by Wayne Basta
“That would be a nice future to live in,” Lahkaba said, realizing what Bryel was trying to tell him. “I intend to do whatever I, and the Union, can to help make that a reality.”
An eerie smile crossed Bryel’s toothy face. “Then perhaps we’ll get to work together again in the future, after all.”
When Solyss received the summons from the Fox, it intrigued him. He hadn’t spoken to the old Liw’kel since negotiating the use of the Black Market. Why he would suddenly ask to see him, in the middle of the peace ceremony, he had no idea. But he wanted to find out.
The Fox, whose real name he still didn’t know, had been invited to attend the festivities, since they were being held on his ship, after all. But he had declined, undoubtedly in part to keep his identity secret. Solyss found him in the man’s private command center.
“Commander Novastar, I’m glad you could join me,” the old man said with a toothy smile.
Solyss straightened a little at his new title. Promoting him had been one of the last things Saracasi had done before stepping down as the fleet’s commander and handing control back to Maarkean. Even though securing the Black Market hadn’t proven to be the decisive blow against the Alliance he had hoped, its presence had helped bring about the end of the war. It would go down as another victory for the Novastars.
“It’s no problem, sir,” Solyss said, not really sure how to address the Fox.
“No, I imagine Delegate Darshawn had lost your interest after the tenth minute of her speech,” the Fox said.
“Not at all,” Solyss lied. “She’s very captivating.”
“Usually. But she seems to be floundering tonight. Winning will do that to someone such as her. She doesn’t know who to oppose at the moment.”
Solyss just nodded. He really hadn’t been that bored with Lei-mey’s speech. Though, when he saw the hologram beside the Fox, which showed Lei-mey still speaking, he did feel glad he had left. “What can I do for you?” he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.
The Fox turned a steely gaze on him. “It’s me who can do something for you.”
His interest piqued, Solyss said nothing, waiting for the Fox to continue.
“You did good work on Okaral, freeing the people from the Alliance. And then almost gaining control of my ship. You’re a very resourceful man. I like working with resourceful people. I would like to offer you a job.”
Solyss smiled but shook his head immediately. “I’m flattered, sir. But I already have a job. The Union is going to need experienced people to build up the fleet. The war may be over, but now we have to protect ourselves.”
The Fox slowly stood up from his chair. Taking slow, wobbly steps, he moved over to a computer terminal. Solyss watched the man as he walked, feeling the strain must be difficult. Maybe he didn’t leave this room for more reasons than just privacy. Or maybe he was being played again. Nothing could be assumed with a man as secretive as this.
When he reached the terminal, the Fox brought up a sensor scan result. Various graphs and numbers appeared. Some of the information Solyss understood—gas concentrations, velocity indications, radiation levels—but most of it he didn’t.
“Do you recognize this?” the Fox asked.
Solyss shook his head. “No. Looks like the results of some sensor scan. But most of it means nothing to me.”
The Fox smiled. “But, Commander, this scan was taken by your ship. This was the scan of deep space where you lost track of the Alliance frigate in Trepon.”
Shifting his gaze from the computer to the old man, Solyss wasn’t sure why he felt surprised that the Fox had managed to get sensor logs from the Gallant. Information was the man’s main commodity, and he had been with the Union fleet for months now. Anyway, pressing that issue would be pointless.
“OK, so what am I looking at?” Solyss asked.
“I don’t know either,” the Fox admitted, surprising Solyss. “Access to academics, even for me, has been a little limited in recent months. But, whatever it is, the Alliance has devoted a large force to guarding it.”
Solyss cast a sharp look at the Liw’kel, who changed the data. He focused in on a smaller segment of the result and enhanced it. When it came into focus, Solyss started to recognize power signature and metallic readings. The readings were intermittent and weak, which is why Dar’su had failed to notice them. But they definitely indicated a large number of warships inside the anomaly area.
