Captain Bayne

by James David Victor

  “I had orders, sir,” Valoriae said. “I serve someone higher than you.”

  Hix’s chuckle deepened and became a full-throated laugh. “I should hope so.”

  Bayne noticed the twitch of Hix’s shoulder too late. The small flicker of muscle that seemed so out of place in the moment.

  Hix drew his sidearm and put a hole in the pilot’s head. He caught Valoriae in his sights before she had time to react.

  Valoriae’s face was stone.

  “I’ve always known who you serve,” Hix said. “That’s why I requested you as my XO, to keep Centel close. I am one of many who was tasked with finding proof of the truth. Nothing shatters empires like the truth.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Valoriae still held her gun, though it hung low at her hip.

  Hix cocked his head to the side. “I believe you, Val. I don’t think you know anything about it. But he does.” He pointed to Horus. “Former Navy officer. Current Byers stooge. He’ll do.”

  “Who are you?” Valoriae asked.

  Hix pulled his shirt collar open to fully reveal his tattoo: a black vortex. “A free man.” He shot Valoriae in the face, splattering Bayne with her blood and brains.

  Bayne froze. Delphyne nearly convulsed, tensing so much that she was incapable of releasing the scream in her throat. Sigurd’s hands shook, aching for a gun to hold, but unsure what they would do if they had one. Hep never flinched.

  “Apologies,” Hix said, gesturing to the mess all over Bayne.

  Questions swirled in Bayne’s mind. He didn’t know where anyone’s loyalty lay, including his own. He barely had time to register that Valoriae was an agent of Colonel Tirseer’s before he was covered in her blood. Now the uptight captain for whom he’d felt pangs of jealousy, thinking him favored by Admiral Ayala, was revealed to be a traitor. A pirate.

  Hix lowered his gun. He opened a drawer on his desk and pulled out a bottle of black rum. He pulled the cork free and took a long pull straight from the bottle. Then he held it out to Bayne. When Bayne didn’t take it, Hix said, “It’s been a long day. And your days are only going to get longer from here. Have a drink.”

  Bayne took the bottle and drank. He swallowed a mouthful, felt the burn all the way down to his belly. He looked at Valoriae, at what used to be her face, then he took another drink. He made to hand the bottle back, but Hix insisted Bayne pass it to the rest of his crew.

  Sigurd drank. Hep sipped. Horus gulped. Delphyne took the bottle but refused to drink.

  Bayne knew that she didn’t drink. Even on leave, she didn’t touch alcohol. He’d read her personnel file. Her father was a Navy man, tracked for a captainship, maybe even a senior position. But he lost all that in a bottle.

  “Go on,” Hix insisted, his gun raising ever so slightly.

  She put the bottle to her lips. The disgust showed on her face like a day-old bruise. She coughed as she swallowed.

  Hix smiled at her as he took the bottle back. “Good. It’s only proper to share a toast with those with whom you’ve run afoul of the law. Brotherhood of rogues and all that.”

  “We haven’t run afoul of anything,” Sigurd said, his jaw clenched and voice tight.

  Hix took another swallow of rum. “Oh, but haven’t you? Your captain certainly has. Breaking protocol like it was a dinnerplate. Unauthorized engagements with the enemy. Meeting with the most wanted man in the system without proper clearances. Failing to even report it to his superiors. One might think they were in cahoots.”

  A shadow fell over Sigurd’s face, a shadow he then cast over Bayne.

  “Even if that’s true,” Delpyne said, “breaking protocol is an infraction of Navy standards. It’s not the same as breaking the law.”

  Hix laughed. “The bureaucracy’s lucky to have you,” he told Delphyne. “Maybe you’re right. But I dare say murder is a mite more than an infraction of standards.” He gestured to Valoriae’s body. “I hear Central Intelligence does not take kindly to losing one of their own. I wager Colonel Tirseer will want to have a few words with you.”

  “You talk like we killed her,” Sigurd said.

  “In the eyes of everyone outside this room, you did.” Hix drank again.

  Bayne struggled to remain still, to keep from lunging forward and shoving his thumbs into Hix’s eyes. “What do you want?” Bayne asked him.

  “Nothing,” Hix said.

  “Must be a reason you’re doing this,” Bayne said. “Framing us for what, conspiring with Parallax?”

  Hix turned his back to them as he walked and sat at his desk. The man’s arrogance set Bayne’s blood on fire. “Just imagine how people will react when they find out that the Navy has been infiltrated by agents of Parallax. A well-respected captain, his crew, all pirates in sailors’ clothes. The betrayal. The mistrust.” His smile was cold and winding, like a broken winter road. He was a completely different man now, no sign of the man Bayne thought he knew.

  “No one will believe any of this,” Bayne said. “It’s a fiction and easily seen as such.”

