Destiny Abounds (Starlight Saga Book 1) (3 page)

Stepping inside, she likewise marveled at all of the extra space- the mostly empty cargo bay seemed cavernous by her standards, and could have easily belonged to an Arlesian ship thrice its size, a fact exacerbated by its meager population consisting of a scattered handful of crates. From her initial look around, the ship seemed clean, sturdy, furnished in more of that steely blue with accents of charcoal and black, and lit with an ambient pure blue-white light that clearly illuminated the interior without being abrasive to her eyes.

Straight ahead, they approached and ascended a narrow set of stairs with a sturdy railing, continuing into a hallway big enough for maybe four of her people to walk abreast. The main passage went both forward and back from there, and from what she could see, the doors to either side seemed to lead into the med-bay and a mess hall, or whatever these people called it. Glancing back down the hall, she noticed a door which, from its position in the ship, likely led to the engine room. Curiously enough, it seemed to be ever so slightly ajar.

“The medicinal chamber is right here, that is what passes for our dining hall and kitchen, and here there is one row of personnel quarters on either side of the stairway to the cargo area.” The Captain’s voice captured her attention. “The pilot’s area is up ahead. It is pretty nice, from what I understand; let us see what you can do with it,” She continued, confirming most of Merlo’s guesses, if not their exact placement.

Their booted feet fell with relative silence on the softer, covered strip that ran the length of the main hall of the starship as they walked the twenty meters or so to the sliding bridge door. Only the very barest of electronic humming intruded into the otherwise complete quiet; the ship’s hull kept out all the exterior noise of the Koltani stardock, leaving it to just that sound and whatever noises she and Branwen brought with them.

All the panels and displays flicked on by themselves as they entered, soft blues and greens inset onto the shiny, pitch black of their touch screens and controls. It was dimmer in here than in the rest of the ship, probably to help one focus properly, and the light given off by those panels formed the majority of the ambient light in the room. There appeared to be few to no holographic displays, but other than that, it didn’t look so bad. It was overall closer to a ship’s bridge than the cockpit layout she was used to, with plenty of space for them to stand, and a lot of room still to spare. Still foreign to her for the moment, of course, and definitively different from what she trained on for so long, but comparable enough that, if she could just have a moment…

1.4
- Branwen

Branwen paused speaking as Merlo slid into the pilot’s seat; she wasn’t sure the small girl was really listening to her at the moment, anyway. Not offended, she instead fell silent and watched as Merlo ran her hands slowly along the various displays and controls that did Fade-knew-what. It was a miracle they’d even managed to retrieve the ship, after all; neither she nor Mr. Leonard could really be mistaken for pilots. Under Merlo’s touch though, more panels than she had even known were there flickered to light and life, the displays in question beginning to shift and change and the hum of the ship’s power stirring and rising in volume as it awakened more fully.

The vibration of energy rose from the engines as the ship roared to life, and from underneath, she could feel the slight tremble of the vessel’s
landing “legs” as they seemed to tense in anticipation of launch. But Merlo just casually eased the controls back down to their original positions, lulling the ship back into its prior state of rest.

From the pilot’s chair, the girl’s face split in an excited grin as she turned part of her attention back to Branwen. “So what’s her name?” She asked, her eyes and face conveying the “I told you I could do it” that her words did not.

“Whose name— oh, you mean the ship,” Branwen replied, thoroughly infected by Merlo’s smile. “We actually do not have one for her, as of yet.” She knew that had to seem pretty odd, but her young pilot gave no reply except a mildly raised eyebrow. “Give me a minute, and I will call Mr. Leonard up here to speak about it. He is our vessel’s engineer.” She offered by way of explanation.
Hopefully he feels up to that,
she reflected.
I do so hate to stress him, but…

On the second try, she hit the correct button for the communication system. Hopefully it was even the one for the right room. Hopefully. “Mr. Leonard, will you please come to the bridge? I need you to meet someone, and we have something to discuss.”

