Shattered Sun (The Sentinel Trilogy Book 3)

by Michael Wallace

  Sool Em tossed back her head and keened. Two figures moved out of the shadows of the nesting chamber.

  Sool Em’s drones. The younger queen must not mean to kill her mother, or she’d do it herself so as to revel in the defeat of a rival and enjoy the taste of her flesh. Sool Em must have called the drones to care for the older queen’s wounds.

  Ak Ik tried to call out her relief, but there was such pain in her chest that she couldn’t get the sound out. She took a ragged gasp and tried to speak instead. Her words wheezed out one by one.

  “Thank you, my daughter. Help me, let me live. I swear I will worship you. You will be my queen, my empress.”

  “Yes, you will serve me. As the weak serve the strong. As prey serves a predator.”

  The other two birds strutted forward. Their wings were green, and the feathers around their necks a scarlet red on the tips, as if they’d been dipped in blood. Not drones, princesses. Barely fledglings, but already grown in their power.

  “So big already,” Ak Ik gasped.

  “They have been feeding well. Imagine how they will grow when they are done with you. Eat, my daughters.”

  “No, please—”

  One of the chicks nosed at Ak Ik’s belly. She snapped and drove it back. The princess squawked her rage. The second chick came in from the other side and nipped Ak Ik’s injured wing. She whipped her head around and screeched to chase it away. Sool Em bent over her, beak flashing downward.

  A ripping pain as the younger queen tore out one of her mother’s eyeballs. Then Sool Em’s claw slammed down and pinned her head. She held Ak Ik’s uninjured wing with her other claw.

  “She will do you no harm now,” Sool Em cried. “Eat!”

  And then the chicks were on their victim, screaming and crying in joy and hunger as they pecked and slashed. Feathers came apart, skin parted. Beaks buried themselves in Ak Ik’s belly with a tearing, ripping sound.

  And pain. So much pain.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  General Mose Dryz was in human territory. He sensed it even before he came fully awake. The air was dry, and his skin tight and chilled. By the gods, these humans must have evolved on a cold desert world.

  He was on a bed of some kind. Not uncomfortable—the surface yielded below him—but he couldn’t move his arms or legs. His fingers and feet tingled with a thousand pinpricks.

  Mose Dryz opened his eyes. They were crusty, as if he hadn’t used them in some time, and there was a milky film over his vision. Several figures stood above him.

  “Finally,” someone said in English. “I thought he’d never wake up.”

  “Is that you, Drake?” he said. Or tried to. His voice cracked, and he coughed.

  Someone put a cup of water to his mouth and he drank. It was slightly salty, not the flat, tasteless water humans seemed to prefer. That was something, anyway. Too bad the water was so cold.

  “He sounds coherent,” Drake said. It was definitely the admiral. “How will we know if we can trust him?”

  “We’ve burned the contaminant out of his neural tissue, sir. There are no detectable foreign proteins within either his brain or his central nervous system.”

  “That doesn’t answer the question, Brockett. Just because the substance is no longer present doesn’t mean his brain has returned to its normal state.”

  “Brain patterns match those of the control subject, sir.” The second speaker—Brockett, whoever that was—sounded less sure this time. “You should be able to question him and get to the bottom of things.”

  Mose Dryz’s eyes cleared. He was in a laboratory or health clinic of some kind. Strange human machinery hovered nearby. Computer screens, diagnostic equipment. A hum in the background, and a faint, chemical smell.

  “I am not dead?” A shiver worked its way through his limbs. “But the brain parasite . . .”

  Mose Dryz looked at the one called Brockett, a young man in glasses and a lab coat, a mop of blond hair falling into his eyes. A science officer, it would seem. “Did you do this?”

  The young man cleared his throat nervously and looked to the admiral.

  “Brockett was on the team that developed the sugar antidote,” Drake said. “He understands the Hroom brain better than any other human. We have burned the Apex contaminant from your brain. I won’t say it was a trivial operation—”

  Brockett interrupted. “I’d say it wasn’t. Sixteen days of gamma surgery, and you had to be kept under the whole time.”

