Star Chaser (Galactic Shield Book 2), page 12
“Sounds easy,” Nova said.
“Not with that attitude.” I felt good, light and full of energy. Despite my history with this planet, and this city, I had high hopes. In a few hours, Cissi would be with her family. They could address the rudeness at the spaceport through proper channels. I’d have located a pair of negotiators who could stop a galactic disaster before it started.
“I’ll shadow Fathers and watch his back. The big lug is actually good at meeting new people despite how gruff he seems at first,” Nova said.
I agreed completely. “Ask him to use his words. No smashing or grunting.”
“I heard that, boss.”
Fathers and Nova wandered into a lively crowd around a fountain.
Cambridge clapped his hands together, but not out of nervousness. “Well?”
I soaked in details, searching for the key to this man’s personality. What motivated him? Why was he here? Did he resent his role as his father’s gofer? Did he know his father idolized him?
“I say we do a loop by the restaurants and bars serving the plaza. Some face the fountain and others are tucked into little side streets.” I swept my eyes over patios and balconies occupied by energetic but well-mannered patrons. “Going into the clubs or diners might be too much until we get a feel for local customs. It looks like a lot has changed since I was here last.”
Cambridge was polite enough not to dwell on that last point. “You are the expert. I’ll watch your back and keep my eyes open. Does that work?”
“Perfectly.” He didn’t know what I wanted, and I wasn’t ready to trust an untried investigator anyway. The man was smart and hardworking. I could see that plainly. His father had been right, however, that he was green. The galaxy hadn’t roughed him up yet.
We trolled through the crowds, staying out of people’s way and smiling or waving when possible. The last time I’d been here, Avians had found human expressions to be fun and exotic, though sometimes they feigned terror at the exposed teeth of a human. Back then, the joke had been popular.
“Fine evening,” I said to a group in my best Avian friendly dialect. What we called Galactic Standard had been accepted here since the first arrivals from our home galaxy shared it.
The male Avian nearest us spoke. “Yes, it is. Greetings, wanderer.”
A short chorus of musical speech enveloped us as the group continued on their way.
I spoke before considering my partner. “That went well.”
Cambridge’s serious expression didn’t show concern. He was trying to simultaneously figure me out and understand the sentients around us. “Truly?”
I shrugged.
He pointed at a pastel neon sign in a language neither of us could read. “What is in there?”
“Avian gathering space. Humans may enter, but it’s an awkward and confusing experience. No talking, eating, or anything really. Like a shrine without icons or organization. Henry Saint thought they were like rest stops on a hiking path.”
“So, a bunch of birdie… sorry, of locals cluster together and stare at each other?”
I stepped around a group of young male and female Avians who barely looked at us as they rushed along the sidewalk with drinks held high. “There can be quiet conversation, but only with the person you enter with and no one else. No form of excess is allowed, and there is no trolling for dates or mates, though I’m not sure what that would look like if it happened right in front of me. Sometimes the Avians seem so human I don’t think about our differences despite their wings and facial structure. Other times they are exotic and strange. On very rare occasions, our unseen differences have resulted in bloodshed.”
“The misunderstanding,” he said. “Thousands dead. A city and part of a planet destroyed. The Third Transit fleet crippled. We would have higher standing in the Alliance of Planets if not for that last part.”
He wasn’t wrong, though there wasn’t supposed to be a division of human colonists along the lines of which transit journey they made. Inevitably, those who had been in Andromeda the longest considered themselves royalty of a sort, even if the individual in question only worked part time on a Ship O’ Wash or hauled garbage.
I chuckled, which drew Cambridge’s attention.
“What are you laughing about?”
“Nothing much. Do you ever dream of a simple life? Scraping starships clean and repairing radiation damage, then a cold beer and video games before bed?” I asked.
“Every void damn day.”
That really made me laugh. “You’re all right for a Bayle.”
“Ha. Thanks for that upside down, backhanded compliment.”
We attempted several conversations and got barely more than polite greetings. There was indifference from some of the locals, resentment and suspicion from others. I was glad there wasn’t more open hostility and was smart enough to know that didn’t mean Third Transit humans had been forgiven for everything that had gone wrong.
“There are more outsiders here than I thought there would be,” Cambridge said.
“I noticed that.”
A group of Raziks grunted, snorted, and cursed their way through a crowd near the plaza. The brutes were probably issuing polite greetings and asking for directions in their guttural language—or what everyone grudgingly admitted was some form of communication. They carried weapons at all times, usually clubs when not at war. Intricately decorated rail guns hung on hips and across backs. Each wore bits and pieces of armor like they’d recently stepped out of an action video.
“Have you fought a Razik?” Cambridge asked.
It was a test question, I knew. Despite their appearance and reputation, the warlike sentients were extremely difficult to provoke to violence. They strode around in groups, gripping weapons and glowering at everyone they encountered, and yet were nearly immune to provocation.
“I always feel like they’re looking for this one rival who pissed them off, and when they find him, there will be a hell of a beat down.” My theory wasn’t new, but it was the first time I’d shared it with Cambridge.
“Now I can say I’ve seen them in the flesh.” He pointed toward a group of Glossers. “They don’t normally travel in groups that large, or that’s what I read someplace.”
