Stars of Blood and Glory (12 page)

He ducked his head as he stepped through the
narrow doorway. Corporal Tajjashvili sat alone on the bench at the
far side of the room. A line of smoke rose from the cigarette in
his hand, the heat signature registering as a ball of dull red
light to Roman’s prosthetic eye. He switched to the visible
spectrum, and the digital input resolved with his natural sight to
give him a more accurate sense of depth perception. Not that it
made much of a difference.

The corporal turned his balding head and
nodded. “Greetings,” he said in the old Tajji dialect, using a word
that roughly translated to “victory.” From the wry smile on the old
man’s face, it was clear that the irony wasn’t lost on him.

“
Cheers,” Roman answered, walking
over to the bench in a few short strides. “Mind if I join
you?”

Zura grunted and gestured to his right. “Not
at all, friend. Have a seat.”

Roman eased his heavy cyborg body onto the
bench. It sank a little under his weight, but that was normal.

“
Care for a drink?” said Zura,
passing a bottle of vodka across the age-worn metal tabletop. Roman
took a glass from the table behind them and filled it halfway. Zura
shook his head and, taking the bottle from Roman’s prosthetic hand,
filled it up to the brim before pouring himself another.

“
Don’t hold back, friend,” he
said, lifting his glass. “For old men like us, it’s as good as
medicine.”

“
Yeah,” said Roman. “Even with
body falling apart, it is always memories that go last.”

“
And only the ones you’d rather
forget.”

“
Indeed.”

Roman threw back his head and emptied his
glass. The alcohol burned as it went down his throat, settling in
his stomach like liquid fire. Zura tapped his cigarette over the
ashtray and refilled their glasses.

“
That young lieutenant,” said
Zura. “To hear him speak, you would think it was still the glory
days of the rebellion.”

“
These youngsters are all same,”
said Roman. “Self-proclaimed patriots fighting enemy that never
acknowledged them for homeland they never knew.”

Zura grunted. “And no memory of the
occupation.”

“
Exactly.”

“
Remember how they used to say
that the greatest act of resistance is to live?”

“
I remember,” said Roman. “That
was after Imperials locked down Kutaisi Dome and turned off air
filters to root us out. Women and children were dying in the
streets before they distributed any gas masks.”

“
They only shipped enough masks
for three quarters of the population—I heard that straight from one
of the distributors.”

Roman grunted and took another long drink of
the vodka. “These youngsters—they think they have spirit, but their
will to fight would crumble in face of such things.”

“
And you think ours
didn’t?”

For all Roman’s pride, Zura’s question gave
him pause. “No,” he said. “Not all of us. It was fall of Gaia Nova
and collapse of Gaian Empire that sealed the last airlock.”

“
Ah,” said Zura, stubbing out his
cigarette. “And yet, while the Empire still stood, where were
you?”

“
I was here, with my men.”
I was helping them
to live.

“
And taking petty jobs instead of
fighting the true enemy. Am I right?”

“
It was our captain who decided
where we would fight,” said Roman, clenching his metal hand into a
fist. “And we never took job from the Imperials—never!”

Zura pulled out another cigarette and cupped
his hands to light it. “Of course,” he said. “I have no doubt of
that, friend. But you have to admit, for all their brazen
stupidity, those youngsters possess a passion that we lost ages
ago.”

Roman opened his mouth to protest, but the
arguments that had made so much sense to him before were ones that
he no longer knew how to express. He tried to recall the words he’d
used to tell himself, but a wave of drowsiness came over him, and
it seemed so much easier to let the affront pass. Yes, let it
pass—it would all be so much easier.

The old corporal refilled their glasses. “To
the homeworld,” he said, “and may all our other memories die.”

“
Yes,” said Roman. “To the
homeworld.”

* * * * *

Rina parsed the raw data of the starlane
station network like a sponge absorbing water. Information flowed
in her and over her and around her, and in her disembodied state of
mind she felt herself merging and separating with it as she
searched for the relevant information. It felt almost like being
stripped down and exposed to the elements, but instead of water and
wind and sand, it was lines of code that pelted her—instead of her
body, it was her mind and consciousness that had been stripped
bare.

She disconnected from the network and gasped
for breath, every muscle in her body quivering. The sudden return
to her physical senses jarred her so badly that she had to fight
the urge to vomit. Her hands and arms shook, and she blinked to
clear her cloudy vision. She was on the bridge of a starship of
some kind—an old Tajji ship, judging from the design. Several
officers were staring at her, and she gradually recognized their
faces: the younger one with the broad shoulders and carefully
trimmed beard was the pilot, Lieutenant Yuri; the graceful but
stern looking woman with the graying hair was the captain, Danica
Nova. And the one closest to her, with the half-cyborg face and
metal prosthetic arm was the NCO, Sergeant Roman Krikoryan.

“
Lieutenant,” said the captain.
“Are you feeling all right?”

Rina squinted and rubbed her ear. Everything
sounded distant, like it was coming to her through a recording
device. Gradually, however, her senses recovered. The nausea began
to dissipate, and the twitching of her muscles slowly came under
control.

“
I’ll be fine,” she said
softly.

“
Are you sure you don’t want to
see the doctor, Lieutenant?”

“
No.” She tried to sit up, but
the effort proved too much for her, and she fell back
down.

“
Sergeant, escort her to the
medical bay.”

“
I think she will be fine,
Captain,” said Roman behind her. “She only needs time to
rest.”

“
In that case, help her to her
quarters.”

Roman nodded and put his hand under Rina’s
arm. Her natural reflex was to fight him off, but instead, she
leaned forward and let him help her to her feet. These weren’t
enemies or targets—they were allies.

