Star Chaser (Galactic Shield Book 2), page 30
“Beginners luck,” Regina said. “And to be clear, what Shredain Kye Rotiac ignored should never have been in the formula to begin with.”
Cates carefully pressed down the Avian’s muscular arms. “Wrong gesture, dude.”
“Truly?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“Oh, great beans.”
“Not even an expression,” Yolo chuckled. “But I love it so much.”
Cates continued. “You have no idea how intensely I hate you right now, Shredio. It took me like a year before our ship AI would talk to me. She was practically flirting with you on the first day.”
“Maybe that is because I am no threat to her relationship with her captain,” Shred said.
Cates pushed his hat back. “You say strange stuff, Lord Shred, but you might have something.”
“I am no lord. Failure to correct anyone who addresses me as such is a criminal offense among my people. Shred Man, Shredio, and even Shrediac are fine, but not that. I implore you.” Shred shrugged perfectly this time. He’d picked up the gesture from members of the NCS squad and loved it. His collapsing wings added majesty to the move that fascinated everyone. The earlier variation would also be impressively intimidating when he used it in the right context. “You shorten my name like I am a child, then grant me titles. Humans are nothing if not interesting. Cate-o!”
Cates, Yolo, and Woods fell about themselves laughing at the reversal.
Nova interrupted. “There’s a ship from Jenna’s World. Regina received a request. You have visitors. Three passengers from the Holofax. She’s a third-rate cruise ship. Regina wanted you to know—about the ship’s meager status, and the people who want to see you, of course.”
“Are you going to tell me who they are, or do I just have to risk my life before I even recover?”
Everyone chuckled, answered, or commented in some way. The chaos of having good friends washed over me. This was like a homecoming party without the alcohol or the bad DJ.
“I’ll go with you,” Nova said, closing out her workstation and hanging up her headphones.
Cates reached over and secured them per regulations. No one wanted a loose piece of gear rocketing around the room if a transit got bumpy, which they increasingly did.
Nova blushed. “Thanks, Cates.”
“No problem, Sergeant.”
“Someday I will let you fly the ship,” she said, stealing my joke.
Cate’s grin split his face. “I always fly the ship, Sarge.”
“Hot Shot!” My squad exclaimed loudly and in unison for reasons I didn’t quite follow.
“None of you even know the unfortunate circumstances of that nickname. Try not to corrupt our Avian guests,” Nova said as she stood. “Breaker, let’s flee the immaturity before it’s too late.”
At the doorway I turned back and pointed at everyone before I left. “You better not be drunk when I return. That’s for later, and not on the bridge, or the engine room, or anyplace important.”
“We’re just happy to have you back, boss,” Yolo said. “Aren’t we, Woods?”
The former sniper tipped her hand side to side. “Meh. He’s okay as lieutenants go.”
Nova and I walked through the ship, shaking our heads and commenting on the various personality traits of the team. It was good to be home. Solo missions had never bothered me before, but that one had been sketchy. If I never saw another limestone bridge again, it would be too soon.
We passed a group of Avian Honors and NCS operators doing slow hand-to-hand drills. I’d seen the technique before. It was like a two person kata with the focus on technical perfection and flow.
“Shred and his team are nothing like Havna, or most of his other soldiers, so far as I can tell. I’m not really sure what’s happening.” I thought back to my first encounter with the Avian lord. “They don’t dress the same. Havna and his goons wear a lot of black and dark gray. Havna sure as the expanse doesn’t have a sense of humor.”
Nova studied the silver or white wings of Shredain’s Honor squad. “Maybe he wanted to unload them.”
“Makes sense. Send the rule followers off to die, then replace them with replacements who are more malleable to his will.”
Nova turned one hand up. “It’s a theory. They could also be fantastic actors waiting to steal the twins, our best jokes, and murder us in our sleep.”
“I’m just glad they get along with Faulkner’s people. Could’ve been a long trip with two tactical teams glaring at each other every time they crossed paths.”
“It’s a small ship for this many hard-chargers to share.”
For once, my memory of another cluster of martial personalities didn’t burn me with longing and regret. Boomer, Kalchev, and Saint would fit into this group like they were born to it.
We kept moving. A pair of NCS specialists stood guard at the ramp. I nodded in lieu of a salute.
“LT,” they said.
The Oron Bablish spaceport was simple and clean. Nothing was new, but neither was any of the tech or infrastructure outdated. Seventeen of nineteen landing pads had ships. Most were commercial freighters, two of which were massive, each looming high enough to cast the peculiar shadows of the local sun across an orbital platform. Three were cruise ships, out burning up transit time in the name of expensive vacations to basically nowhere.
Three figures waited near the security booth at the edge of the flight line. One was Avian. Another was female, though tall and hooded. “I should have asked who these people are.”
Nova shifted nervously and didn’t comment.
My suspicion spiked. “Who are we meeting, Sergeant?”