“You read right.” The first twinge of uneasiness since parking the glide van reared its ugly head. I wasn’t sure why, but this unnerved me more than it should. “Kyn, how copy?”
“Loud and clear, boss.”
“I’m watching a large group of Glossers near the plaza. What should I be looking for? Is this normal?” Caution was needed. I felt something was wrong, so I looked for evidence to backup my misgivings. That was natural, but no way to run an investigation.
“Are they wearing shoes?” Kyn did not sound worried, only curious.
“One second.” I spotted shoes on everyone in the group. “They are wearing footwear. I can honestly say I’ve never paid much attention before.”
“Shoes, boots, or slippers?” Kyn asked.
Cambridge picked up on the conversation and stepped away from me in search of a better angle. Undeterred by any worry he might appear out of place or draw attention, he stepped onto a park bench and held the branch of a decorative tree for balance.
“Soft shoes is all I can identify.”
Cambridge looked down. “Soft shoes or slippers on all but one. The leader is barefoot.”
Kyn clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth several times in rapid succession. He didn’t fidget or show excessive emotion. Now that I’d heard him thinking, I made a note to listen for this behavior in the future.
“There are no festivals, but what you describe feels like a procession—and those are always significant to my people.”
I motioned for Cambridge to climb down while we listened to the explanation.
“I cannot tell you which specific ritual they honor, only that it is peaceful. The strictest traditions require all those who come in peace to remove shoes, boots, and slippers from their feet. It is believed that fighting barefoot is very foolish and often the sign of mental weakness. Whenever a delegation wishes to emphasize their peaceful intentions, one or all must go without protective coverings for his or her feet. The slippers are a weird half measure adopted to alleviate feelings of guilt amongst the followers of the barefoot leader.”
I watched the procession slowly navigate a corner and march toward a steep glide way with a road sign. “Looks like they are marching toward Halvron Inc. That’s a ship manufacturing company if I remember correctly.”
Cambridge confirmed my guess. “My family has several ship contracts with Halvron. Their best factory is here on Avian Prime. Their ships are nearly as good as a Helm-built craft.”
“Okay, this is interesting but not the mission,” I said. “Nova, status report?”
“No one will talk to us,” she said. “Fathers is sampling some type of street cake under the pretense it will make him more approachable.”
“Everyone likes cake.” Fathers chewed audibly and swallowed hard. “I’m just doing my duty, LT.”
“Strong work. I’ll put you in for a commendation,” I said. “Rally at the fountain. We’ll discuss options, then head back to the van. How is Cissi, Kyn?”
“She is quite well and wishes to remind you she could answer for herself.”
“Noted.” I worked through the crowd, determined to enjoy the place even if my reason for coming here looked like a pipe dream at best. Cambridge lagged a step behind and checked his wrist screen constantly.
“Do you have someplace to be?”
He looked up guiltily. “No. I’m fine. Just anxious. The hardest part of these missions is the waiting around. I can’t help but feel there is more to do and I’m missing something important.”
“Focus and stay sharp.” I thought there was more to his distraction but had nothing to go on. He didn’t work for me, and I didn’t know the man well. This could be normal behavior for him a few hours into a mundane operation. Canvasing a crowd of strangers in search of witnesses, or in this case, a pair of collaborators, was slow, discouraging work. We needed an informant or a guide to speed things up.
Nova and Fathers arrived first. Cambridge and I joined them.
“Can we come back when we’re not working?” Nova asked. “Love this place. Can’t say why.”
“There is a certain order to everything here.” My theory felt right even if I wasn’t articulating it well. The APOP SCD sergeant was a pilot, and they loved check lists and flight control routines and rules—even if they secretly sought the chaos of void combat where one mistake was oblivion. “Music, architecture—even their speech has repetitive refrain.”
Fathers nodded thoughtfully. “I can hear the structure of that building.”
“Smart ass.” I scanned the crowd because watching people helped me think.
Nova continued the topic. “I’m sure you’re right, Breaker. Avians don’t fly any better than we do, though I’ve heard stories about the excellence of their pilots. Could that be genetic?”
“Maybe,” I said. “What’s on your mind, Cambridge.”
He dry-washed his hands and looked nervous as an agent straight out of the academy approaching a division chief. “I have one small thing I need to do on my own.”
“We’ll help.” I weighed his reaction. “Splitting up is unsafe and inefficient. We don’t have time for that. We’re on the clock.”
“Plus, you are the only person here with a valid visa. We’re only covered when you’re with us, or am I wrong?” Nova asked.
“You’re right.” Cambridge avoided direct eye contact.
I stepped into his line of sight. If he wanted to look away now, it would be embarrassingly obvious. “You’re holding something back.”
“Of course I am. My father gave me a job to do, and it doesn’t include relying on the vassal of his arch enemy.” He sidestepped me, then paced to the edge of the conversational range and turned back. “I’m not told everything.”
“You poor bastard,” Fathers said.
Cambridge reddened. “Have you heard of operational security? Need to know? Stakes larger than yourself.”
