Spacer Clans Adventure 1: Naero's Run

by Mason Elliott

  Naero had never actually bothered going to one before.

  “Meet me on The Slipper in two hours, Naero. I’ve got an Akoran number that you’d look great in. If you’re bold enough to wear it, of course.”

  “Okay... Oh, and Aunt Sleak, a couple of things happened today that I want to talk to you about.”

  “Can it wait? I’ve still got a lot–”

  “I was attacked today, but that’s not–”

  “Who and why?” Sleak demanded.

  “Just a couple of lander thugs. I took them down easy.”

  “Good. I’d expect that, especially from you. A Spacer onworld is like a walking target sometimes. That’s just the way. So what’s the problem?”

  “It was a weird afternoon all around. After the attack, some rich Corps guy landed in a sky limo and offered me a hand, then a lift. Very odd.”

  “You refused.”

  “I wasn’t born yesterday. Before that, I met a Corp Lady at the loading docks of all places. Named Drianne; she seemed to know you and wanted you to contact her. Like everybody else today, she and her Matayan bodyguard seemed overly interested in me.”

  “Drianne Imiviel of Triax Corp. I heard she was in system. Did business with her, a long while ago. Nothing ever went wrong that I could blame on her, but a couple of deals left a bad taste in my mouth. Your father knew her, I think.”

  “Dad knew her?”

  “I think he wasted a little time with her before your mother got a lock on him. I’d bet a hundred megs that it’s Drianne’s yacht we’re invited to tonight. She always has some kind of game going. Maybe I can find out something from her. Tell your brother to guard more than his pants.”

  “I will. Do you think there’s any connection between Drianne and the attack on me, or the limo guy?”

  “Who knows, at this point? I wouldn’t worry about it too much. We ship off tomorrow. I’m kind of glad. This all sounds too weird. It doesn’t feel right. The sooner we’re back in deep space the better.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot, there was this other guy before all of that. He said he wanted to talk to both of us, and Janner, about mom and dad. Said his name was Baeven.”

  Aunt Sleak choked on her own breath.

  For another instant there was silence.

  Then her eyes narrowed to slits, the way they only did in battle.

  “Naero, don’t say another word.”

  “What? Who is–”

  “Shut up. Take my private shuttle up to The Dromon. Go straight to my quarters there and arm yourself. My personal guards will protect you. I’ll release the entry codes to you en route.”

  “I don’t understand. Why–”

  “Do as I say, Naero. This is a primary direct order. Tell Janner to go to my private quarters on The Slipper and stay there until my security escort arrives. Get going, now. Out.”

  Icicles knifed up her veins.

  Very little could rattle Aunt Sleak like that.

  All she did was mention some guy’s name.

  She contacted Janner immediately and gave him the orders. Janner fumed and argued and demanded explanations, but Naero had none to offer. He gave in.

  Naero left The Shinai and boarded The Slipper, in the next starport docking bay over to the right. The Slipper was Aunt Sleak’s flagship, a five-hundred-ton Omni Corps Corvette. Originally designed as a superfast blockade runner.

  When Naero arrived, Aunt Sleak had the entire fleet on priority one security alert, one level below battle stations. The crews had armed themselves and conducted patrols and sensor sweeps of all ships and the docking bay.

  This was going to throw their scheduling off; it might even cost them serious creds.

  Aunt Sleak’s Second met her there, dashing Captain Zalvano of The Shinai, along with a three-Spacer fireteam in assault armor and heavy plasma rifles.

  They escorted her personally to Aunt Sleak’s onboard, private shuttle.

  The trim little Joshua Corp craft sat only four people and carried little cargo. More of a fighter than anything else.

  The fireteam pulled back in prep for launch.

  Zalvano went with her. A class act. In his early forties, rugged, handsome, smart, and completely fearless. Deep, dark violet eyes; long black hair gathered behind his neck in a golden clip. Lines of steel and silver ran through its length.

  Common knowledge held that he and Aunt Sleak were lovers. Naero could understand and respect that. Zalvano was Sleak’s honorable partner in every other way. The captain of The Shinai had a strong hand; he was good with his people. He possessed a strict but generous nature, and an ironic sense of humor that grew on a person. With time.

