Stars of Blood and Glory Read online

  When the door hissed shut for the last time, the girl slipped out from under the table like a cat, moving on her hands and feet while remaining out of sight. Her target stood gazing at the video feed on the wall, completely unaware of her presence. Heart racing, she reached to a pouch at her hip and pulled out a syringe filled with a clear serum.

  Kill him.

  In less than a second, she crossed the space between them and covered his mouth with her hand. He gasped in surprise, but before he could resist, she jammed the syringe into his neck, injecting the serum into his twitching flesh. His back arched, and he collapsed to the floor.

  “Who?” he croaked, staring up at her in horror. “Who ar—” His eyes rolled back in his head, and his body convulsed one last time before growing still.

  The girl stood over the body for several moments, savoring the rush that always followed each kill. This one had been clean—remarkably so. She admired her handiwork the way a painter might admire his art or a chess master the elegance of his game.

  She wasted little time reveling in her success, though. Before anyone else could discover her work, she was more than a light-year away.

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  If Roman Andrei Krikoryan felt anything anymore, he felt old. His bones ached and his joints felt sore, but those were only the echoes of his aging body—a body that was quickly becoming irrelevant. The simulators did a little to revitalize him, but it really made no difference anymore. No matter how often he returned to the artificial comforts of the dream world, he was still just an empty shell, a fragment of the man he used to be.

  “How are you feeling, Master Sergeant?”

  Roman grunted and sat up on the examining table. He flexed his left hand, observing the claw-like prosthetic fingers as they clenched and unclenched. Only minimal nerves ran beneath the durasteel plating, but he preferred it that way—the less he could feel, the less pain he had to deal with.

  “Every time you see me you are asking this question,” he said, glancing up at the young doctor who stood over him. “And every time my answer is not changed.”

  “Still, humor me.”

  He grunted again, turning the right side of his mouth up in a grin. “I do not feel anything, Lieutenant. I am machine.”

  Lieutenant Maia Avanadze nodded and pulled a strand of her jet-black hair behind her ear—such a youthful gesture. Roman’s mechanical eye registered her body heat as a soft infrared glow, making her look like an angel in her immaculately white uniform. She smiled at him, but her smile was one of pity and not of understanding.

  “Your prosthetics are all in working order,” she said. “I made some adjustments to your jaw, though—a couple of bolts had come loose, and a nerve ending was starting to grow into the empty socket.”

  “Perhaps you should become mechanic,” said Roman, chuckling as he put on the top half of his olive-green uniform. His thick chest hair extended across his right pectoral until his skin met the dull metallic sheen of the body plating on his collarbone. It took daily hormone injections and a rigorous workout routine to keep the biological half of his body from shriveling in comparison to his cyborg half, but even at his old age, he kept a strict daily regimen. That was one thing the prosthetics made easier—one reason he preferred them over a rejuvenation. Mechanical muscles could be fixed when they broke down.

  Lieutenant Maia gave him a sharp look. “I’m not just here to give your prosthetics a tune up, Sergeant. Your enhancements are designed to let you live, not to turn you into a machine.”

  “At my age, is there any difference?”

  She rolled her eyes, probably because she didn’t think he could see her. That was one advantage of the wide-angle lens he’d installed a few years back. He finished adjusting his uniform and pulled on the eye patch—it slightly impaired his vision across the visible spectrum, but it tended to set others at ease, which made social interactions easier. The subtle shift in Maia’s body heat confirmed as much.

  “I’ll see you back in in a week, then?” she asked.

  “Of course,” said Roman. “There is no face on this ship I would rather see.”

  She smiled in the way that young women smile at cute old men, and as Roman followed her to the door, he allowed himself to believe that it was genuine. A moment later, he stepped out of the medical bay, and the door slid shut with a sharp hiss.

  The Tajji Flame had hardly changed in the thirty or so standard years that Roman had served as her second-in-command. The personnel had come and gone—some, to more lucrative military contracting jobs, others to their deaths—but the old warship was one of the few remaining constants in his life. Her dimly lit corridors and dull metal walls were almost as drab as a prison, but he didn’t mind. In fact, it felt a little bit like his first assignment: a convoy support craft with a crew of barely fifty. The exposed wires running along the floor grating, however, reminded him that this was no Imperial warship. Thank the stars for that.

  At the end of the main corridor, he palmed open the door to the bridge and stepped inside. A little more than half a dozen chairs circled the room, all of them unoccupied. The main forward window offered a magnificent view of New Rigel V, a deep blue water world with clouds swirling above the hydrosphere like blemishes on a marble. Swarms of spacecraft glittered in the bright yellow sunlight, slipping past in their lower orbits while tiny shuttlecraft danced between them in a carefully coordinated ballet.

  In the center of the room, just behind the command chair, Captain Danica Nova stood in a crisp uniform with her hands clasped behind her, staring out at the view. Her dark hair was cropped at her shoulders, the short streaks of gray a sign of her age. She turned to face him, and he responded with a crisp salute.

  “Captain, sir.”

  “Master Sergeant Krikoryan,” she said, saluting him back. “At ease.”

