Bringing Stella Home (36 page)

For a brief moment, the
plasma fire along the maintenance corridor let up.
Now’s my chance,
he
realized. If he could follow Ilya and make a dash around the
corner, he just might make it. No time to think—it was now or
never.

He checked his RPV shield and ran out
into the corridor, spinning around to fire. The muzzle flash from
his weapon illuminated the darkness just enough for him to see the
Hameji soldiers charging. Bullets sizzled on his shield, filling
the air with an acrid metallic smell as they vaporized.

James stumbled and fell.

Time slowed to a crawl as his body
tumbled in midair. He could make out each individual bullet as it
hit his shield and fizzled. The RPV unit began to beep, a warning
that it was about to blow. He let go of his rifle and reached out
with his hands to brace himself. His muscles moved so slowly that
he felt as if he were swimming in a bowl of thick
porridge.

Pain flared across his shoulders and
back as his body hit the floor. Above him, bullets cut through the
air. He reached for his gun, but before he could grab it, a Hameji
soldier loomed over him, rifle leveled at James’s chest.

I’m sorry,
Stella
.

* * * * *

The boy without a name stood frozen to
the spot, finger on the trigger. The enemy soldier lay sprawled on
the ground, staring up at him in fright, completely
helpless.

Before he could fire, though,
something deep in his subconscious stopped him. In that
split-second of hesitation, he got a good look at the soldier’s
face. One moment, the battle lust filled his body. The next, a
shockwave of emotion blasted through him. It felt as if someone was
inside his head, screaming out in pain and horror. Time slowed, and
all the disjointed memories of his past life flooded back to
him.

I am not a
crybaby!

Yes you are.

Shut up—I hate
you!

The boy without a name shuddered and
let his weapon fall to the ground. Recognition exploded in his mind
like a bomb, making his head reel.

James,
he realized.
That is James, my
brother. And I am—

I am Ben.

In that instant, something shattered
deep in the recesses of his mind. He staggered and braced himself
against the wall, slipping off his helmet to get a breath of fresh
air. His platoon brothers were gone—he could no longer feel their
emotions, no longer reach out to them with his own. He felt empty
and alone and weak—

And free.

“
Ben?” James said, eyes
widening in surprise. “Ben, is that you?”

Ben’s mouth turned up in a smile.
“James,” he said. “Brother.”

Without warning, a hot pain seared
through his stomach. The eerie sizzle of plasma came to his ears,
the smell of melted flesh to his nose. A wave of adrenaline swept
over him, nearly making him swoon. He glanced down and saw a black
hole in his belly, white-hot plasma eating out his smoldering
intestines.

“
Ben? Ben!”

Someone had shot him from behind. As
he spun around to see who, his legs gave out underneath him. James
ran to his side as he collapsed on the floor.

“
Ben! No! Don’t
die—someone, help! Help me!”

Ben’s strength was fading; not much
longer, and it would all be over. As his broken body slipped into
unconsciousness, he reached up and touched his brother on the
cheek. James stopped and looked down at him, panic in his
eyes.

“
James,” Ben groaned. “I
love you.”

With those last words, his world
turned to darkness.

* * * * *

Danica huddled with her men behind a
makeshift barrier of old crates and spare parts. Gunfire flew over
their heads, while the acrid smell of plasma-scorched metal filled
her nose and mouth.

“
Get ready to fall back!”
she shouted to her men. Vaclav stopped returning fire long enough
to glance over at her.

“
Where?” he
shouted.

“
To the bridge.”

He shot her a hopeless look
that said
it’s over already.
Perhaps he was right, but Danica wasn’t about to
give up—not when any of her men might still survive. She gritted
her teeth and set her rifle to plasma, then ripped a grenade from
her belt.

Before she could throw it, the gunfire
stopped.

Danica frowned. An eerie silence fell
over the smoke-filled ship, broken only by the sizzle of cooling
plasma and the cries of the wounded and dying. Cautiously, she
peered over the edge of the makeshift barrier. Her eyes narrowed,
and slowly, carefully, she stood up from where she
knelt.

The Hameji soldiers stood in place, as
dumb and unmoving as statues. Even though they all had a clear shot
at her, none of them moved to take it. Encased in their armor, they
looked like so many robots shut down in the middle of
operation.

Off to the left, she heard an
unearthly scream. It sounded like James.

Danica didn’t know what was going on,
but she wasn’t about to stand around and ask. “Forward!” she
shouted to her men. “Charge!” As her men leaped over the barrier,
she returned the grenade to her belt—no use tearing up her ship any
more than she had to—and opened fire. The dozen Hameji soldiers in
the middle of the hallway went down like mannequins, gobs of
white-hot plasma melting through their armor in a matter of
seconds. One by one they toppled over, motionless as statues even
as her men blew them apart.

Then, movement to her left. Without
thinking, she dove to the ground. A plasma burst flew over her
head, barely missing her. She hit the deck and fired at her
attacker. The shot missed, but she got a good look at him—red
epaulets, with a black, razor-thin beard running along the edge of
his jaw.

The screaming came again, this time
much closer. It was James—no doubt about it. His cry rose in pitch
from a wail of mourning to a bloody scream of rage. He barreled out
of the corridor like a juggernaut, firing at everything in his
path.

His shots went wild, however. The
officer ducked behind his motionless soldiers and sprinted for the
end of the hallway. James screamed again and gave chase.

That kid is going to get
himself killed if I don’t stop him,
Danica
realized. She rose to her feet and ran after him.

Flashes of gunfire and plasma
illuminated the hall, and the Hameji began to stir. “Kill them
all!” Danica shouted. “Take no prisoners!” Off to the right, Maria
ran out from a connecting passageway with a squad that had somehow
survived the initial firefight. They whooped as they blasted the
confused Hameji soldiers to pieces.

