Stars & Empire: 10 Galactic Tales

by Jay Allan

  Alara Vastra was his copilot and long-time partner in crime. She liked to play the optimist, but the truth was, without a miracle, they were both as good as dead. They’d borrowed 10,000 sols from “Big Brainy” Brondi to fix their ship after their drives had cut out and they’d crashed during a routine landing on Etaris. They’d skipped the last three loan payments in order to avoid having their ship impounded for unpaid docking fees, and now Brondi wanted them dead. They’d lost a few inches of duranium and their shields in their last encounter with his collections agents, and they didn’t have the money to repair the shields. Next time they met with Brondi’s agents would be the last.

  Ethan spotted the characteristic ternary blue engine glow of a fighter as it jetted past the station. He idly traced its path with a pair of fingers, and then he realized what he was looking at, and his brow furrowed curiously. That was a Nova Fighter. What are you doing out here, little guy? Ethan wondered. Novas were the Dark Space police—aging fighters from the Valiant. In the last decade of hiding in Dark Space, the Valiant’s original complement of 144 Nova Fighters and 144 Nova Interceptors had been whittled down by the slow attrition of time, firefights with the delinquent denizens of Dark Space, and by a limited supply of available replacement parts. Now there were rumored to be less than 80 of each still operational. That left a little more than one fighter and one interceptor to guard every station in Dark Space, except Supreme Overlord Dominic had permanently assigned a whole squadron of each around the fuel mines of Etaris and the farms on Forliss—not to mention the garrison at the Dark Space gate.

  Translation: there were no police in Dark Space. People had to fend for themselves and settle their own squabbles. So what was a nova doing all the way out at Chorlis Orbital?

  Ethan watched the fighter come around and begin an approach pattern. “He’s going to dock,” Ethan marveled.

  Alara joined him at the viewport to see what he was talking about. She recognized the fighter immediately. “Now there’s a rare sight. Must be something serious. Novas don’t fly around for fun.”

  Ethan nodded. “I’d like to know what’s up.” He turned away from the viewport, heading for the door.

  “Wait,” Alara said. “I thought we were supposed to be hiding.”

  He turned from the door to face her. “We are, but as long as we’re being hunted by an infamous crime lord, I thought we might like to inform the authorities, just in case they’d care to do something about it.”

  Alara just stared at him with those big violet eyes of hers. “Aren’t you going to ask if I want to come?”

  “Do you?”

  She turned her mesmerizing eyes away from him to walk over to the room’s only storage cabinet. Ethan watched her open the cabinet on a squeal of rusty hinges and pull out a hefty plasma pistol. She checked the charge, and then promptly strapped it around her waist. Ethan was already wearing his. Closing and locking the cabinet, Alara turned back to him, and said, “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Ethan and Alara walked past a parade of rusty duranium doors with peeling paint and barely legible room numbers on their way through the darkened corridors of Chorlis Station. Half of the station’s glow panels were dark while the other half were flickering. Even as they walked, Ethan saw sparks fly from one of them as it flared and went out. The corridors were deserted, but every now and then they could hear the despondent moaning or angry screaming of the residents beyond those doors. Ethan frowned. While most of the stations in Dark Space weren’t in good repair, renting a room aboard Chorlis Station was the equivalent to crawling into an armpit—and humanity had already holed up where the galaxy’s many suns didn’t shine.

  “What if that nova is here looking for us?” Alara whispered.

  They walked past door number five and heard a plasma pistol go off. Alara turned to the door in horror, and she slowed her pace. Ethan grabbed her arm and pulled her along.

  “Don’t slow down,” he growled.

  “I think someone just killed himself!” Alara said in a disbelieving whisper.

  “Or someone else.”

  They heard the swish of a door opening behind them, and turned to look just in time to see a bald, dark-skinned man emerging from door number five and holstering a steaming plasma pistol. He was dressed entirely in black. “What are you looking at?” the man said.

  Ethan froze, his hand dropping automatically to his sidearm. “Nothing. I mind my own business,” he said.

