by Imogene Nix
War’s End
by
Imogene Nix
War’s End
Copyright © 2014, Imogene Nix
ISBN: 9781940744124
Publisher: Beachwalk Press, Inc.
Electronic Publication: March, 2014
Editor: Leigh Lamb
Cover: Fantasia Frog Designs
eBooks are not transferable. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Back Cover Copy
Forced apart by war five years ago, Renjiro and Selina have another chance at love. Can they make it work or does fate have other plans?
Without the citizenship of the Federation, Indy pilot Selina Codecko is treated like a second-class citizen. When she gets caught up in a bar brawl she’s arrested and finds herself in the hands of the Justice Officers.
Renjiro Ito has dreamed of Selina for five long years. As the Commander of the Justice Officers, the plight of this one woman will turn his life upside down.
But there’s more going on than just the fate of one woman—there’s a seething underbelly that wants to destroy their newly expanded Federation. The chances of a future together are slim, but they’ll take any chances that come their way. Will it be enough?
Dedication
No author writes a book in total isolation, so I do have to thank some people for their input.
Firstly, to Danielle, Khloe, Georgiana, and Angela for your help and friendship. To my wonderful publisher Pamela, and editor Leigh, thank you for taking a chance on the Reunion Trilogy.
Lastly, thank you to my family, Mark, Charlotte, and Beth—you put up with a lot and this is always dedicated to you.
Chapter 1
Selina’s finger tensed on the throttle of the tiny craft as she guided it into the moon base waiting pattern.
Moon Base 703 had the reputation of being difficult to navigate without incidents, but Selina knew she didn’t have the luxury of damaging this craft. If she made any mistake Ashford, who was a cantankerous boss, would have no problem blaming her. He’d made it clear after the last scrape she’d unwittingly fallen into that she had no more chances left. He’d let her go without qualms.
She had no home, no family, and nowhere to retreat to. So she couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Ever.
“Better get this right, Selina.” The cabin was tiny, but the sound of her words still reverberated in it.
“Sylvie’s Dream, you are cleared for landing on Moon Base 703. Berth A five four on level seven has been cleared for your arrival.” The disinterested tones of the moon base traffic officer rattled through the old speaker.
“Affirmative, Moon Base 703. Berth acknowledged. Sylvie’s Dream will begin entry sequence now.” She carefully tapped the details into the keyboard then waited for the navigational unit to settle on the best path.
If it wasn’t for the load she was to pick up there, she would have happily avoided this port. She hated busy moon bases; mainly because they reminded her of the days she’d spent flying during the war, when any port like this spelled danger. Intrigue had been everywhere and one misstep... Well, remembering wouldn’t help.
The independent planets had lost the war and were subsumed by the acquisitive Federation. She had lost all her rights to citizenship because she’d been a fighter pilot for the other side. All that stopped her from being banished was her skill as a pilot. Ashford had taken advantage of the need in the Federation for well trained freighter pilots, claiming that they were necessary for the continuation of commerce.
She brushed away the memories best forgotten with the ease of experience.
Vehicles passed her, lumbering space tankers and the new, highly maneuverable luxury shuttles. They passed close, and on more than one occasion, she gritted her teeth as the proximity alarms blared.
The berth lay ahead. The massive gray doors imprinted with the designation in fluorescent yellow confirmed her location. With care, she propelled the aging Centura G-9 into position and the docking clamps met the ship with a clunk and thud. From the side viewport, it was easy to watch the great doors open wide and the clamps pull the ship into the berth. The cavernous space within brightly lit as the lighting shone on the craft.
“Sylvie’s Dream, power down your systems and set brakes.” Another voice, this one low and melodic, gave the instructions.
Her fingers flew over the controls before she depressed the comms button. “Sylvie’s Dream acknowledges. Systems powering down and brakes are set.” With a sigh, she removed her finger from the button.
For a moment, she stayed in her chair, slumped in the creaky padded seat. She reached for her safety belts and unclipped them. They retracted with a hiss and she stood, letting the aches of long hours in the command seat wash off. Then she reached out, grabbing her identity tags and slipping them over her head. She had no standing in the Federation and it was a crime for her to wander anywhere without her information disks. If she was caught out of bounds and they scanned the data chip embedded in her arm, they’d throw her into the prison system.
Even the vague memory of Federation jails left her shivering. It wasn’t something she would choose to relive. Not after her experience after a drunken night out. Federation justice officers had been clear—do it again and be banished. Life sucks sometimes, she thought.
Selina headed for the door, the clanking of her no-nonsense boots echoing in the corridor, and she reached for the lever. The door slid open with a loud grind and she entered the airlock. The second door required a passcode which she quickly tapped in; it too opened and the aging hinges creaked. On the other side stood a contingent of Federation officials. Waiting. She hated this bit.
“Present your data chip for verification.”
Silently, she extended her arm, waiting as they waved the wand over. The quiet beep told her they had the details they sought.
