The Shadow Among The Stars

by Dylan Sanchez

  Kirby hesitatingly raised her hand. “So, I really can use just … whatever language I well want around you?”

  Bryluen gave her a quizzical look. “Yes, Kirby, I genuinely do not give a shit. We drank whisky together earlier. You can look up porn on your computer. I am currently barefoot. I’ve shaved my legs in front of my boss. I’m a CSOE Operative, not your Marine Officer, so while I expect you to help save the galaxy at a moment’s notice, I don’t care if you want to make a nun blush while you do it.”

  Kirby threw her head back over the top of her chair. “Oh, thank fuck! That was not gonna be easy on me!”

  The group laughed. Runner looked around the room for a few seconds afterward before raising his hand again. “Uh, why is it fair and justifiable that you have the right to kill a Sover-reign citizen without a formal criminal charge?”

  Bryluen smiled at the sudden challenge. “The reason my authority is justifiable is that when I do shoot someone I have to fill out forms and reports, and I am tracked in many ways. For example, I received a brief inquiry from the CSOE when I last bought a new brand of dandruff shampoo, and High Command spoke to me on video about leading Dread Naught while I was bathing.

  “Few can do my job because the ’freedom’ to take lives and override local legality and military authority is inextricably linked to a crushing amount of accountability and the surrendering of my privacy. If I’m on a date, the CSOE knows. If I’m asleep? They know. On top of that, your contracts are so lax on behavior because if you perform an unethical or illegal action, I will be considered responsible. As far as High Command is concerned all of this is entirely on my head. So yes, I can kill someone that needs to die, but I sure as hell can’t be cavalier about it.”

  Runner nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. Vort, having observed the others, raised one silvery wing. “THE contract mentioned armor and other gear being provided?”

  “Correct. On the way in you may have noticed a few sets of armor. The olive suit is fitted for Kirby, eigengrau for Runner, cerulean for Nico, and obviously the creme set with the wing guards is for you, Vort.”

  Vort’s eyes spun rapidly for a moment. “Creme. Such a pretty color!”

  Bryluen smirked and continued on dryly. “Aside from the creative color scheme, each armor set has some unique features, so let me know if you need any adjustments or changes. We’ve also got a selection of standard Marine weaponry in case of any emergencies. Also: no one touch my armor out of curiosity while it is on the stand because it will electrocute you. Obviously my armor is the oh-so-sexy bronze set nearest the door.

  “At 1400 hours, be in the Workshop so we can go over the usage of standard equipment and get used to assembling and wearing your armor. This is important, you are required to know how to use your armor’s features. We’ll have constant training throughout the week and further sessions spread out from there to ensure proficiency and to drill battlefield communication skills. Excellent; meeting over.”

  ◆◆◆

  After the meeting adjourned, the team sat and chatted for a while before heading off to become comfortable with their new environment. Bryluen retired to her office to check the latest reports and send updates to High Command. Nicadzim lingered in the lounge scanning through the mind-bogglingly long list of meals available. The muscles along his limbs alone could account for the entirety of Kirby’s bodily mass, so it was unsurprising that he ate an impressive amount of food. Vort scuttled around exploring every nook and surface he could for a while before settling in next to Nicadzim and watching a drama on the holoscreen above the bar. The pair eventually chatted about Human dramatic tropes and cinematic conventions.

  Kirby stomped through the lobby in the Marduk. She entered the Workshop to begin planning improvements and adjustments now that she was permitted to resolve long-standing issues she had complained about. Bryluen had made sure the floors of Raven’s Landing could withstand the weight of the exosuit for just that reason, though it was still a bizarre sight to watch the menacing construct advance through the elegant home—it was simply impossible for the hulking death-machine to look casual.

  Runner had long since become occupied in the dim, welcoming library, a temperature-controlled space of old lush chairs and hardwood shelves evoking the classic image of what constituted a library, while including numerous modern features. A robust selection of actual books were present but a pair of databanks provided immediate access to a boundless array of knowledge, and there was a holo-projector capable of generating a wide variety of simulations or films in a sequestered viewing booth.