  The dark man eyed them for a moment, taking in the fact that both of them were armed. “Smart,” he said, and his hand drifted away from his gun.

  Ethan nodded and dragged Alara around a bend in the corridor, his heart pounding with adrenaline. Dark Space might be lawless, but for the most part people weren’t looking for trouble. At least, not trouble they couldn’t handle.

  “Ethan,” Alara said in a frightened tone. “What are we doing? We are fugitives just as much as Brondi is. Going to the authorities won’t help.”

  “Everyone in Dark Space is a fugitive, and besides, I’m not trying to sick the novas on him. I’m more interested in finding out if the Valiant has any work for us.”

  “Why would you…” Alara trailed off with a sly smile. “Oh you’re a devlin, Ethan. If I’d known you were so smart, I would have agreed to marry you when you proposed to me.”

  Ethan frowned. “I was drunk, and you said you were leaving. It’s not easy to find a good copilot.”

  “Oh, come on, why don’t you just admit it. You know you love me,” she said, leaning on his arm and resting her head on his shoulder.

  He turned to look down at her, and then he waved his hand in her face to indicate the silver band on his ring finger. “I’m already married, remember?”

  Alara let go of him and looked away with a fading grin. “Right, I almost forgot.”

  “Anyway,” he sighed, changing the topic. “My idea is, if we’re employed by the Valiant, it’s going to be hard for Brondi to get to us. We might even get an escort out of this nova pilot.”

  “It’s a brilliant plan,” Alara said absently as the corridor they were walking down opened up into a combined lobby and bar for Chorlis Orbital’s one and only functioning habitat module.

  Ethan turned to look at her, but she’d turned away to look out the wall of viewports which made up the far side of the lobby. Out those viewports Ethan could see the station’s hydroponic module; the green fronds of plants pressed up against the dirty transpiranium dome. It looked inviting, but they didn’t have time to stroll through the gardens and catch a breath of fresh air.

  Alara wandered over to the viewports, while Ethan walked up to the bar. He planned to stay here and wait for the nova pilot to come to him. Everyone who came to Chorlis Orbital eventually ended up at the bar, and usually sooner than later. There wasn’t much else to do.

  “Drink?” the bartender asked as Ethan pulled out a bar stool and sat down. The barman had a lumpy face and a glowing red tattoo whorled around one eye. He looked like he’d seen a lot of brawls in his day. Maybe he was an ex-con from Etaris, same as Ethan.

  Ethan reached across the counter and bared his wrist. The bartender scanned his embedded identichip with a wand, and Ethan said, “Just a water, please.”

  “Sure,” the bartender said with a smirk. He busied himself by typing something into the wand, and a moment later, a total flashed up before Ethan’s eyes.

  Water—3.00 sols, Chorlis Orbital.

  The transaction was relayed from the chip in his wrist directly to his brain and then flashed up like an afterimage before his eyes. Ethan cast a quick look over his shoulder to see if Alara was coming to join him at the bar, but she was standing statuesque by the viewports.

  Ethan frowned. He could hardly blame her for being upset. They were friends—friends and partners in business, but nothing more, and she obviously wanted more. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried or he hadn’t been tempted, but as he’d said, he was married. Eleven years ago he’d
been exiled to Dark Space for smuggling, leaving his wife and young son behind.

  The following year the ISS had mapped a hyper route through the Devlin’s Hand, the giant red nebula which lay in the gulf between their galaxy and the neighboring satellite, The Getties Cluster. The ISS was foolish enough to link the two galaxies with space gates straight away, and before they were even done exploring the solar system on the other side, they were under attack. The massacre which followed quickly spread through the gate, from one galaxy to the other, and took trillions of lives.

