SeekerStar

by Blaze Ward

  Daniel’s face was carved with pain. Etched with the agony of remembering himself wiping out entire species in the past. Except that had been another man, wearing his mind.

  “The Sept can never understand what the Star Turtle is, Kathra,” he scowled. “I am not sure if I could destroy a Septagon and get away afterwards, but they would never stop hunting me, either way. I would have to leave the Mbaysey far behind and draw the hunters after me.”

  “There is an alternative, if it comes to that,” she countered.

  “What?”

  “You could destroy the Sept Empire instead.”

  Three

  Amirin Pasdar was an austere man. In emotion. In habit. In appearance.

  Even in his office, with two uncomfortable chairs facing a metal desk, with the flag of the Sept Empire on the wall behind him, where visitors would have it in their face constantly while dealing with him.

  Pasdar’s shaved head showed the scar that started on the left side of his forehead and ran almost all the way back, the white mark left in his dark skin when a rebel’s blade had just missed penetrating his eye socket forty years ago.

  In those days, Amirin Pasdar had merely been a sardar, an officer of the Emperor’s Elite Forces, but already marked for greatness. He was, after all, part of the Pasdar Clan, one of the seven families that had forged the Sept Empire centuries ago.

  Now he was Naupati. Commander of the great Septagon Vorgash. Perhaps he would be promoted to Argbadh soon, on his way to shah of some planet. It was possible that his career, combined with his blood, might see him as a counselor to the emperor himself, an Andarzbad, one of these days. Possibly even Anusiya, one of the Emperor’s Companions.

  Pasdar shrugged and turned his attention to the report that had finally been written up and disseminated by Septagon Uwalu. Tomorrow would take care of itself when it arrived.

  He had other concerns.

  The fools of the other Septagon had let the woman Omezi and her people escape them at Azgon. Not necessarily an embarrassing outcome, considering the number of Patrols, and even Septagons such as Vorgash, that had been chasing the woman and her mother for more than a decade without any success.

  But that thing that came out of the depths of the gas giant itself?

  Pasdar flipped the paper report sideways in order to see the image better.

  The shape suggested a marine turtle, but the size comparison on the page after that gave it a length slightly greater than the seven kilometers from the bow of this very Septagon to the thruster housings rear.

  The six things that looked like flippers suggested a similarity of evolution on a planet defined by a hexagonal lifeform, rather than the simple quadrupeds of Earth. It had a head that bore a remarkable resemblance to the picture of a snapping turtle included for comparison.

  Scans of the vessel’s interior had been ineffective. As had research to determine if there was any known species that had constructed such a machine.

  What had happened immediately after these images were recorded was why a nobleman of the Sept Empire had come aboard Pasdar’s vessel. A Vuzurgan, no less, one of the most elite of the Sept Empire itself. Not a high-ranking fleet officer at present, although Pasdar had no doubts that the man had served in his youth. But still a powerful civilian.

  Only first sons of first sons wore the Vuzurgan title.

  Pasdar finished reading the report again and confirmed that he had completely memorized it before filing it in a drawer on his side of the desk. Checking the clock, his guest would arrive in three minutes.

  He stood, checked his uniform, and sat again, every bit of deep blue wool in place and spotless. Every suggestion of color was somehow muted on his uniform, compared to other men, although none would probably grasp that Pasdar had specifically instructed his tailor to adjust all the hues of fabric and thread down.

  Let other men parade as peacocks. Not Amirin Pasdar.

  A knock at the hatch, followed exactly two seconds later by the steel door sliding sideways just enough for an aide to look in carefully and confirm Pasdar’s nod.

  “Your guest arrives, Naupati,” the man said, withdrawing immediately.

  The door opened the rest of the way and Pasdar rose to greet Farrokh Shahin Mirzadeh, Vuzurgan of the Keyaksar himself, Emperor Dana Bahram Tabatabaei.

