Zero Hour (Starmen (Space Opera Series) Book 3) Read online

  “We’ll follow him all the way home,” said Vorjool. He believed vengeance would be his. He just had to wait.

 

  He bowed his head, thinking back on his life, from childhood right through to adulthood. He had been the loneliest person around, an outcast from birth.

  When his head rose, his eyes were injected with belief. “You’re right,” he said. “I am Rokari.”

  He thought of Gwen that night and every night. For weeks he continued his pursuit. Zero taught him many things along the way about Rokari culture, customs, and he answered many questions he had as well. He learned that his species were gifted with incredible longevity – he could live for four hundred years or more.

  Together, they discussed their plans for the future. Vorjool had seen a glimpse of what the future could hold – the glory of the past – a universe at peace. With the fleet at his command, he planned to overwhelm the Federation firstly. He was angry at Gwen’s death, the rising death toll on Omni-4, and the segregation of his home city. The Federation had abused their power too often. And he had nothing left to lose.

  Zero remarked one day.

  “Who were the Overseers?” he asked, as that race’s origin had ever been a mystery.

 

  Vorjool grimaced. “Humans were…slaves?”

 

  “So…they were all miner colonies?” asked Vorjool. “The worlds closest to the Gateways?”

 

  “This is incredible. I can’t believe the path that I am taking,” said Vorjool, thinking back to when he was younger, when his existence had been so cold and lonely it had seemed utterly pointless. “I just wish…that there were more Rokari.”

 

  As he considered the prospect of finding them again, something became plainly obvious to him. “Do you think that’s the reason why Rovians don’t encourage exploration to places where they haven’t already been?”

 

  “But why haven’t the Rokari returned to the Spira galaxy?”

 

  Vorjool had to become stronger. In mind and body. He exercised every day. Zero pushed his body until it could do no more. Any time he slackened, the A.I. connected to his brain pressured him with taunts, and when those failed he even took control once. Vorjool’s body acted as if on its own, while he watched and felt every movement.

  He didn’t enjoy the feeling – it brought him fear – and he struggled against it in a panic. The moment he did, he was able to snap his body out of it. He demanded that Zero never take control of him in that way again. The A.I. agreed.

  Weeks into their journey and he was tired of waiting. Patience and meditation soothed the burning fires of his rage.

  Then they were mere days from reaching Delta-2. Kal was just ahead of them, always kept within range of the sensors.

 

  Vorjool had a look at the readout. “Bandora,” he said. “You think we can afford to stop?”

 

  “But, Zero, I don’t have any credits,” he cried.

 

  Vorjool did. He went online to check his current bank balance and found that his account was no longer frozen. He even had a surprisingly large amount. Six figures. His eyes widened and he laughed.

  “My God…I’m rich…”

 

  “But, Zero, where did these credits come from?”

 

  A bright light caught his eye when another ship jumped into the system. The sensors blinked, showing that it was a cruiser class vessel with a lot of weaponry. Like Kal, they were unaware of his presence.

  Vorjool watched the ship go by so close that he could make it out. It was made from a beautiful reflective alloy that was now shinning in the light of the sun. Like him, it seemed to be destined for Delta-2.

  Vorjool disengaged his cloak when they had gone by so as not to reveal his position. Then he went down to the surface of Bandora. It was a brown planet with a few small settlements and one city. He chose to avoid the heavily populated area, though, and chose a small settlement with a port where he could refuel his ship.

  It would take some time and he fancied a drink. He went out from the port and found a nearby bar.

  When he opened the door he was greeted with the chatter of a drinking crowd. It was a dark, uninviting place, both in its decor, and in the gazes he received from the patrons while heading to the bar. But Vorjool never let a thing like a hostile crowd bother him.

  A group behind him was playing a card game. The bartender was a dikini with eyes red as blood. He sat on a stool in front of him. “What are you having?” he asked, and Vorjool examined the tribal tattoos on his tentacles briefly.

  “Something strong,” he said.

  His eyes lowered in disapproval. But the bartender served him a short.

  “Leave the bottle.”

