Allies and Enemies: Exiles
Series Book 3
Amy J Murphy
Contents
Just a Quick Note
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Part 2
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part 3
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Part 4
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part 5
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Part 6
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Part 7
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Part 8
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Epilogue
Free short story
About the Author
The Allies and Enemies Series
This book is a work of fiction and a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.
Allies and Enemies: Exiles / Amy J. Murphy
Copyright © 2017 by Amy J. Murphy.
All rights reserved.
Cover illustration by Alex Winkler
Edited by Pat Dobie / Lucid Edit
www.amyjmurphy.com
twitter: @selatyron
Created with Vellum
Just a Quick Note
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Happy reading,
Amy J. Murphy
Part One
One
“Just let me do the talking. Splitdawn Guild’s got its own twisted logic. You got to know how to handle them.” Asher Corsair’s deep voice rumbled down from the command loft to where Jon stood in the center of the Cassandra’s common passage.
Jon heard a series of metal clanks, followed by a muttered curse as the man tinkered with something unseen. He reappeared at the loft’s edge then hopped down to the lower deck, not bothering with the ladder. The hulking Binait half-breed reeked of fuel-cell vapor, a change from smelling of scorch rum. Smears of grease darkened his chin and forehead. Corsair had been in a constant state of motion the entire morning, working like a man possessed to prep the ship for the journey from the quiet fishing colony of Narasmina to Splitdawn Guild’s stronghold, a first step toward getting Erelah back.
Jon stepped up to him, leaned into his face. “My sister trusted you with the jdrive. You have no right to use it like some sort of game piece.”
“Relax, Veradin. I’ve got this.” Corsair maneuvered past him in the narrow space. “Go practice standing around looking official.”
Jon dogged after him, drawing up short as Corsair stopped to examine the exchange console. “What’s to stop the Splitdawn from just taking the device from us?”
“The fact that it won’t be there.” His voice was distracted as he traced over the lines and coupler nodes with a proficiency that Jon found surprising.
“Then where is the jdrive?”
Corsair turned from his inspection and made for the cargo bay. “Safe. I took care of it.”
Jon growled with irritation. It was not just the man’s purposeful vagueness, but the dismissiveness that drove it in deeper. Corsair exuded a constant smirk of the psychic variety. During his time with the Regime, Jon had known officers like him: self-assured braggarts with little compunction for the consequences their actions had on the Volunteers that served under them.
Jon felt a scowl build. My sister chose him? He’d known the man for nearly four weeks standard since Corsair had found them on Hadelia with a wild story about Erelah’s resurrection from the dead. He’d seen little to understand the nature of attraction between Erelah and Corsair, yet his sister had apparently trusted the Binait to seek out Jon, her only living family. His genetics were the key to ending the destruction being laid waste to her body—a lasting gift from the experiments performed on her by the Sceeloid-Eugenes hybrid, Tristic.
And now Sela Tyron, his Ty, had forged some sort of partnership with this man. Overnight, the two had gone from trading barbs and insults to colluding on a plan that was…
“Insanity.” Jon did not realize how tightly he was clenching his jaw until he spoke. He fell in with Corsair’s wake as they plunged into the chaos of crates in the cargo bay. “There has to be another way!”
“Finally,” Corsair said.
Jon followed his gaze. Sela strode up the Cassandra’s ramp. At her approach, a pair of dockworkers looked up from settling a pallet laden with velo cells onto the rust-pocked decking. They exchanged nervous glances and practically charged down the ramp, giving Sela a wide berth as she climbed the steep slope to the interior. Over her shoulder was slung a heavy field kit that Jon recognized as the modest assemblage of all their possessions. Life in the Reaches was hardscrabble. As a former infantry officer, Jon had considered himself adaptive to living with fewer resources, but he had not been prepared for the continual sense of desperation that came with it. Their recent stay in the relative sanctuary of Narasmina—even though sullied by the discovery of Erelah’s apparent abduction by an entrenchment of Humans deep in the Thermalyea Fray—had made him realize how lean his life with Sela had become. It stung
and burrowed at his pride.
“Told you he’d do this,” Corsair scoffed. The comment was directed at Sela. He paused in his tangent long enough to tuck a grimy toolbox under one massive arm before making for the small flight of stairs to the common passage.
“At least hear me out,” Jon said.