  “Greetings, and well come,” Pasdar inclined his head to the man. “I am honored to host you, Vuzurgan Mirzadeh.”

  They were of an age, roughly. Past the first surge of youth and foolishness, but not to the years of decline that eventually led into subsequent folly.

  “The honor is mine, Naupati Pasdar,” the visitor replied with a similar nod. “I come bearing news of great portent.”

  Pasdar nodded with a serious mien. Nothing less would bring such a man so far from the Imperial capital at Rhages.

  Pasdar turned his attention to the aide, still waiting in the door for orders.

  “Tea,” he said, turning to his guest. “Hot or cold?”

  “Cold,” the man said.

  Pasdar nodded and the aide closed the door to depart.

  They sat in companionable silence for perhaps ten seconds when the Vuzurgan smiled.

  “I have been instructed that you are not a man for elaborate ceremony and distractions, Naupati Pasdar,” the visitor said. “So with your permission, I will skip the next thirty minutes of banality where we inquire of common relatives and recent journeys, and move to the heart of my orders, that you might more quickly begin planning your next move.”

  Pasdar nodded carefully. He was aware of his reputation, but perhaps he needed to cultivate a less brusque manner. It would never do to be labeled as just another thick-headed warrior when one might become a voice in the councils of Emperors.

  “If you feel the situation warrants,” he offered carefully, watching the man’s dark eyes for a clue. “I would never suggest a deviation from proper behavior to one such as you.”

  They were relative strangers to one another, as far as he could remember, although at some level, all of the elders of the Sept were cousins.

  Mirzadeh smiled knowingly back.

  “Important people value your judgement, Pasdar,” the man said. “They sent me so that I might impress upon you that this situation is being taken quite seriously at the highest levels.”

  Pasdar nodded silently. He had his theories, and his own spies, but much of what must have been discussed had remained in a tightly-closed circle, as nothing of note had leaked.

  “The renegades who call themselves Mbaysey flaunt their independence from the Sept on a daily basis,” Mirzadeh continued. “They threaten morals and social structures with their perversions as well, where only women are welcome. Or allowed to become warriors.”

  “True,” Pasdar replied when the man stopped for an opinion. “But their ships can move faster than ours. Their lack of a logistics train frees them from dependence on any planet, so they can simply trade and move on, like the ancient horsemen of the steppes on Earth.”

  “Indeed,” Mirzadeh acknowledged. “And eventually they would have been driven entirely into the darkness, or subjugated. Either was an acceptable outcome, which is why the Sept Fleet has never dedicated the necessary resources to hound them.”

  He paused, as if finding the words. Pasdar waited for the other shoe to drop.

  “That is going to change,” Vuzurgan Mirzadeh intoned severely.

  Four

  Dinner.

  Ndidi had planned something simple tonight, but Daniel had finished his book translation process ahead of schedule and decided at lunch that he was going to help her, rather than mostly watching and answering questions. So she had put his Rabic ass to work in the kitchen to keep him busy.

  It was still technically his kitchen. His job as Head Chef. But for the last month she had treated everything here as an extended job interview. From the smiles on various faces as she helped bus tables now, it had not gone unnoticed.

  Ndidi Zikora might
never be a warrior, flying one of the Commander’s Spectre fightercraft, but she had been accepted by the comitatus as one of them otherwise, just as Daniel had. He was in the back now, cleaning and leaving her to the front.

  Erin was still seated as the others departed, watching Ndidi move.

  Ndidi studied the woman out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge what thoughts she should expect.

  Erinkansilemi “Erin” Uduik was the Commander’s Second. The woman who had her left hand in all things, and the one the rest of them answered to when Kathra Omezi wasn’t around.

  Ndidi was almost as tall as Daniel, so extremely short around here. Kathra was a whole head taller, and Erin split the difference. From what Ndidi had been taught, Erin was taller than most men by a shade, just like so much of the comitatus.