  To this day, no one knew why the war had started or even much about the insectile aliens who’d started it. One theory was that the Sythians—or “Skull Faces”—had run out of habitable space in their small satellite galaxy, and they’d just been waiting to find a way to cross the void between galaxies. Once a pathway had been opened up, the war had ended in just nine months. The Sythians hadn’t had a technological edge, but they’d had greater numbers, better coordination, and they’d used cloaking shields to hide their ships until the last minute before attacking, always taking Imperial forces by surprise.

  And while the Sythians’ SLS (superluminal space) drives weren’t as fast as the Imperium’s SLS drives, their cloaking devices had enabled them to use the ISS’s network of space gates without anyone being the wiser.

  In the time it took for a baby to be born, humanity had been all but annihilated. A lucky few had managed to evacuate to Dark Space, but the coordinates of the gate were uncharted. Worse, it was hidden in a statically charged ice cloud that disrupted sensors, making it impossible to find the gate unless you already knew where to look. Apparently those who had known about the gate hadn’t shared that secret with the downtrodden masses, so the majority of the evacuees who had arrived were high-ranking fleet officers and government officials.

  But that hadn’t stopped Ethan from searching among the survivors. As soon as the gate leading out of Dark Space had been deactivated and sealed, and after all the “non-dangerous” prisoners had officially been released to help support a flagging economy, Ethan had wasted two years of his life searching for a familiar face—on the off chance that either his darling Destra or little seven-year-old Atton had been able to escape the war, but he hadn’t been able to find either of them, and eventually he’d been forced to give up the search for a lack of funds. What had followed was a dark period for Ethan, but four years ago Alara had come into his life, and with her quick wit, easy smile, and those beautiful violet eyes, she’d managed to mostly snap him out of it. But that didn’t mean he was ready to move on—or that he’d like to move on with her. She was young enough to be his daughter!

  There was no doubt that in some way he needed Alara. Without her he was lost and everything ceased to have its meaning. He needed someone to be counting on him—someone to need him and value him, and even to love him. He just wasn’t sure he could ever love her—not romantically anyway. She was young. She’d find someone else. Until then, they’d have each other to rely on and to keep one another company.

  The bartender slid a spill-proof, shatter-proof mug filled with Ethan’s water across the counter. He nodded his thanks, to which the bartender grumbled something unintelligible. A hand landed on his shoulder, interrupting him as he took a sip of his water. He turned to see Alara standing behind him. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Ethan shook his head and frowned. “For what?”

  She sat down on the bar stool beside him and reached for his water. “About your wife and son,” she said as she took a sip from his mug.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said gruffly. “That was a long time ago.”

  “I’m not finished yet,” she said in a warning tone. “I am sorry, but you can’t live the rest of your life in mourning for them. You’ve got to be happy, Ethan. They would have wanted that for you.”

  Ethan smirked. “You’re asking me to be happy with a garbage scow of a light transport, more debt than the damn thing is worth, and a rat hole that we can barely afford to pay for.” He shook his head. “May as well ask me to grow wings and fly.”

  “No,” she said sharply. “I’m asking you to be happy with me.” She reached out to stroke his stubbly cheek, her eyes searching his. “We’re in this together, Ethan. The least we can do is act like it.” She traced a line down his cheek, following a scar he’d acquired in an old prison fight. Her exotic violet eyes were full of emotion, but his were dead and unseeing.

  Ethan looked away. He felt a familiar numbness spreading through him at the mention of his wife and son. A moment later, Alara seemed to realize she was talking to a wall. Her hand fell from his cheek and she turned away, too. “I guess we can go on the way we are. No strings attached. Just business, right?” She flashed him a heartbroken smile.

  He tried to smile back, but the sentiment never reached his eyes. “I think that’s best, Alara. I don’t want anybody else to get hurt.”

  She nodded. “That’s okay. It was a stupid idea. Don’t pay attention to me, Ethan.”

  He nodded absently, his eyes still unseeing. He ended up staring into a bottle of ice blue Shirali Wine while sipping his water, untold minutes passing until his peripheral vision caught a flicker of movement off to his right. Ethan turned and saw a brawny nova pilot strut in with his helmet tucked under his arm. The pilot couldn’t have been more than 18 years old; he stood too straight, and he reeked with the arrogance of youth. The nova pilot jerked his chin at the barman. “I’m looking for a man dressed in black.”

