Star Brigade: Resurgent (Star Brigade Book 1) (29 page)

“Mark my words, Nwosu,” he called. “By this month’s end, you will be begging me to take the Brigade off your hands. If not, I’ll just take it anyway.”

But Habraum was already done with him. “Off you go,” He waved a dismissive hand at Greystone as he exited the HLHG Suite. Sam moved to leave when Habraum seized her roughly by the arm and leaned in close. “I don’t care that you’re one of our only seasoned Brigadiers left. Pull a stunt like that in public again, and what I said to V’Korram applies to
you
,” he said in a voice as cold and hard as stone.

Habraum watched Sam’s eyes fill with momentary fear, felt her tremble from top to bottom. The silence between them grew loaded and heated, as if no one else was around. After what felt like an eternity, Sam turned and stared straight ahead, her face a bloodless mask that revealed nothing. She gave a terse nod of acknowledgement.

Not good enough for Habraum. “I can’t
hear
you.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered stiffly. “Permission to have my arm back…sir.” Habraum released her from his grip. She marched out of the HLHG Suite, livid. In the past, he had usually soothed that hot temper of hers with a laugh and some calm words. Yet today’s appalling performances and what she pulled in front of Greystone soured Habraum to his core. Besides, if he let her actions go unanswered, Sam might never respect his new position. She needed to learn her place.

Habraum wheeled around on Honaa, despite their tenuous truce, steeling himself for a lecture of some sort. “I agree with you…on both areasss,” the Rothorid conceded wearily, much to Habraum’s surprise. “The performancesss are not up to Brigade ssstandard.” The veteran captain looked rather pallid in his maroon scales, and his ribbed tail hung limp as if he was having trouble holding it upright.

“Honaa,” Habraum began, concerned.

“Bessst we begin again tomorrow,” the Rothorid cut him off. He tread towards the exit, walking sluggishly as if he’d aged twenty years.

Lethe’s spindly fingers on his shoulder stopped the Cerc before he could follow his former mentor. “I will talk to him, after he is mentally and physically replenished. As you will with Sam, once she calms.”

Habraum almost objected, but fatigue made him grudgingly nod in agreement. His mind was so cluttered, he barely recalled the translifter back to his quarters. Soon the adrenaline wore off, and the soreness of training hit him like a hovertram. Again, he was glad he had made no more false promises to his dead wife. Star Brigade truly was a mess. Fixing it would take longer than a month or two, longer than he had hoped. How could Sam and Honaa let these Star Brigadiers, rookies or not, get so…disorganized?

You owe Star Brigade nothing,
a voice pleaded.
Walk away, before you get killed!
The voice had belonged to Mirräe Ivers, Jovian’s widow, after Habraum told her his intentions to return to Star Brigade. Mirräe, not wanting to attend another funeral, had walked out of his life in a rage. In his weariness, her words had been truer and sweeter than she had known. For a lingering moment Habraum wanted to leave; take Jeremy and go back to the simplicity of Covingshire on Terra Sollus.

Or better yet, head back to his homeworld Cercidale and his sprawling family of siblings and cousins. A smile tugged at his lips thinking of the family ranch, seeing his mum and dad. He missed his twin brother Heitheniel madly, and Jeremy would do well being around Heith’s four youngsters. Habraum’s second youngest brother Ronson had recently completed the mandatory two-year PLADECO service required of all young Cercs, and from what their father had inferred the younger Nwosu sorely needed some direction from the older brother he idolized. Then there was skinny little Olevander, the youngest Nwosu, almost finished with eleventh level schooling and would soon start his two years of military service. Habraum longed to muss up his sister Gillory’s bushy fro of hair again and hear all about her traveling doctor adventures. Even seeing Obarom, the younger brother Habraum liked the least, wouldn’t be so unwelcome—.

No
, Habraum forcibly pushed all the gooey nostalgia behind the unkind barrier named duty. He had given his word, promised Sam and Honaa and all these greenhorns that he’d fix things. Habraum would leave only after Star Brigade was whole again. Some bad training sessions and toothless threats from
A-TOM
Greystone would not sway him. The dim corridor leading to his quarters was close, but seemed to be miles away. Putting his hand on the access identifier next to his door, it beeped confirmation of his ID and slid open. Jeremy would be asleep by now. With clear effort Habraum stumbled in.