  He did, and Vorjool drank the first in one gulp. It burned in his throat and he sighed as he poured in another. “Been a long journey,” he said, sniffing when he felt an itch at his nose.

  The bartender eyed him, but didn’t say a thing. He was polishing glasses with a rag.

  The men playing cards behind him were talking about Omni-4. He gathered from what they were saying that Bandora was prospering because of the conflict. It was just a few week’s journey from here and they were supplying the military with fuel for their warships.

  The more they talked and gloated and laughed, the more he wanted to put them in their place. They were nothing. Small minded pricks on a backwater planet. He’d always despised anyone who took too much pride in being a part of the Federation.

  By the time he reached his fourth helping of liquor, he found himself clenching his fists now and then. They�
�d shifted the topic of conversation a while ago, but it was all he could think of. He dreamed of his future. He wondered if this was a dream.

 

  Vorjool gave a small smile. Will we really change the galaxies?

 

  He heard a clink, the glass setting against the metal when the bartender placed it into the sink. Vorjool bent the corner of his beer mat, picturing Gwen’s face. He suddenly remembered Kal and ripped the corner off. He sniffed, sitting up, and brought his eyes to the barman.

  He realised he had been staring at him already. His red eyes had become startling in their awareness. Vorjool was subjected to a dark, piercing glare that was as suspicious as it was unnerving. The barman took the bottle from him.

  Vorjool tensed up. “I’m not finished with that,” he said. The barmen didn’t say anything, unnerving him further still. “Can I have it back?”

  “No,” he told him plainly.

  Vorjool scrunched his eyes a little. But he knew that playing any sort of game wasn’t an option here. The barman was looking deeper into his soul than anyone had ever done before. All he could do was look back.

  “I get a lot of people in here,” he said. “Lot of different species. Their minds don’t all work the same. But the eyes never lie. I’ve seen the type that come looking for a bar fight. Traveller, whatever it is you’re looking for, you won’t find it here. You’ve got a darkness that I can see burning at the corners of your eyes. A black flame in the night.”

  Vorjool’s eyes lowered. He couldn’t match his glare any longer. What he had said caused him to search deep within. A small tear entered his glassy eye. He returned his gaze to the barman and hardened himself. All the chatter in the background had long since vanished.

  “You come in here again…you won’t walk back out that door,” he warned him.

  Without a word, he turned his head to the side. Picked up his drink and downed it. Then he got up and sighed…

  Who does he think he is? Vorjool stopped on his way to the door. When he turned his head, the barman glared furiously. He smirked at him. Then he turned to the table of fellows playing cards with a bright smile.

  “Gentlemen, do you mind if I join you for a game?” he asked.

  There were six of them, all human, and they were dressed in dirty overalls. The man at the head of the table was the tallest and had a large beer gut. “If you’ve got money, traveller, we won’t mind taking it off you,” he joked and laughter sounded from the table.

  But the bartender clicked his fingers. “Not him,” he shouted over. “I told the asshole to leave.” Vorjool heard a gun being cocked at his back. He turned and saw a pistol in the barman’s hand. Chairs screeched off the floor as the men at the table stood up.

 

  Zero was right. Back before he left Delta-2, Vorjool had lived for moments like these. The danger made him feel alive. He strolled toward the bar. The dikini with the gun aimed at his chest seemed like this wasn’t his first time being in a situation like this. He kept his cool and flicked his head to the exit.

  “I told you to get out. This is your last— “

  Vorjool, in a display of speed few humans could hope to emulate, swiped the gun right out of his hand. The dikini fell back a step in shock. Gasps sounded at his back.

  Footsteps sounded.

  Vorjool turned into a chair that was swinging for him and it broke on his back. One of the humans had been brave. But Vorjool was largely unharmed. His black eyes rolled to the human and he backed away with paling cheeks.

  Vorjool grabbed his hand suddenly and squeezed. The man screamed. His bones crunched and cracked and he was in so much pain then that nothing but air was escaping his mouth. His pale cheeks blazed red. He fell to his knees, his head aimed at the ceiling as he trembled in agony. Quiet washed over the room.