“Present your credentials.”
She unclipped the tags hanging at her neck.
They scanned those too then nodded, handing them back. “You are confined to levels seven, eight, and nine. You should check the public announcement daily and, if required, present yourself to the indentures office by o-seven hundred moon base time. Failure to do so will result in immediate detention. Do you understand these instructions?”
“I do.”
The man opposite her smiled in a condescending manner, one she had almost become used to, as he held out a bright pink tag. Anyone who saw it would know she held no official status. She accepted it wordlessly and clipped it to the identity lanyard. The routine was just that, routine. But she still hated the obvious color tag these moon bases used. They were so...noticeable.
“Failure to present same tag on request—”
Selina nodded. “Will result in immediate detention. I understand.”
He blinked and looked more closely at her before grimacing. “Then you may continue your business.” Just like that he turned with a squeak of his boots on the plascrete floor and left her standing there.
She slowly made her way down the ramp to meet with the hard-bodied men waiting. They sized her up, their eyes shining as they attempted to work out whether she’d be willing to undertake a liaison. But as with every other base and depot she had flown into, they held no interest. No man had. Not for a long time.
“Selina Codecko. Captain of the Sylvie’s Dream.” She held out her hand and accepted the shake of the man closest. His callused hand gripped hers firmly. “I’ll be loading parts for the Orlach sector in the
next day or so.”
One of the men raised an eyebrow. “That’s a long, lonely run for a single woman.”
Selina held her ground, meeting his eyes. A bland smile bloomed and she knew it held no invitation to these men. “Maybe, but it’s my next run. The ship will require replenishing of food stock, the oxygen tanks inspected and refilled, and the same for the water tanks.”
The man who had done all the speaking so far nodded. “Fine. It’s a—”
“Centura G-9. Old, but an efficient workhorse.”
The man scratched his head. “Fine. Me and the boys will attend to that. You’d better head to level eight and see if there is any accommodation left. They don’t let the captains remain onboard here.” His gruff words carried an unspoken warning. Those without status were fair game, so play wisely.
Thank you hovered on her lips, but she dismissed the words. Those words could be construed as gratitude and she couldn’t afford to be beholden to anyone. She’d lived too long by her wits. Now wasn’t the time to forget them.
* * * *
“Sir, we have another individual without status. A Captain Codecko, flying Sylvie’s Dream. The ship is currently berthed in A five four on level seven.”
Renjiro Ito accepted the data chip and was about to place it on the pile with others for perusal, when he stopped and speared the official with a look. “The captain is here for how long?” Many of the other status-less travelers stayed less than a full lunar cycle on the moon base, so by the time he checked their details, they had already left. But if they were going to be there longer... Well, he would check their background. In his position as the Federation’s civil defense commander for the region, he had to ensure the safety of the people in his care.
Many of those without status still held enduring grudges against the Federation. The Indy governments had never explained the necessity to be folded into their united systems. Those disenfranchised by their integration had just blindly fought the Federation. Many of the ground troops who had survived the bitter but brief war had returned to their previous employment. But the flyers... They hadn’t. No, a proportion had continued with skirmish after skirmish. So the Federation had banished them. After years of bitterness, there were still pockets of resistance. They wanted nothing to do with unity.
While forcible banishment wasn’t a perfect outcome—and if Renjiro were honest, he hated it—it was the ruling of the senate. He had to accept their decision.
The female officer flicked through the paperwork that had been generated, pulling Renjiro from his reverie. “I think it is several days. She’s expecting an incoming cargo load to be rerouted to the Orlach sector. She’s one of Ashford’s people.”
Renjiro grunted and slid the chip into the reader. The face that stared back at him was one he knew. He remembered night after night in his dreams, the battle of Seicha Two Seven Seven. Initially, it was a search-and-find mission. It had become more than that once he realized it was also a stronghold for a legion of Indy warriors.
“Where is she currently?” He rasped the request, his heart rate speeding up. If this was her, then he’d seek her out. Ensure she was fine. It was the only way he could thank her for the risks she’d taken during those long days and nights. His hand shook and he shoved it into his pocket to hide his physical response.
“Sir?” The woman in front of him looked confused. “I don’t know what you...” Her words died away as he rose.
“Where is she being accommodated?”
“Well, see, there is no current available accommodation on levels seven, eight, or even nine. At this point...” The young officer shrugged. “We don’t know where she is at present. We can request all pink tag holders present themselves—”
Renjiro shook his head. “No, that won’t be necessary.” He reached for the jacket carelessly slung over his seat. “I’m going out. Redirect all transmissions except from my cousin or command.”
Her face blanched. “Yes, sir.” Her crisp salute was returned as a matter of formality as he left his office, the shushing of the closing door the only sound as he strode into the corridor.