She was rewarded a moment later with a hesitant, young-sounding male voice over the channel she’d opened. “Um, sure, yes—I mean, of course, Captain. I’ll… I’ll be right there.” A few moments later, Merlo rose to her feet as the door to the bridge slid open once again, permitting the entry of Branwen’s other crew member.

Mr. Leonard’s youth undercut even Merlo’s apparent age. Branwen, as always, would place him at sixteen winters at the most. His age was almost in opposition to his attire, soft green eyes peering timidly from his youthfully handsome face above a rather nice charcoal dress shirt, silvery gray vest, and well-tailored dark pants and shoes, all obviously of a high quality. He brushed feathery, pale-blond hair, expertly cut to frame his face, back into place as he hesitated in the doorway. Despite all of Branwen’s efforts and forewarning, he was still obviously nervous at meeting someone new.

“Y-yes, Captain?” He asked, his soft voice stumbling slightly over the words. Branwen watched as he clasped his arms behind his back and shifted slightly from foot to foot. “You called?” He peered nervously at the newcomer as she approached him.

“Mr. Leonard, I would like to introduce Merlo. She shall be our new pilot, if she is willing to fly for us.” Branwen stated, seemingly to the approval of the girl. “Mr. Leonard here is our engineer. And a finer one I have never seen.” Not that she’d seen many, but she hoped that her prospective pilot wouldn’t catch that.

Branwen smiled at her engineer, adding extra reassurance into the expression in the hope that some of it would sink in, then turned her questioning face back to Merlo. “So, then, what say you? We have but a single favor to repay here on Koltan, and after that, we are good to pick up some cargo and simply journey forth. We just need a good pilot, whom I feel I can trust that can also actually fly our ship. Which, hopefully, is you.” She felt she’d taken a good measure of the girl during their interactions so far. Branwen knew that she was a pretty strong judge of character; to her, Merlo felt like a woman with a lot of pride and drive, the sort of person she would once have accepted into her personal guard, the kind of girl with willpower and a fire inside her that would push her to ever greater heights.

Merlo considered for a moment, though her head was already slowly nodding. “The best pilot in the ‘Verse, the finest engineer you’ve ever seen… seems like destiny abounds. Count me in.” The girl’s cheek climbed gradually into a lopsided smile. “Captain Branwen, you’ve got yourself a pilot.”

“You know, I rather like that phrasing.” Branwen mused with budding inspiration. Mr. Leonard nodded his head also, presumably in agreement.

Merlo tilted her head as if surprised. “What, the whole ‘destiny’ thing? That's just something I picked up, from back home I think.”

“Well, if you do not mind me borrowing it, I think it sounds like an excellent name for a starship.”

CHAPTER TWO

Caged

Prisoner 286

Prisoner number 2-8-6 sat at the little metal desk in a tight, dimly lit room, limbs heavy from the dense metal of the chains and manacles that restricted her movement down to just shy of nothing. There were no guards or even decor inside the small room with her. Nothing but blank metallic walls, and her little table and chair that were probably sized for Altairans, typical Urzrans, or some other relatively short people. Not even a window showing her the black void of space; they’d learned that lesson
several
years back.

Her neck still ached, reminiscent of the recent surgery, but hindered as she was, she couldn’t reach far enough to rub it. Not that she would’ve given them the satisfaction of seeing her do so. She grinned to herself anyway despite the seeming bleakness of her captivity, a grin born from honest amusement that spread like wildfire across her face and grew crookedly up one side. She didn’t really blame them all the precautions. After all, she wouldn’t want to deal with her escaping either, if she were them. And their “precautions” were rarely enough for the likes of her.