  Zalvano smiled. “Hey spacechild, want me to–”

  “Not a chance,” Naero said.

  Aunt Sleak had never even given her or Janner a ride in the craft, let alone let them pilot it offworld.

  Another alarming turn of events, but Naero still couldn’t help being excited.

  She sank into the plush, fragrant gel chair of the pilot’s station and ran her hands along the perfect controls.

  They secured their flight helmets.

  Then she powered up, feeling the energy race through her. She felt so befuddled, she almost forgot about her insanity.

  Once they had clearance, Naero eased the craft out of its pod on The Slipper and lifted off from the docking bay, and then the starport itself. The controls were uniform, but handled more fluidly than the GV’s and other bulk shuttles and transports. Naero vectored toward The Dromon’s codes and punched it.

  Zalvano opened his mouth to warn her.

  The burst of speed and the resulting g-forces mashed them into their flight seats.

  Too late.

  Even through the atmosphere the acceleration felt incredible, far beyond the performance of the ambling GV’s. Both Naero and Janner had pushed them to their limits, even with modifications.

  What responses! This was definitely elite fighter speed. Auto controls and scans popped up online as needed. No warnings.

  They cleared the atmosphere in moments.

  What an awesome ride. Naero had practiced in stunt simulators for various fighters throughout history, but even holos couldn’t prepare her for the sheer rush and exhilaration of the real thing.

  Irpul-4 vanished behind her.

  Naero couldn’t help but think of her father.

  Her father was her ship. Whatever ship she flew.

  The hull was his strength wrapped around her to keep her safe. His might sustained her through all the extremes the universe had to offer, protecting her. He carried her to places of wonder and beauty, peril and truth.

  His eyes were the viewscreens she looked out of. Through his gentle, laughing eyes, she saw the universe and learned its ways and complexities. As she grew, like a true explorer she lived a grand adventure.

  Guided by her father, doors, hatches, bulkheads, blast doors and iris valves opened and closed around her, teaching her the lessons, knowledge, and wisdom they contained.

  When she was still tiny, her father taught her to fly through space. He became her drive, her wings, her lift.

  She rose up safe in his big hands and faced the universe grinning, wise, and fearless.

  He held her high. So very high aloft.

  She laughed and lifted her head, arching her back, pointing her toes, spreading out her arms. Like him, he taught her how to become a ship.

  Her heart a fusion drive.

  In his mighty hands, she jumped from star to star, from system to system. Making runs, coming in for landings. Setting down on beds and chairs and tables that transformed into starports and landing zones. Blasting offworld for her next port of call.

  All under her own power.

  Naero pitied landers. The vast majority of them never even got up into space.

  She loved it so, like all Spacers. The only thing that made her truly feel alive, and free. Under the Gigacorps, most landers never knew much freedom of any kind.

  �
�Decel,” Zalvano warned. “I know you’re having fun, but pay attention or you’ll overshoot your rendezvous.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, and powered down to compensate. “Decel underway. Just got a little taken.” Still half-tempted to blast off and really head out for a ride.

  “Sure you don’t want me to take it in?”

  Zalvano smiled at her once more. He knew what she was feeling. Her parents taught her what all Spacers knew.

  Onworld, they were only half alive.

  In space, everything became clearer, richer.

  “Pretty trim, isn’t she?” Zalvano said. “I take her out every now and then. She cost your aunt a load, but she’s worth it.”

  “I’m gonna have one like this or better someday.”

  “Probably better. Some of her’s nearly obsolete already. Sleak’s about to refit her. But she’ll still beat most of the Corp stuff out there. Only the best military rigs could touch her. Check out her offensive and defensive specs while we’re on approach.”

  Naero called up the O&D systems, just as he suggested.

  Her lips parted. “Whoa, baby!”

  The little shuttle wasn’t just fast. She was armed like a heavy fighter. With level two shields, she was practically a light assault ship.