  Hix shook his head. “If I’d simply woven this story out of nothing, then, yes, it would easily unravel. But when Tirseer has evidence of you meeting with Parallax and lying about it to the council, of taking two former members of his crew aboard your ship, of using one of those pirates to steal classified information, and then forging a reason to come here, to Triseca, to kidnap Captain Horus, one of the few men who can implicate the council in a vile act of mass murder against those who served it valiantly against the warlords, and the subsequent coverup… Well, those are all some very sturdy threads.”

  Bayne felt those threads wrapping around his neck and knitting into a noose. His every action since meeting Parallax in that ship graveyard seemed to have been either predicted or planned for by the pirate. Bayne thought he was cutting through a forest, but he was walking along a neatly-trimmed path the entire time.

  “Now,” Hix said after swallowing another gulp of rum. “You really must be going. There is a shuttle waiting for you in the hangar bay, which you will be stealing for your escape.”

  “And where are we supposed to go?” Sigurd asked. “How long are we going to last on a shuttle out here after you’ve set the whole of the Navy on us?”

  Hix’s communicator rang, and a bridge officer’s voice came through. “The Royal Blue is approaching, Captain.”

  “I took the liberty of arranging transportation,” Hix said to Bayne. Then he spoke into his comm. “Prepare to acquire a target lock,” Hix answered. “Those traitors cannot be allowed to escape.” He ended the communication and looked to Bayne. “Good-bye, Captain. Until we meet again.”

  There was nothing Bayne could say that would adequately convey his disdain for the man. There was nothing he could say at all. His mind was twisted in knots. His tongue died in his mouth. So, silently, he turned from Hix and ran out the door.

  The others followed, but Delphyne lingered a moment. She cast Hix a look like one a farmer does to a fox that just raided his henhouse. He upset the peace. He killed her livelihood. And he would turn her into killer. For the farmer has no choice but to kill the fox.

  She cast Bayne that very same look when they entered the hangar bay. Colston was there waiting for them. She directed them to the shuttle in the same manner with which she directed them before their spacewalk. Bayne wondered which Hix she served. Was she just a loyal sailor, or a pirate? How deep did this infiltration go?

  They climbed aboard the shuttle. Delphyne took the helm without being instructed to do so. Colston opened the hangar bay doors, and they were off. The first steps of their new lives as fugitives.

  16

  “Mao, this is Captain Bayne, do you copy?” The chaos of Triseca Station was fading away behind them. Delphyne piloted the shuttle toward the Royal Blue’s projected jump point considering their approach vector. But they had yet to make contact.

  “Captain?” a familiar, stern voice came over the comm.

  The sound of a friend
cut the tension in the shuttle. “Thank god,” Bayne uttered. “Come get us, XO.”

  “Closing in on your location, sir.”

  The shuttle docked with the Blue two minutes later. Delphyne was correct in her prediction as to where the ship would emerge from jump.

  As soon as they were aboard, Bayne contacted Mao on the bridge. “Get us out of here, Mao. Take us out to the Deep.”

  Mao answered in a frantic tone. “Sir, the Esper just acquired a target lock.”

  “Just go, Mao,” Bayne answered. “They won’t fire. Meet me in my quarters once we’re clear, and I’ll explain everything.”

  They jumped clear, leaving their lives among the rubble.

  Two glasses, each with a generous pour of black rum, sat on the table between Mao and Bayne. They remained untouched as Bayne told Mao everything. The truth about Parallax and Ore Town. What the Navy did to the Rangers. Bayne’s actions on Central and his reason for going to Triseca.

  They remained untouched even as Bayne told Mao about Valoriae and Tirseer’s efforts to maintain the coverup. And about Hix and a potential pirate invasion of the Navy. They remained untouched as Bayne told Mao about Hix killing Valoriae and framing him for it, for using the circumstances to insinuate that Bayne and the entire crew of the Blue were secretly Parallax operatives.

  Once he was finished telling his story, Bayne picked up his glass. He gestured for Mao to do the same.

  “I do not drink while on duty,” Mao said, his chin pointed proudly to the air.

  Bayne sighed as he pushed the glass toward Mao. “You aren’t on duty anymore, Taliesin. None of us are. We’re fugitives. In the eyes of the Navy, we’re no different than pirates. No, we’re worse. We’re traitors. Deserters.”

  Mao eyed the glass. Bayne could see the struggle written on his friend’s face. With a heavy hand, Mao took up the glass, touched it to Bayne’s, and drank. “What is our next move, then?” Mao set the glass down and gestured for Bayne to pour another. “Whether we clear our names or not, Parallax must be stopped.”

  Or Tirseer does, Bayne thought but didn’t say. Or both. He didn’t know who his enemy was anymore.

  “Haven’t thought that far ahead,” Bayne said as he filled their glasses. “We need to get out into the Black. Get some space so I can think.”

  “And how will you tell the crew?” Mao sipped his fresh drink, savoring the flavor, remembering how sweet it was. “What will you tell them? They signed up to be sailors. What are they now?”

  Bayne swallowed his glass in one gulp. “No idea. I have no stars-be-damned idea what I’m going to tell anyone.” He slammed his glass down harder than intended. “I’ll sort it out. I just need to get out into the Black.”