  “Sixteen days? Is that how long I’ve been down?”

  Drake didn’t answer this question, and Mose Dryz now saw the third person in the room. It was Drake’s tall, red-skinned pilot. Nyb Pim. At one time the general had hated him and any other Hroom who would serve the humans. Now, he was only grateful to see a fellow Hroom.

  Mose Dryz switched to his own language. “How do you stand the cold and the dry air, my friend?”

  “One grows used to it,” Nyb Pim said. “The body adapts to its surroundings.”

  “Well, I haven’t. And I never will.” Mose Dryz looked the other Hroom over. “Was it you they used? Were you the control subject?”

  “There was no one better. We are about the same age, the same gender, and like you, I was once addicted to sugar.”

  Mose Dryz looked at Admiral Drake. “So you freed me. No doubt my adjutant made you do it as a condition of her cooperation.”

  Drake’s expression turned grim. “Lenol Tyn is dead, her fleet destroyed down to the last sloop.”

  A cold hollow formed in the general’s breast, sinking gradually until it was in his gut, a shard of ice-like desperation. “And the Hroom worlds? Savaged, destroyed?”

  “No, General. The harvesters are gone. We destroyed the enemies attacking Singapore—four harvesters fell to our guns in all—and by the time we returned to Hroom territory, the other Apex fleets had fled into the void. We’ll track them down, but first we must rebuild our fleets, both human and Hroom.

  Four harvesters! Mose Dryz tried to spot deception in Drake’s words or his facial expression.

  “You are an honorable man,” Mose Dryz said at last. “I have no reason to doubt you. But I will need to see proof. I will need to communicate with my empress.”

  “Of course.” Drake nodded to Brockett. “Release the general. I think we can trust him.”

  “Can you?” Mose Dryz said. He rubbed his wrists as the science officer thumbed off the lock pad controlling the restraints. “I’m not so sure myself.”

  “We’ll keep you under observation.”

  “Admiral, I have doubts about one thing. This business about rebuilding to fight Apex.”

  Drake’s expression was guarded. “How so?”

  “You defeated them, and if what you claim is true, this wasn’t a minor setback for the enemy, like when Singapore fought them off. Maybe the birds will return in a hundred years, when they have adapted their tactics to defeat humans. But if Apex fled the Hroom worlds, it means . . . you know this. You surely must.”

  “I’m aware of Hroom history and your wars with Apex. The birds fought the Hroom, you drove them off, and they retreated for several generations until they were strong enough to defeat you.”

  “If what you say is true, Apex is no longer a threat. If you’re rebuilding your fleet, it’s only to fight the Hroom. You are rebuilding your navy so as to take more of our worlds for your own.”

  Drake looked more relaxed. “No, General, you are wrong. See, there’s something Apex doesn’t know about Albion. We’re not waiting for the buzzards to reappear. We’re going to track them down and kill them. We’re rebuilding Singapore, we’re arming Ladinos and New Dutch, and we’re working with your empress to build new Hroom fleets. The first new sloops of war have recently entered orbit around the planets of Tyn and Samborondón.”

  “Already?”

  “I wouldn’t say already. It took time to fight off the death cult, to stabilize the Hroom economy, and to bring in Albion engineers to modernize the
sloop design.”

  “How is that possible? Your science officer said I was in stasis for sixteen days.”

  “That’s not what Brockett said. He was working on your brain for sixteen days, but it took much longer to figure out how to do it.” Drake shook his head. “General, you’ve been in stasis for seven months.”

  #

  Tolvern lay sprawled on the sofa, trying to look relaxed, though her heart was beating quickly. Hillary Koh had warned that the visitor had disembarked and was making his way through the lifts. The orbital fortress had a rapid people mover, and the docks were less than a quarter mile away; it wouldn’t be long.

  To calm her nerves, she looked out the viewport. Most of the action was to the left, on a rocky hill of the tiny moon, where crew and equipment worked on a shielded redoubt for the eliminon battery. Their labors kicked up dust and gravel that left a haze as it settled under the moon’s low gravity.