“That’s all stuff they tell you when they’re lying and know you and your squad mates are going on a suicide mission.” Fathers spoke evenly. Intensity filled each word, but he didn’t shout or curse.
Cambridge didn’t have a response.
“Do you trust us?” I asked.
Misery filled his eyes. “I do. Who knows why, but I really do. My father would tell me I just crave the camaraderie of a group like yours. He warned me not to make friends.”
I shared a look with Nova, then Fathers. “Let’s head back to the van. If your errand is important, we’ll work out a compromise. At the end of the day, it’s results that matter. Right?”
Cambridge seemed relieved. “Yes, that makes sense. Thanks.”
We traveled toward Kyn and Cissi where they leaned against the van sipping local coffee in tiny cups. I climbed inside and motioned for Cambridge to follow. Nova took charge of the perimeter by ordering Fathers and Kyn to key positions on a wide set of steps near the van. This allowed them to surveil the nearest glide way intersection. She remained with Cissi but focused on maintaining communications with the two agents.
I closed the door, then faced Cambridge. “We can talk for a while. Less chance of anyone eavesdropping. Nothing is a hundred percent, but without more information, I have nothing specific to guard against.”
“My father said you are thorough. His contemporaries argue with him, but he sees you through his infantryman eyes—which means he idolizes you like he does all Breakers.” Cambridge’s demeanor leveled off. He became cooler and more calculating as he brought his adrenaline under control. “I told him respect was one thing, but that he needed to recognize your limitations.”
“And those are?” I was curious to see how his mind, and that of his father, worked.
“You get too attached to your subordinates. They can’t be your friends,” he said, then pushed one palm forward in a calming gesture like he thought that would minimize any perceived insult. “You’re over-confident. I get it. Your team is good, but you know I’m right.”
I waited.
“You have a Glosser on your team.”
“Something wrong with that?”
Cambridge shifted, clearly resisting the urge to look at Kyn standing guard down the street. “Do you just trust anyone who wants to join your team, any sentient?”
“I don’t trust anyone, but neither do I condemn individuals without reason or evidence.” My opinion of this man and his father solidified. Cambridge sought to make his own way in the world. He idolized, feared, and resented his father all at the same time. “What is more important, completing your side quest, or completing your side quest without anyone knowing about it?”
“I told my father I would request your assistance if necessary. He made me swear to make sure it wasn’t.”
I interlocked my fingers, leaned forward to put my elbows on my knees, and searched his eyes. He was easy to read now. I cautioned myself that pride came before the fall. My experience didn’t make me better or worse than Cambridge Bayle—and neither did it render me rail-proof.
I could be wrong about the younger Bayle. Worse, I could be half wrong. Instinct failed me for the first time in recent memory. A cold, hard decision was necessary.
“We go where you go. That was the deal. The first time we’re stopped without the umbrella clause in your visa, we’ll be incarcerated or worse.” I played out the facts and realized the decision wasn’t difficult, despite my inability to feel the way it would go. “Further, you’ll get yourself killed without a support team.”
“You’re my support team?” He didn’t attempt to hide his incredulity. “That would mean I’m running the show.”
“Don’t get carried away.”
He snorted. “Right. No one can be the boss but the legendary Breaker 105. I’m not helpless. You have no idea the level of training I’ve been through. This isn’t my first mission. I’m not completely without experience.”
“One-man missions are stupid.” I hoped he didn’t ask my squad how many times I’d violated my own rule, but that was a different discussion. “You, me, or anyone would have serious problems on a world like Avian Prime without assistance. If nothing else, you need a ride because I’m not turning over my glide van to you.”
Silence.
A staring contest.
Beyond us, the city thrummed with vitality.
He exhaled, turned away, turned back, and then shook his head as he spoke. “Won’t be the first time I’ve disappointed the man. Let’s just get this over with.”
15
Red and blue lights flashed at the next intersection. Police cars blocked the streets in all four directions. Road cones diverted drivers into a single lane where random vehicles were inspected.
“What is this?” Cambridge asked.
I scanned the scene, checked for messages from Regina, and made eye contact with Nova before answering. “Checkpoint.”
Cambridge wasn’t mollified. “For what?”
“Could be anything.” I flipped through local news links on my wrist viewer courtesy of Regina’s lightning-fast research. “Traffic enforcement initiatives are often advertised well in advance. Nothing shows up during my ship AI’s search. This is something else.”
“They could be looking for a hit and run driver or other fugitive,” Nova said.
I dimmed my screen and focused on the here and now. Cissi seemed nearly as worried as Cambridge, but for her own reasons. What should have been a happy event in her life was turning into an odyssey of disappointment, delay, and danger.
Fathers, Nova, and Kyn were ready for anything, as usual. I could read just the right amount of tension in their expressions.
“Our vehicle has been chosen for inspection,” Kyn said, then spoke to the Avian police officer through the window. “What seems to be the problem, officer?”
“Traffic checkpoint. You are other-worlders. Paperwork.” He thrust forward one hand, palm up. Muscles rippled from shoulder to wrist, visible through the dark gray fabric. His chest and back were massive, thicker even by Avian standards. Black, gray, and red plumage decorated his slightly flared wings.