  The barkeeper snorted and gestured to his own mostly black attire. “You gonna be searching a long time with that description.”

  “Black skin, too. Goes by several aliases. You might know him as Verlin. He’s a contract killer, a bounty hunter. He killed an Imperial officer a few weeks ago.”

  The bartender shook his head. “Sorry. Can’t say I’ve seen anyone like that.”

  Ethan’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Hoi!” He raised a hand and waved to the officer.

  The young man frowned and crossed the room. He stopped a few feet away, and his eyes flicked meaningfully up and down Ethan’s patched and faded flight suit. “Yes, grub?”

  Ethan felt his temper rising, but with an extraordinary effort he managed to clamp down on it. “What’s the information worth to you?” Ethan asked.

  The pilot frowned, and his bristly blonde hairline arched down with his eyebrows. “It’s worth not arresting you for trying to bribe an officer with information that could lead to the capture of a dangerous criminal.”

  Ethan shrugged and turned back to the bar. “Oh, okay. Just wondering.”

  The nova pilot stared at him a moment longer before offering a reply. “I could have you locked up.”

  Ethan turned back with a smile and held out his wrists. “Great, where do I sign up?” It was an old trick, and the fleet was long since tired of it. There were enough career criminals floating around Dark Space that it was impossible to lock them all up, and a fair number of them actually wouldn’t mind being locked up in exchange for three square meals and a place to lay their heads. For just about anyone, that would be a vacation. This nova pilot was obviously too young to have seen much of that yet, so he just stared at Ethan with bemusement.

  That was when Alara chimed in, saying, “You’ve gone and got his hopes up. Now you’re going to have to follow through.”

  The nova pilot shook his head. “You grubs are crazy. Do you have information for me or not?”

  Ethan withdrew his wrists with a crooked grin. “Tell you what, you give me some information and I’ll give you some.”

  “You can ask, but that doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

  “Fair enough. Is the Valiant hiring? I have a light freighter with an empty hold, just waiting for a job.”

  The nova pilot shook his head. “I wouldn’t know, but the overlord likes to manage his own supply chain within the fleet. More reliable. No offense, but we don’t need the likes of whatever beaten up scow you’re flying
to transport goods that are worth more than the hold they’d be flying in.”

  “And what about pilots? I’m rated 5A, and my copilot here,” Ethan said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to Alara, “can handle just about any secondary and tertiary ship functions that you can think of.”

  The nova pilot shook his head again. “I’m sorry, but we have more applicants than ships, and I don’t believe you have a 5A rating. These days you can fake your rating for the price of a good meal—not that I think you have the money for either.”

  “I can prove it.”

  “Sure you can. Stop wasting my time. If you want to enlist, go visit a recruitment office. You have information about my man or not?”

  Ethan drained his water and rose from the bar counter with a tight smile. “Not.”

  The young nova pilot gritted his teeth and reached for his sidearm. Ethan’s hand was already on the butt of his. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Ethan said, nodding to the nova pilot’s pistol. “How do you think I got to be this old?” He pointed with his right hand to his vaguely graying hair. “I bet you a month’s pay I’m a faster draw than you are.”

  “Are you threatening me, grub?”

  “I wish you’d stop calling me that. Makes killing you sound better and better all the time, and I really don’t need the extra incentive.”

  Ethan felt Alara’s hand on his shoulder and heard her whisper his name in a warning tone. The bartender watched the developing confrontation with a shadowy grin.

  The nova pilot held Ethan’s gaze a moment longer before letting out a snort of laughter. “Nice try, but you’re going to have to shoot yourself if you’re that tired of living. Move along. You’re not my objective.”

  Ethan noted with a smile that this time the young pilot didn’t refer to him as a grub—a nickname for low-class citizens whose only concern is their namesake—grub, food, survival.