Black Dawn Read online

  Black Dawn

  by

  Morgan L. Brautigan Copyright 2012 by Morgan L. Brautigan Cover art and design by Tony Branch Second edition 2013

  ISBN – 978-0615599342 (Maranth Press) ISBN – 0615599346

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address the author via [email protected].

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names.

  This book is dedicated to my father, Bertis E. Long

  Who has been my inspiration not only in my love of books

  but in how I live my life.

  I love you, Dad. Acknowledgements

  As with every project, this book was hardly the work of only one person. I would like to thank the following: To Julia and Chris who were the first to express belief that it could be done.

  To Kathy and Randy who gave me the computer and the motivation to do it.

  To the clerk at the copy store who read the first page when she printed it out and liked it.

  To Lois Bujold for introducing me to the wonderful world of military science fiction.

  To Neil Norman and his CD “Greatest Science Fiction Hits IV” for his music to write space battles to.

  To my girls, Missy, Angie, Jenny, Ariel and Corrie who were the first and best BlackFleet fans.

  To my best friend in the entire universe, Tony, who gave me encouragement, belief, battle strategy suggestions, and the most wonderful artwork I could have imagined.

  And to my Lord for allowing me to use my love of writing in such a fun way.

  Thanks all

  Chapter One

  The air was thick with battle. The sights, the sounds, the smells, filled one’s senses with death. The flash of a plasma beam, voices shouting in desperation, the stench of burnt metal, burnt material, burnt meat.

  Smoke hung over everything like fog obscuring the view of the asteroid terrain. Here and there one could make out a body--a mound of charcoal that used to be a friend. And in the midst of it all, fifty horrified civilians, totally bewildered at this disaster that should have been their rescue.

  If only Aubry had come a little sooner, they could’ve gotten everyone out. If only Aubry hadn’t come at all, then he would still be alive…

  “Hey you! Yeah, you, the Rigan.” The voice jerked Coy back to the here and now. Back to this dismal space station commonly referred to as the “End of the Universe”.

  C-space travel had been established, making regular journeys outside the solar system, if not instantaneous, at least practical. When man at last began reaching out into space away from the arms of Mother Earth, their homes were developed on planets within 2000 light years of Sol. This first generation of colonies was referred to, rather unimaginatively, as the Alpha Region. Technology marched on and when people again needed elbow room they were able to travel even farther out. The Beta Region contained 34 formal colony worlds spreading out around the planet Servati, which sat at the center of the officially mapped 1,320 light-year sphere. It also contained the typical amount of asteroid mines, space stations, and orbital stations offering jobs, getaways and “exotic” ports of call. Or less exotic ports…such as this one.

  When Alluria Station had been built, the asteroid belt it accompanied had been thought to be a wealth of treasures. It had turned out to be a wealth of disappointment. But the station struggled on, servicing mostly wanderers and drifters. All around the room, people hunched over empty bottles, empty glasses or simply empty tables. Most sat alone. This was the kind of place you came to drown your sorrows, forget lost loves or hide from just about anybody. But yourself.

  Even the station itself seemed depressed. The gray walls had not seen a cleaning or paint job in a long time. Half of the vending machines, which lined the walls offering anything a credit token could buy, were out of order. The ones with life still in them blinked dully from under a layer of dust and grime. Which meant the air handlers and filters were probably in the same state of disrepair.

  Coy looked over at the gaming tables in dim acknowledgment of the hail. Coy Lamont knew no one on this scrap pile, was not wearing Rigan clothing and had not spoken for anyone to hear an accent. Indistinct race, indistinct age, chin length hair hanging limply around Coy’s face, except for one detail, someone would be hard pressed to guess where in the large nexus of inhabited worlds it had come from.

  “It.” That was the detail. The one thing that transmitted Coy’s place of origin was its gender. Or genders. Riga Colony was where hermaphrodites were created. Along with any other variation on humanity that someone was willing to pay for. Most Rigan labs usually worked within the laws concerning what one could and couldn’t --or shouldn’t --do to a human body. But anyone with enough money could find a lab willing to do just about anything.

  And of course there was always the rare case when a customer cancelled an order and some poor prototype was left to fend for themselves. As Coy had done until eventually making a life for itself as a mercenary.

  Former mercenary. The thoughts rolled full circle, coming back to the reason Coy was sitting there alone drinking away the last of its credit. It sighed and considered the card players.

  “We could use another hand,” a large, gaudily dressed man smiled.

  Seeing the empty bottle on the table, they probably assumed they had an easy mark. No point in telling them alcohol had no effect, thanks to the lab back “home”. It thought a second more, then got up and came over. “What are we playing?”

  The rules were explained, the cards dealt and the game began.

  Several hands later, the circle of contenders was thinning as the crowd of onlookers grew. All around the room people had dragged themselves up out of their drinks and wandered over to watch. It was an unusual event for anyone at Alluria Station to have enough money to make a game worth caring about. These people obviously had plenty. What they were doing in such a place no one dared ask.

