Star Brigade: Odysseys - An Anthology (21 page)

He’d definitely seen Raichoudry’s face around Hollus Maddrone before his sabbatical, that unblinking self-seriousness belying her twenty-four years of age. She had come with that exceptional batch of recruits two years ago which included Khrome, Liliana and Tyris. Habraum had never exchanged so much as a word with the girl, but before her disgrace the Cerc had heard of Raichoudry’s undeniable potential as a field operator.

Khrome settled down before turning to exit Habraum’s office. “Uh-uh, lad,” the Cerc’s raised hand gave him pause. “You found Raichoudry’s file. You’re in it now. We solve this together.”

Habraum located the encryption his subordinate spoke of at the bottom of Raichoudry’s scrolling profile, tapped on it and chose the optical scan option. In moments, a new section appeared just below Raichoudry’s existing profile—paragraphs of concealed data.

At first both Habraum and Khrome read through the decrypted sections with their mouths ajar, like two beings who missed the punch line of a joke.

The pieces began gelling in Habraum’s mind, and hit like a punch to his gut.

Khrome’s exclamation described the Cerc’s feelings perfectly. “Shut. Me. Down!”

According to this addendum by Jovian Ivers, Addison’s meltdown and resignation was a ruse.

Ivers had been training her a month before her resignation to infiltrate one of the most notorious Children of Earth cells on Seredonia in a covert joint op with UniPol.

Also stated, no one in Star Brigade except Ivers knew about this assignment or had contact with Raichoudry except himself.

Khrome furrowed his hairless brow, still befuddled. “Why would he keep this a secret from Brigade Intelligence or any Brigade higher-ups?”

“Maybe UniPol instructed him to,” Habraum assumed, “probably out of fear that the Children of Earth had informants and spies within Star Brigade’s personnel.”

“Her assignment was supposed to last no more than four or five months.” That left Khrome stricken and his round yellow eyes brimming with sorrow. 

Ivers died on Beridaas over a year ago.
Habraum sucked on his teeth and shook his bald head with such sorrow. “Uh-uh. Rogguts, that poor thing…”

“Are we going to pull her out?” The Thulican asked.

Good question. Habraum steeled away his sentiments about this situation and looked again at what data Raichoudry’s profile had provided them. As helpful as this had been, Habraum realized how much they still didn’t know about this dilemma.
Best start there
, he told himself, and looked at Khrome. “Only after we get all the facts. Movements right before and right after leaving Hollus Maddrone a year ago. Her whereabouts and activities on Seredonia, if she’s even still on Seredonia. What CoE cell is she in deep cover with?”

Habraum limp-walked over to his desk and brought up the Star Brigade dossier module on the surface console. After his handprint and optical scan had been captured, he said, “Captain Level access, Khromulus Threedwok. Forty-eight orvs.” The Cerc turned back on Khrome. “You now have unrestricted access to the dossier files. It’s temporary,” he warned at Khrome’s widening Cheshire grin. “If any more encryptions come up, just knock them down. Go through all of Ivers’s old files to get more information on this mission and how Raichoudry had been contacting him. I want to know whoever Ivers’s UniPol contact was. And for now, keep this between us until we know more.”

“Affirmative,” Khrome paused at the door. “Captain?”

Habraum paused to look over his shoulder at the Thulican. “Yea?”

“Do you think…?” Khrome appeared hesitant to finish his thoughts, a rarity. “After all this time with no contact from Ivers, do you think that Addison might have turned?”

That hadn’t occurred to Habraum. “We’ll find out after we track Raichoudry down and extract her,” the Cerc replied in his most composed tone. He’d rather not consider such a dark notion…yet.

Once alone, Habraum leaned heavily on his desk. He voiced a command that activated his companiomech to pick up Jeremy and watch him for the afternoon.
Sorry, sprout
, he apologized and forgave himself. Studying Raichoudry’s profile and sullen features, Habraum began assembling the details for a possible rescue op.

The team had to be small, no more than four operators, strictly Star Brigade. Working with another agency might take too long for approvals or get back to the wrong beings that could unintentionally blow Raichoudry’s cover. 