  Roman nodded and rested his hands behind his back. “You wished to see me?”

  “Yes. How are you feeling?”

  “I am functional, Captain.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Did you give the Lieutenant a hard time?”

  “No more than usual.”

  “I should hope not. She only wants to look out for you, Sergeant—as do I.”

  He grunted. “Do not worry about me, Captain. I am fine.”

  Danica stared at him for a moment, as if looking through his cyborg shell to some part of him that only she could see. He flinched, and she turned her attention to the control panel in front of her.

  “I’m sure by now you’ve heard about the renewed hostilities in the Gamma sector,” she said as she typed in a series of commands. “It looks as if the Hameji are launching a major offensive.”

  “Such as last campaign in Oriana?”

  “No. Bigger.”

  “Good,” he said, relaxing a little. “It will be good for our men to see action. Have we received any new offers?”

  “Actually, it looks as if the Rigelans want to keep us under their employ. They’ve promised to renew our contract at four times the current rate.”

  Roman whistled out the corner of his mouth. “Four times? And this was starting price?”

  “Yes,” said Danica. “Of course, I negotiated it up to five. But their main battle fleet is almost ready to depart, and we still need a new cybernetics officer.”

  The main window turned into a massive display screen, the view of the planet fading out to black. A slightly unfocused picture appeared in the center, showing the face of a young woman with jet-black hair and expressionless eyes.

  “This is our prime applicant for the cybernetics post,” said Danica. “Her name is Rina Al-Najmi. She arrived at the main station less than an hour ago and wishes to conduct the interview as soon as possible. I told her to meet us at the airlock in fifteen minutes.”

  “This girl is prime applicant?” said Roman, pointing at the screen with a grunt. “She is too young—she cannot be more than twenty.”

  “Young, yes, but she’s alrea
dy quite accomplished. The Federation employed her in a number of intelligence gathering operations deep behind the Coreward front.”

  “She is number cruncher, then?”

  “Perhaps,” said Danica, “but she has some military training as well. I found her listed on a hit-and-run operation in the Gamma sector just a few months ago, though what role she played I don’t exactly know.”

  Roman nodded. “What else can you say about her?”

  “Surprisingly, not a lot. Either the Federation has been using her in some secret operations, or she’s very good at covering her tracks.” Danica stood up straight and turned to face him. “That’s why I want you to interview her. I need you to shake her up a little, get her to show her true character. Whatever impression she gives you, I want to hear about it.”

  “Understood.”

  “There is one more thing you should know,” said Danica, turning back to the computer. The picture disappeared, replaced with the girl’s identifying information. “It took me a while to discover her star of origin, but I found some records in the refugee data banks that indicate she’s from Gaia Nova.”

  Roman’s lips curled into a snarl. “So she is Gaian Imperial citizen, then?”

  “Probably—though she couldn’t have been older than five or six standard years old when the Empire fell. Either way, I don’t want you to let that color your perceptions of her. The days of the Empire are gone, and the revolution is long over. Wherever her loyalties lie, she poses no threat in that regard.”

  I am not so sure, Roman thought, keeping the comment to himself. A chime sounded, drawing Danica’s attention back to the computer.

  “That’s her,” she said, “showing up exactly when I told her to. Better get to work, Sergeant.”

  “Sir,” said Roman, giving Danica a sharp salute. He turned and walked off the bridge, clenching his prosthetic hand into a fist as he did so.

  * * * * *

  The airlock door hissed open, revealing the dockside chamber with its LED lights lining the windowless metal walls. The girl from the briefing stood on the other side, dressed in black. Roman narrowed his eyes; she looked even younger in person than she did on the display screen. At her full height, she barely came halfway up to his chest, and her arms were thin enough that he could probably touch his fingers together while gripping them. Even so, the gaze she fixed on him was as cold and unyielding as the depths of space.

  “Rina Al-Najmi,” said Roman. “You are here to interview for cybernetics position?”

  “Yes,” said the girl, her voice low but far from soft.

  He nodded. “Then come inside.”

  She stepped onto the Tajji Flame, and the airlock hissed shut behind her. Roman palmed open the door to the main corridor, coming face to face with Private Nikolai, one of his men.

  “Search her,” he ordered. Then, in Tajji, “Don’t be gentle.”

  Nikolai turned to the girl and motioned for her to stand with her arms outstretched on either side. She complied without a word, barely flinching even as he jostled her nearly off her feet. He pulled out a pistol from her belt and a laser-knife from her boot, but nothing else.

  “That’s all, sir,” he said, handing over the weapons. Roman nodded and motioned for the private to leave.

  “We will hold these while you are on board,” he told the girl. “You will receive them again when we are finished.”

  “Understood.”

  Roman led her down the main corridor to the enlisted mess hall on the main level. Because they were in port, the windowless room was completely empty. A handful of faded pinups graced the dull metal walls, while caged lights flickered overhead, making the place feel like the hold of a bulk freighter. Roman keyed a button to raise a bench from the floor and motioned for the girl to sit. He remained standing, hands clasped thoughtfully behind his back.

