Call of Courage: 7 Novels of the Galactic Frontier

by C. Gockel

  When he was young, Maxar had wondered where his parents were, or if they were even alive. From his earliest memory, he’d been in the facility and had no recollections of them or any other friendly adults. By the time he had the skills to hash the Ashamine records to determine his parents' fate, he no longer cared.

  As typical of many low class youth on Noor-5, Maxar began a life of crime. He remembered a time early on when a wealthy merchant's son approached him. The other boy had offered a substantial amount of Ashcreds to kill one of his peers. The merchant's son said the boy was mercilessly bullying him. Maxar felt inclined to exact justice.

  After several hours of research and surveillance, however, Maxar could see his target was actually the victim. A few hashes later, he found the truth: The target was amassing a case against the merchant’s son, for raping his sister. In the end, Maxar had killed, but it wasn't the original target and he didn't get paid.

  Maxar's talent allowed him to quickly learn the skills needed to become an expert assassin and thief. His reputation blossomed, and the highest circles of the criminal organization on Noor-5 took note. Before long, they were commissioning him for high profile jobs, ones that required extraordinary stealth and cunning. True to his ethics, however, he would only accept certain jobs. If the mark was an innocent official, devoted family man, or an honest merchant, Maxar refused. Fortunately there was plenty of corruption on Noor-5, and Maxar stayed busy.

  He continued working as a freelance, and found it fulfilling, both monetarily and as a lifestyle. He was free, stable, and controlled his own future. All had gone quite well for almost a standard decade until a major officer within one of the criminal Families had been caught off-world. Maxar never found out all the details, but from what he could gather, the individual had been one of his direct contacts within the organization. The officer had betrayed Maxar and given the Ashamine more than enough evidence to prosecute him.

  The Ashamine had captured, tried, and convicted Maxar. “Let it be known that Maxar Trayfis has been censured for the malefactions stated at the beginning of this convocation. We shall now move to sentencing. For crimes of this nature there is but one option, the remainder of life spent on the Bloodsport asteroid.” He'd wished for the death sentence ever since.

  04 - Tremmilly

  Tremmilly sat beneath an expansive shade tree, reading. Her large wolf-dog, Beowulf, lay beside her, sprawled out comfortably in a small patch of light. The girl's black hair shimmered in the bright light of mid-day, green eyes intently focused on the book in her lap. Beowulf's gray and black fur swayed in the breeze as he napped. This was just the kind of peaceful scene Tremmilly enjoyed so deeply.

  Lost in thought, Tremmilly absentmindedly scratched behind Beowulf’s ears. The action made his leg twitch, something she still laughed at, even after all the years they’d spent together. She quit scratching to flip a page, and the wolf-dog rolled over to warm his other side. Minutes passed, the two enjoying the tranquility of the deep wood.

  In a distant part of her mind, Tremmilly heard the snap-crackling of someone moving through the underbrush, but her attention remained focused on the large book.

  “Tremmilly?” a voice questioned, its tone melodic. She shut the book, careful to mark her page before doing so. After gently setting the tome down, she gave Beowulf a hearty belly scratch. This time she focused her full attention on him, gazing into his large blue eyes.

  “Well, Beowulf, it looks like we aren't safe, even way out here.” Her eyes sparkled as she smiled at the wolf-dog. Turning to face the footfalls, she called out, “Over here!”

  After a few moments and more crackling, an elderly looking man entered the small clearing. Tremmilly began to rise, but he motioned her to stay seated. The old man smiled at the wolf-dog, sitting down on the soft tree needles across from Tremmilly.

  The trio lounged in contented silence for several minutes. Tremmilly could feel her body take in energy from the surrounding landscape. Beowulf returned to dozing in the warm sunlight.

  Finally, the old man stood and spoke. “Walk with me, if you will.” His tone was friendly, his manner loving. Both Tremmilly and Beowulf rose and started following him.

  “Psidonnis,” she said, as they had topped the crest of a small rise, “what brings you out so far to find me?” Psidonnis continued walking, his pace brisk. He was silent for a long time. This reticence is unlike him. It made Tremmilly uneasy.

  “There are heavy matters afoot,” Psidonnis finally replied. His wrinkled face showed care and concern, but also resolve. “I dread having to turn our friendly relationship to one of a religious nature. There are other members of my Sect that Terra could have chosen, but it was I who received the prophecy. And I think it is because of our friendship, rather than in spite of it. I believe Terra wants me to convey it to you.”

  A feeling of anxiety crept over Tremmilly. She stopped walking. “You raised me with the knowledge of Terra, and you know I respect your beliefs. You also know I have no wish to partake in the Dygars Sect. If there is a prophecy, how could it apply to me, a non-believer?”

  The old man shrugged his shoulders, but Tremmilly thought he knew more than he let on. “I do not know how this came to be, only that it is. As I taught you, our prophecies are always for, and about, a member of the sect. This occasion has been an anomaly.”

  “Psidonnis, you know I love you, but I don't want anything to do with this. My parents came here for the Sect, but I have no faith in it. I have my own beliefs.” She hoped she wasn't being too strong.