The Cerc then considered which operators he’d be leading into the field—

You’re not field ready yet.
Meaning he couldn’t lead his team into combat himself. The truth slapped him hard across the face. Swearing under his breath, Habraum slammed a fist onto his desk. The Cerc’s frustration went beyond the need to get back onto the field. The Twins only knew what Raichoudry had endured and was still enduring to protect her cover. Or, what if Khrome was right, and she had joined the Children of Earth after months of no contact from Ivers?

Or worse, what if she’s been made…and then murdered?
A cold dread filled Habraum then, surmounting the sting in his knuckles. But he pulled his mind away from the black and focused on one obstacle at a time.

Not being cleared for field missions created a huge issue with who would lead an extraction team. Habraum’s first thought went with Sam. She had the experience and would drop everything to lead an extraction for a fellow Brigadier. Especially one connected to Ivers.

The Cerc completely dismissed the idea for that reason.
She needs to focus on Tharydane, getting her settled. At least for this week.
If half the requests from other agencies panned out, then Habraum knew there would be countless chances for Sam to lead her own team soon.

“I’ll take point remotely,” he decided. Next up, the team needed a member focused solely on getting them in and out of Seredonia or wherever Addison might be.

Marguliese was a viable option, but Habraum wanted her focused on training the Star Brigadiers not on a combat team.

He waved away Raichoudry’s profile and pulled up Star Brigade’s very short list of field-ready copilots. All three were solid and talented, but with no experience on covert ops missions.

Not like myself or—
The epiphany came suddenly. Habraum straightened up and smiled. He had a pilot in mind.

Less than fifteen macroms later, the Cerc arrived down at Pilot Pub yet again. The air was filled with raucous shouts and laughter. A late lunch crowd filled the small saloon to its brim. He spied Solrao across the pub working the bar. By the sureness in her movements while dishing out drinks and jokes, she’d clearly sobered up since their meal.

Habraum caught the Ibrisian’s eye and gestured her toward the Pilot’s Pub’s entrance. After a couple macroms, she succinctly ordered a servermech to take over and weaved through the crowd toward Habraum.

“Need your help,” Habraum announced quietly without preamble once they stood far down the corridor outside of Pilot Pub. He gave Solrao sparse details about a Brigadier needing an extraction, leaving out the whom and the why.

When Habraum finished, the Ibrisian looked confused. “Why me? You have at least two other field op copilots to choose from.”

“The Brigadiers I’m sending out there are still green. With me not cleared for combat, I need the second best pilot I know watching over my team.”

Solrao laughed, but it felt half-hearted. That didn’t fill Habraum with much confidence.

“I can’t, Braum,” the Ibrisian stared at the ground with that demoralized look he’d seen one too many times since the Ferronos Sector War. “I just…don’t have it in me to fly like that anymore, and I don’t want to disappoint you again.”

In the past, Habraum would have placated her inexhaustible remorse with kind words and accepted his friend’s self-flagellation with a forgiving smile. Aside from when they were amongst their old flight group telling war stories, this round and round of apologizing and forgiving had defined their relationship post-Ferronos Sector War. But a pile of murdered teammates on Beridaas filled Habraum’s thoughts, joined by Honaa hissing his last request before the firestorm consumed him.
Lead them well.

He had no patience for placating today. “Rogguts, why can’t you move the fekt on, eh?” Habraum snapped, his anger barely contained.

Solrao recoiled as if stung. Her eyes narrowed in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“You want to stop letting me down?
Stop
living in the past
.” The Cerc got right in Solrao’s face, his piercing hazel-gold eyes pinning her to the wall. “What angers me,” he seethed, lowering his voice, “is you wasting your life away by hiding in a bottle.”

Solrao stared back at the Cerc like she would some terrifying stranger. It took the Ibrisian a few moments to find her voice. “I…I told you before I’m not doing that—”

Habraum barreled over her meager defense. “Who do you think made sure you were tucked in after those benders these last few weeks?”

Solrao had no response, and seemed to deflate under that hard truth. Ignoring the curious stares from patrons entering or exiting Pilot Pub, the Cerc took his friend by the shoulders gently but firmly. The distance between the concentric rings in Solrao’s eyes widened, a sign of Ibrisian fear.