  “So,” he began, “I understand you wish to be our new cybernetics officer, yes?”

  “That is correct.”

  “What makes you think you are qualified for position?” he asked, pacing slowly around her.

  “A good cybernetics officer needs to be an expert at gaming systems and breaking rules,” she answered. “I have extensive experience at both—I believe my file speaks to that.”

  “No doubt. But what makes you think you belong with us?”

  He let the statement hang in the air, observing her reaction. Instead of answering, she waited patiently for him to explain himself. He pulled off his eye patch and met her eyes with both of his own.

  “If you wish to join our private military company, there is something you must know,” he said. “With few exceptions, we are all Tajji. During Imperial occupation of our homeworld, many of us fought as revolutionaries. None of us has any love for the Empire.”

  “Neither do I,” she said calmly. “My parents were desert tribesmen living outside of any government, and the New Gaian Empire collapsed when I was just a child. I never had any allegiance to it.”

  “Perhaps,” said Roman, narrowing his good eye. “But you are still Gaian, yes?”

  “Yes, I am. Will that be a problem?”

  He declined to answer, watching her closely for any sign of discomfort or weakness in her resolve. Despite how small and fragile she seemed, Roman had to admit that she knew how to carry herself.

  A glint on the back of her neck caught his eye, and he reached down with his prosthetic hand to touch it. In one swift, reflexive motion, she spun around and grabbed his hand, reaching up to jam her thumb into the crux of his elbow. When her fingers met his hardened durasteel prosthetic instead of an artery, she stiffened a little and let him go.

  Roman chuckled. “For one so small, your reflexes are impressive.”

  “Don’t touch me,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. It was evident she was talking about the neural implants in the back of her neck.

  “I see you have one, too,” he said, turning and pointing to his own. “Where did you get it?”

  No answer, but the coldness in the girl’s gaze had turned from indifference to anger.

  Come, Roman transmitted directly to her mind. Tell me, where did you get it?

  Her eyes widened. “How did you do that?”

  “It was not difficult, considering how you had already broken onto our ship’s private network. Perhaps there is something you are looking for? Or is this how you demonstrate your skills?”

  His questions finally broke through her impassiveness, if only for a fraction of a second. In that moment, however, he saw a surprising degree of vulnerability. Her pulse accelerated and her body heat began to increase, but she resumed the mask of indifference like a seasoned professional.

  “Simply testing for weaknesses,” she said, taking a barely suppressed breath. “It’s my field, after all.”

  Roman doubted she was telling the full truth, but for some reason he didn’t quite understand, he decided to let it go. Perhaps it was the momentary panic he’d seen when she’d realized he’d caught on to her. It made her seem more human, like a little girl trying desperately to fit into a world of cyborgs and soldiers. He could respect that kind of quality in a person—indeed, he couldn’t help but respect it.

  “Why do you wish to join with us?”

  “Your company was the first military force to win a direct engagement with the Hameji,” she said, falling into a practiced answer. “In addition, your team is small enough that your officers have a degree of flexibility that can’t be found on a Federation capital ship. For those reasons, I think I stand to gain more valuable experience from serving with you than with any other battle group.”

  “And why do you wish to be part of this war?”

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. “The Hameji destroyed my homeworld. Do I need another reason?”

  “No,” he said, scratching his chin. “I suppose not.”

  Though her voice lacked no conviction, her face was expressionless, her eyes strangely dull. If revenge was still
her primary motivation, the last few years must have taken the edge off of it. Not that he couldn’t sympathize—indeed, the Tajji Flame was full of ex-revolutionaries who were little more than drifters now, living from job to job with nothing left to fight for. But to see it in someone so young, that was unusual.

  “Have you ever killed a man?”

  “I have.”

  “Could you do it again, if necessary?”

  “I could.”

  The ease with which she answered the question made him raise an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  “Why would I want to become a mercenary if I couldn’t?”

  Good answer, Roman thought, chuckling to himself. The girl certainly wasn’t afraid to tell things like they were. There were a few more questions on his list, but he’d heard enough to form an opinion of her.

  “Thank you,” he said, unfolding his arms. “That is all. Stay here.”

  She nodded, the heat signature of her body betraying her anxiety. She wants this position, Roman thought to himself. She wants it very badly.

  “Wait,” she said, stopping him as he palmed open the door. “I didn’t get your name.”

  He turned slowly to face her, still sitting on the bench in the center of the empty room. “I am Master Sergeant Roman Andrei Krikoryan,” he said. “On Tajji Flame, I am second-in-command. Only our captain has served longer than I have. If she decides to hire you, you would do well to remember that.”

  She nodded. “I will, Sergeant.”

  * * * * *

  Roman paced the empty bridge while the watery world below slowly turned in the forward window. The dark blue crescent rapidly waned as they orbited over to the night side of the planet. All across the surface of the hydrosphere, little specks of light glimmered against a soft turquoise glow—enclaves of human settlement floating in a sea of bio-luminescence.

  The door hissed open, and Captain Danica Nova stepped through. Roman stood at attention and saluted.