  At last it was down to three players: the large, loud man who had made the invitation, a small reserved man wearing an expensive silk business suit, and Coy itself. The pile of winnings had shifted between them rather regularly. At the moment Coy was in possession of quite a bit more money than it’d had in its entire life. But it was not over yet.

  The stakes were raised again. And again. In addition to the currency, credit chits, jewelry, chronos, and a tiny ornate stunner had crossed the table.

  All eyes were now on the quiet little man. He looked at his cards and at the bare table before him. Finally, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a document disk. He laid it carefully on the pile.

  “What’s this?” bellowed the other.

  “Land. A rather expensive piece of land on Servati.” The big man picked up the disk and fingered it while he

  thought. He glanced at his own hand. “All right.” He added his own disk to the other. “My ship,” he announced. The crowd gasped. The man beamed. Coy laid its cards face down and cleared its throat. The best hand of its life and no way to stay in the game.

  “You’re out?” the man bellow ed again.

  “I have nothing to match those bets.”

  The man grinned hungrily. “Sure you do, Rigan. Your kind

  always has marketable talents.” Coy stared at him, realizing finally just what type of person it was playing with. It had seen the type before, most often as customers of the “specialty” labs on Riga. He appeared to have the wealth to custom order just about anything he wanted.

  “I’m good,” Coy drawled, “but not worth a ship.” The crowd chuckled,
but the big man only grinned more. Coy looked at the cards again. It’s life for a card game? This

  was insane. It was suicide…or worse. Coy wouldn’t do it. It couldn’t. It…looked at the other player for confirmation. The Servati shrugged. “I’m a businessman. What I don’t want for myself I can always sell.” He nodded in agreement.

  Coy nodded as well and the bet was made.

  The little man spread his cards for all to see. A great hand. He smiled confidently.

  Until the big man put down his. A terrific hand. The other wilted, conceding his defeat.

  Everyone looked to Coy, who was sitting with its head down, clutching its cards. It looked up at the ship owner. ‘He’ll kill me where I sit,’ it thought. ‘All the crap I’ve been through and this is how I die.’

  Very slowly and carefully it spread the cards out. The best hand possible.

  The crowd was absolutely silent. No one so much as breathed as they stepped carefully back away from the game.

  The owner of the bar, backed by a large bouncer, came over and tossed a transaction scanner on the table, breaking the tense silence. “I don’t want no trouble,” he growled at all three of them.

  The big man looked at the scanner sitting on top of the pot and then at Coy in apparent disbelief. He stared for several moments, rubbing his lip, contemplating the person before him. “Would you have honored your bet?”

  Coy nodded sickly. “Probably.”

  He blinked in surprise, then frowned, perhaps not having a lot of experience with honesty. “Why?”

  Coy tried to think of an easy answer. There wasn’t one. How to explain the whole nightmare of betrayal, loss and self- hatred? It said simply, “I’ve had a bad week.”

  “Hmph,” the man grunted. “Looks like it’s improving. At my expense.” He picked up the disk and scanner and began signing over the title. “What’s your name?”

  “Cap.. Coy Lamont.”

  He glanced up at it a moment, seemingly amused. “Cap..? As in Captain? A herm captain? Now, who would…Oh, well, it takes all kinds I guess. A mercenary, no doubt.” Coy managed a small nod. The transaction complete, he handed over the updated disk. “Congratulations, you’re an Owner. A very nice ship, I might add. The crew, I keep. They are all, well, specially trained for my service. But you can have the pilot.”

  Coy was very surprised but very glad at this bit of information. Jump pilots were a very expensive commodity. It was technically possible to fly a ship without one, at least between transition points. Coy itself had the training. But some people were just born to be pilots. They had some sort of special gift, an ability to merge themselves with their ships which was absolutely essential when holding a transit point open long enough to get a ship through. Not to mention safely navigating through C-space to the next point. In the past large companies had been known to pour a lot of money into searching out and sponsoring the training of someone with especially promising pilot skills. More and more often however pilots were being created. Genetically skewed before birth. Again, paid for by organizations which would in turn benefit from their unique skills. All of which made it unusual for someone to give one away. Unless he wasn’t any good, burnt out, or unbalanced.

  “So, now you can go be a commodore or whatever it is that mercenary ship owners call themselves.” He paused, all amusement gone. “And if you’ll take some friendly advice, I recommend you take your ship and leave Alluria as soon as humanly possible.”

  Well, that explained the generosity with the pilot. Coy looked him over, beginning to think of reasons someone might want to be rid of ‘a very nice ship’. “With no crew? Take it where?”

  The man nodded at the other transaction now taking place across the table. “Servati, I would imagine.”

  Long after it was over, Coy sat studying the specs on its new possessions. It decided - belatedly - to find out whether either had mortgages, liens or if they were even legally owned to begin with. Somewhat to its surprise, everything seemed to check out.

  The property on Servati turned out not to be merely a piece of land, but what was essentially a villa. What it was supposed to do with such an acquisition, it had no idea. It turned to the more familiar territory of the ship.

  A very nice ship indeed! The description of the huge ship was almost as overwhelming to absorb as the villa.