  The immense, darkened form of The Dromon loomed up before them all too soon. Naero switched off the auto approach and landing sequence and took the shuttle in manually, setting down on the planetoid landing pad all too soon. A bubble dome popped up over them, filling with a rush of air.

  Naero powered the little craft down and they got out. She tucked her flight helmet back into the seat and patted the little ship with no small affection. “You and me could be friends.”

  “I think she likes you,” Zalvano said.

  “Naero,” Aunt Sleak blurted in over her com. “You got up here quick enough. Don’t slack now. My quarters. ASAP.”

  “Better not keep her waiting,” Zalvano said, raising one eyebrow.

  Naero nodded to Zalvano and hit the deck running, still struggling to ignore her own internal madness

  Time to find out what was going on.

  11

  The heavy blast panels to Aunt Sleak’s private quarters on board The Dromon swung open.

  Naero had never been cleared to go up there.

  She stepped into wide space, a luxury unavailable on any of the other ships, but still not as opulent as what she expected, for a Spacer Merchant Captain of Aunt Sleak’s wealth and fame.

  In fact, the more she observed, the more austere and even militarily efficient it all looked. All off-white and muted pastels, soft-lit and serene. The huge chamber mostly oval, yet irregular in many regards. Art pieces of gleaming gold and precious metals, glowing clusters of gems and alien crystals on the ceiling and walls here and there, backlit in tasteful arrangements.

  Hidden smartwall panels and pop-up consoles she only guessed at.

  Serving as one of a few active touches of anything living, fresh purple flowers of some alien variety bloomed in planter sconces set along the pale walls at medium height.

  Their sharp, sweet fragrance filled the air. But the serviceable, fixed furnishings were sparse, adding to the sense of space.

  She walked on and gazed up at the stars through a ceiling that consisted of an enormous viewport, the ponderous blast shutters on the uppermost level of the planetoid wide open on the outside.

  Panels whispered open on one wall. Aunt Sleak came out of an adjoining room wearing plain flight togs, stripped of her fleet captain’s rank bands.

  That stunned Naero right there. Spacers always displayed their rank, except when threats were severe–or they went to war.

  Aunt Sleak wore her thick, auburn mane of shoulder-length hair pulled back in platinum clips, Spacer battle-style. She even wore a side arm and an energy cutlass. Naero very seldom saw her aunt carry weapons openly. She knew about some of the cleverly concealed ones.

  All Spacers had their own little concealment tricks and secrets.

  “Intel has ordered all Spacer fleets, ships, and crews on full alert after the loss of The Omaria,” Aunt Sleak said. “The Corps are denying any knowledge or involvement in the incident, but tensions are running high. All that we know so far is that your parents were trading with the Cumi concerning some kind of ancient alien tech.”

  “So who is this Baeven guy?” Naero said. “He seemed to know something more about it.”

  Aunt Sleak stiffened and shot her such a look of pain, anger, and hatred that Naero nearly fell into a defensive stance.

  Aunt Sleak looked away. “I have to be sure it’s him. What did he say? What did he look like? Not that he couldn’t make himself look like anyone or any thing.

  “Deets and descriptions,” Aunt Sleak snapped.

  Naero gave them.

  Aunt Sleak finally sighed and hung her head. “It must be him. Sounds just like the bastard. He can change his name and his face, but not his height. He was always so damn tall.”

  “He said to mention that he wanted to make up for Toraga-5.”

  Aunt Sleak’s eyes narrowed to dark lines. Her fists tightened and shook.

  “Sure he does. It’s gotta be him. I’m sorry, Naero.” Aunt Sleak sighed again. “Sorry about your parents, and sorry you ever had to meet this creature. He would show up, especially now. ‘Baeven’ is just one of his aliases. How fitting; a baeven is–”

  “An Otaran scavenger bird,” Naero said. “Sort of like a Terran raven, but nastier. I looked it up.”

  “They’re utterly ruthless,” Aunt Sleak added, “completely opportunistic. Given the chance, they eat their mates, even their own young. How fitting.”

  “How was he involved with Mom and Dad?”