“They’re safe. I think.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Don’t put me in this position,” she said.
Her obvious nervousness worried me. Cynthia Nova was never timid or unsure. The members of this delegation weren’t random travelers. I could tell none of them were my remaining Breaker friends, which was the surprise I half expected.
“Hold up,” came a voice from behind me.
I waited for Saint to saunter forward at his own pace. That was my old friend—demand I wait then take his void-loving sweet time getting here.
Two of the visitors shifted nervously and talked to each other. The woman stood like a statue, the shadows of her hood covering almost every part of her face. She was from my dreams, or nightmares, and definitely from memories of dangerous expeditions.
Her.
“I can’t believe you were going to cut me out of this reunion,” Saint said, then moved ahead of me when I hesitated.
He threw his arms wide and moved in for a hug.
Katrina Snow dropped the hood, smiled like he was her most annoying little brother, and embraced him. She was tall, though nothing like Saint or any of the Breakers. Her athletic form was a few years older, though it almost seemed she had aged in reverse. Whatever life she’d chosen after the third and final wave of humanity arrived in Andromeda had been good for her. Most notably of all, the waist-length hair that she had kept braided had been chopped nearly as short as mine. She could style it, but not much. High cheekbones and full lips made her feminine in the strongest way possible, though her physique was more muscular than most men. Anyone could see she’d been working out. Her physique made a statement through the coat she wore to conceal weapons.
I waited for Saint to move aside, then stood before my combat tech.
No one spoke for a moment.
“I saw your mural on Jenna’s World.”
She pretended annoyance, but I saw a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. We clasped forearms like soldiers, then pulled each other in for a big hug.
Cabs and Ripper shook my hand, nervously excited to be here, though I had no idea why they were part of this.
Katrina held my shoulders. “Damn good to see you, Breaker. I have something to show you.”
We laughed for no reason.
“Is it a puppy?” I asked. Once, long ago, she’d brought me to stare into an asteroid cavern full of spider things, luring me to the scene with the promise of intergalactic puppies.
“We should view it on your ship, and only with people who have clearance,” she said, then pointed at Nova. “Is that Hot Shot?”
Nova shook her head. “In the flesh.”
“Hannah told me you fly a ship reasonably well.”
“High praise,” Nova said dryly.
I addressed Cabs and Ripper. “What can I do for the birdie driver and the thug?”
“We need a change,” Ripper said. “I sort of messed things up with some local gangs. Better for me to leave. Don’t know why Cabs is here.”
“I couldn’t stop thinking of your adventures, ape man,” Cabs said. “Started wondering if I was wasting my life. My boss gave me a one-year leave of absence. Should still have a job when I get back—if you have use for me, that is.”
“Bring him,” Snow said. “And the bad tattoo guy. I’m gonna cover all that crap up with real art.”
“I didn’t agree to anything yet,” Ripper complained. “This ink means something where I’m from.”
Snow ignored him. Soon we were walking ahead of the others, taking our time with conversation. There were so many things I wanted to say, questions I needed to ask, and observations I wondered if I should make about her new career.
“You learned to paint,” I said, unable to stop smiling and just generally feeling good.
“I did. Which relates to what I have to show you.”
“How about a hint.”
“Murder.”
“Wow. That is a hint.”
“There’s not a lot of it on Jenna’s World. Don’t ask me why. I’m not a big important cop like you, but they called me as an expert witness. The pictures I downloaded aren’t the originals. Parts are redacted. Trials on Jenna’s World are public unless the prosecution or defense attorneys convince a judge they should be otherwise.”
“Who were the victims?”
She looked me up and down. “What makes you think more than one person was killed?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Two Avians and a Razik.”
“A Razik? That’s surprising.”
She snorted humorously. “A triple murder with two Avians isn’t?”
I thought back to Earthdale and the scene. Snow was going to show me something I didn’t want to be real but knew more than ever absolutely was. “There are a lot of Avian deaths going around.”
We worked our way through the ship to the observation deck, which I would lock down for a private viewing once we were there. “I don’t have a lot of room to spare for Cabs and Ripper, and we’re not going anywhere safe.”
“Bring them along,” was all she said with the same confidence as before.
I let the matter drop. “Show me this mysterious thing.”
She removed a small chip from an inside pocket. Her twin rail pistols were briefly visible in her shoulder holsters, and I thought part of her bulk was body armor. The woman was thoroughly kitted out for a painter.
“You must do murals in some rough neighborhoods.”
She dropped her chin slightly. “Breaker, I go out in two basic configurations—armed, and heavily armed.”
“So, you haven’t changed a bit?”
“Nope.”
The screen came to life. A video camera showed a ceiling covered with star maps painted in blood.
“Some of it is blurred out. The lead investigators claim that is to protect the case.”
“They must think there is a suspect still outstanding and want to hold details back in the unlikely event the killer communicates with the police,” I said. “Doesn’t happen often. Who handled the investigation?”
