Star Brigade: Resurgent (Star Brigade Book 1) Page 34

  She had a point. Habraum scratched the back of his head. “Thanks for the assist at the asteroid field.”

  “You requested my assistance; hence I am at your disposal.” Marguliese stared up at Habraum with an inscrutable half-smirk, which was as animated as her face had ever been.

  The Ready Room door hissed open. Sam barged in without introduction, her blond hair in a lank, loose ponytail. She had shed her field outfit for a magnezip hoodie and matching sweat pants of velvet dark green kurthon fabric. “Habraum we—.” She stopped and stared wide-eyed at the Cybernarr.

  Habraum turned toward Sam. “Commander.” Marguliese’s right eye flashed like a jagged cerulean starburst as her gaze met Sam’s. Habraum didn’t miss the glacial look of clear dislike between the two.

  Sam’s face stilled, giving away nothing as she watched the statuesque Cybernarr. “I need to speak with my superior officer. Alone.” Her low, husky voice was flat and adamant.

  Marguliese made no movement except with her eyes, two hard chips of deep azure studying Sam like an insect begging for a hard stomp. The Holy Twins only knew how Sam might’ve replied if Habraum didn’t intervene. “Maggie.”

  The Cybernarr nodded curtly and strode out of the room with brisk, regal strides.

  Once the door hissed close behind her, Habraum’s eyes settled back on his subordinate, and Sam’s on him. “Maggie?” she spat the name out as it were poisoned water. “You nicknamed it?”

  Habraum ignored the tantrum. “You came to talk? Talk. Or are you here to hit me again?”

  Sam’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t erupt…yet. “Heard you convinced Khrome. Now what? Or did you have a plan when you recruited that…automaton?” She was obviously still angry. But knowing Sam as well as he did, her wrath was no longer a bare-knuckled punch swinging at him like earlier. It seared beneath the surface of her impassive façade, which worried Habraum even more.

  He sighed and responded with chilled courtesy. “Khrome will inject a cloaking code into Marguliese as a precaution to shield her from Kedri or Thulican trackers. After Star Brigade is mission ready, I’ll inform Admiral Hollienurax himself about her. That way I control the narrative.”

  Sam regarded him through disbelieving russet-brown eyes. “Are. You. Shitting me?”

  “No greybrick, not about this.” Habraum shook his head. Today’s mêlées on and off the battlefield had drained him. “You didn’t react this way when I told you I stayed in contact with Marguliese.”

  “You weren’t inviting a Cybernarr into the Brigade,” Sam uttered each word with exaggerated calm.

  Another secret he’d confided in Sam instead of Jen, still tasting like ashes in his mouth. “It’s temporary. And I wouldn’t have even gone this route if these rookies weren’t so green,” Habraum said.

  “Even after the asteroid mines, you still don’t believe in these kids?”

  “Yes, the talent and potential is there,” the Cerc admitted readily, “but we got lucky today.”

  Sam glanced away from that obvious truth. “What can ‘Maggie’ do that you, Honaa and I can’t?”

  “She trains the Brigadiers in a short sum of time,” he stated, trying to make her understand, “while you, Honaa and I focus on dealing with the KIF.”

  Sam looked down to hide the unhappiness cracking through her visage. “There’s no scenario where you won’t end up in a megamax prison colony for treason at the ass end of the galaxy.”

  “I am well aware,” Habraum nodded with equal displeasure. If his choice prevented another Beridaas then he’d accept that fate. “At least I’ll have tried every option to whip the Brigade into shape.”

  She looked up, her eyes filled with that slow-burning anger…or was it passion? “And Jeremy?”

  Habraum grimaced. Again, he’d put the needs of Star Brigade before his son. One parent dead and another to jail? The shame of that fate for his son squeezed the air from the Cerc’s chest.

  When her question met silence, Sam’s smile cut like a knife. “Exactly. If you’re going to do something wrong, have the brains to do it right. If not, just get someone who knows how.”

  Habraum didn’t like that sneer any more than her tone. “What. Did. You. Do?”

  Sam shrugged blithely. “I made sure no one outside of Star Brigade learns what ‘Maggie’ really is.”

