Star Brigade: Resurgent (Star Brigade Book 1) (33 page)

The Cerc grimaced.
We’ll see in a moment.
He strode through the transparent sliding doors of his Ready Room outside the Command Center in an adjacent corridor. The layout wasn’t anything fancy; just a spacious adobe clay-colored room. Positioned in the office’s rear was a half-circle desk littered with datacards and a holographic, oval viewscreen sitting upright in its center. The rest of the room had all these odd consoles Habraum had no idea how to use, but planned on learning eventually.
A petty officer as an assistant might be in order
, he thought.

The long rectangular viewscreen wall behind him had a real-time display of Zeid’s upper atmosphere near the busiest hyperspace lanes. A blinking tab on his desk signaled the incoming transmission. Habraum reached his desk in four brisk strides, clicking on the console tab to accept.

Immediately his desk’s holographic viewscreen lit up, showing the antenna-like eyes and beaked mouth of Admiral Hollienurax. The Galdorian’s dark purple skin contrasted well with the sharply cut white and red colors of his admiral uniform.

“Admiral Hollienurax, this is a surprise,” Habraum managed a warm greeting.

“Captain, I know we already spoke this week about Star Brigade’s progress,” said the Admiral in a deep, reverberating Galdorian accent. “However, there will be a joint war games exercise the Defense Ministry is holding between UComm PLADECO, AeroFleet and Space Marine Corps near the Cercidalean System tomorrow afternoon. I want a combat team of your best Brigadiers there as well.”

For a long moment Habraum stared at the viewscreen, confused. The order sank in then, and his blood went cold. “Ad-Admiral, we discussed the Brigade’s status a few days back.”

“I know Habraum, but these Korvenite Independence Front attacks changed all that. UComm was ordered by the Chouncilor himself to make eliminating the KIF problem our top priority before the Union-Imperium Trade Merger date.

“After the Chouncilor’s order, the Ministry of Defense went through UComm’s various active divisions, a list that Star Brigade wasn’t on, per your recommendation.”

Habraum frowned. “But?”

“But Atom Greystone informed his superiors at the Ministry of Defense that you were being modest and Star Brigade was more than ready. Hence the Brigade is off the inactive list.”

Pure hate shivered through Habraum.
That vile fekwit.
“I see,” he said slowly, reclining in his seat.

“Now I know this is false,” Hollienurax assured the Cerc sincerely with a clack of his beak. “But Greystone’s lies reached far too many above my head. Refuting him now will look bad for both of you. Now there has to be a team of at least five Brigadiers ready for field combat. That should be enough for the UComm joint squadron, especially since it’s more of a strategy meeting.”

“Yes,” Habraum replied honestly. Aside from himself, Sam and Honaa, the Cerc could count any field-ready Brigadiers on one hand. “Yes, we have five, sir,” he stated, more to convince himself than Hollienurax.

“That should be fine then Habraum. No one expects full efficiency. I will send you the rendezvous coordinates and more details about this mission.”

“Understood, sir,” Habraum muttered distractedly.

The Admiral nodded and ended the transmission. As soon as the circular Star Brigade insignia appeared on the viewscreen Habraum called Greystone’s private line on Terra Sollus. While the transmission connected the Cerc closed his eyes, counting silently to ten so he would remain calm.

“Captain Nwosu,” Greystone announced with mocking respect. “I was expecting your—.”

“Cut the dreg,” Habraum snapped. Being calm was the farthest thought in his mind now that he saw Greystone’s smug mug. “You know that the Brigade isn’t ready for field action.”

Greystone feigned distress. “Don’t yell at me Habraum. This is your fault, not mine.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.” Greystone smiled cruelly. He lounged back in his chair, hands placed behind his head. “If you’d just given me control of Star Brigade, we could’ve worked together to realize its truest potential.”

A flush crept up Habraum’s neck. He itched to backhand that smirk off Greystone’s face. Unfortunately he was a world away. “I already know what you want the Brigade to be and it won’t happen,” Habraum fumed, tightly gripping under the table to control his mounting anger.

Greystone remained unruffled and arrogant. “I did ask nicely for control of the Brigade. It won’t be on me when Star Brigade falls flat on their collective faces.”