  On the older woman’s right cheek was a tattoo, in the ancient style of a barcode, wide and narrow vertical lines that a laser scanner could use to identify property.

  Grandma Ezinne bore the original mark, from her time as a slave, before the Sept had finally stopped allowing such things. Erin had the same mark done to remind herself and everyone else that things could change back just as quickly. The leg that ended at the right knee with a mechanical replacement reminded her that she was a warrior.

  The Sept Empire would eventually decide that the Mbaysey should no longer be free.

  These women would die fighting such a pronouncement, and Ndidi would happily join them in battle, but she knew, as did everyone else, that there was little the Mbaysey could do to thwart the will of a distant emperor, if he chose.

  Only Daniel might have that power, but Ndidi knew what it would cost him to wield it. Already, he had lost weight, planed down hard by the effort the power took. She watched him every day, as Kathra had ordered. Stuffed food in the man’s mouth when he forgot to feed himself, either in the kitchen, or when he was translating dead letters for new dreamers.

  Heard his secrets, perhaps the only other person besides Kathra so honored. Or so weighed down. Knew what nightmares awakened him in the darkness, even on nights that Areen might lay with him.

  Ndidi would never do such a disgusting thing, but she could watch over her friend and keep him safe.

  “Ndidi,” Erin spoke now, drawing her eyes.

  The hall was empty, the last stragglers finally departing to return to whatever it was such warrior women did when they weren’t flying or training.

  Erin patted the space next to her at the table, so Ndidi joined her silently, aware of secrets even Erin did not know.

  “Erin,” Ndidi acknowledged as she sat. “How may I be of service?”

  Technically, she was not of the Commander’s comitatus, although all treated her as a sister in service. Certain rules must still be obeyed.

  “Big happenings are coming,” Erin said cryptically, but that wasn’t anything Ndidi didn’t already know.

  Daniel finishing his translation of the K'bari book was always going to herald a new chapter. Few knew much of the endless darkness beyond the Sept Empire, still mostly centered on Earth, or the Free Worlds, clinging to this side, where the Mbaysey Tribal Squadron generally traded.

  But there were many other things out there. Places to see. People to meet. Not all of them could be counted on to be friendly, but Kathra and Daniel had plans in place.

  Perhaps the Mbaysey could escape the Sept Empire forever?

  Ndidi nodded to the senior woman, only a few years older than her, but still premier warrior of Kathra’s elite.

  “Daniel will be away as often as he is here,” Erin continued.

  Ndidi nodded again. All things already known and discussed. Nothing that would justify the seriousness in the woman’s tone.

  “I have spoken with Kathra,” Erin announced in that way she did when she wanted to sound professorial.

  Then she just dangled things out there silently.

  Three months ago, Ndidi realized, she would be fidgeting with energy right now.

  Today, she simply watched the woman. Calm. Dispassionate. Maybe even a little grown-up, although she would never admit such a thing in public. The teasing would never end.

  But she saw the smile as it started in Erin’s eyes, before finally emerging on her lips.

  “It is time you trained the other kitchen staff to replace you as well, Ndidi Zikora,” Erin said. “You’ll be away with Daniel on his adventures, probably as much as I am, and we need to make sure the other women eat well.”

  Oh.

  She would not be here to cook.

  Ndidi was mentally rocked back onto her heels, but it made perfect sense. They could not take the Star Turtle to any TradeStations, lest they draw the eyes of every pirate and criminal in space, and not just the Sept watchers. Enough attention would arrive when WinterStar strode up with unique space ships to sell, and Daniel would have to be present to explain things to prospective buyers.

  Kathra had ordered her to become his assistant, but also to become his friend.

  Had she already reached a point in life where she wasn’t going to be able to cook regularly?

  Ndidi finally understood that wicked gleam in Erin’s eyes.

  And all the profanities that occasionally emerged from Daniel’s mouth, at where his life choices had taken him.

  Five

  One of the fringe benefits of her rank, Erin decided as she settled into the strange flight throne of the ship, was that she got to do things like fly truly alien spaceships from time to time.