  Mao stood. He straightened his jacket. Always intent on a crisp uniform. “Then I will chart a course for the most remote location in our computer.” He nodded and left.

  The obedience cut Bayne like a razor. A quick and unexpected nick that bled like hell. He would sort it out soon. Once he had space. He would figure it out. Set everything right.

  But there was one thing he needed to do first.

  Hepzah had his knees pulled tight to his chest. He sat on the observation deck, purposefully alone. Though he didn’t object to Bayne’s presence.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” Bayne said.

  “Figured you would be,” Hepzah said.

  Bayne sat next to him. They didn’t look at each other directly but caught glimpses of the other in the reflection of window. The stars pocked their ghostly faces, making them look celestial, like they were part of the cosmos.

  “How long?” Bayne said. “How long you been working for Tirseer?”

  Hep sucked in a breath, like he’d been punched in the gut. “A year. An operative infiltrated Parallax’s operation. Got to know me. Told me he’d gut Wilco if I didn’t feed him intel.”

  “The mine?” Bayne’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t separate his teeth.

  “I was supposed to let you die.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Hep was quiet a while as he watched the stars. When he finally spoke, he sounded like he’d fallen back in time. He sounded like a child. “I was orphaned during the war but not how you think. My dad was a Ranger. His ship went down, and the Navy didn’t even so much as knock on my mom’s door to deliver the news. They sent a letter. We didn’t have anything without him. Mom died a bit later. Just gave up.” Hep looked at Bayne for the first time. “I know what they did to the Rangers after the war. I heard Parallax talk about it.”

  They looked out the window again, at their faces and the stories the stars wrote across them.

  “Sounds like you’ve got a decision to make,” Bayne said. “Same one I need to make. About what course to set down.” He stood. “We’re heading out to the Deep Black. We’ll make our choices there.”

  Bayne patted Hep on the shoulder and returned to his cabin.

  He may not have known what course he was setting down, but he knew, at least for now, how he was coming at the decision. He removed his jacket. The medals clanked as he dropped it on the floor. He kicked open the chest under his bunk. The dual swords were a welcome weight on his hips.

  He was a free man.

  Thank You For Reading

  Well, Captain Bayne found the answers he was seeking. Now what’s he going to do? And will his crew follow him or is he going to be fighting this battle on his own?

  As you can probably guess, things are going to get hairy in the next book. I am putting the finishing touches on it now and will have for you soon.

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  Preview: Mercury Blade

  If there is one thing you’re not supposed to do, it’s lie to Trader Hogan, Eliard Martin, Captain of the Mercury Blade thought as he stared into the small, fierce eyes of the man in front of him.

  Trader Hogan was only a small man, barely over five feet, and clad in the goldish-red robes of the Traders’ Belt. He had the sort of head that made the thin and rakish-looking Eliard think of rats—but this would have to have been a bald one, save for the black nodules of implants across the trader’s cranium. Hogan was surrounded by four very large mercenaries, who all dwarfed the captain in his green duster and form-fitting encounter suit. They had the sort of shoulders that could play pro-SpinBall even before the heavy layers of exo-suit armor were added on top. They weren’t carrying guns, but instead, steel grey stunclubs that would certainly put a dent in Eliard’s already terrible day.

  Frack. The captain took a deep breath.

  Eliard—or ‘El’ to those that knew him—knew that he was making a bad cho
ice. But when he thought about his career, the man thought that he had never made anything but bad choices. He pulled his duster coat closer around his shoulders, making sure that at least the gold pips on the high collar were visible.

  “I can’t pay, Hogan. You know my last run was unsuccessful,” Eliard said, managing a tight-lipped smile. Eliard wondered if he could make it back to the door behind him before Hogan’s goons got to him. He wondered if he could make it off the Trader Base of Charylla before Hogan had the ports shut down. Hogan was a big cheese in the Traders’ Belt. A senior member of the council, if only because he had blackmailed, bribed, or threatened every other councilor. The station of Charylla was his.

  The little man did not return the smile. “You want to repeat what you just said to me, El?”

  Double-frack. “Didn’t you hear? There are Armcore customs ships up and down the Delta Sector, I couldn’t get through. No one can.”

  Trader Hogan pursed his lips. A bad sign, Eliard thought. “So, you are telling me that the fearless Captain Eliard, on one of the fastest ships in this sector, couldn’t make it past some lazy Armcore officials, sipping their coffee and eating daze-cakes all shift?”

  No, what I am telling you is that I still have your loot stashed in one of my aft lockers, and I’m going to sell it myself! Eliard tried not to betray a flicker of emotion. He was through working all these terrible jobs for Hogan and getting paid next to nothing for it. Not even a cut off the top of the deal—and Hogan always gave him the furthest, most dangerous jobs.

  Maybe because he knows that the Mercury can do it, a sarcastic thought crept into Eliard’s head. Of course the Mercury could do it, just not for creeps like Hogan and his goons anymore.