“So you’d risk lives, UComm and possibly civilian, all to swipe Star Brigade from me?”

“As long as you lose.” Greystone leaned forward, no longer smiling. “I warned you not to work against me, Cerc. And to think, you were supposed to be its savior—.”

Habraum hung up on him, unable to stomach anymore. The circular Brigade insignia reappeared on the viewscreen, spinning round and round. Habraum’s mind was a mess.

He knew blowing his top over Greystone’s deceit was pointless. That’s what the ill-made little cretin wanted. The Cerc racked his brains to come up with a fix to this potential disaster. Exposing Greystone would have to wait until after the exercise. But then, who knows who they’ll replace Greystone with?

It’s only a war games exercise, he told himself; mistakes would be made by every UComm division. But with how fragile the Brigade’s position was, Habraum was already pondering when Star Brigade started heading out on field missions after he left. What if the Defense Ministry or JSOG puts someone else in my stead that doesn’t have the Brigade’s best interests in mind? Habraum clenched his fists so tight his palms began to ache, trying not to think about after his departure. He was supposed to leave after everything was sorted.

You can’t leave them. You can’t leave her.

The words dangled off the tip of Habraum’s tongue. But the Cerc shook his head stubbornly, refusing to let them leave his lips. He had made promise to himself…and Jen to be a more present father, for the sake of Jeremy. If Habraum stayed too long…got too entrenched in Star Brigade…

Too late, lad.

The teamwork, the thrill of battle had gotten into his blood. Star Brigade was what he was made for.

Just say it.

Habraum had promised all these field operatives and support personnel that he would make things right. If not him, then who?

Say it!
“I can’t leave,” Habraum blurted out. He slouched back into his seat then as if deflated, breathing hard. The Cerc had expected more regret, more bitterness than he currently felt. Instead, there was relief…and freedom. He soaked in the buoyancy of the sensation for a long moment.

Habraum could be both, a dedicated Star Brigadier and a good father. He would do both.

“Time to go to work.” The Cerc needed to be someplace else… anyplace else except his office. His anger over Greystone’s meddling still hung heavy in the air. He tapped on his comm console, sending a transmission to Sam and Honaa that said, “Pilot Pub in fifteen. Urgent.”

The Cerc arrived five macroms early, traveling into Hollus’s lower, non-Star Brigade levels at the mostly vacant section of the starbase’s commerce bazaar. As long as Habraum had been with Star Brigade, a dingy little bar run by a few ex-AeroFleet pilots, called the Pilot Pub, had existed on Hollus Maddrone starbase. Its clientele included AeroFleet officers of course, other military personnel and employees of private security contractors passing through Hollus Maddrone for training missions or a brief stopover between military bases. Aeronauts visited Pilot Pub only to down some drinks, enjoy or mock or try one-upping whatever daredevil flying story’s being told by another patron and watch some interplanetary sports on the holoscreens—and not necessarily in that order.

Since he was a—
rogguts
he hated this term—‘war hero’, Habraum had never once paid for a drink here. This had at times been his place to unwind a bit after a mission. He acknowledged the greetings from the handful of patrons with a smile and a nod before looking toward the main bar.

The barkeep was a tall, angular humanoid female with an ocher complexion and slightly stooped shoulders. She swiftly dished out drinks and jokes to customers from behind the half-circular main bar, her weathered face and huge high-bridged nose brightened by an ultra-watt smile. By her naturally bald head and subtle, yet close-set vertical segmentation of her skin, she clearly hailed from the memberworld Ibris. Habraum gawked, not quite believing what he saw. But once the Cerc saw the same UComm AeroFleet insignia tattoo on her sleeveless left arm that matched his own along with the black crisscrossing tattoos on both forearms, the barkeep’s identity was confirmed.

“Is this a greybrick,” Habraum called out as he advanced, “or are they actually letting you bartend?”

The barkeep looked up and brightened at once. “Hiiiii! The Fearless Aviator returns to Pilot Pub.”