  Dong Swettenham was leading the work efforts. That lucky sod had survived not one, but two battles against terrible odds. He weathered the destruction of Singapore 3, then was hurled into the midst of the enemy to activate the battery. Somehow, he avoided enemy attack. Finally, the capsule fell into orbit instead of either flinging into the void or burning up in the planet’s atmosphere.

  It was two weeks after the Battle of Singapore when a trio of navy cruisers, led by Blackbeard, came into orbit around the planet a second time. There, to Tolvern’s astonishment, she found Swettenham and his two fellow crew members. Food gone, oxygen scrubbers failing, but very much alive.

  The more attractive view to Tolvern’s right drew her attention from Swettenham’s work crew. There, the azure and emerald world of Singapore rotated against the backdrop of the universe. The larger of Singapore’s two moons peeked over the curved edge of the planet, sharing its light.

  A gong-like tone at the door announced the arrival of her visitor. Tolvern’s stomach gave a nervous squirm.

  “Enter.” Her voice came out husky.

  Drake entered. He stood tall in his uniform, every bit the lord admiral. He met her gaze and raised one eyebrow. She hadn’t seen him for months, but forced her expression to remain neutral.

  His eyes flickered to the viewport at her back, then back to her face. “Beautiful.”

  “Being on an orbital fortress lacks the excitement of a Punisher-class cruiser, but there are compensations. That view is one of them. I never get tired of it.”

  “That’s not what I am talking about.” He raised an eyebrow, and she smiled in return. “Your pardon, Governor,” he said. “I almost forgot myself. This is official business, isn’t it?”

  “Governor. Hah. Silliest thing ever.”

  He sat down next to her. Close, but not touching. “How is the work?”

  “Slow. Koh is down on the planet, but she’s got her hands full keeping people fed. There are plenty of engineers and technicians, but they’ve spent the last several years hiding in caves and forests, and it will take time to bring their skills up to snuff.

  “But we’ve got the spaceport rebuilt at Panda City,” she continued, “and we’ve reopened the yards. Rodriguez laid the hull for the first two war junks. We’ve got Hroom laborers, Singaporean refugees, and the usual riffraff of Albionish, Ladino, and New Dutch sorts looking to make a few quid.”

  “Good,” Drake said. “The sooner Singapore can contribute, the better. No sign of Apex—for all we know, they’ve torn each other to shreds—but as I told the general a few days ago, we’re going to track down the buzzards and wipe them out for good. And if they’re already wiped out . . . well, no doubt there will be other enemies down the road. The universe is a dangerous place.”

  He settled into the couch, some of his customary stiffness vanishing. He unbuttoned the collar of his uniform.

  “Any more business?” she asked.

  “No, that will do. Thank you for your report, Governor Tolvern.”

  “Oh, come on,” she said in mock annoyance. “Leave off with the Governor business. That’s just temporary while we get the planet back on its feet. Then we’ll leave it to the Singaporeans to run their own affairs, and I’ll get back to the fleet where I belong.”

  “You’re sure about that? You don’t want to be called governor?” He shrugged. “All right, if you insist. Governor is a royal appointment—you answer to the king. But captain is a navy rank, and you know the rules about fraternization. An admiral with one of his captains—that’s improper.”

  She leaned closer to him and put a hand on his cheek. “It didn’t stop us before.”

  “I’m an honorable man, Governor. A servant of the crown. Admiral of a navy that has fought two devastating wars and needs leadership. I can’t step down now, and I’m not cut out for a long-term, secret relationship, either.”

  A frown crossed her face, and she started to withdraw. He took her wrist.

  “And you’re needed as much as I am,” he said. “We’re still young, Jess. We have years of service to put in yet. I can’t ask you to step down for my sake.”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with—”

  “Listen to me. You would have to leave Blackbeard and active navy duty. But as governor—no, don’t interrupt—as governor of a royal colony, you could marry, have a family.”

  “With an admiral?”

  “With me, Jess. It’s unusual, but I’ve already spoken to the king.”