  Oh certainly, Kathra occasionally pulled rank to fly them herself, but Erin got to remind the woman when she did that she was supposed to be in charge, rather than just flying around.

  At least this vessel had belonged to a species distantly related to the upynth. Erect bipeds of a design close enough to human to be comparable.

  Erin could only imagine trying to fly the one tucked back into a far corner of another bay. Daniel had said that the species called itself bhaorajj, but that was just another term for nightmare, as far as Erin was concerned.

  Centaurs from legend, more or less. Except similar to spiders. Torso like a human, covered over with feathers, of all things. Two arms, hands, head, eyes.

  It was the lower half of the body that would make flying that ship interesting. Six legs, three on a side, where the abdomen rested in a thing Daniel described as a nest and she thought of as a saddle. Six feet each independently controlling some aspect of flight.

  In combat, they were probably more dangerous than the best Spectre pilot on her best day, just because they had eight limbs doing things and she only had four. Plus compound eyes, so they could see all directions.

  Erin turned to Daniel, flying next to her today in the co-pilot’s seat. This had become their norm in the SkyCamels, running back and forth between the Star Turtle and WinterStar. The upynth relatives that had once owned this ship were more her size, so he looked almost like a child, with his feet dangling slightly.

  The look on his face said he knew what she was thinking, but it wouldn’t be the first time she had made such a joke at his expense.

  “You’d look silly with green and brown fur stripes for hiding in foliage,” he smiled at her. “Even if you do have the right Mohawk going. We’d need to dye that as well. Not sure how the horn would look in the middle of your forehead.”

  Erin laughed out loud. He had found a picture of an upynth in a database to show her a close-enough approximation of the species that Urid-Varg had stolen this ship from. The so-called Conqueror of Known Space had been keeping a low profile at the time, so he hadn’t tried taking any worlds and holding them, but that had only been a century ago, and not all that far away, as galactic distances went.

  Not like the z'lud, where Urid-Varg had stayed for a millennium and only been driven from their region at the point where he had nearly wiped the entire species out.

  They both sobered simultaneously, as though having the same thoughts. It was possible. She’d been inside his mind enough times
.

  Been him, in some bizarre way that no religion or science she knew could explain.

  He had no secrets from her. Or Ndidi. Or even Kathra.

  At the same time, they had none from him. It was a weird way to establish a working relationship, but they had all found their place to be comfortable with it.

  Erin turned the other way and glanced far enough back to see Ndidi in a jumpseat.

  “Buckled in?” she asked

  “All set,” came the response.

  “Flight Control, this is Spectre Two,” Erin called into the radio. “Departure imminent.”

  “All lanes clear, Spectre Two,” Ife replied.

  The radio traffic was a ruse. Kathra and a few other women were aft for this trip, but she couldn’t just announce that over the comm. Too big of a chance that someone might attempt something stupid, even with sixteen Spectres in the sky flying escort.

  Erin closed the line and opened the intercom as she began to unlock various controls.

  “Leaving now,” Erin announced.

  WinterStar had a flight bay for SkyCamels. Like the Spectres, you flew along the bottom of the wheel to a ramp that would deploy, matching speed and vector before engaging magnets to hold you in place while the ship winched you up into a bay.

  This transport had the requisite gear already built in, unlike a few of them that didn’t, mostly in the older section of the captured vessels.

  Launching was similar, in that the camels were lowered into space and then could launch forward or slip back, depending on the need for relative speed. The Spectres came off the frame hot.

  “Daniel, how did he land things without magnets?” Erin asked suddenly, more curious than anything.

  “It is a technology humans don’t use, don’t have, at least not yet,” he replied in that voice that said he was trying to translate something into something into something into Spacer. Messy, but he was getting pretty good at it, at least with the more recent memories. “A beam of force is expanded like a spider web, capturing the vessel and pulling it or pushing it.”