“The Alliance had an entire fleet sitting there. We would have been easy prey. With that interference, they could have taken Gallant and we never would have stood a chance,” Solyss said as shock washed over him.
“Assuming they saw you. Which, with that many ships being there for who knows how long, we have to assume they did,” the Fox said. “The question remains, why didn’t they?”
Solyss pondered that for a few moments. He hadn’t seen the ships on his scans, so it was possible they hadn’t spotted him. But if they had, what reason would they have had for ignoring him? To avoid detection? Because whatever they were doing required remaining there?
Before he could answer, the Fox continued, “We’ll never know until we investigate. That’s what I want to hire you to do. Find out what they’re guarding. Or defending against.”
The way the Fox said the last phrase made Solyss sure he knew more than he was saying. “I do want to know. But I won’t do it for you. The Union needs me. We’ll follow up on this.”
The Fox smiled. “Very well. But when you give up on convincing the Union to care about anything outside of the Kreogh sector, consider my offer. It remains open.” He deactivated the display and started to walk back to his chair.
The door to the room slid open, suggesting to Solyss that it was time to leave. With one final look at the blank display, he headed toward the door. He would find out what was going on in Trepon, he decided—one way or another.
When the door on the transport opened, a wave of sound washed over Zeric. A crowd of people stood on the landing pad, cheering. At first, he thought they were cheering for him, which confused him, but then he realized that they were cheering for all the Union soldiers on the transport behind him who had made their homes on Irod and were returning home.
The crowd continued the cheers as Zeric and the other soldiers walked down the boarding ramp. He couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiasm and gratitude emanating from the crowd. Once they were clear of the ship’s blast zone, people swarmed over him and the others, shaking hands and offering hugs and sometimes more.
Slipping through the crowd as quickly as he was able, Zeric avoided getting swamped. A few very attractive women had tried to get his attention, but he managed to divert their attentions to the soldiers behind him. He already had three women on his mind.
Once he reached the edge of the crowd, moving became easier. Walking past the cars lined up outside the spaceport’s gates, he opted to walk. He would have to get to know this city if he were going to live here.
The stroll through town took him past a few burned buildings, but for the most part, very few signs of the Alliance assault remained. The locals had done a remarkable job of cleaning and repairing things. It felt good to see a thriving stream of happy people for a change.
Approaching the house, Zeric hiked the pack up on his shoulders. He reached up to knock, but the door opened before he could. Ceta stood there, holding a small child. It took him a moment to realize that this small child was his daughter.
It had been over seven months since he had last seen her. That made her over a year old now and not a little baby anymore. It dawned on him that she could probably walk now and likely speak at least some words. And he had missed all of those earlier stages. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment.
Ceta took pity on him and smiled. She looked at the little girl. “Ciara, this is your father.”
As Maarkean stretched for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel any relief of his tension. He hadn’t been tortured, he hadn’t o
rdered anyone into battle, no one he loved was in immediate danger, and the war was over—but he didn’t feel better.
Giving up on the stretches, he attempted to move into a meditation.
Most people would say that the Union had won the war. The members of Congress were certainly acting as if they had. They treated him like a hero. By all rights, he should be ecstatic. Regardless of anything else, they had succeeded in freeing the Kreogh sector from Alliance control.
But at what cost? Tens of thousands were dead. The Alliance had granted them independence but had hardly been beaten. Many of their leaders called for the war to be resumed and the Kreogh sector retaken. Only the Union’s alliance with the Dotran Confederacy held them off—an alliance that was tenuous at best.
What really ate at his mind were the more personal costs. He felt bad thinking it. After all, thousands of people had given their lives, while he survived. His sister and most of his friends had survived, too. But not all of them.
Gu’od had paid the ultimate price. His friend and mentor had died protecting others, including his best friend’s daughter. It had been a hero’s death. But it was still death.