To his credit, Corsair stopped at the top stair. “You’re not going to talk me out of this.”
Sela looked from Corsair to Jon. She met his gaze. The corner of her mouth twitched in a way that suggested guilt or discomfiture. “Corsair’s plan has a high probability of success.”
The humiliation tightened against Jon’s chest like a lead cast. They’d gone around him to configure this plan. From Corsair it made sense, but from her, it burned. He was late to the table. This was rolling forward no matter what came out of his mouth, and he knew it.
Jon fought the urge to curl his hands into fists. It was a struggle to keep his voice low and even. “What you’re proposing will pit the Guilds against each other. It will—not might, will—start a war. The three Guilds have created a balance here. It’s not up to us to tilt the Reaches off its axis.”
“So what if it does? I’m good with that.” The shrug in Corsair’s voice was plain. Was everything a game to him?
The man was arrogant, but not entirely stupid. He had to realize that the jdrive’s ability to circumvent the Poisoncry-controlled flex points in the Reaches would be viewed as a threat to their power base. As a relative newcomer to this forgotten corner of the Known Worlds, Jon had heard that the technophiles of Poisoncry Guild held a reputation for ruthlessness. Poisoncry protected what was theirs with a nearly paranoid zeal. Although she’d never deigned to explain why, even Sela had seemed spooked by their control over Hadelia, the run-down, overworked planet that had marked the site of their introduction to this lawless and stunted region.
“My sister wouldn’t be ‘good with that.’ ” Jon mimicked Corsair’s casual tone.
“You gonna speak for her now?” Corsair dropped the toolbox and lunged back down the stairs with sudden fierceness. Jon took a half-step back. “After how many years? And after all the things done to her by Ravstar, by that monster, Tristic? Where were you then, big brother?”
Jon coiled, ready to dive at him. Their grappling at the bunker two days ago had left him sore and bruised, but that was little deterrent.
Sela slipped between them in one easy move. She placed her palms against Jon’s chest, not pushing, but keeping him in place.
“You shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand.” He glared past her shoulder at Corsair.
“Oh, I more than understand.” The Binait’s jaw was tight and angry.
“Destabilization of the truce among the three Guilds is a high probability.” Sela locked eyes with him. “But the only means to entice Splitdawn Guild to aid in your sister’s rescue operation is to offer something of value in exchange. The jdrive is the only thing we have. What action they choose to take with it is an uncontrollable variable.”
“Uncontrollable variable? Are you even listening to what you’re saying?” he scoffed.
“I’m aware of my words, yes.” Her stare darted low and to the right, something she did when she was trying to shield him from something.
He lowered his voice. “We can do this, Ty. You and me. We’ll find a way to get into the Human outpost where they’re holding Erelah. We’ve run insertion ops before.” Jon nearly grimaced at how weak, how desperate it sounded, especially in front of Corsair.
“With a full squad of nine,” she corrected. “A stealth corvette. And the power and might of the Regime at our backs.”
“Corsair can hire mercs. It wouldn’t surprise me if he knows a dozen. And Erelah once outfitted this Cassandra with the jdrive.” Jon said. “That’s as good as any stealth ship. We can arrive on top of the Human installation before—”
“Radiation,” Corsair cut in. “Thermalyea Fray is flooded with it. The jdrive will turn this ship inside out if we get within half a million klicks of the ball of rock where they’re dug in.”
“How can you know that?” Jon challenged.
“I know because Erelah knows.” His voice suggested there was a deeper layer to it. “And believe me: any mercs I know, you wouldn’t want.”
“We have to at least try,” said Jon.
“And die,” Sela answered. “A scenario in which your sister remains a captive.” Something in her expression was like watching an animal in misery. “Every other scenario I’ve considered holds a high probability of failure.”
Jon ran a hand through his hair. He stared blindly across the cool shadows of the cargo bay and out into the warm Narasmina sun, thoughts in a desperate race. Something new tugged at his attention.
The question seemed obvious now. “Why Splitdawn?” He asked Corsair. “Why not Ironvale? I thought you were one of their guildsworn. Wouldn’t you want your own Guild to have the jdrive? I’m sure it’d get you some sort of boon.”
Corsair didn’t take the bait. Something like bleak amusement filled his voice when he answered: “That’s right. I was guildsworn to Ironvale. Was.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning Ironvale doesn’t like their spies colluding with pirates.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t really about that, anyway. Not that they’d care for an explanation.”