  Looking him in the eye, she saw Psidonnis gazing back, absolutely expressionless. At first, she thought he was angry. No, that isn't right. She looked deeper and realized he was vacant, some place else entirely. The animation drained from him, seeping away as she watched. Each moment, it progressed further, eyes becoming empty, vapid, soulless. A startled gasp escaped her as his lifeless looking lips opened and the void man began to speak. Psidonnis’ voice had lost its vibrant quality, had been imbued with a harsh, primitive tone that made Tremmilly shiver.

  “When the Breakers rise, there shall be six on whose choices the worlds do lie. The choice of virtue or corruption will bring an ancient existence to many, death to more still. Persevere and strive, the Acclivity will bless those who survive.

  “Six shall have great influence, many choices when the Breakers rise. Woe to six, that Breakers have experience when they have none. Six shall have need of all their will.

  “The first be of a light most bright, spirit most pure. Her life touched by death before cognition, her desire only for peace. She shall start the fire that kindles the worlds to the Acclivity. Woe to the Breakers.

  “The next shall have hands that shed blood, his blood in motion with machines. He does not know his heart, yet through course of life he shall learn what to see. He shall be the strong hands that guide the Acclivity, albeit he is not gentle. Woe to the Breakers.

  “She of battle will fight beside the hands, her heart ferocious, yet kind. Her path has been strange, her child not of her blood. She shall be a strong pillar, the Acclivity magnified through her strength. Woe to the Breakers.

  “Next is a man of character, the dead that is found, wearing that which is ancient, the icon of legends long past. His heart is good and powerful, a mighty man to lead the Acclivity. Woe to the Breakers.

  “He that is green has strength of mind, his people are his weapon. He is dissimilar, but his heart is good; send him not away. He shall unite a people unspoiled, he shall be the salvation of those of his kind. He shall bring his kind to the Acclivity, and the worlds will tremble at their might. Woe to the Breakers.

  “Last is he smallest of all, but a boy in the eyes of the world. He is descended from power, full of power, wielding power. His mind is a weapon, though his hands be frail. His heart is strong, though his body may fail. He has the power of life, the gift of death. The Acclivity rests on his shoulders. Woe to the Breakers.

  “All six shall have friends an
d foes alike, some from within and some from out. Many more shall sway the Acclivity, many more essential. Some will live and many more will die. Come forth you adventurers, you seekers of battle. The Acclivity calls, though the Breakers may yet decide the fate of the worlds.

  “But to you who would stay in comfort and safety, not yielding to the call: Blightheart shall establish itself on you and the worlds will be sundered by the Breakers.”

  After Psidonnis finished speaking, Tremmilly stood in stunned silence, afraid, not knowing what to think. The life slowly returned to his face. Several minutes passed, then he was fully restored to his body.

  “Did it happen?” he asked, his voice sounding dry and papery thin, bereft of its normal joyfulness. She didn't reply. “Ahhh, yes. I see by your face it did.” He looked down at his feet, sighing heavily. Whether this was out of shame or another, more obscure emotion, Tremmilly couldn't tell. She was speechless and felt violated.

  Tremmilly was about to say something, although she was still unsure what it would be, when Psidonnis raised his head and spoke. “I had hoped it would not happen this way, that I could be myself when I told you the prophecy. It seems Terra had a different plan and wanted to communicate in a more—direct manner.”

  “What does it mean?” Tremmilly blurted, unable to contain her emotion any longer.

  “I don't know child. I honestly don't, at least not exactly. We Dygars are an old order. We keep meticulous records, but there have been many times when we lost information. When you are fleeing for your life, dusty old tomes and records are often the last thing on your mind.” With this statement, some of his warm personality and humor returned, his voice regaining a measure of its former vitality. This comforted Tremmilly, and she felt her own emotions settle, even if it was only fractionally.

  “Do you know why I was meant to hear the prophecy?” Tremmilly asked. “I need some perspective. It doesn't make sense.”

  “You don't see it?” He had the look on his face she had seen when he tutored her. It was the one that said, “You know the answer Tremmilly. Look harder!” She thought for several moments. Psidonnis remained quiet and allowed her to think, just like he always had.

  “I honestly don't,” she replied, failing to connect anything in her life to the vague and poetic prophecy. “None of it sounds familiar or connected to anyone I know.”

  “Well then,” he said with a sigh, “I suppose it's time to bring you in front of the elders and let them explain some things to you. Perhaps you'll see the connection then.” As he said this, he turned away from her and began walking towards the Dygar enclave. Tremmilly looked down at Beowulf, finding comfort in his familiar eyes. She felt determination rise within her and moved to follow her oldest human friend towards the unknown.

  “Before we go to the council, Tremmilly, there are a few things I should tell you. They will make more sense coming from me than from the elders.” Tremmilly tensed up, sensing she wasn't going to like what he was about to say. “You are the one the prophecy refers to as being 'of a light most bright, spirit most pure.' It is time for you to leave Eishon-2. You need to search for the other five referred to in the prophecy.”

  05 - Lothis

  “Arise,” the atonal voice announced, interrupting Lothis' trance-like sleep. It was the end of his three hours of rest. His vibrant orange eyes flicked open, and he was instantly aware of his environment.

