Her mother was her sun.
From the very beginning she gave Naero life, as suns gave life to their planets. Naero’s life revolved around her mom, following her mother’s cycles and becoming part of them. Her mother warmed her, nourished her. She helped Naero grow, smile, and dance.
She taught Naero everything. To laugh, to love, to learn–to fight and always try hard.
Her mother was her light in the darkness, and without her now, Naero learned what true darkness and sorrow were all over again.
Yet her mother also taught Naero to shine on her own, to become her own light. To pull away from even her mother and move through the universe under her own power and force or will, with joy and confidence.
All these things her mother taught her and more.
Naero sat naked in the darkness of her cluttered quarters with the lights and screens off. Everything off. She wrapped her arms around her shins, hugging her knees to her hot, wet face. Her gleaming, long, blue-black geisha hair–another gift from her beautiful mother–draped around her small tight body like a veil, like a dark shroud over her shuddering alabaster flesh.
She had hardly picked at her dinner in the mess hall before shutting herself up within her secondary quarters on board The Shinai, the second largest starfreighter in the fleet. The vessel was a formidable, 600 ton Enforcer Class, built by Joshua Tech.
The Slipper landed next to them. Naero recognized the high pitched whine of its signature, Armstrong Corps Tech A-38J engines as they cycled down. Naero and Jan had personally helped their aunt replace one of those massive engines on the port side.
She couldn’t cry in the dark forever. Her parents wouldn’t want that.
Naero slipped back into the second-skin comfort of her black flight togs and tried her com again. She loved the soft, glove-firm feel of Nytex on her body as it compressed and seemed to hold her together.
Aunt Sleak was still unavailable, busy with high-level trade negotiations, as usual.
Naero also felt pretty sure her aunt scrambled to gain more detailed info on the loss of The Omaria’s expedition.
Whatever their differences, this was a Clan matter, and the two Maeris sisters had always been close. Aunt Sleak also liked and deeply respected Naero’s father, perhaps because of his reputation as a champion fighter on the Galactic Fight Circuit, much like herself and Naero’s mother in their younger days.
When she activated them with her fingertips, Naero’s walls flashed alive with past dreams. Now such dreams sped even further away from her new reality.
Images and schematics of trade and merchant ships, transports, and fighters of every make and manufacturer.
From an early age, practically every Spacer worked toward and dreamed about owning their own ship, or at the very least a share in one.
Her mother, Lythe Ivala Maeris, had purchased and captained her first tiny ship right at her coming of age of twenty. That vessel was an old, obsolete craft that she barely kept flying.
Yet it was all the start Lythe needed, and she expanded her merchant fleet from there, thriving and even surviving the Spacer Wars long enough to train with the Spacer Mystics and become a champion competitive fighter along with her older sister, snag a fine husband, combine forces and fortunes, and have a family. A full life for anyone. A life to be proud of.
Naero turned twenty in about a year, just a few months.
She somehow doubted that her coming of age would hold so much promise.
She stared at her silly, childish dreams flitting across her wallscreens. Sleek new ships, top-of-the-line craft.
Way beyond anything she could ever hope to afford.
Especially now.
One by one, she deleted and trashed those stupid pipe dreams. She could not afford to be a child any longer, living on whims and fantasies. If she was going to make anything of herself now, she’d have to do it all on her own.
She stopped at the specs and schematics for her parents’ flagship, and the lesser support ships of their lost expedition. She’d keep them.
Her father and especially her mother had been so proud of The Omaria. They had traded for years, saving their profits, selling everything they owned–including their combined merchant fleet–to their second-in-command, Aunt Sleak. All to have Joshua Tech custom design The Omaria just for them. The planned to spend the rest of their lives together, exploring the wonders of the perilous Unknown Sectors.
Now both they and their dreams were dust.
Naero checked the report updates on the webnet news blurts and the INS Spacer channels.
From what little was still known, their expedition had been intercepted by a vastly superior, unregistered naval force of mysterious origin.
Conspiracy nuts rambled on about secret alien races, mysterious super fleets, and looming massive invasions of extermination.