Something tugged at the Cerc’s chest at this reaction, for causing it. But he was tired of Solrao’s supplication, tired of watching a once bright soul figuratively and literally killing herself over a mistake he had forgiven her for ages ago. “There’s an undercover Brigadier out there who probably thinks she’s been abandoned, and the combat team I’m sending to extract her needs an extraordinary pilot to get them in and out of a hostile situation. I wouldn’t ask you, Solrao, if I didn’t need you. Just this once.” His words had adopted an imploring tenor, but Habraum was past ego or pride to care.

Solrao stared up at Habraum, eyes and pupils wide with dread. And she stared. And she stared. After what felt like an eternity, the Ibrisian nodded, almost imperceptibly but decisively. “Okay, Braum.”

It was Habraum’s turn to exhale, this time out of relief. “I’ll contact you when mission prep starts.” He turned and swept away from the Pilot Pub without further discussion. Habraum had his pilot. Now he needed a team to rescue a fellow Star Brigadier.

Habraum Nwosu could remember the last two times he’d stared at himself in the mirror with reflective detail. The first time? Almost four years ago in the year 2390, right before his graduation from the Union Command AeroFleet Academy.

Then he had been, barely 20 years of age, finally becoming a fighter pilot for the AeroFleet—his dream since his childhood, growing up on the rocky red world of Cercidale. His reflection that day had been lean but muscular for his size, filling out his fitted AeroFleet uniform excellently. His smooth, dark-brown face was beaming with so much pride, he thought it might burst. His kinky black hair cropped low and glossy, hazel-gold eyes alight at the endless possibilities that lay before him. At that moment in his life, Habraum indulged in his youthful sense of invincibility, reveled in the excitement of getting to traverse across the star-spanning Galactic Union of Planetary Republics and see its many member worlds.

Then came the reality of AeroFleet fighter pilot with all its combat drills, that only fed his obsession to be the best, the joy of meeting his current girlfriend Jennica—a loving respite from the rigors of military life—the wonder of seeing a Thulican for the first time.

Habraum never forgot that day when a dozen of the stout mechanoid-like race arrived at the Galactic Union’s capital world Terra Sollus, asking for help against their enslavers, the Cybernarr. Until that point, the Galactic Union had an uneasy armistice with the more humanoid-like Cybernarr—stay out of the Ferronos Sector and we’ll stay out of Union Space. This, despite reports of the Cybernarr’s cruel half-a-century internment of the Thulican race. And like most Union citizens, Habraum expected that to stick. But when reports came that the Thulicans not only offered their technology, but their twin homeworlds Ferros Arietis and Ferros Khanosis for membership to the Galactic Union, Habraum’s fears became a reality. Thus began the Ferronos Sector War between the Galactic Union and the Cybernarr Technoarchy.

It was almost two years later when Habraum gave himself that second, contemplative stare—right after the bloody Battle of Cassiopeia’s Cross.  One of many space clashes the Union Command had lost.

There Habraum stood in his weathered flight suit in his tiny quarters aboard a UComm Command Cruiser, mourning yet another group of fallen AeroFleet comrades. At this point, he’d let his hair grow into a thick shock of big, kinky curls. Prickly stubble covered his lower jaw from neglect. Dark circles surrounded his eyes from lack of sleep. He was much leaner, having lost the baby fat and innocence of youth much more quickly than most. But those changes weren’t the ones that startled him. It was the eyes staring back at him. Since Habraum’s fighter pilot squadron the SunRiders had been on the frontline of the war, his eyes had seen much  those past two years. They had seen the true horrors of the Cybernarr’s occupation of the Thulican Twin Planets, witnessing the mighty military power of the Galactic Union’s UComm failing to remove the Technoarchy from the Twin Planets, even with the Thulicans’ technological upgrades, having lost so many fellow pilots whom he had graduated with. Habraum had never seen such ruthless butchery before.

But while he had lost that feeling of invincibility and childish cockiness of being a fighter pilot, Habraum knew more than ever that the Union had made the right choice in choosing to engage the Cybernarr. With what the Technoarchy had done to the Thulicans, it would only be a matter of time before they moved against the Union. But despite the fire ignited in his hazel-gold eyes, Habraum privately could not help but ask himself, “How are we going to win this damn war?”