What greeted him was the sound of the holoview in the common room.

“Lights, dim,” he said distractedly. The illumination came instantly with a soft glow, showcasing his furnished apartment. The Cerc found it odd to see the tall and slim figure of the humanoid-like babysitting companiomech that watched his son standing in resting cycle near the kitchen. He found it even odder that the 60-inch holoview monitor, hovering before a wall in the common room, showcased the TransNet-friendly face of IPNN’s Pellagra Harrihu. Pellagra, another crimsonborn human, had an ever-chipper uptick to her northern Cercidalean brogue that always irritated Habraum.
Jeremy forgot to turn it off again,
Habraum grimaced as he heard the gist of Pellagra’s report.

“...numerous reports coming of a vicious attack of the predominantly human colony of Vesta. According to authorities, it is believed to be the work of the Korvenite Independence Front, which hasn’t been seen since its dissolution at the hands of the Union Command three years prior.”

Imagery of ruined neighborhoods and charred remnants flashed across the screen. Habraum frowned. The screen flashed back to Pellagra, whose face sported a scripted onscreen disdain. “Casualties maxed at fifty-four humans and the injured at eighty sentients before the colony’s Regulat intervened.”

Pellagra’s report continued as the holoview switched to real-time footage of Chouncilor Bogosian exiting a small cruiser on Galdor, smiling and waving to the crowd. The tall, wiry man strode proudly in a crisp crimson suit, flanked by his usual entourage of aides, advisors and Honor Guard. Habraum snorted with considerable disdain. Accompanying them were several towering Kedri warriors, all muscled like yosk bulls and decked out in dark metal armor, their facial expressions ranging from glares to scowls. There was no sign of the Sovereign Orok Kel in the gathering, which was expected. The Lord Imperator of the Kedri and their countless dependencies rarely left the star-spanning empire that he ruled.

“When the Chouncilor was asked about the recent Korvenite attacks,” Pellagra continued, “he had this to say: ‘The Union won’t be intimidated by gutless, xenophobic terrorists. The KIF will be dealt with. Nothing will stop the GUPR from building a long-lasting relationship with the Kedri—.’ ”

“HV off,” Habraum growled. The holoview screen and Pellagra’s chipper voice winked out. The Cerc honestly didn’t mind the Chouncilor; Bogosian was actually one of the better ones. Except that Habraum could not look past Bogosian’s shameless hatred toward Korvenites. With the stringent policies the Union leader had put on that species, Habraum couldn’t really blame them for rebelling again.

“I’m watching that, Daddy.” Habraum almost jumped in shock. Jeremy sat slouched on the couch behind his father, feet swinging off the edge. Dressed in oversized red pajamas, he regarded the Cerc seriously. “You said it’s rude to turn off the HV when someone is watching.”

“Why are you still up, sprout?” Habraum scolded. “And where’s the caremech watching you?”

“My caremech is prepping my bed. And I wanted to see why you forgot about today.” Jeremy hopped off the couch with an unwavering stare that made the Cerc feel as if he were looking into a mirror.

“What do you mean ‘about today?’” Habraum’s voice promptly died in his throat. He remembered.

“Oh no!” the Cerc slapped a hand on his forehead. “The polymaero season opener! It totally skidded off my thoughts!” The Quinchester Transients versus the South Sheffield Knights at the Eastland Sphere, the legendary rivalry in the popular sport of polymaero—at Terra Sollus’s biggest sports arena.

Originating on Galdor as an underwater sport, polymaero’s aquatic elements were traded in for maneuverable antigravity suits that the seven-player team donned while trying to toss or whack a large bouncing ball into the goal of the opposition. Both Habraum and Jeremy had been looking forward to this match for months. He had promised Jeremy that he would be home in time to watch the matchup tonight. “Sorry sprout! Work ran far too long,” he moved forward to contritely embrace his son…

…but Jeremy backpedaled, wanting none of that. Habraum froze, surprised and a little hurt.

“Daddy,” the boy began, as soberly as a seven year old could. “I know that you want Star Brigade to work and stuff. But you forgot a lot of things like this before Mommy died, and it really sucked for her.”

Habraum flinched at those words. “We don’t say ‘suck’,” he snapped, trying to regain some footing.