But everyone guessed at the perpetrators–filthy Matayan bastards.
No warning, most likely. No attempt to capture or board. The enemy fell upon the expedition in deep space and opened fire. There was no chance of any help reaching the expedition way out in the middle of nowhere.
Many presumed that the expedition, trapped and hopelessly outgunned, put up a fight briefly, right before it got blasted into oblivion. The brazen, overwhelming attack had reduced The Omaria and the support ships of her expedition to nothing but shattered wreckage, floating and spinning off into eternity.
The location was somewhere along the borders of Omni Corps known space and the Spacer Extents, near the ancient lost Cumi Regions of the Sagittarius Coreward Arm.
Several Corps Navies had nevertheless raced at top speed to the scene, promising full investigations.
Naero punched up holovids and stills of her parents–laughing, smiling, kissing. Images from during and after their days on the Galactic fighting circuits. Later shots with her or Janner growing up, or all of them together.
She filled her blank walls with a wild flurry of memory.
They all had looked so happy, less than a year before.
Naero reached out and tried to touch her parents’ faces on the screens. She recalled something her father told her.
“It’s all right to have your eyes on the stars, spacechild. Just keep your hands sure and steady on the controls.”
She considered performing Shekanda, the Spacer act of shouting at the stars. A form of spiritual and emotional catharsis to release tension and pent up thoughts and emotions. Usually it was done in private, in space. But not always.
Yet another stab of agony in her skull. She dropped and put her head between her knees at this one, gasping and focusing on her breathing–letting it rip through her and pass.
Zhen said she’d pay a price for those psy-drugs and wearing that trigger helmet. The spasms continued to hit without warning, on top of everything else Naero was dealing with.
No. She didn’t feel ready for Shekanda just yet.
Instead, she cycled through all the images of her parents from their years. She set them to play across her screenwalls in random waves and loops.
Memories and images. All she had left of them. And when last they parted, she had screamed at them like a spoiled brat not getting her way.
Hot tears fell again. Naero made no attempt to stop them.
Finally the timer on her wristcom went off, calling her back to duty.
Naero strapped her com back on her wrist, washed her face and tossed the wipe into the recycler.
She glanced around at the normal disarray of her quarters. She’d always told her parents, and then Aunt Sleak that she’d put her gear in order. Someday.
Silently she promised herself she’d straighten, like she always did to others. But at least this time she made her bunk and stowed it away.
It was a start.
She tried to contact Janner.
According to his server, Jan was already off duty in the starport somewhere. Perhaps that was a good sign, Jan was out shopping and goofing off with the Irpulian locals–like normal. And yet li
ke her, Jan had no great love for landers, either. Naero never understood why he spent so much time around them. She could take them or leave them.
Jan sought constant distraction and stimulation. She wondered if he might take off again, arranging for the fleet to pick him up somewhere else in a while.
He could always hitch a ride with one of the other Clans to link back up with them later. Jan did it all the time.
Naero secured her slightly less messy secondary quarters behind her.
She stopped at a terminal on her way out of the primary cargo bay to check the duty list. She uploaded her handcomp with third rank orders from the bridge–jobs at her level that still needed completion.
Captain Zalvano, the Fleet Second, noted her availability, and sent her to check on a delayed delivery from Triax Corp. An important shipment, but checking on it was still cake work. The Fleet Second was a good guy; he always tried to be nice to her.
With the Irpul-4 starport an Omni Corps base on a Triax world, their warehouses naturally stood closest to the starport, within a klick or two. The other Corps fanned out beyond that, each in their own heavily advertised sections. Blurt boards and holo screens advertised their various goods and services.
No sense taking a transport. She had her gravwing and she could walk there in twenty minutes. That would give her more time to think. By the time she got back, her shift would be over anyway. Then she’d snag Jan somehow and they’d have a long talk with Aunt Sleak about whatever she had learned.
She spotted Gallan and Saemar in Shinai’s primary loading bay, working glifters to help pack it full.
“What’s up?” Gallan called out, trying to read her face.
“Nothing much. Going to have words with a Triax shipper. They’re putting us off again for some unspecified reason.”