For the moment, at least.

“
I scoured the entire starlane
network,” she said, turning to the captain before limping out the
door. “No trace of the princess under any of her stolen identities.
If she got off at any of the jump stations, the system doesn’t know
about it.”

“
She probably followed the
transport to its final destination,” said Danica. “We’ll make for
New Vela VII immediately. Assuming she hasn’t gone underground, the
authorities should be able to help us. Good work,
Al-Najmi.”

Rina nodded and staggered out the doorway,
leaning heavily on Roman for support.

“
I am surprised you are still
walking,” he said, making conversation as they made their way down
the dimly lit corridor. “Very few people could endure direct neural
connection as long as you did.”

“
How long was I in?” she asked as
they rounded a corner.

“
Almost twenty minutes—much
longer than recommended. But do not worry—I will not tell Doctor
Avanadze.”

He chuckled a little and helped her through
the hatchway and down the narrow stairwell leading to the level for
the officers’ quarters. She followed him wordlessly until they came
to her door, which he palmed open for her.

“
I’ll be fine,” she muttered.
“Just need rest.”

“
Even so, it will be best if I
stay with you until you have recovered.” He helped her onto her
cot, then folded down a chair from the wall and sat
down.

Rina hadn’t bothered to do much with her
quarters. The drab gray walls were completely bare, the desk on the
far side completely unused. It was simply a receptacle for her body
and her gear, which she had secured by hacking into the lock
program and rebuilding it from the ground up. No need for anyone
snooping around and finding her skin-suit, or her poison kit, or
her customized magnetic bowcaster.

“
So you are tribesman from Gaia
Nova,” Roman said, breaking the silence yet again. “Which
tribe?”

She looked up at him and squinted. “What do
you know of the Gaia Novan tribesmen?”

“
Many years ago, we had Gaian
doctor who was tribesman from the deserts. His family name was
Najoumi, I think.”

“
Najoumi? What was his
name?”

Roman shrugged. “He had a very long name, but
we called him Abu Kariym. He was old man—I do not think you know
him.”

“
Probably not,” said Rina. She
leaned back against her pillow and tried to ignore the twitching in
her eye.

“
How old you were when your
planet was slagged?”

Why do you want to know?
she almost asked.
Instead, she sighed in annoyance and rolled her head to look at
him.

“
I don’t know. Young. Still a
girl.”

He grunted. “I was also very young when my
country was destroyed. Not boy, but still young.”

“
I thought Tajjur V was slagged
only fifteen years ago.”

He looked at her and smiled—a gesture that
might have seemed grotesque to some, given that only half of his
face still had skin and muscle, but to her it made him seem more
human.

“
I am not speaking of Hameji
invasion,” he said. “Long before, when we were still colony of New
Gaian Empire, I became soldier in Tajji revolution. Those who grew
up with Gaian occupation do not remember, but we had dreams of
independence once. They think it was Hameji who destroyed our
homeworld, but it was Gaian Imperials who truly crushed
us.”

“
Is that why you don’t trust
me?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I
do not trust you?”

“
I assume nobody trusts me, until
they give me a sign that they do.”

Her answer made him chuckle. “It is good
philosophy. Let me guess: You learned this in Federation
underworld?”

“
Perhaps.”

“
Do not worry—we all must have
our secrets. If not for Danica, we would all be criminals now.
Perhaps some of us still are.”

He’s trying to draw me
out,
she
realized. Still, he seemed harmless enough for an old
cyborg.

“
Is that why you joined? For
her?”

He nodded. “That is exactly why I
joined.”

“
You’re close to her,
then.”

“
Of course,” he said. “She is
like my sister. Do you have sister?”

Rina thought back to Jalil and Mira, watching
their children play in the sandstone courtyard. They’d looked so
happy together, so far from the violence that had become her world
these past years. Part of her longed to return to them, but even if
she could go back, things would never go back to the way they had
been.

“
Yes,” she said softly. “One
alive, five dead.”

“
Because of Hameji?”

She nodded.

Roman reached out and put his hand on her
arm. “I am sorry.”

Coming from anyone else, she wouldn’t have
believed it. After what he’d told her about his own world, however,
she didn’t doubt it.

“
I just—I only wish I could see
them again.”

Her own words surprised her. She looked up to
gage his reaction. To her surprise, he nodded in understanding.

“
I know how you feel,” he said
softly. “Long time ago, I also felt this way.”

What changed?
she almost asked.
Instead, she bit her lip and kept silent.

He nodded and rose to his
feet.
If you
need me,
he
told her through the datalink implant,
do not hesitate to call.
With that, he turned
and left.

She stared at the ceiling for a long time,
lost in her thoughts. When had anyone ever looked after her, or
offered her help the way this man had? Not since she was a little
girl. It made her wonder—did this mean she was among friends
now?

Friends.
The word was so foreign to her,
she hardly knew the meaning anymore.

* * * * *

Roman palmed the door open with his good hand
and stepped back onto the bridge. The purple-blue horizon of New
Vela VII arced across the window, the spindly station a few hundred
kilometers off the bow. As he entered, Danica turned to him and
nodded.

“
Ah, Roman, you’re just in time.
We’ve just located the princess: She’s on a private shuttlecraft
headed for one of the Lagrange stations. How is
Al-Najmi?”

“
Recovering,” he said, grunting
as he took his customary seat next to Yuri. “She will be
fine.”

“
I hope so. How soon can your men
be ready?”

He leaned forward and opened a comm channel
from his station on the bridge to the barracks. “Sergeant Gergiev,
do you copy?”