  Habraum bit on his lower lip, fury scorching through him. “Not your call. Undo whatever you did.”

  Sam folded both arms over her chest smugly. “I’ll file that request under ‘no fucking way.’”

  Habraum, barely choking back outrage, got in Sam’s face, dwarfing her by nearly a foot. “So it’s insubordination, then?” He let the threat linger in the air, a loaded pulse pistol he wasn’t afraid to use.

  His piercing glower seemed to daze Sam more than his words. She blinked rapidly and breathed deep to regain her resolve. “It’s me saving your ass, you stupid space jockey!”

  “How? By saddling me with a lie that could blow up in our faces?”

  “Not if we stick to the story,” Sam threw back casually. “You formed a relationship with a cybernetics microcorp on the planet Lelsoiim when you visited the Libratta Systems during your sabbatical. Marguliese is one of their combat synthorg prototypes. All the fake company details are foolproof to any prying eyes. When she leaves, we can explain it away to the prototype not working out.”

  Habraum stared back, speechless. Sam’s treks into this morally grey area displeased him more than she could know. The unapologetic attitude for her actions, rationalizing away any immoral aspects with such disturbing matter-of-factness. This remnant of Sam’s pre-Star Brigade life remained something she seemed unable, or in Habraum’s belief, unwilling to fully renounce.

  “How did you—?” he began to ask, but Sam put up a silencing hand.

  “We’re a team,” she said, her visage once again a mask that told no tales. “Your job is to lead, which means my job is clear the way so you can.”

  “Your job is to follow my orders,” Habraum threw back tersely, “even the ones you dislike.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “I know that.”

  “Do you? Or will I be forced out like Enothor was over the next decision you don’t agree with?”

  That made Sam’s features crumple with hurt. Habraum immediately regretted the sally, but not enough to forgive her going behind his back like she’d done with their previous superiors.

  They glared at each other, standing too close, the vitriol between them too intense. He wanted to grab Sam and shake her, scream until his words pierced her thick skull. He just wanted to…

  You know what you want, a voice chided. That’s why you couldn’t leave her for your own wife.

  “Captain Nwosu.”

  Lethe’s voice jerked him out of such thinking, thankfully. Habraum would have time for shame later. “Go ahead,” he replied in his most formal voice.

  “There’s a…situation in the Command Center.”

  Now what? Habraum eyed Sam inquisitively. She shrugged. Together they left his Ready Room and stepped onto the Command Center’s second tier, where someone was pontificating in accented Standard.

  “You of the Union gave us no choice but to fight for our race’s very survival. The Korvenites are languishing in rancid internment camps with no hope and no future.”

  The Command Center was packed with Brigade and station officials. On the far side of the second tier stood Lethe, Atom Greystone and now Marguliese as she walked up to join Habraum. He spied Honaa on the first tier. The Rothorid’s diamond-shaped ginger eyes were bulging. Whoever spoke on the main viewscreen had rendered everyone mute with shock.

  “The so-called intellectual races governing this Union are blinded by human lies. Those lies have reduced my race to a fraction of its size, robbed us of our homeworld Sollus. No longer.”

  “That voice.” Habraum turned to the Command Center’s main viewscreen, and almost dropped to his knees in shock. Marguliese was the only being who s
tayed neutral as she watched the viewscreen.

  On it was a Korvenite male; tall and supple with curly violet mane tumbling past his shoulders. His golden eyes brimmed with power—almost as if he spoke to each sentient directly.

  “It is Korvan’s decree that my species reclaim our world from humans and any race that supports them. And the decree of Korvan is the deed of Maelstrom.”

  “Maelstrom, leader of the Korvenite Independence Front,” Marguliese said quietly. “Curious, all records indicate his demise over two years ago.”

  Habraum angrily sucked on his teeth. Guess I’m not picking up Jeremy in an orv after all.