“Want someone to come with?”
Naero shook her head. “I can handle it.” She still wanted to lose herself somewhere, if only for a little while. Get away from everyone and everything. Like that was possible.
Perhaps Jan had the right idea
“Safe journey,” Saemar said.
“Watch out for the locals,” Gallan warned.
She snorted. “They’d better watch out for me.”
Despite Gallan’s cautions, Naero wasn’t too worried. She’d handled squabbles, prejudice, and fights with landers since she was a kid. She knew when to stand and when to run. Usually.
The world beyond the port and the bubble cities around the port was still somewhat foreboding, a thin harsh atmosphere with occasional caustic storms.
During jump she had studied how Irpul-4’s native plants, insects, and animals adapted, with mid-sized reptiles dominating the surfaces and the shallow seas. Feeble attempts had been made to terraform the planet, especially around the inhabited bands, but no one had done a proper job of it.
At least the air inside the domes was more or less breathable. Everyone in the fleet had taken an acclimating compensator dosage upon arrival. AC-Ds were SSP–Standard Spacer Procedure–for most non-normal atmospheres.
The autodirection feature in her comp led her through the net of avenues and buildings meshed together. Once out of the starport itself, she realized she wasn’t missing that much. Naero despised old Gigacorp starports and trade hubs all over again. Drab, uniform, no art, and no vision. The station at Irpul-4 was a classic example of their lack of style, nearly two centuries old.
What a dump.
Even several feeble revamps hadn’t helped the place over the years. In fact, most of the changes had been superficial, merely cosmetic. Some parts were from this era, other windows or facings, or screens or spolymers from an earlier time.
At some point, those in charge had simply given up, leaving a mis-mated hodgepodge of tek and style, spattered about like the worn refuse of several decades. Just another planetary trading slum.
And that was exactly what too many Gigacorp starports were like.
What a difference Spacer starports were. Each one gleamed beautiful and aesthetically unique–a challenge to the imagination.
It didn’t matter that she’d never been to Irpul-4 before. She’d dropped in on too many of its clones since she could float. And Triax, one of the oldest of the Corps, seemed no different.
She rounded a corner, pre-occupied with her own thoughts and the readouts and info on her comp.
She bumped right into someone very tall. The guy blotted out the weak sunlight.
Naero bounced off him as if he were made of duranadium. He was either in fantastic shape or a muscle-hyped Corps Sterodan. But they usually stank pretty bad.
This guy smelled of spice and citrus, a little cloying, but not unpleasant. And yet there was something else. What was his heavy cologne hiding from her sensitive nose?
“Excuse me,” he said. He stood very tall, well over two meters–taller than Gallan, but not as tall as her father. Naero stood almost three heads shorter by comparison.
She pulled back. His face was obscured by the sun directly behind him.
Too lanky and athletic to be a Sterodan. He wore expensive lander clothes, local high class business stuff, all brocade on shimmering velvet. Where was the guy’s retinue? Bodyguards? Funny thing, he wore no jewelry.
Landers often wore a lot of jewelry for some reason.
She moved slightly to one side to get a better look at him. Nothing about this guy was normal or ordinary. His eyes were sharply gray, almost darkened silver, deep and fierce like the gleam of blades. Naero caught his scent again and her mouth almost opened. The scent, the eyes, his bearing, no jewelry.
He was a Spacer. She’d bet serious creds on it.
What was he doing in gaudy local duds? Most Spacers despised dressing like landers, except when necessary. His smile seemed rather ironic, touches of amusement in his dark, grim face.
“Sorry,” she said. “No harm.” She went to veer around him, going back to her figures.
The stranger stepped in front of her this time.
Naero backed off slightly, automatically assuming a neutral defensive stance. Spacers seldom attacked each other without provocation. Yet even among themselves, there were rare renegades, criminals, and outcasts.
The big guy nodded, looking rather amused. “You show signs of prowess, but your training has been minimal.”
What was he talking about? Naero had been trained by the best. She was an expert fighter.
“Try me.”
