru?” the old man asked, his voice low and gravelly. Hikaru nodded.

  “I had to keep her this way,” said Abaqa as the soldiers tied his hands forcibly behind his back. “None of her injuries are permanent.”

  “And her clothes?” muttered the old man.

  “Next to the bunk. Ow!”

  The soldiers lifted Abaqa bodily to his feet and stood on either side of him, guns jammed into his sides. Hikaru smiled to herself as he winced in pain. Serves you right.

  “Take him to the brig,” said the old soldier, adding something in his own language. The soldiers nodded and dragged the boy prince off through the airlock.

  “Help,” cried Hikaru, struggling against her bonds for effect.

  “Do not be afraid,” said the old man. “I free you now. Stay still.” He knelt down beside her and pulled out a large laser-knife from a sheath on his chest plate—one just as large as Abaqa’s, though it didn’t look nearly so awkward on him. Hikaru held perfectly still as he reached behind her and cut the bonds on her wrists before moving to her feet.

  “Thank you,” she said, rubbing her sore, bruised wrists. The man’s armor was scratched and dented, and smelled of old, faded perspiration, making her forget how much she stank after the last few days. As for her lack of clothing, however, she was acutely aware of that—especially as he checked her over.