  As night fell, the members of Dread Naught each drifted off to their rooms to rest. Bryluen was the last to retire, poring over the latest reports one last time. She had requested High Command look into—at minimum—intel-coordination with the Qixing. She had little hope for any aid or data from the T’hròstag due to ongoing tensions. The threat would have to become much more obviously dire before the strictly prideful beings would be willing to talk, despite their grudging respect for Humanity—or at least Humanity’s martial capabilities.

  Satisfied she had done her due diligence for the night Bryluen left her office, crossed the lobby, and walked down the living quarters corridor. The storage spaces were the first doors she passed, followed by Vort’s short door on the left and Runner’s to the right. The next pair was Kirby’s door on the left and Nicadzim’s hatch on the right. An emergency light was installed over the hatch in case he needed assistance or to warn of any odd occurrences. Bryluen looked back up the hall toward the sleeping task force one last time. Deep in her bones, she felt the weighty sensation of something profound and inevitable awaiting them all. She took a last, deep breath and entered her room.

  7. The Atet and the Alarm

  On the morning of the quick response vehicle’s delivery Bryluen woke before dawn, as she always did. An early bath was followed by a quiet hour or two at the lounge drinking coffee and eating breakfast. She read morning updates and news off a wafer-thin tab she held in one hand, its soft glow the only illumination other than the gentle under-lighting of the bar top. Outside, the local star had not yet begun to peek up over the horizon. The non-industrialized surface of Aves Prime was rendered a void of absolute darkness broken only by the occasional, distant flashes of bio-luminescent, tree-dwelling reptilians. Above the harsh outline of the trees and mountains the Milky Way was easily visible, a brilliant swath across the sky like a streak of glittered oil paint.

  A notification populated on Bryluen’s tab. She smiled slightly at its contents and used the tab to message Kirby.

  Op. B. Branok: She’s in system. She’s coming.

  K. Furcotte: Oh shit, oh shit, should I wear makeup? I wanna look pretty when she first sees me.

  Op. B. Branok: I would address your need to feel attractive for a spaceship, but instead I’ll first point out that you don’t own makeup.

  K. Furcotte: Let me borrow some of yours!

  Op. B. Branok: I don’t own makeup.

  K. Furcotte: Goddamn, what are ya, self-confident?

  Op. B. Branok: I once spent two months as a Geisha in order to ambush a slaver that had kidnapped a diplomat.

  K. Furcotte: …

  K. Furcotte: You coulda just said yes.

  Within the next minute or so, Kirby had thrown on a green sports bra and ragged pair of shorts. Bryluen, wearing an elegant black silk bathrobe and red woolen pants, shoved a steaming mug of coffee into Kirby’s hand as they met at the lobby. Kirby was not particularly a morning person, and it showed in the unenviable deadness of her eyes.

  She sipped the black coffee without comment. Her eyes slowly widened as the pleasant, hot liquid flowed down her throat. “What … what is this?”

  “One of my most important supplies. No mortal coffee would do the job. Let’s get out to the pad and watch her come down. She should be visible in about three minutes.”

  The pair stood outside with the darkness stretching out around them for miles.
The tentative flicker of light behind the far mountains began to slowly fill the sky with golden warmth. In a couple of minutes, a burning point of light began to shine as the ship descended through the atmosphere. As the craft's sleek shape touched down followed by four shuttles, the first beams of daylight glinted off of its glossy surface.

  The craft was a few dozen meters of silver and blue alloy rife in the unique type of curved sensuality only precise aerodynamic math could provide. The ship was a cross between a long, beautiful dancer’s leg and a rapier, its pointed nose artfully sweeping back and out to flare into the set of four primary thrusters at the rear. The various lateral adjustment and attitude thrusters across the surface were gracefully inset so as not to interrupt the ship’s luxurious lines, and a pair of long, thin cannons were tucked in close to the bottom surface on a shallow turret. The craft rested on four chromed feet, and the slender landing ramp opened midway down the ship’s belly.