  Lothis looked at the surrounding room, features drab and metallic. Every surface was made of brushed metal. He was used to the space, comfortable in it. He couldn't remember any other place. His eyes ran over the dull walls, seeing, yet not seeing, the lavatory area in one corner. More wall brought his vision to another corner and what he thought of as his training area: a terminal, running device, and several other exercise apparatus. Another brief section of wall and then the final corner of the room. It contained the appliance that dispensed his meal of the day, along with another terminal and a project table. In the center of the room sat an angular metal chair and a third terminal, this one far larger than those in the training or project area. Everything in the space was as it had been when he had closed his eyes, unchanged, immutable.

  Rising from the flat metal bed platform, Lothis walked over to the lavatory area. It was here he started the daily routine that was the entirety of his life. Begin daily cycle 3785, he thought, washing his body with a wet square of cloth.

  Finishing up in the lavatory, he returned to the central area of his small room and sat down before the large terminal screen. The synthesized, atonal voice returned as the screen came to life. “Lothis, lesson, begin,” it sounded. The screen displayed complex math equations which Lothis solved rapidly. His orange eyes flicked back and forth across the display, comprehending the information as quickly as it was shown.

  After a set amount of time, the display changed, math replaced by intricate diagrams and specifications. Lothis' eyes continued to play across the screen, absorbing everything. Later, the diagrams changed to what appeared to be random numbers and symbols, scrolling by so fast they began to blur.

  Several hours passed, then the screen went black. Lothis rose from the angular metal chair. Moving across the small room, he stood on top of a wide belt recessed into the floor. The belt turned. Lothis ran. The pace became furious, but he focused intently and never stumbled, never missed a single step.

  Hours went by, the belt slowed, and Lothis moved on to his other exercises. He did each confidently, feeling strong. The entirety of his focus went towards maintaining perfect form. Finally, his exercises complete, Lothis stretched methodically, from his neck all the way down to his toes.

  With the day's physical training finished, he moved on to other tasks. Guided by the voice, he built several small electronic devices, all of which he easily and accurately assembled.

  Next, Lothis ate his one meal of the day in silence. He swallowed the protein compound bars and liquid vitamins with no enjoyment. They were bland and tasteless.

  After his short meal, he sat in front of the primary terminal, which once again rapidly flashed numbers, symbols, and colors in a seemingly random pattern. This continued a while longer, then the screen went black. The monotone voice announced, “Lothis, sleep, begin.”

  Lothis rose from the chair and returned to his metal shelf. His mind blanked as he lay back. He closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and fell asleep instantly. He knew the voice would return in three hours to wake him.

  06 - The Founder

  Seated in his massive chair at the head of the conference table, the Founder seethed with rage. What more can be done to crush this uprising? He had to find a new tactic. This situation was causing him more frustration than anything else he’d experienced in his 130 years of life.

  One of the Classad, the Ashamine government's highest council, made the unwise decision to break the heavy silence, “Perhaps, if we met some of their demands and change some of—“

  “We have already discussed that!” the Founder roared, vibrant orange eyes burning into the man. He felt the fires of the dark star roaring within him. He wanted to release his fury on these old men, to burn them for their failure to destroy the dissidents.

  I must calm myself, he thought, trying to relax his clenched jaw. These men are of no use if I alienate them. Why had he been so prone to anger lately? He had never acted like this as a younger man.

  “What I mean to say,” he continued, almost regaining his usual charisma and poise, “is that we have already developed that idea to its logical conclusion. The Divisonists’ propaganda is particularity virulent. Their strongest weapons are peaceful protest and the ability to spread false information as if it were a disease. If we give into their demands, we'll look guilty. They will use that to infect and recruit even more of the Ashamine population. We cannot negotiate. We are the ones with power, and we must use it to fight their insidious agenda.”

  He paused, his mind once again running through the history, tactics, and information they’d dis
cussed in prior sessions. In the next instant, his mind leaped to a conclusion it had previously missed. What if... he thought, a sadistic grin touching the corners of his mouth. I’ll have to approach this carefully . Most of the Classad would be opposed, unable to bring themselves to do what must be done. That was fine. The Founder was used to issuing such orders. He had the perfect person in mind to perform the task. If not knowing the plan will keep the Classad’s conscience clean, then so be it. They don't need to know. Their only real purpose was to offer advice and carry out his edicts anyway.

  The Classad hadn't always been this weak. The Founder remembered when he'd learned the secret history, how the first Founder had answered to the Classad.

  The Ashamine Charter stated: “The Founder is to lead, but he is directed and held accountable by the Classad.” The Charter’s creators had chosen a man much too smart and determined to be ruled by committee, however. Twenty years into his term, the Ashamine was under the total control of the first Founder. This history had been suppressed, of course, and no one but the current Founder himself knew of it. This was all for the best.

  The original Founder would have approved of this course of action, he observed, the thought bringing him out of his reverie. “For the time being,” the Founder resumed, fully back in his relaxed persona, “let's continue to search for alternative solutions. Now, we should move on to other, more gratifying business.” He could see the Classad relax as he spoke.