Beyond them, Danica watched as James
followed the Hameji officer through the airlock. She
cursed—attacking the Hameji on their own ship was the height of
stupidity. If the enemy undocked, he would be gone—the only way to
stop that was to seize control of the transport before they
could.

“
Forward!” she shouted to
her men, leading the charge.

The interior of the Hameji
transport was not very different from the
Tajji Flame
. Lights were dim,
corridors worn and unpainted. If it weren’t for the battle raging
around her, Danica might have been surprised.

She rounded a bend and ran into the
bodies of two Hameji technicians staring up in the air in their
final death throes. Blood gushed from their unarmored chests and
pooled in growing puddles on the floor. Further ahead, James had
stopped screaming.

Gunshots sounded—projectile guns, not
plasma. Danica ran without stopping until she burst onto the
bridge.

Blood lay splattered against the
controls. A dead body lay sprawled on top of the navigational
computer, riddled with bullets. Sparks fell from a shattered
monitor on the ceiling, while the displays flickered and died.
James stood in the middle of it all, the only man still
alive.

My God
, Danica thought as she surveyed the scene.
He took the bridge all by himself.
Only a week ago, she had still doubted whether he
could hold his own in a battle. Now, through bravery or stupidity
or both, he had seized the Hameji transport.

But by Earth, he looked
awful.

His eyes were bloodshot and unfocused,
his breathing short and quick. His skin was deathly pale, and
trauma was written all over his face. He no longer looked like a
sheltered little boy—he looked like a killer.

“
Got away,” said James. His
voice sounded wooden and hollow.

“
Who?” Danica
asked.

“
The—the man.” He pointed
to an emergency escape pod hatch and said no more.

Footsteps sounded behind them. Maria
rushed onto the bridge, accompanied by three privates.

“
What’s going
on?”

“
We’ve taken the bridge,”
said Danica, regaining her composure. “Have you secured the rest of
the ship?”

“
More or less,” said Maria.
“Most of the Hameji are dead—we’re just mopping up survivors at
this point.”

“
Good.”

An idea came to her mind. “Anya,” she
said over her headset. “Get over here, double fast.”

“
Where?” her voice
cackled.

“
The bridge of the Hameji
ship. Their jump drive is still operational, and if we
can—”

“
Got it. On my
way.”

Danica cut the connection and turned
to James. He had collapsed to his knees in the middle of the
floor.

“
Ensign?” she said, putting
a hand on his shoulder. “Ensign, what’s wrong?”

“
Ben,” he said. His eyes
brimmed with tears, his face a picture of anguish.

“
Ben? What do you
mean?”

“
He’s gone.”

Chapter 18

The courtship was very brief. Stella
barely met with Qasar more than five times before the wedding. At
first, she worried that he would draw a connection between her and
Borta’s murder; Narju had been her servant, after all, and rumors
had already begun to spread of a connection. If he suspected her,
however, he never did anything about it. Tamu told her it was
because he’d only married Borta for political reasons, and that
they’d had a minor falling-out, which accounted for the
surprisingly brief mourning period.

Stella did not find this
comforting.

For the wedding, almost half the ships
in the Hameji fleet joined together in a massive circle, linking
their observation decks into one continuous ring. From her seat,
Stella saw the three dozen Hameji ships spread out, nose to nose.
Beyond them lay the stars of her childhood.

Even through the silk veil
that covered her face, she recognized the familiar constellations
of home. After more than two months on board the
Lion of Tenguri,
the
familiar sight threatened to break her down on the spot. She bit
her lip and tried very hard not to cry.

Hundreds of guests crowded the deck,
gorging themselves on the feast that Qasar had set out for the
occasion. Tables ringed the room, brimming with sweet meats, crispy
pastries, plump hydroponic fruits, and dozens of other exotic
dishes that Stella did not recognize. As the feast progressed,
rhythmic music played over the deck’s speakers, and the guests
began to sway and dance.

Stella spoke to no one the entire
evening. She sat on a jewel-studded chair on a raised platform.
Servants brought her food, so that she never left her seat. For a
little while, Qasar sat next to her, but soon he was mingling
freely among the guests, leaving her feeling nervous and abandoned.
Occasionally, someone came up to her and bowed, but beyond that no
one gave any indication of noticing her. Sitting in plain view of
everyone else, she felt like a trophy on display, something Qasar
had won and now wanted to show off.

Towards the end of the evening, the
room reeked of alcohol and vomit. Spilled food and drink covered
the floors, and drunken guests lays sprawled out across the floor.
With the stench of alcohol thick on his breath, Qasar took Stella
by the hand and led her out of the room.

Her knees felt weak as he led her down
the now-familiar corridor to the bedroom chamber. Her mind raced as
she tried desperately to think of a way to escape her wedding
night, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to break free of Qasar’s
grip. In his drunken state, she knew she wouldn’t be able to talk
her way out, either.

He led her into the bedroom, walls
draped in crimson. They were alone together. Without a word, Qasar
lifted her veil and gave her a sly, suggestive glance. Stella
trembled as he took her by the waist and pulled her onto the
bed.

* * * * *

Danica walked through the
carefully scrubbed corridors of the
Tajji
Flame,
staring numbly at the signs of
destruction and death.
Though the bodies
had been cleared and the floors scrubbed clean of blood, grim
reminders of the recent battle confronted her at every turn. The
thick, pervasive smell of disinfectants and chemical cleansers, the
gray resin masking the bullet holes and scorch marks in the
walls—all of it reminded her of the men she had failed to keep
alive.