  In proud, white letters the ship declared itself along the side of the nose: H.S.S.X.4-A Atet.

  Kirby sighed wistfully like a modest, Victorian maiden gazing at her soon-to-be-lover. “You are a sexy, sexy bitch.”

  Bryluen smiled, her eyes narrowed from the glare of the rising star. “I’m guessing you’d like to see her insides?”

  The CSOE pilot that brought the Atet in for landing—as well as the pilots of the three shuttles to be left for Dread Naught’s use—left together on the fourth shuttle, giving Kirby and Bryluen free reign of the craft.

  Within was a clean series of chambers and rooms free of any design excess. The bridge at the heart of the vehicle was a bright space loaded with readouts and exterior displays. The rest of the ship was arranged around it featuring storage space, the disembarkation bay at the top of the ramp, a triage bay, the drive core, and access to the weapon systems.

  It was a fine, beautiful craft intended entirely for ferrying its occupants as quickly as possible from one point to the next. To accompany the ship, a floating Compression Drive frame had been placed near the gate. The Atet would dock in the center of the frame and push it along, remotely triggering the Drive on approach to a gate. This allowed the Atet to use gates without piggy-backing on a larger vehicle, but was prohibitively expensive as a solution for individual craft on a wider scale. Nonetheless, the independence it afforded Dread Naught was invaluable.

  Kirby sat in the pilot’s seat, setting her coffee mug in the cup holder next to her in triumph. She soon began fondling the control surfaces in a way that could easily be considered inappropriate. The majority of the craft’s operation was handled by the pilot, though a second individual could monitor diagnostic information and the long range displays. She looked back at Bryluen and was about to speak, but the Operative knew what she was going to ask.

  “Go ahead and take her for a lap, Furcotte. I’ll stay down here.”

  Kirby made a sort of squealing gasp and began start up procedures, appreciating the intuitive placement of the controls. The craft could be landed or set to take off on auto-pilot, which would allow Kirby to leave the Atet to take her suit into battle when required. For the time being she simply prepared to take the craft on a cruise around the planet, a simple feat for such an extraordinarily fast vehicle.

  Bryluen strolled out of the Atet and back inside the house, more than satisfied with the quick response craft. She queued another mug of coffee and returned to reading her tab in the lounge. Fifteen minutes later Nicadzim arose, a storm of foreign gasses and sand blowing out his room’s hatch as he emerged. The air system kicked in and began to cycle out the sudden pollutants. Nicadzim himself was dusty as he slumped into a chair next to Bryluen.

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You … look like you had a busy night.”

  The big man queued a cup of coffee. “I often did. I spent the evening journeying through a land where it rained sand and distant memories of pain. Above are masses of fulgurites, and I walk upon clouds. The precipitation will at best be unpleasant, but the sky whales will be quite beautiful in the cooler months.”

  Bryluen froze. “You went somewhere?”

  “I did or will, but I also did not. I am rested, yet will venture. In sleep I often visit places difficult to describe, see glimpses of the dead, and pass fragments of the future. The best analogue was to describe it to you as journeying around a vast, endless puzzle. I carry with me fragments of now, and of what was, of what could be, and of what will be, and when luck smiled I could fit those pieces into their proper places as I happened to pass the correctly-shaped holes. Indeed I seem to bear the physical evidence of a trek that occurred … yet did not, and will not, and could not.” He smiled thinly. “Such things were part of my normal daily experience. To me, you were skinning your knee in Primary School while playing, but shed no tears. You are walking to the nurse yourself, annoyed at what you will regard as clumsiness—”

  “—rather than the fact that I was in pain. You’ve seen a memory of mine? It’s still happening for you?” A drone placed Nicadzim’s coffee in front of him.

  “That I will, as well as other things, many more fragmentary and puzzling. I have been told I often will not be keeping events in their ’proper’ order, without mention of grammatical tenses. In truth, I speak to how I am perceiving events as closely as language allows. Part of me, past or present or future, is here acting. That part was not always the same as the part of me to speak, or to think—my words were rarely entirely in sync with what I was doing, or what I am doing, or what I will do.”