Gamaly wouldn’t be the same, he knew. She acted fine, putting on a brave face. But he had lost a spouse himself, and he knew what it did to you. And he hadn’t been with Erysis for but a brief time. Gamaly and Gu’od had been together for over a decade. In truth, the bond between them had been something he could only dream of having with someone.
Even those who had survived wouldn’t make it through the war unscathed. Saracasi was alive. She had made it through the war. But, in a way, he thought maybe she hadn’t. The woman she had been was gone, replaced by someone else.
He couldn’t exactly claim to be the same person, either. Decorated Alliance officer, loyal citizen—those things were gone. He was a hero to the Union, to be sure, but it had come at the cost of what he had once held dear. He knew that what he had done had been the right thing, but it had still come hard.
And as petty as it was, he felt the loss of Cutty Sark, too. She had been his home for years. Flying her had been what had kept him sane after his parents’ and wife’s death. She had allowed him to keep Saracasi out of Alliance custody on Braz and to break her out of Olan on Sulas.
She had fought in every major engagement of the war, except the final one. That one she had sat out in a small docking port. When the docking port had been hit during the battle, it had collapsed.
Giving up on meditation, Maarkean picked himself up. As he opened the door to his small room, he found Saracasi standing there, her hand raised as if to knock. She looked startled, and he smiled.
She had changed, and he wasn’t sure if it was for the better, but she was still his little sister. Small moments like this reminded him of that. Ignoring her protest, he reached out and took her into a hug.
“Keep doing that, and I’ll begin to wonder if you’ve been replaced by a Kowwok,” Saracasi said when he released her.
“Lahkaba and Chavatwor have converted me to their ways. Resistance is futile,” Maarkean joked.
“Then you’ll have no problem coming with me. You’ve been summoned by our Kowwok overlords,” Saracasi said.
Maarkean nodded and followed Saracasi out of the building into the Kol sun. The shipyard buzzed with the same level of activity it had always had. The workers were still going overtime, trying to repair the damage from the last battle to all the fleet’s ships.
They reached the main building and found Chavatwor standing before the sealed hangar, fidgeting. He smiled at Maarkean and Saracasi, pulling both of them in turn into one of his powerful hugs. “She’s all ready, General. Good as new,” Chavatwor said with a wide smile.
Maarkean cast the Kowwok shipwright a curious glance and then turned to Saracasi. She had an impish grin on her face that he recognized. She thought she was being clever.
Saracasi nodded to Chavatwor and then said to Maarkean, “Since you turned down any offers of a position within the new government, I thought maybe you might be looking for a new home.”
As if on cue, the main doors to the hangar began to open. They revealed the interior of the hangar. Sitting inside, as shiny and bright as she had been the day she had rolled off the assembly floor, was Cutty Sark.
Maarkean felt his mouth open in shock. He turned to Saracasi. “I thought she was destroyed in the battle.”
“That’s because you underestimate my engineering skills,” Saracasi said. “Or rather, Chavatwor’s.”
The Kowwok shipwright grinned, looking embarrassed, and Saracasi added, “All the marine equipment and bunks have been removed, as well as most of the heavy guns. She’s just a regular old transport again.”
“As it would happen,” Chavatwor interjected, “I’m in the market for a freelance transport ship to carry some specialty parts for the shipyard. Since you’ll be needing a job, you’re welcome to apply.”
Maarkean felt a wide smile come to his face. Even after everything that had happened, maybe some things could go back to normal.
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Acknowledgements
Many thanks are owed for helping bringing this series to fruition. First, Grey Gecko Press for making it a reality. My editor, Hilary, for making it the best story it could be. All my beta readers who helped weed out the good bits from the bad: my Dad, Everett and Erik. And to all my readers whose kind words expressing their enjoyment have made it all worth it.
About the Author
Wayne currently lives in Houston with his wife, son, and dog. He remains a fan of geek culture, board games, video games, fantasy, science fiction and all around silliness.
Connect with Wayne
Facebook: WayneBastaAuthor
Web: www.waynebasta.com
Email: [email protected]
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