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Authors: Mike Kupari
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primary reason I wish to take the shorter route, even if it means risking transit through the Orlov’s Star system. It’s our best bet to recruit a team to accomplish our mission, and a good place to resupply and rearm. We’re not licensed to operate as privateers in the Arthurian system. We couldn’t purchase ordnance there. We will arm up on New Austin, recruit the ground team, and give the crew a little leave dirtside. It’ll be the last real break they get before the long trip to Zanzibar, and it’s going to add a couple of weeks to our journey. We’ll be making up for lost time after that, so there’ll be no time for delays.”
“At least New Austin will be warm,” Indira said. “I mean no offense, Captain, but your homeworld is cold. At least the part of it I saw was.”
Catherine smiled. “Indeed. That’s all I have for you. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be in my rack. Wolfram, the ship is yours. Dismissed.”
Chapter 4
New Austin
Lone Star System
Winchester Ranch, Laredo Territory
Southern Hemisphere
Chief Warrant Officer Marcus Winchester couldn’t hear anything over the ringing of his ears. He was confused, his brain in a fog. His helmet visor was cracked and covered with dirt, its internal heads-up display flickering and garbled. He was on his back, on the ground. There was gunfire all around, and the sound of men shouting. Bringing his hands up, Marcus struggled to yank the faceplate from his helmet, but something was wrong with his hands. He could barely feel anything from his left hand, and he had lost all dexterity. He couldn’t find the quick-release button. He tried to call for help, but the wind had been knocked out of him. Marcus couldn’t speak.
Hands pressed against his chest, though he could barely feel them through his armored vest. Someone was talking to him, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying through the fog in his brain. Moments later piercing white light blinded him as his helmet was pulled off his head.
“Chief!” the young Espatier said. “Hold on, we got you. Medic!”
Squinting against the piercing, bluish daylight of an alien sky, Marcus turned his head. He saw her then, the young girl he’d been talking to when the device detonated. She was face down in the mud, her lavender scarf stained with blood. She wasn’t moving. Marcus reached out for her, extending his left arm, only to realize how badly mangled his hand was. Bone protruded from a gory wound, and two of his fingers were hanging on only by strings of tissue. There was no blood, just his fingers dangling from sinew like fruit on a tree limb.
Sitting up abruptly, Marcus reflexively checked his left hand. His heart raced and he was sweating heavily. Where am I? After a moment, he realized he was in his bedroom. It was dark. He carefully rubbed his left hand with his right. He could just barely feel the scar from the reconstructive surgery where his hand had been repaired. His fingers were all attached. Of course they were. His fingers were still there because he wasn’t on war-torn Mildenhall anymore, and hadn’t been for years.
Taking a deep breath, hoping his heart rate would slow, Marcus rubbed his face with his hands. In his career with the Concordiat Espatier Corps, he’d seen a great deal, but nothing haunted him like Mildenhall. He’d killed men, lost friends in battle, even uncovered a mass grave of massacred civilians once, but the dead girl with the lavender scarf would never let go of him.
Although the pounding of his heart slowly receded, Marcus knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep. Next to him, Ellie was snoring peacefully, her hair splayed out over her pillow. At least he hadn’t woken her up this time. It worried her terribly when he had that dream. Marcus shook his head. There was nothing for it—might as well get up. He quietly slipped out of bed and dressed without turning on the light.
A while later, Marcus was focused on nothing but the slowly
“At least New Austin will be warm,” Indira said. “I mean no offense, Captain, but your homeworld is cold. At least the part of it I saw was.”
Catherine smiled. “Indeed. That’s all I have for you. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be in my rack. Wolfram, the ship is yours. Dismissed.”
Chapter 4
New Austin
Lone Star System
Winchester Ranch, Laredo Territory
Southern Hemisphere
Chief Warrant Officer Marcus Winchester couldn’t hear anything over the ringing of his ears. He was confused, his brain in a fog. His helmet visor was cracked and covered with dirt, its internal heads-up display flickering and garbled. He was on his back, on the ground. There was gunfire all around, and the sound of men shouting. Bringing his hands up, Marcus struggled to yank the faceplate from his helmet, but something was wrong with his hands. He could barely feel anything from his left hand, and he had lost all dexterity. He couldn’t find the quick-release button. He tried to call for help, but the wind had been knocked out of him. Marcus couldn’t speak.
Hands pressed against his chest, though he could barely feel them through his armored vest. Someone was talking to him, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying through the fog in his brain. Moments later piercing white light blinded him as his helmet was pulled off his head.
“Chief!” the young Espatier said. “Hold on, we got you. Medic!”
Squinting against the piercing, bluish daylight of an alien sky, Marcus turned his head. He saw her then, the young girl he’d been talking to when the device detonated. She was face down in the mud, her lavender scarf stained with blood. She wasn’t moving. Marcus reached out for her, extending his left arm, only to realize how badly mangled his hand was. Bone protruded from a gory wound, and two of his fingers were hanging on only by strings of tissue. There was no blood, just his fingers dangling from sinew like fruit on a tree limb.
Sitting up abruptly, Marcus reflexively checked his left hand. His heart raced and he was sweating heavily. Where am I? After a moment, he realized he was in his bedroom. It was dark. He carefully rubbed his left hand with his right. He could just barely feel the scar from the reconstructive surgery where his hand had been repaired. His fingers were all attached. Of course they were. His fingers were still there because he wasn’t on war-torn Mildenhall anymore, and hadn’t been for years.
Taking a deep breath, hoping his heart rate would slow, Marcus rubbed his face with his hands. In his career with the Concordiat Espatier Corps, he’d seen a great deal, but nothing haunted him like Mildenhall. He’d killed men, lost friends in battle, even uncovered a mass grave of massacred civilians once, but the dead girl with the lavender scarf would never let go of him.
Although the pounding of his heart slowly receded, Marcus knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep. Next to him, Ellie was snoring peacefully, her hair splayed out over her pillow. At least he hadn’t woken her up this time. It worried her terribly when he had that dream. Marcus shook his head. There was nothing for it—might as well get up. He quietly slipped out of bed and dressed without turning on the light.
A while later, Marcus was focused on nothing but the slowly
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