She could feel the slight vibrations of people talking just outside the reinforced sliding doors that locked her away in her holding cell, the distinctive “Two-Eight-Six” cadence of her designation just barely perceptible to her. If she craned her injured neck enough, she could even see a couple of them through the little glasteel windows in each door; Altairan Legion troops in their spotless Volunteer Corps uniforms and their new, especially resistant armor that was rated to withstand large amounts of Kinetic heat.

Her jagged grin widened almost impossibly. It must be hard to hold a Kinetic. At least, a Kinetic like her. She snorted in unmitigated amusement at the thought; there
were
no other Kinetics like her. No one
anywhere
was as strong as she was.

She chuckled to herself as she returned to staring at the dull reflection the overhead light made on the blank wall ahead of her. She started to absently pull at the heavy bonds securing her arm to the table, not using her Kinetics to do so, but just her base physical strength, amplified from years of toiling under Urebai’s higher-than-standard gravity. The shackles rattled faintly in response, but didn’t otherwise seem to budge.

As her eyes focused downward on that, she considered the pieces of weighty alloy. How much could these lengths of metal withstand, if she called on her full power? How much heat could those suits of theirs resist before the people inside them ignited like candles? Not as much as
she
could put out, she was sure. How
many
more guards were there? How much damage could the
hull of this fucking ship withstand
? Maybe she
shouldn't
just sit here. Maybe she should focus her will, rip apart these impotent fucking chains and just
deal
with that device the way she always—

Prisoner 286’s head snapped up sharply as the door to her side clicked and slid softly open. She continued to grin broadly up at the woman who entered, a beautiful Altairan woman whose elaborate, unmistakable Kalaset robes of silky brown and gold accented her fair skin superbly, highlighting the darker undertones that gave her an enticing, exotic look.

Her “escorts” hovered deferentially behind her, more volunteers of the Legion, no doubt sent here to help contain the notorious Prisoner 286. One paused, having held the door for the Kala, the other stepping forward with a fancy, elaborately engraved box, awkwardly and gingerly managing it around his gun strap and reflective, reinforced body armor. That guard approached the little metal table, setting the box gently, carefully in the center near her hands, before almost bowing to the Kala as he hastened to step out of her way, yet hover protectively near.

286 considered slapping the little box off of
her
table. She had enough range of motion for that, at least, but thought better of it; she wanted to see what the Hel these people were up to first. She instead snorted audibly and derisively at the almost reverent way the Altairans were treating the woman, winked at one of them whom she caught giving her a hard, glaring expression, and finally gave the stranger in question her attention.

“The Hel do you want?” she said, meeting the Kala’s eyes, an exquisite rich brown flecked liberally with gold. “I’m not exactly dressed for sexy time at the moment.” 286 rattled the chains covering her tank top and cargo-style pants indicatively and spread a casual sneer generously around the room. She’d never had the opportunity to see if she could get under a Kala’s skin before; their composure was, supposedly, beyond legendary.

That little jab turned out to not draw any ire, as the Kala, instead of responding, slid ever so gracefully into another, more comfortable chair provided by a third member of the Legion who appeared seemingly from nowhere to do so, then disappeared back into the corridor leading to the rest of the dreadnought just as unobtrusively as he had entered.

The Kala’s infuriatingly serene expression didn’t falter; not at the insult to her distinguished profession nor at the darkening of Prisoner 286’s glare, instead simply sitting and folding her hands neatly across her edge of the table. She met 286’s stormy expression without so much as a flinch or twitch in her flawless face or soft smile, appearing as confident and assured as if she owned this whole ship and was in absolutely no danger at all.

Then she waved the guards away, bidding them to leave with a demure smile of thanks, opened the box, and began slowly unpacking a delicate, ornate crystalline tea set.

286 was almost taken aback. Who the fuck did this woman think she was? Normally, her first priority at this point would be to knock her down a peg or ten, physically if need be, but this time she found herself intrigued. Anyone with the
stones
to just walk in here and start setting up a tea shop or whatever
right in her fucking face
might actually be amusing enough to be worth her time.