“Jenna’s World Department of Justice, the JWDOJ. They don’t allow the APOP to take lead on anything, though they cooperate in terms of resources and information sharing,” Snow said. “A friend of mine explained it to me after I was called as an expert witness due to my reputation as a street artist.”
“What did the prosecutor want you to testify to?” I had an idea and wanted to check it.
She ran through memories and organized her response without looking away from the bloody painting on the view screen. When she spoke, her attention left the image only reluctantly. “Several things. First, they wanted to eliminate the possibility that it had been done by a local tagger or street painter. I know them all, and their work, so that was easy. Most of the lawyers couldn’t differentiate one tag from another. One deck slug thought murals were gang art. Moron. They wanted me to exclude materials that might have been used to imitate blood.”
I shook my head. “That shouldn’t have been necessary. Their forensic team should have confirmed it was blood.”
“It wasn’t. The prosecutor didn’t like that at first, until I demonstrated that the materials used were rare, expensive, and unpopular among artists because of how difficult they are to use—always dry when you need them wet, and prone to flaking away before you’re done.”
“You told them where the suspect likely obtained the materials, and they were able to prove the suspect was the only person to purchase them?”
She nodded. “Palin Darth was the only customer of those materials during the last several years. It didn’t make their case, but it helped.”
“Tell me about Palin Darth.”
“He was a Razik but mean.”
“Hold on,” I said. “All Raziks are mean. You said was? Did they execute him.”
“Almost immediately.” Snow walked across the room, tracing every detail of the blood-like star map with her eyes. “He didn’t use blood because Raziks are kind of squeamish for all their fierce outward appearance.”
“Who knew?” I filed the information, though I only half believed it. Raziks were the most warlike race I’d ever seen. Apparently, I’d misjudged them completely.
“Darth wasn’t normal, though. I’ve mentored a few Razik painters. They crack me up.”
“Seriously?”
“They all sucked but tried hard. Listened to instructions, did their homework, and never really improved, but void decks, they stuck to it and tipped generously. Pro tip, Raziks either don’t understand money or don’t care about it. When they score, it runs between their fingers like water.”
I watched for clues that she was messing with me, but my old CT seemed earnest. “Did they call a witness on the star map itself? Can you read it?”
“There was a closed meeting between the prosecutor, the defense attorney, the judge, and the navigation expert.”
“Please tell me you know who this person is and where I can find him or her or it.”
“Cabs.”
“Pardon? The cabbie is the expert on bloody star maps? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“He was a professor before they stripped him of his tenure on Avian Prime. Spent half a decade working dive clawgaves and giving plasma to earn enough money to eat and buy passage to Jenna’s World. Avians can give a lot of plasma, by the way. Human medics can use it.”
“You’re dumping knowledge on me like I just woke up from a long cryo-sleep.” The technology was imperfect, illegal, and never used, but the phrase remained in our lexicon. “We can share blood plasma?”
“That surprises you?”
“Yeah.” I shifted gears. “What was Cabs a professor of, and why did he get fired. That isn’t easy to do.”
“Theoretical Astronavigation and Presentation.”
I gave her a blank stare.
“Presentation refers to methods of organizing and communicating the theorems. He doesn’t blood paint but knows a lot about cultures who do—Ultar and Cogs, mostly. Computers are the most common methods of presentation and manipulation, but there are others I’d like to see someday. As for why he was fired, you’ll need to ask him. I don’t think it involves moral or legal violations.”
“What else is there?”
She looked at me like I was dense. “Politics.”
“Right. That checks out. What is the fastest way to become an outcast? Piss off someone with power. Why did he go to Jenna’s World?”
“Random selection—something a scientist having a crisis might do.”
Her point made me chuckle. Good old Cabs, dishing out the trash talk like a pro when he was probably the smartest person I’d ever met. He would get along well with Frank Mirrors and Peter Lehman, my resident intellectuals.
“His real name is Professor Vance Zek, aka Cabs,” Snow said. “Now it’s your turn. What the hell does all this mean?”
“Transit technology is failing. Travel between stars will be impractical in only a few years, maybe sooner. The Ultar may have instantaneous FTL tech that will make what we use irrelevant even before it breaks, or whatever is happening with it. Morales has an Ultar with important artifacts needed to activate the process, and I have a pair of Avians who can negotiate with the Ultar, to barter for the new FTL, presumably.”
“You’re making an ass out of you and me,” she said. “What makes you assume they can or will do that?”
“Everyone wants Ocantus’s discs and the Avian negotiators. Did I tell you about the Hammer rigs that attacked me?” I asked.
“We better get something to drink. This is going to be a long conversation. Do you have a rig?”
Something changed in her eyes, like she both wanted and didn’t want to be a combat tech again.
“I have 105.”
She closed her eyes, let out a breath, and smiled like the deck devil she’d always been. “This is going to be epic.”
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Wrath will return in STAR DEFENDER. Available on Amazon.
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