He suppressed a slight chuckle. “Er, what I mean is excuse me, miss. I’m not trying to frighten you. I merely want to talk, not spar.”
“Then talk. I’m busy.”
He did chuckle. “A real charmer. You look like your mother, but you must take after your aunt.”
She glared up at him. How dare he compare her to–
“I’ll try not to detain you too long,” he said. “But I couldn’t help but notice from your togs that you’re with Sleak Maeris’s fleet?”
“Maybe. Who wants to know?”
“Let’s just say...an old family friend.”
“You got a name?”
His eyes softened and his smile left him. He seemed almost saddened as he spoke his name.
“Baeven. Your aunt knows me. Call her if you like, but she’ll probably curse. Our last meeting...went badly, I’m afraid. Entirely my fault, really. It usually is.”
Who was this guy?
“Tell her that I would like to meet with her again and make amends for Toraga-5. Are all three of her ships here?”
“Check the registry. Docking pool Gamma-78. And it’s five ships now.”
The stranger seemed impressed. “Five ships. Business must be good. My compliments.” He glanced at her rank again and bowed. “And as I have already guessed, you must be her niece, Naero Amashin Maeris.”
She bowed in return. “How do you know me?” She backed up a bit more. “If you have business with Aunt Sleak, go talk to her.”
“In time. Actually I came in part to see you,
and your brother–Janner Maeris Ramsey.”
Even more curious.
Most landers were completely ignorant of the fact that female Spacers took the Clan name of their mother, while Spacer males took the family name of their father. First or last names could be used as middle names. Amashin was the first name of Naero’s swordmaster grandfather, on her mother’s side.
“What do want with me and my brother?” Spacer or not, she suddenly did not like this character. If he knew so much already, why did he want to talk to them?
“A matter of grave importance, I’m afraid. One that your poor parents stumbled upon by unhappy chance.”
She almost took a step forward. “What do you know about any of that?”
His easy smile returned. “I am an old friend of the family, after all.”
“I never heard of you.”
His face darkened, as if out of deeper sadness. “That is not important. I tell you honestly how deeply I grieved to hear about your parents’ tragic demise. They deserved far better.”
“I bet.”
“They were very important to me in many ways, Naero. Your entire Clan is.”
“If you have something to tell me and Janner, then talk.”
“This is not a good place for what I have to say. It would be best if we could talk privately–in a secure area?”
“Come to The Shinai. If Aunt Sleak lets you on board, we’ll talk. Can’t you tell me anything?”
He tossed a crystal chip at her. Naero caught it.
“I paid a great deal for that bit of coded transmission,” he said. “That copy may be of interest to you. Break it carefully when you’re back on board your ship.”
Naero stored it in her comp.
Baeven lowered his voice. “Your parents’ deaths were not accidental, spacechild.”
“No shit. Everyone knows that. Most likely Matayan corsairs.”
“That, and much more. You knew the might of your parents’ ship, Naero. How heavily they armed it. What would you say if I told you that The Omaria and her expedition were intercepted and taken out...not only by the corsairs of the Matayan Cartels, but by thirty elite naval cruisers and three-score advanced heavy destroyers–all with the direct backing of several Gigacorps?”
Naero gasped. “What? Why?”
What could they have been exploring in the Unknown Sectors to bring that much firepower to bear against them? It didn’t make any sense.
“That’s where it gets interesting,” Baeven said. Then he glanced around once.
“I’m afraid I must be going. I’ll see you and Janner on board The Shinai.” He grinned wickedly. “If your aunt doesn’t vaporize me on sight.”
He turned away from her without another word.
Naero gasped. “What? You unload on me like that and then cut? Why not go back with me now?”
He shook his head, looking off in a certain direction. “Impossible. Some…rival associates of mine are heading this way. They can be very unpleasant when they wish to be. I suggest you continue on your duties so that they do not notice you. You and your brother should stay close to your Aunt Sleak and listen to her. Don’t take any unforeseen trips. Avoid strangers.”
“Yeah, like you,” she said.
“That, too, might have been wise. But there are powerful forces moving, applying vast resources at their command. I’m not sure yet how you and your brother fit into the game, Naero. Guard yourselves.”