That was before the Galactic Union began winning more and more battles, finding better strategies. And well before the Union got more aid in the form of the Kedri Imperium. There was no love lost between the Union and the war-like, honor-obsessed Kedri. But the Kedri hated the Cybernarr, so naturally they helped taking them down. Once that alliance formed, the tide truly began to turn, driving the Cybernarr out of the Ferronos Sector altogether. The Galactic Union was winning, finally. And now, a year later, Habraum Nwosu gawked at the strange reflection staring back at him.

“
Rogguts
, will anyone recognize me?” he whispered, his heavy lilt from Cercidale’s northern Vanderoyce Province. Habraum ran a finger across the beard covering his strong jaw. He was getting a good look at himself after the Union’s string of wins against the Technoarchy put it on the brink of victory. After he was captured at the Battle of the Kyrn Rift.

He would never forget that day, his SunRider squadron and a group of Kedri fighter pilots attacking a Cybernarr slipstream hub meant to assault Union Space. The slipstream had been destroyed, but at a huge loss of lives. The SunRiders and Kedri had been ordered to retreat. Almost everyone followed this order. All except for a Kedri pilot named Dagra Kel, fighting on like a savage with something to prove. And just as expected, Dagra was about to be overwhelmed by the Cybernarr’s deathstrike ships, slashing through his fighter jet’s shields like night-colored daggers. So Habraum flew back against his better judgment. Hurtling in with a blaze of photonic blasts and neutrino missiles, he saved that idiotic Kedri’s life and covered the escape of his entire squadron. But with all the damage his own ship had sustained, it had been too late for Habraum to escape. A Cybernarr cruiser’s gravity well made sure of that.

But once his fighter jet was taken into the dank, dark interior of that Cybernarr cruiser, Habraum had not made it easy for them. He leapt from his spacecraft as the shapeless cybernetic horrors slinked out of the dark to claim him, and he fought back. Yet Habraum attacked his captors not just with his fists and feet, but with abilities far beyond those of a normal being—abilities that were his birthright as a maximum. Ever since those powers manifested after his 17
th
birthday, Habraum hated the term ‘maximum’ as much as he did his abilities, feeling both to be hindrances that could prevent him from joining AeroFleet. So the Cercidalean had learned just enough about his powers so he wouldn’t be a danger to those around him.

But when those bright crimson blasts of concussive force had issued from Habraum’s hands, chasing away the shadows, punching holes straight through anything that tried to grab at him, the pilot finally thanked the Maker for this gift. By no means did he believe that he would make it out of this alive. The Cerc had accepted that the moment his ship was captured. But he would fight with any weapon in his arsenal. Yet Habraum wasn’t quick enough, not trained enough in the use of his powers to target every threat. Something…or someone struck from behind, plunging him into unconsciousness.

And now, still a prisoner of the Cybernarr for the past five months, Habraum Nwosu was staring at the results of his capture on the liquid metal walls inside of a Cybernarr space vessel.

He had lost so much weight—muscles looking somewhat withered, ribcage plainly visible on his lanky, six-foot-five-inch frame. He absently rubbed the circular Union AeroFleet tattoo that he had branded on his right shoulder two years ago, just to make sure it was still there. His only attire was the techno-organic mesh supplied for him, a shimmering grey material that fit like a sleeveless robe.

His dark brown skin was noticeably lighter, but in a sickly way. Probably due to lack of sunlight, with some discolored scars on his arms and chest. The soft curls of black hair that he used to pride himself on were gone, cleanly shaven off during his incarceration. But he didn’t mind it. All traces of body fat had vanished, burned away from the five alleged months of his imprisonment. He traced his hands over a face that was now gaunter than he remembered and covered by a short, curly beard.

Even his own gold-hazel eyes frightened him. No longer carefree, they were incisive, restless and telltale of someone who had experienced far too many horrors at such a young age.

This stranger staring back at Habraum was the result of the Cybernarr’s particular brand of torture. Habraum had thought he knew what pain was, only to realize that his definition was an outright lie. The thought of what they had done to him, the depth of how much they abused him—Habraum squeezed his eyes shut as if to stop the recollection. But his thoughts were already there, yielding painfully to a bursting dam of memories reliving every bit of agony in vivid detail.

Soon after he had woken up, stripped of clothing and light, the torture began. The pain had been soul crushing, devouring his every waking moment for longer than he could fathom. Habraum’s voice had gone hoarse and raw quite quickly from all his screaming. But he couldn’t stop if he tried.