  Tolvern blinked. “You spoke to the king? About us?”

  He laughed. “Are you going to repeat everything I say? You’re worse than Jane.” Drake’s face turned serious. “The king gave permission. More than that. He said something about children, settling the sector with tall, intelligent . . . well, the usual nonsense people who worry about good breeding think of. I don’t care about any of that. I only want to be with you.”

  Now Tolvern’s heart was pounding. She waited until the schoolgirl blush had passed, then pursed her lips and frowned as if thinking about it.

  “It’s an intriguing proposal,” she said at last. “But I have my doubts. It has been so long—nearly eight months, isn’t it? We’ve only seen each other three or four times, and the last time was two months ago. I suppose good breeding is important—who am I to contradict the king of Albion?—but I’m more concerned about whether we still have good chemistry. Why don’t you kiss me, James, and we’ll find out.”

  He did kiss her. Good and long.

  “Is that a yes?” he asked.

  “That’s a yes, James.”

  “Good. In that case, I think we need more practice with this chemistry thing.”

  “Agreed.”

  He was breathing heavily, and so was she. He leaned in for another kiss, and this time she put her hands behind his head to pull him in faster and harder.

  Soon, they were lying on the couch, doing quite a bit more than kissing. The planet Singapore rolled beneath the viewscreen, casting them in reflected blue light, but they didn’t pay it much attention.

  For a few minutes, at least, the universe could look after itself.

  -end-

  Afterword

  Thank you for reading The Sentinel Trilogy. If you enjoyed the books, but haven’t read the original Starship Blackbeard series, you can buy them here.

  Is this the end? Of course not. There are always more stories to tell, and I never run out of ideas. Next we’re going to see Catarina Vargus and her pirate fleet-turned-colonizers. She’s ready to jump into the so-called Omega Cluster, or, as the Singaporeans call it, the Snake Quadrant.

  What will they find when they get there? That’s an interesting question. I have some ideas, of course, but there’s a lot to discover. Who knows where we’ll end up? The Great Migration sent humans exploring in many directions, and the Milky Way has no end of other intelligent life to discover: expanding, voracious species, old, tired civilizations, even races that died out millions of years ago who have left traces. For example, where did those star leviathans come from?

 
I have to write the stories to find out!

  It’s interesting how books develop as I write them. Sometimes I start off thinking I’m writing one kind of story, only to have the ground shift beneath my feet as I write. In Starship Blackbeard, for example, I thought I was writing the story of how one captain and crew turned to piracy. Various adventures would ensue. Think of a cross between Firefly and Pirates of the Caribbean.

  Of course it didn’t turn out that way. Captain Drake couldn’t let Lord Malthorne’s treachery go, and his connection with Rutherford turned out to be more complex than I thought. Add in the Hroom and their sugar addiction, and we found ourselves with a completely different story by the last book of the series.

  In The Sentinel Trilogy, I started with three thoughts.

  What on earth (or is that “what in the universe?”) is Apex? How does their society function?

  What will happen when I take a group of isolated soldiers on perpetual vigil when an unknown craft appears? I got this idea when reading about Japanese soldiers who stayed hidden on remote Pacific islands for years, not knowing that the war had ended.

  Would we be able to understand aliens if we met them?

  We have alien life on Earth, of course. I might be able to see into the mind of an elephant or a golden retriever, but what about wasps? Get too close to their nest and they’ll sting you relentlessly, even if it means their own death. That’s something we have a hard time understanding, the evolution that makes a hive more like one organism instead of a collection of individuals. How could I apply that to Apex?

  One final thing, and then I’ll let you go. Actually, if you’re bored, you can leave now. I don’t mind, and probably won’t even notice if you slip out the side door while I pontificate.

  Cliffhangers!

  Ugh. They frustrate me as a writer and as a reader. Unless, of course, I can immediately move on to the next book.

  But since they work to keep readers interested, and there’s no doubt they sell books, what I decided to do was write all three books up front and then release the series quickly. That way nobody would be waiting for more than a few weeks to find out what happens.