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to the amazing editors of my book’s first edition; Crazy Mike, Angela, Rachel (twice) who helped rein in my crazier ideas and helped me hone in more on my characters. Lots of thanks to Joseph, Jaime, Evin, and Natalia for beta reading. Stephanie, thank you for that final proofreading polish. Special thanks to John Zaozirny for your honest feedback and for bringing the idea of eBook publishing to my attention. To Matt Sherwood, for making my ugly Star Brigade logo look pretty, to Derek Murphy for giving my book cover a much needed makeover. And a big thanks of course my mom and older sisters, without you I would never have been able to dream big.

  Lexicon

  A.N.T. – The PLADECO Aerial, Terrestrial & Nautical Infantry.

  Albrit – Albion British

  Càochutiya – Earthborn swearword for dumb fuck, a fusion of Mandarin and Hindi.

  Cerc – Slang term for Cercidalean.

  Crimsonborn – a term that describes humans native to the planet Cercidale.

  Dēvatā Gāisǐ de – Earthborn swearword for goddamn it, a fusion of Mandarin and Hindi.

  Earthborn – a term that describes humans native to the planet Earth, Terra Sollus and their respective colonies.

  Gadhuā – Earthborn swearword for asshole, a fusion of Mandarin and Hindi.

  GUPR – The Galactic Union of Planetary Republics, a star-spanning hyperpower located in the Milky Way.

  Imperium Common Tongue – The main language spoken within the Kedri Imperium by Kedri and some non-Kedri.

  JSOG – UComm Joint Special Operations Group

  Korcei – The native tongue of the Korvenite species.

  Macrom – Union unit of time

  Maicào – Earthborn swearword for motherfucker, a fusion of Mandarin and Hindi.

  Martianborn – a term that describes humans native to the planet Mars and its respective colonies.

  Maximum – the blanket term used for sentient beings exhibiting abilities beyond the normal potential of their species.

  Nanoclic – Union unit of time

  Orv – Union unit of time

  PLADECO – Union Command Planetary Defense Corps, the arm of Union Command tasked for the non-aerospace defense of Union memberworlds.

  Port Speak – A verbal and non-verbal dialect used mainly at interplanetary spaceports that includes a mix of several foreign dialects, including Standard.

  Rogguts – A Cercidalean expression that conveys surprise or annoyance.

  Sprout – Cercidalean slang for a child or young person.

  Standard Speak – The main language spoken within Union Space. Bears a strong resemblance to the Old Earth dialect of English.

  Star Brigade – Strategic Assault & Reconnaissance Brigade, an Beta-Tier JSOG unit.

  Stormborn – a term that describes humans native to the planet Pogoll and its respective colonies.

  Tattshǐ – Earthborn swearword for shit, a fusion of Mandarin and Hindi.

  Transmat – Transmaterialization, or teleporting matter across vast distances.

  TriTran – 3-Dimensional Transponder used for hologram communications.

  TROJAN – The Space Marine Tactical Reconnaissance Operations and Infiltration Regiment, an Alpha-Tier JSOG unit.

  UComm – Union Command Armada, the Galactic Union’s military arm.

  UIB – Union Intelligence Bureau, the agency which heads the Galactic Union’s intelligence community.

  PREY

  A Short Story

  “This is a terrible idea,” Ella Valdés grumbled under her breath. She sat alone, at a puny corner booth in the putrid and crammed Hugrask’s Hostellaris. To a casual observer, Ella was just another human prospector nursing a drink after a long day of unsuccessful mining beneath Bimnorii’s sand dunes. That’s how Ella preferred it, or else her job would become much harder.

  As usual, Bimnorii was an ungodly oven, even at the end of the day. Noriida Major’s sunset cast a deep crimson glow over the mishmash of buildings that made up Rimhara, Bimnorii’s largest city-state.

  Tonight, Ella had opted to wear only a snug, black armorweave vest over a dark tank top, a sleek khaki utility belt over kurthahide and obsidian nanoclothe pants, along with dark, knee-high buckle combat boots. She carried a smaller pulse pistol tucked in her pants underneath the vest. A larger, more visible firearm would draw the worst kind of heat in a place as dangerous as Rimhara, which was why she prepped hidden weapons in each slim forearm-length gauntlet.