  While it was skimming through the mass of information, three men approached the table. Coy recognized them from the mob of spectators from the game. It glanced up, then returned its gaze to the scanner readout feigning disinterest at their curiosity.

  “May I help you?” it looked up and asked after a moment.

  From the nods and nudges from the other two, one man seemed to be their spokesman. He cleared his throat and straightened his stance. “We were watching. Thought you could use some engineers.”

  The man appeared to be pushing forty, slim and weathered. As if he was more used to hostile environments than spaceships. The two men with him were darker but looked weathered in a similar manner.

  Coy put down the scanner and motioned for the one to sit. It leaned back and crossed its arms. “I haven’t even decided what to do with it yet. So I can hardly offer you a steady job. Which means beyond the game winnings, I have no guarantee of pay.”

  “That’s okay.” He paused at Coy’s raised eyebrows. “This ship has bunks and meals?”

  Coy indicated the scanner. “Apparently.”

  “Then we’ll sign on.”

  Coy considered his accent. And all the issues that came with it. “You’re Haradan. You understand my gender?”

  The man paused again. “Aware, yes. Understand, not really. But if you’re asking will we still work for you, the answer’s yes.”

  “No better offers, huh?” Coy noted the discomfort this truth caused. But the man seemed sincere, and Coy appreciated that. “Well, I can use the help. Any mercenary experience?”

  “No.”

  “Military of any type?”

  A stricken expression appeared on the man’s face, then quickly disappeared. Like the twinge of an old wound. “Y-yes.”

  “I see.”

  It was a well-known fact that Haradans were fanatical about the military being the beginning and end of all honor. Leaving the military life obviously had caused this man pain. It struck a chord in Coy. Another lost soul in search of a new beginning.

  How many others like them were there out in the universe? People who had to start over because of some decision-good or badthat ended up costing them everything. Decisions like Coy’s. When it had chosen to do what it felt was right and necessary, knowing it was not technically correct. Coy wished this man no heartache, yet it was somehow comforting to know there were others.

  Coy thought a moment, trying to size them up. They could indeed be engineers as they claimed, but would ground pounders be of any use on a spaceship? It focused on the one seated. The others seemed to defer decision making to him automatically. “An officer?”

  He nodded briefly. “Lieutenant. But that was… awhile ago.”

  One of the others spoke up. “And you’re really a mercenary?” He glanced dubiously at his companions. Now that was more the Haradan attitude Coy was familiar with.

  “Yes , as a matter of fact,” it told him. “Although I’m presently, ah, on my own.”

  “Not anymore, Commodore,” the Lieutenant grinned.

  Coy frowned, but put out a hand. “Captain. Captain Coy Lamont. Lieutenant...?”

  The other took it. “Raeph Bon. This is Luka and Palo.”

  Coy stood to shake their hands. Luka took the outstretched hand with a smile and only the slightest of hesitations. Palo, however, seemed as skeptical of herms as he did of mercs. After a moment, and a look from Bon, he allowed Coy to shake his hand. Coy pretended not to notice. “A crew of five. Well, it’s a beginning.” It gathered its documents. “Let’s go see this ship of ours, shall we?”

  * * * * * Even though Coy had read through the schematics, the
ship was a surprise to it as well as the engineers. It was like nothing in any of their varied military experiences. It was a luxury liner such as they had never seen. Sleek and black. The fins on either side of the ship, used to transmit the beam that opened the portals to jump through space, swept up like elegant wings. Yet for all that, it was heavily armed and armored.

  Lamont stood looking out of the station viewport at the ship in amazement. “Nevermore,” it breathed to itself.

  “Commodore?” Bon asked.

  “It’s Captain,” it corrected, again, “and it’s just a line from an old prejump Earth poem about a black bird.” And a grief stricken man searching for answers.

  “Well it is that, sir. Very black.”

  Unfortunately, parts of the interior were much as Coy had imagined from its assessment of the card player’s character. This was no cruise line. The passengers on this ship had apparently cared only for gambling and entertainment - in all their most twisted and exotic forms.

  The main rooms and corridors were pleasantly and artistically decorated with real wood trim, dramatic lighting and expensive looking artwork. The “guest” rooms however were a different story. Palo and Luka examined the furniture and equipment with fascination. Artwork depicting perversions of every kind lined the walls. Coy merely stood, pale and serious, struck with the knowledge of what losing that card game would’ve meant.

  “Orders, Commodore?” Bon seemed to think the title was a nickname rather than a rank.

  Coy was too distracted and vaguely nauseated to correct him this time. “Rip it all out. Melt it down and shove it out the airlock.”

  The engineer nodded understanding. “Aye aye, sir”. Then, “Kinda good you had the hand you did, eh?” he added quietly, and walked away to begin carrying out his first orders.

  Between the pilot, Hoffman’s knowledge of the ship, Coy’s schematics and Bon’s “know-how”, it didn’t take as long as they had feared to learn the systems of the ship (which Coy had christened the Raven). By skipping such mundane interruptions as eating and sleeping, they were able to check out most of the essentials before preparing to leave the station.