  Nicadzim moved to tell the dispensary to give him creamer for his coffee, but with a swift crack Bryluen slapped his hand. The big man glanced at his hand as if making a small realization, then looked up at Bryluen.

  She was sipping from her coffee and giving him a sideways, innately threatening glance. “You may have impossible adventures each night, but don’t you dare ruin the perfect coffee with cream, you son of a bitch.”

  Nicadzim smiled. “Ah, you will say it will be that fine a brew?” He took a sip, and immediately a dreadfully serious look came over his face. “I saw. You saved me from a terrible crime. From where has this coffee originated?”

  The Operative sat back in satisfaction. “The moon of Navis Prima, inside a controlled environment custom built with precision soil, air, and wildlife to create the perfect coffee blend. It took them one hundred forty iterations of their bean to get to this point.”

  “Their effort will be well-spent.” Nicadzim’s hand darted out to pre-emptively have another cup prepared.

  Soon the remainder of the team had awoken. Kirby returned with the Atet, her face glowing. A fairly normal day progressed from there. Runner exercised or used the workshop, Nicadzim read, and Kirby tweaked the Marduk, while Bryluen looked over papers and spent time with Vort on the balcony that wrapped around the outside of the lounge. The past days had seen each settle into nice routines in the comfort of Raven’s Landing, with breaks for afternoon and evening drills.

  The team had progressed quickly, as far as battlefield communication and the use of their armor. Bryluen knew their dynamics in teamwork would really only come out through experience together—it was her intention that the bizarre composition of Dread Naught would result in emergent tactics. Individually, she had no doubt of the combat capabilities of each member. She simply knew the bonds of camaraderie would do more to forge the team into a well-oiled machine than anything else.

  So far, things had gone well on that front. Runner and Kirby were developing a quiet rapport and both spent a good amount of time in the Workshop—Kirby especially so. Vort got along with everyone, and everyone got along with him. It was difficult not to, given his bright-eyed curiosity and unshielded earnestness. He made it difficult to believe he was an experienced explorer, or perhaps he simply came from a kinder place.

  Nicadzim’s oddities had created a number of strange situations resulting in Runner or Kirby giving him a look, but they had not expressed anything untoward—after all, he couldn’t help his essen
tial nature. They otherwise got along with Nicadzim in conversation, easy-going as he was. It still usually took the others a moment or two to digest the intent of his statements by mentally sorting out the most likely timescale he intended to communicate.

  Bryluen was so far satisfied, but had begun to feel an itch. Only a fool welcomed combat in and of itself, but she certainly desired a test for Dread Naught to cut its teeth on.

  That itch was promptly rewarded. The tab in her pocket sounded a tinny clarion tone, prompting her to take it out and gaze over the info provided. She took a breath as Vort sensed her tension and gazed up at her. Looking down at the alien, she nodded before using the tab to trigger the alarms and speak over the intercom.

  “Dread Naught, we have a distress call; Hit the landing pad in full gear. Enemy incursion is under way on the colony world of Democritus. We’re being sent as a stop-gap for the evacuation. See you top side!”

  Vort took a shortcut and flew over the roof to his armor in the Landing Pad corridor. All the lights within Raven’s Landing had turned red and a loud klaxon sounded throughout the facility. Bryluen sprinted inside, immediately shedding her robe and loose woolen pants just inside the lounge. Beneath she wore a gray athletic top and shorts. Bereft of her outer clothing she pounded across the lobby and up the entry corridor, sliding to a stop before her armor stand. Vort and Kirby were already present and getting equipped, while Nicadzim and Runner came running next in short order.

  With practiced motions Bryluen attached the pieces of her armor, quickly enveloping herself in the sleek bronze plating, the molded exterior a glinting metallic accentuation of her silhouette. Her pistol was, as always, holstered beneath her arm, and a blocky firearm lay across her back. A rigid belt secured a number of devices to her waist, including her nanowhip.