  Ella wiped away the sweat beading on her brow, silently cursing Bimnorii’s dry heat. Even with a temperature controller embedded in her clothes and coolers positioned all over this hostellaris, she could feel her light olive skin desiccating in protest. The human patted down her neck with a sodden napkin for probably the fortieth time in the past orv, observing any potential threats with beady, dark eyes.

  As small as Hugrask’s Hostellaris looked on the outside, this place really packed in a crowd. Under the dim blue lights, yellowish clouds pumped incessantly from the long pipes of patrons getting high on bimweed, coalescing into a greenish miasma. That made Ella nauseous when she focused on it too long.

  The haze did little to obscure such a disreputable gathering of smugglers, space pirates and overall lowlifes from every ass end of the known cosmos. Three hulking Kedri mercenaries, obvious by their scaly blue hides, bright mohawk-mullet manes and heavy, overarched brows sat in a bigger corner booth next to hers. They spoke in the raucous Kedri Common Tongue, downing hard syrupy liquor in pails the size of Ella’s head.

  Numerous mercenaries and bounty hunters swaggered through the crowd like kings of the universe, making sure their weapons were visible enough to ward off would-be troublemakers. Somewhere else, a verbal argument between a Cressonish and a Kintarian kept fading in and out of the general roar.

  A pair of Nnaxan females, their craniowhisks trembling lustily and tumbling down to their asses, weaved through the dense crowd with what they considered their sexiest sashays, catching the attention of many drunk and lonely males. Phrynes were the Nnaxans’ official titles, but to Ella they were straight up prostitutes. The whores purposely avoided the far left of the hostellaris, where many rowdy patrons hollered at some performance Ella couldn’t see.

  Searing melodies of string instruments reached above the noisy tumult, a total contradiction to the grimy watering hole with its heaving press of patrons. The ugly clash of yowling and gargled dialects always seemed to teeter dangerously toward physical conflict. Ella could taste the constant threat of violence beneath the surface just waiting to erupt. But she knew the simmering menace was endemic on Bimnorii, no matter which part of this hellhole she’d been on. Ella had heard cryptic asides and angry snippets of some gruesome bloodbath in Rimhara’s sister city-state, Ymedes. As soon as Ella confirmed whatever happened in Ymedes didn’t mess with her job, she tuned out the gruesome specifics.

  Dangerous surroundings aside, Ella wasn’t afraid, just alert…and angry. She hated fucking Bimnorii and its never-ending fucking desert. But since taking up the bounty hunter trade, Ella kept finding herself back on this dried-out tattshi ball. It was like some sand-covered magnet that kept drawing her back no matter how far she traveled away from it.

  The reason for her latest visit was the same as always—a job.

  This latest one involved hunting quarry from a seldom see
n species. After Ella and Jaellyn’s fruitless two weeks of searching several worlds in the Lawless Regions, a reliable, yet very expensive contact had tipped them off to a member of this elusive species surfacing on Bimnorii. She scanned the crowd more times than she could count, toying idly with wavy, raven-black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail at the nape of her neck. According to their contact, the quarry frequented this hostellaris. Yet, in the past two orvs, Ella had seen nothing resembling the beast in the holoimage she and her partner had received.

  “You’ve said how bad my idea is three times already,” snapped a clipped voice on Ella’s concealed earcom. That would be Jaellyn, her bounty-hunting partner, waiting somewhere outside of Hugrask’s for Ella to lure their target into the open.

  “I’m repeating that to make sure you know,” Ella hissed under her breath, but the hostellaris music and uproar was so loud, no one would hear her anyway. “We could get nothing, or I could get killed.”

  “I won’t let that happen,” Jaellyn stated with sternness that Ella found comforting. The Tarkathian continued, “Unless you have a better idea on luring out our mark, then by all means, state it.”

  Ella had no comeback for that. She could almost picture Jaellyn’s smug look. “That’s what I thought, silly human,” the Tarkathian stated. “And stop rolling your eyes.”

  Ella, in mid-eye roll, scowled and continued nursing her reddish Rimhara Bitter Sour, wishing for a stronger drink. Now was one of those times Ella almost forgot her partner was younger than her—as in thirteen years old, and trained since birth to hunt in a culture deeming that acceptable.