“By the Maker, Sollie! Come here,” Habraum opened his arms wide, never expecting to see retired AeroFleet pilot Solrao Ytod on that side of Pilot Pub’s main bar serving others. Solrao reached over the bar counter and the two shared a quick but enthusiastic embrace. It had been almost a decade since they had flown in the same flight group during the Ferronos Sector War, and almost a year since they had last spoken. Habraum had been too crippled with grief to say goodbye.

“Want anything?” she asked, pointing back at the full stock of liquor and other alcoholic drinks behind her. “Remember, your currency’s no good here.”

Habraum waved away the offer. “Thank you, but no. I’m here on business. How’d this come about?” he gestured sharply at her location.

“I’m a former pilot. I likes to drink,” Solrao said with a goofy shrug. Her chalk-white lips spreading into a shameless grin. “Working at Pilot Pub seems like a perfect fit.”

Habraum hid his disapproval behind a humorless bark of a laugh. Despite how much healthier Solrao now looked, Habraum couldn’t help but worry at the sight of his former flight group mate working behind a bar. The Ferronos Sector War had taken so much from them both. But unlike him, Solrao had never really come back whole. Habraum had felt a responsibility to help in any way possible, forgiving her more times than he could count. Yet still Solrao refused to forgive herself for her part in unintentionally getting Habraum captured by the Cybernarr. That guilt, coupled with being amongst the assault group that had discovered a Cybernarr site housing grisly experiments on Beridaas, had all but shattered the fun-loving, risk-taking pilot years ago.

Solrao rubbed at her ears, rippled columns of cartilage running up along the edges of both cheeks. “How are you…really?” she asked, her drowsy lilt becoming serious.

Jennica, her loving smile like sunshine. Habraum’s former Brigade combat team, all close friends, a force to be reckoned with. Those losses tasted like searing acid in his mouth. “I’m alive, love,” Habraum answered with a forced smile. Best that he deflect any more armor-piercing questions. “And you?”

“Much, much better,” Solrao brightened. Her irises were as white as her sclera, while limbal ring around each iris sported the same blood red as the pupil, typical for Ibrisian. “My therapy sessions with Lethe helped tons. Cuttin’ back on the boozing, too.”

“Oh, brilliant,” Habraum said, genuinely pleased by the news. It painted a much better picture than what he remembered of her from four years ago. When Habraum and his late wife had found her, one of the few pilots that Habraum considered a peer had been reduced to flying illegal smuggling runs on Bimnorii and Aramnorii of all places. All profits went straight toward Solrao’s ambitions of drinking herself to death. After dragging the Ibrisian back to Union Space, the Cerc had gotten her work transporting combat teams on Star Brigade missions. It had kept her life structured and too busy for non-stop boozing.

Let’s hope this barkeep rubbish doesn’t undo all that.
“If you ever want back into co-piloting on missions, let me know.”

“IF the Brigade’s still around, right?” Solrao chortled. At Habraum’s frigid look she quickly covered her loose lips with a five-fingered hand bearing an opposing thumb on either side of the palm.  “Oops, sorry.” Solrao always did have a tendency to think too loudly.

The Cerc didn’t take too much offense. “Honaa or Sam arrived here yet?”

“The latter, not the former.” Solrao thrust her outer left thumb at Pilot Pub’s rear. “At your old spot.”

“Thanks Sollie,” Habraum winked. He found Sam in the furthest corner booth of the bar. Sitting with her combat booted-feet up on the table, she daintily nursed a glass full of rosy Cressonish candywine. Before his sabbatical, Sam sometimes tagged along on his trips down here, mainly because the free drinks via association with Habraum. This booth had hosted countless drinks and deep conversations between them that lasted for orvs.

Sam was wearing brown cargo pants and a snug black version of those velvety kurthon zipped hoodies she favored, completing the casual look with silver hoop earrings and her hair pulled back in a taut bun. The subtle flashes on the lenses of her horn-rimmed glasses revealed Sam was reading data via her info-lenses’ data stream.

She thrust her cup in Habraum’s face as he approached, her way of saying hello. The Cerc sighed, knowing he’d get an earful until he partook, accepted her glass and tossed back a lengthy swallow. The candywine was so unbelievably tart and sweet, making him blink several times in shock.