  “Your mother and I knew him very well. Once. That was long ago. I hope for his sake he didn’t have a hand in what happened. But for him to take an interest, this must be very serious. Destruction and death follow this creature wherever he goes. Avoid him at all costs, spacechild. Don’t speak to him. Flee if he approaches you again. That is a direct order.”

  Naero couldn’t stop herself from a wide-eyed blink. She recovered quickly.

  “Aunt Sleak, you’re holding back on me. What is his connection to Clan Maeris? Who does he work for? He is a Spacer, after all–”

  Aunt Sleak shot her the look again and even advanced a step. Naero retreated into her defensive posture.

  “He was a Spacer, Naero. He will never be one of us, ever again.”

  Naero’s jaw dropped.

  An outcast. The man was an outcast.

  Only the worst elements of Spacer society became outcasts, many of them executed for their crimes. To all the Clans, Baeven was worse than a criminal. Worse than an enemy. He was dead to his people, completely ostracized as if he never existed.

  A sad smile crept over Aunt Sleak’s face. “Now you know. This Baeven has been a curse to our family. Everyone who has dealt with him has either died or lived to regret it. He will tell you anything to manipulate and use you for his own ends. He works for anyone who will hire him, but he serves only himself. Don’t ever trust him Naero. He’s one of the most dangerous people in the known universe.”

  “What did he do? To become an outcast, I mean?”

  Aunt Sleak visibly shuddered.

  “He repeatedly betrayed our people, as well as his employers, playing all sides against the others. He has caused many conflicts, and countless deaths. He is an incredibly dangerous man, and one of the deadliest warriors I have ever known. He trained extensively with our Mystics and in fact was a prodigy of theirs. But in the end, he betrayed them as well.

  “Even they haven’t been able to capture...or kill him.”

  Their Mystics wanted him dead?

  And this guy was still alive somehow?

  Naero blinked a second time. Spacer Mystics were among the most adept combatants in the known systems.

  “You’re still not telling me everything, Aunt Sleak. How do you know
Baeven? He said his last deal with you went bad. Said he wanted to make it up to you. What was Toraga-5?”

  Aunt Sleak hung her head and ran her fingers up through her auburn hair. She sighed again.

  “You were a small child the last time I had dealings with this creature. He sent what was then my fleet and a few others on a vital political trade negotiation mission to Toraga-5. Straight into a deathtrap. We lost fourteen ships and their crews in heavy fighting. I barely escaped with half of my crew on my flagship. The incident helped escalate the Fourth Spacer War with the Corps. Baeven vanished. Like he usually does.”

  “I noticed that. He blipped out on me and I still can’t figure out how. But he warned me and Janner to stay close to you, not to go off on our own. He said that powerful factions might be looking for us, in connection with whatever Mom and Dad were doing. He gave me...”

  Aunt Sleak turned on her. “What? What did he give you?”

  With everything that had happened, she’d forgotten about the damn chip. Her fingers fumbled as she tore the crystal out of her comp and held it up.

  “He said it was a bit of intercepted transmission. I forgot. Told me to decode it when I got back to the ship.”

  Aunt Sleak snatched it from her and popped it into a terminal she snapped up from the floor. “Let’s see what we have. Hmm...tricky as usual. Mikiri crystal–expensive. Self-erasing. We’ll only be able to play it once, so I’d better clone some copies.”

  Naero looked on for several moments while Aunt Sleak went to work on it. How was her aunt this adept with this kind of stuff? It all begged a lot of questions.

  “Looks like a captured com blurt,” her aunt said at last. “Either secret Corps military or Corp Intel. It’s chopped, scrambled, and encrypted. I think its Triaxian.

  “This might take a while longer to break.”

  Aunt Sleak looked at her suddenly. “Why are you wearing that headband? That’s not your usual style.”

  Naero instinctively covered her forehead with her hands.

  “Had a bad rash of pimples.”

  “Won’t your hair cover them?”

  Naero grimaced and sighed. “Not this time. Aunt Sleak, I still don’t see any harm in talking to this Baeven guy if he shows up again. Maybe we should listen to him, find out what he knows.”