Jon gaped.
“The Ironvale Guild masters would likely execute him on sight,” Sela volunteered.
“How did my sister even meet you?” Jon asked.
“Want all the intimate details about me and Erelah, big brother?” Corsair stepped closer, challenging. His voice dipped into a low growl. “I could tell you. Or you could get your ass in motion and hear it from her yourself.”
Even as he continued to stare at Corsair, Jon felt Sela’s hand on his shoulder. She leaned against his neck and whispered their communal sin. “Jon, we both deserted the Regime.”
That was different, he wanted to say.
But Corsair wasn’t done. “We’re wasting time, Captain. Every second we’re not on a hard burn to Splitdawn is a second Erelah doesn’t have—even less if those Human skews on that outpost open her stasis box. So, please, let’s mouth some more if it means your pride stings less.”
“Then tell me this,” Jon pressed. “When we get her, where do we take her that’s safe? That has what we need to fix what Tristic’s done to her? Your splicer is dead. The men that took Erelah saw to that.”
“I’ve put Kelta to it. She’ll be sure Erelah will have a place to go and everything she needs. I trust her. So should you.”
Cordial and refined, the elderly Kelta seemed nothing more than a duty-bound retainer who treated Corsair more like a son than a ward. Jon knew nothing more than that. Now he asked him to trust the unfamiliar woman with his sister’s life—all of their lives.
“And that’s all I get to know?” Jon threw his hands apart, fingers splayed. “I’m her brother.”
Corsair’s shoulders stiffened. For a moment, the animosity slipped away, and Jon saw something else behind those clever maroon eyes: a grim acceptance. “Erelah will be safe. Even if it means my life.”
Two
The soldier Tyron’s colors were a fascinating swirl of blood red and seething orange. Mim had never seen anything like it before. It was magical and frightening in the same breath, like when the summer storms would blow in from the sea, a heavy purple knot of twisted, angry clouds pulsing with light and grumbling monster sounds.
That’s what Tyron was. A person-shaped thunderstorm filled with anger. The only time the storm was still when she was with the handsome man, Jon, and even then it muted under the rust-colored hues that Mim associated with protectiveness. It was almost as thick as the colors that lingered between Asher and Erelah. Almost.
From her hiding place, Mim watched Tyron. The woman’s spine was rod straight. Only her arms and hands moved as she cleaned the bright silver weapon. Her angry colors were tucked neatly inside her
lines, churning but under check, muted like when Erelah prayed at the tiny altar of the Fates in the garden in a soft, secret pattern of words. Mim guessed that cleaning the weapon was a kind of prayer for this woman too.
Kelta said Tyron was a soldier, but she was not like the enforcers that stood on the street corners of the markets and chased the pickpockets away. Those were rounded, soft-bellied men.
Kelta had also said not to speak unless Tyron talked to her first. Kelta’s colors offered a worrisome flourish, distracted with sorrow. For days, the house had been drenched in the same colors of loss since the men had taken Erelah. Tyron’s arrival was the first change in that.
Instead of sitting in the warm sunlight to clean the weapon, Tyron had tucked herself in the shadows of the massive cargo bay like she was afraid the world would see her. Maybe that was the point.
“State your purpose.” Tyron did not look up from the weapon in her hands. There was a minuscule motion followed a noise that was almost musical: a rasp of oiled metal then a sharp click. It was a beautiful sound, in a precise and dangerous way.
Mim drew herself up. “Kelta doesn’t like weapons in the house.”
“I am not in your house.” The woman looked her over with keen amber eyes. “But you are on my ship. We leave soon. And you should not be here.”
Kelta had also said to be courteous to our guests. Mim stared at the woman, locked up, suddenly afraid. She did not want to run away, like a big baby. Spying on her had been more comfortable, intriguing. But being the center of Tyron’s attention felt dangerous, like balancing along the top of the rock wall in the garden, daring gravity to grab you.
Mim wanted to say something mean and strong. But her tongue sat in her mouth like a stupid rock.
Tyron got up in an easy, cat-like move, nesting the gleaming gun into a holster at her hip. She was impossibly tall, like a war god from one of Mr. Thonn’s stories about the Expanse. She stood over Mim. “What do you really want, little spy?”
Allies and Enemies: Exiles, Book 3 Page 1