In those brief respites between torture sessions, Habraum had only known the stifling darkness of his cell. Sleep came in spurts whenever the pain had subsided. And then, all too quickly, it began again.

One technique, he couldn’t remember or see how they’d executed it, felt like a thousand white-hot knives had been stabbed into his spine. That had sent a scalding agony shooting through his veins, scorching his insides like flames. Habraum had to endure that one for two days straight.

And not once had the Cybernarr ever asked him any questions. They only administered enough vital fluids to keep him alive and then kept up round after sadistic round of torment. After some time, he had learned to zone out, go to a place filled with memories of Cercidale with its endless rock formations, his strict but loving parents, his rowdy brothers and whipsmart sister, his AeroFleet family. Jennica…

…The memory of his lover floated up into Habraum’s thoughts as the torture became more severe. Jennica Hoang was a petite little thing, which belied her firecracker personality. Every detail about her enveloped him with an urgency he never remembered before: the long raven-black hair that shimmered under sunlight, a pale creamy skin that smelled of warmth and luna blossoms, brown almond-shaped eyes that sparkled like stars whenever she spoke of the children she educated at her teaching job. Her quick smile that always disarmed him, and then there was her melodious laughter…

But after a while, the Cybernarr adapted the torture to bleed through that safe haven.

And then Habraum, a proud Cercidalean who never begged, wanted to beg for death just to stop the pain. Habraum sagged against his reflection, gasping for breath as if he had been running for days without rest. He hastily shoved away any thought of his treatment. Thinking of it again would be the end of his sanity.

The Cercidalean righted himself and tore his eyes away from the reflection, then paced back and forth in the hallways of the Cybernarr vessel. The walls around him were draped with smooth and continuous cybernetics that went on for kilometrids, gold and crimson in color. The floors were flat, not at all sinewy like the walls. The whole ship was alive, one mechanical, beautiful marvel.

While Habraum bottled away his past suffering, the memories of how his torture had ended flowed freely through his mind. On the day he had wanted it all to end, what appeared to be a female Cybernarr entered his prisoner cell. The sudden light that heralded her arrival after so long in darkness caused Habraum to squint in pain at first. This was his first time seeing a live Cybernarr up close.

This one stood before him, exceedingly tall and slender in figure. Its skin bore a golden metal sheen, like a humanoid mechanoid but far more advanced. Below its shoulders was a tapestry of dark, sinuous cybernetics that flowed into and out of its skin with perfect harmony. It had no hair on its face or head, the several short crimson nodules jutting out of its gleaming skull.

What drew all of his attention were the pupil-less cerulean eyes staring at him, so inorganic, so detached from emotion that they seemed to stab through his soul like icy blades. A part of him could not help but marvel at the terrible beauty of this Cybernarr, this perfect union of organic and cybernetic.

But after all Habraum had endured, the seething hate keeping him upright overrode any fatigue. The lives lost to this…
thing
and its race of butchers demanded that he stayed defiant to the end. He didn’t have the energy to use his powers, so hatred was Habraum’s remaining weapon to wield.

And that’s when it—or rather ‘she’—asked him a question in a mechanical feminine tone as cold and sharp as her knife-like gaze, “
Why do humanoids give each other nicknames?
”

For a long moment, Habraum had sat there staring at the cyborg in stupefied disbelief. He hadn’t been sure if this was a bad joke or a test. His silence lingered so long that she had repeated the question.

A baffled Habraum remembered speaking with a voice damn near gone from constant screaming. His answer was something about how nicknames can either be a name given for affection or mocking.

She absorbed the response, then presented him with a plate of real food and a water glass like something out of a dream, and left. Habraum shoveled down the meal with his bare hands like someone from the most primitive parts of the galaxy. His father would have chastised him for such barbaric eating.

Orvs later, she returned with two more questions, both trivial and meaningless to Habraum. He answered. She left him another actual meal, which he ate with the provided utensils this time. The Cybernarr also supplied him with the techno-organic mesh that he now wore. She departed once more.

This continued at least a dozen more times, each visit came with more questions inquiring of the nature of life in the Union. What was the purpose of taking a holiday which served no work function? Why did the five races that started the Union – Earth humans, the Voton, the Kudoban, the Rhomerans and the Galdorian – allow other races who joined equal say in the government? Questions of that nature.