Another quick glance from him made Naero check her six. In the distance, she heard the whine of vehicles.
When she turned back to speak to Baeven, she found herself alone in the alley once more.
Naero’s right hand went to the blade at her hip. The other brought up her handcomp.
A lifeform scan showed nothing. She activated her gravwing and popped up into the sky for an instant.
No one could move that fast. Did he have some kind of personal cloaker or gravunit? Rumors abounded concerning such devices.
Baeven had Shadowforce written all over him. What did her parents have to do with Spacer Intel?
What he told her made her nervous, paranoid, and all the more curious.
What in the hell had her parents been involved in that got them killed like that? What could they possibly have come across that the Corps would want so badly?
She recalled Baeven’s cautions suddenly and popped over a couple of blocks before anyone could spot her in that vicinity.
Naero de-activated her gravwing and picked her way cautiously through the alleys around the extensive Triax warehouses. She avoided the occasional derelict and roving groups of landers. Amid the refuse and isolation of the streets and alleys, she soon wished that she had brought Gallan along. She considered going back, but she was so close to her destination now that she figured she should go on.
Several muffled explosions suddenly rocked the starport in the direction Baeven had noted. Smoke rose up. Sirens converged.
Naero neared her goal and kept to her own business.
A few minutes later she argued with a head dock manager in a Triax Corp shipping office that smelled of dust and strange chemicals. He was a sweaty, frazzled little bald guy with thin wisps of hair around the sides and back as if he’d tried to pull the rest out with his hands and only partially succeeded.
“Bottom line,” she said, “we have a deal. Your people contracted our fleet to ship heavy machinery, vehicles, and robo-construction units to Epsilon Sextanis-6. Our ships leave tomorrow morning, with or without your goods. Either way, we still get paid.”
The little guy pleaded with her. “The schedule’s all goofed up. We’re overloaded. My people are working around the clock. We’ll get the shipment to you. I just don’t know when.”
She nodded and held up both hands. “That’s what you said earlier. Just remember, we get paid either way. You’ll have to explain it to your supers if we don’t have anything to deliver. Get the stuff to us tonight, or we’ll sell the space for something else.”
“May I be of service?” Both of them turned and gawked at the stunning woman who had just walked in.
Highbrow Corps woman from her clothes, showing one leg and one shoulder. That weird kind of lander style that seemed both slinky and yet professional.
Naero’s first impression was that there wasn’t anything modest about this woman. She was top Corps all the way, from her crystal shoes to the roots of each strand of her shimmering holographic hair.
Only the elite had the creds to flaunt that kind of style.
Her luxuriant green eyes locked onto Naero and gleamed. A hungry smile swelled her violet lips. Most Corps elites had that smile. This one was particularly avaricious.
The dock manager sweated torps suddenly. Apparently he knew who she was. “Lady Drianne Imiviel. I-I’m–”
“Honored, to be sure.” Naero heard movement outside of the office, and suddenly felt sorry for the dock manager. Busting his hump for the Corps and they didn’t even let him talk.
Lady Drianne didn’t even look at him. “Dock Manager Farris, we are conducting a surprise efficiency inspection.”
Farris paled like a moonrise. “B-but, we just had one two months ago! We p-passed in the ninetieth percentile!”
“Our records show you were warned about the inspection so that you had time to prepare.”
“I–”
“Don’t bother denying it. Your conspirators have already confessed and been demoted. Now, this shipper in question. What is the problem?”
“Look, it’s no problem,” Naero said.
“That will be determined.” A flash of that smile again. “Now, Mr. Farris. Why hasn’t your staff delivered Triax’s goods to this shipper in an efficient and timely manner?”
“It’s not my fault. Priority shipments came through, heavy military traffic. The locals...they just had a holiday a few days ago and the loading teams are all off speed. The Corps floaters and migrants I ordered haven’t all come in yet, and the ones I have came to me, uh...ba
dly trained and motivated. I’m doing the best with what I have. We’re a little behind, but she’ll get her goods.”
“Good enough,” Naero said. She turned to depart.