His people were used to him just heading out, and this time he was thankful. He’d been on this moon base for weeks and it always left him feeling jittery and on edge, so he’d walk off his frustrations. Right now, he didn’t give a damn about his work or the jitters that sometimes assailed him.
The need to find the woman who’d cared for him was overwhelming, and he fought the memories of her soft touches and the whispery kisses they’d shared. She’d stayed with him for several days before he woke that morning to find her gone. Nothing more than a note filling the place where she’d rested beside him, giving him the coordinates back to his ship, where she’d carefully stashed it. Where she’d found him, alone and injured.
The lift was in front of him and he swiped his command card. It would override any other commands, and he smiled. He needed to get to level seven. See if she had settled herself in the ship.
The doors whispered open and he strode inside.
* * * *
Selina propped up the bar, her hand wrapped casually around a beaker of Deluvian wine. It was bitter, but better than the watery ale they were serving in this poor excuse for a bar. As she sipped the brew, she thought over her options. None of the accommodation units on the three levels had vacancies. So, she’d either have to apply for a dispensation and stay on her ship or... Or what? Where else could she stay?
Selina gulped, letting the liquid slide down her throat. She’d been here five hours. Five long, frustrating hours. The negative emotion rose in her like a thick, oily mass and she closed her eyes for a moment.
As she sat there contemplating the situation, the drunk man on her left made to turn. His movements were ungainly and he jostled her.
“Frick,” she muttered. Selina lost her footing and she went down, the beaker still gripped in her hand following her. The wine splashed the man to the right who growled low in his throat.
“Gods damned...” The now wet man on the other side grunted and kicked out angrily.
Without thought, she shoved him firmly and he cursed as she caught him in a tender location.
“Bloody Indy bitch.” He raised his fisted hand and she turned slightly, noting the change in the atmosphere of the bar. The patrons, many grizzled and looking for an excuse to fight, had risen.
No doubt he’s caught sight of the damned pink tag hanging around my neck, she thought. Selina pushed away from the patch of floor where she crouched. She couldn’t afford to be caught in the middle of a melee, but already it was too late. The seething mass of patrons roared and shoved, pushed and punched. The bar, she now realized, had been a powder keg, fully primed and ready for the explosion. Unfortunately, even though it wasn’t her fault, she had been the detonator.
“I gotta get outta here.” As she spoke, her opponent grabbed her hair and tugged. Hard. “Let go of me you damned Fed bastard.” The words erupted before she thought and she swung out with her elbow, where she connected with his hand. He let her go as a blow caught her on her jaw and she howled madly. She dodged the fists and feet, pulling herself away from her opponent. She’d moved out of reach when an alarm sounded, capturing the attention of those gathered, and they scattered, pouring out the doors like a rushing torrent of humanity.
The sound confused her as her fogged brain tried to work out what was happening. She cradled her aching knuckles against her chest. She watched as the bar emptied before realizing she’d better get out of there too.
As she reached the door, she was shoved back. Selina fell to the floor with a thud as a number of armed judiciary entered. “Hit the ground and wait for inspection.”
She groaned as she assumed a prone position on the floor, her hands clenched behind her back. She dropped her head to the floor. “Nooo,” she whispered, knowing exactly what this meant.
Selina closed her eyes; she felt a pair of hands pull at the lanyard around her neck. “Sir? We have
one here with a pink tag.”
She tensed. Gods damn it! They were going to take her in. The thought coiled through her, twining like a snake through her belly. But she knew better than to protest. Now was not the time.
When they tugged her upright, she complied with a docility that belied the anger within. She’d been quietly enjoying a drink and hadn’t caused the riot. None of this was her fault. But she knew they wouldn’t accept that. She was an Indy. Displaced. She had no legal rights.
Geez! If Ashford gets wind of this... Now the coiling mass within her body seized. They’d send her away. She’d be banished.
She felt the metallic clasp of restraints and waited for their next direction. Perhaps if I follow their instructions— But she cut the thought short. She knew it wouldn’t be that simple.
Beneath the leathery jacket, sweat settled like ice against her skin. She shivered.
“Come this way.” Rough hands tugged her toward the opening and out onto the concourse.
“Where are you—”
“Be quiet, prisoner.”
She swallowed the panic that rose. Prisoner. Frick.
* * * *
The button communicator buzzed once, then again. With a heavy sigh, he tapped it. “Renjiro here.”
“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there has been a riot at one of the bars on level eight.”
Renjiro closed his eyes. His trip to the berth had been abortive. There was no sign of Captain Codecko, and he’d been considering his next move when the hail came through.
He rolled his shoulders, loosening the tense muscles beneath his uniform. He sucked in a deep breath and responded. “Which bar?”
“The Blue Trader, sir.” He knew the bar well. Some of the most hardened freighter captains frequented that establishment.
“I’m on my way.” He headed for the lifts, calculating the quickest route even as he overrode the controls. A gaggle of older women frowned at him as the door opened and he stepped within. “Ladies.”