“It hurt her feelings,” Jeremy amended, folding his arms like Habraum. “It hurt my feelings, too.” The Cerc gaped. Suddenly, Star Brigade could have blown up in his face for all he cared. The guilt of letting his son down hit like a hard slap. Habraum had sworn that he’d be more present for Jeremy, unlike before.
Unlike my dad, constantly on freighter runs.
Yet despite his goals, history was repeating.

Jeremy fixed the saggy right pant leg on his pajamas and straightened up. “That’s all. Goodnight, Daddy.” With that the boy turned and shuffled up the stairs to his room.
Jennica would have known what to say, what to do.
Habraum, instead, stood like a mute statue in the dim light of the common room.

Later that night sleep came to Habraum in brief spurts, filled with dark dreams poisoned by present and past. Jeremy’s sullen disappointment…Jennica’s sad, resigned smile before she departed for Cercidale…Mirräe Ivers’s earthshaking fury after hearing that he was rejoining Star Brigade.…
his very massive and very dead teammate Pel Makenokom glowing brighter than a sun, ringed by a swarm of implacable foes. The determined look on Pel’s ursine features was forever burned into Habraum’s brain—right before the Suuruali discharged a swell of scorching light that swept everything away.

Habraum woke on his side with a start. He wasn’t alone in his bedroom.
Jeremy? No, the approaching footsteps were too feather-light with caution to be his son. Only one other had their bio pattern registered to access his quarters. A dizzying joy crashed over Habraum, washing away his fatigue and doubts about Star Brigade.

Guilt struck just as abruptly, jutting up through the joy like jagged rocks.
You chose her and became a widower for it.
The hole where his former team and wife once lived grew so cold it ached. Habraum shivered, despite being swaddled in bed sheets.

“Hi,” her whisper was husky and sheepish in the dark.

“Hey,” he turned his head halfway, remembering his harsh words from before. “About earlier…”

“You’re right.” The silky crumpling of sheets signaled her slipping into bed behind him. The drunken slur in her low and throaty voice was evident—as was the stink of liquor on her breath as she moved in close. “Honaa and I dropped the ball into a black hole. Those training sessions were horrible.”

Habraum couldn’t disagree with her there. “We’re all just knackered. Start fresh on the morrow?” he replied, biting back concern over her inebriated state. At least some things hadn’t changed.

“Totally.” She wreathed her arms around his torso and pressed herself firmly against his spine, nuzzling her nose into the nape of his neck. “Sorry for decking you.”

“I know,” Habraum sighed and relaxed into her embrace. The abnormal warmth from her shapely figure loosened the knots in his muscles straightaway. She felt feeling too good, too welcoming to pull away.

Moments later, sounds of her gentle snores filled his ears. For years this had been their shared custom on those long trips to and from away missions, just two teammates staving off the loneliness that accompanied the job. Habraum had never seen a need to forgive himself for this. He’d allowed nothing more than this to occur. Now with Jenn dead, he clung to anything that pulled him away from the icy void in his chest that could never be filled. Soon Habraum, too, drifted into a dreamless and steady slumber.

15.

Ymedes Slave Quarters was a perfect guide to the life of a Korvenite slave. Sold without any powers to their owners, they lived in undersized dwellings and worked until they were bone-tired. Most Korvenites worked as house servants and moisture collectors, others singers and dancers, a chosen few served as bed slaves for the wealthy. Brief respites happened here and there when some Korvenites would gather to play or dance to thaoque music. Elder slaves would reminisce about the idyllic Korvenite culture from times long before humans intruded.  Tharydane Eirrouma, born more than a decade after the Korvenites had been expelled from their homeworld, dismissed these stories as amusing tall tales. Growing up on Bimnorii, the only truths she knew were the cruelty and oppression that Korvenites were repeatedly subjected to.

Before her eyes these Slave Quarters, once crammed with hundreds of crestfallen Korvenites, was now a place where hope and joy bloomed anew. Tharydane gawked, unable to wrap her thoughts around these once familiar surroundings. The young Korvenite stood at the entrance of what used to be Masra’s place, which was smaller than her own bedroom. Now no walls separated any of the slave quarters. Somehow all the walls between the residences had been knocked down, combining them into one expansive space. The roofing was also gone, the outside walls being the only identifiable remnants of the slave quarters. All 300 of its inhabitants mingled, Mindspeaking or talking aloud in Korcei.