“A moment, young woman,” the Corps lady said. “I may need a report from you. Now, Mr. Farris, it seems that you’ve given certain shipments priority, and not just Corp-haulers over indeps. It appears that this cleverly veiled series of priority shipments matches investments made by other family and friends and acquaintances of yours, scattered over thirty or forty systems.”
Lady Drianne pressed a radiant jewel on her wristcomp.
Farris looked as if he’d been shoved out of an airlock. Naero yawned. It all wasn’t anything that any other dock alpha wouldn’t do.
She grew mildly curious as to why Triax Corps chose to roll over on this guy. He’d either gotten too greedy or hadn’t given the right supers a big enough cut. Either way, he’d torped off someone high up in Triax.
“We’ll talk, in your office, in one hour. Have your records ready for inspection.”
Two other Triax personnel and a bot joined them from just outside the doorway, stopping behind Lady Drianne. The foremost looked clerkish and efficient, no doubt the inspector. If the lady was a shark, this guy was a piranha.
The bot and the other person behind them were of interest. Bodyguards. Only the lander elites could afford bots. With their strong, independent need for competency and self-sufficiency, Spacers never relied on them.
This bot was a class eight Triaxian sec-bot, with some apparent modifications. It moved about fluidly, rearing up on four of its six legs. Its various recorders and scanners clicked and whirred, very insect-like, but it seemed focused on Naero for some reason. Lady Drianne spoke to the clerk.
“Inspector Cho, take my sec-drone and escort Mr. Farris. Make certain that he does not leave us, harm any records...or himself. Mr. Farris, your second? Mr. Farris?”
Farris looked dazed, then he punched up a micro-button on his finger band. “Hassan,” he said in a horse whisper. “Get up here right away. I don’t care what you’re doing. Get up here. Now!”
Farris drifted off in a fog, muttering to himself, flanked by the sec-bot and the clerk.
The second bodyguard stepped out of the shadows.
Not too ugly...for a Matayan goon.
He loomed tall and meaty, with a thick face and a bright, intricately braided blond horsetail. It clashed with his Corps primate suit.
Only blooded Matayan warriors could wear their hair long. Their nobility wore two or more braids to note their rank.
Naero wondered how many stars this chunk had on his chest, one for each ten kills. Ten stars earned the formal title of Slayer. Like most Matayan killers, he looked as if he enjoyed his work.
The form of a battle blade under his jacket was more than an ornament. She guessed he had several other concealed weapons on his person–just like herself.
Naero gave him her best girlish grin. In return, he locked eyes with her, glared, and curled his lips into an ugly sneer. If it came down to it, she might be able to take him with her speed, but it would be a tough fight. This guy was definitely a serious threat.
Lady Drianne finally turned back to her. “You’ll have your goods tonight...miss?”
“Maeris. Naero Amashin Maeris.”
She looked pleased. “With Sleak Maeris? When did she have a daughter?”
“She didn’t.” Naero could never imagine her aunt even holding a child, let alone one of her own. “I’m her niece.”
“I know your aunt well; give her my regards. I’ve brought plenty of associates with me to assist the new Acting Dock Manager. Triax apologizes for any inconvenience.”
Naero cursed to herself. “Associate” meant “slave” in Triax lingo. Floaters and migrants culled from the Corp’s systems, expendable freeze-ship labor, shunted about here and there. People were a cheap commodity. But the Corps didn’t waste anything, or anyone.
“Thank you,” Naero said. “I’ll tell my aunt you said hello.”
“Tell her to contact me. I might have something of interest for her fleet. Perhaps we’ll meet again, Miss Naero.”
“Perhaps,” Naero said. She left the loading dock, her gopher shift almost over. By now she had plenty to talk to Aunt Sleak about. And she wasn’t even back yet.
She didn’t have to glance behind to know that Lady Drianne and her Matayan goon stared after her, watching her leave. Her entire day continued to get creepier and more sinister.
Why did it suddenly seem as if everyone was so interested in her? That thought made her very uncomfortable.
She needed to make sure that she actually made it back to the fleet.
8