  With one hand, he disassembled the pistol he’d taken from the barman, dropping pieces to the floor as he removed them. He let the man have his hand back. He wept and wailed and trembled. Then, without a word, Vorjool headed for the exit.

  9

  On Deck-F there was a simple room with a spectacular view Anderson discovered a while back. It had a great big oval window with shutters. He opened them and looked out to space often. Found himself falling into deep thought while he stared out at the endless night swishing by.

  He brought Siena with him that day and made up something of a picnic for them. They sat on the floor facing each other, legs crossed, and ate cups of noodle soup.

  While she ate, he adored her beauty and couldn’t help but feel thankful for a moment that she was even alive. Their fight with the Witch on Maji-Onda station had been the most terrifying thing he’d ever lived through. At the time, however, he hadn’t allowed his fear to win. He had to fight her with everything, just like Siena – they had no choice. But since, looking back, it paled him when he remembered Siena being dragged up that window, kicking out her feet as she choked with a bloody snarl.

  “What?” Siena asked, grinning. He’d been staring for a moment before she noticed.

  Anderson didn’t need to bring up any of that, though. They made it out of that situation together.

  “You look great,” he said.

  Siena grinned, her eyes trailing to his muscular arms. “You look strong,” she complimented. His biceps were pumped from his earlier session in the gym.

  He’d been an ordinary guy with an ordinary body. Six months later, he was carrying muscle all over, and had developed the kind of abs most people dreamed of having. Before she literally fell into his life, he never would’ve dreamed of becoming this strong. Anderson was giving it his all every time he went to the gym.

  “I just hope it’s enough,” he said. “We’re almost at Delta-2.”

  “If we stick to the plan, and things pan out as we expect, I think we’ll be fine,” she offered, then ate a mouthful. Siena turned her head and looked out the window. In the far off distance, a comet swished by and was followed by silver mist. “I’m glad, Jack, is in command.”

  His brow creased when she said it. “How come?”

  “From what I’ve heard, from both Malora and Claudia, he held it together pretty well during the battle.”

  “So did we,” offered Anderson.

  “Yeah. We did. But I wouldn’t want that kind of responsibility. Would you?”

  He’d thought about it before, and she was right. Having the final say put a lot of weight on Jack’s shoulders. Ever since he’d been named Commander, he’d been feeling like he had to check on everything all the time. If he wasn’t on the bridge, he was checking in on them as they trained in the gym, reviewing their progress in the HC, going over their plan in agonising detail, and shoving them in the right direction when they fell behind.

  Jack didn’t seem to switch off often anymore. He was responsible for their success. He was responsible for saving Earth, and the galaxies. Billions of lives. While they each shared the load, being named Commander put extra pressure on him to succeed.

  “I wouldn’t want it, no,” he answered. “But, Jack, he’s been asserting himself a lot more since Maji-Onda. Remember how he was on our trip there? He spent most of his free time alone, playing video games and lazing about. Maybe he needed it.”

  Silence followed. Siena seemed to be thinking of something she was hesitating to talk about. Her shoulder dipped and her chin nestled above it.

  “We obviously have feelings for one another,” she said, and he’d been waiting on this conversation since the meeting earlier. “But I don’t know what the future holds. I’m a Starman now, Mark. I can pursue a career and hopefully find my own place in the galaxies along the way. I can’t go back to my home, where I might be a wanted criminal, or your home, where I’d be an alien.”

  With the way the government worked back home, she would probably wind up on an operating table if she went back and was di
scovered. It was a risk neither of them were willing to take. Anderson wanted to go home…but another side wanted to stay out here in the galaxies.

  Out here, he was someone. He was helping to shape the galaxies. Back home, he was a nobody. After all he’d been through, a dead-end day job would crush his spirit. The most he could hope for was a life of writing stories in the form of his graphic novels. While here, he was taking part in stories.

  People might never know what they’d done for them. But he would know, and that was enough.

  “This – spending time with you – makes me happy. It gives me something to look forward to.”

  “Me too,” she said, and her striking eyes gave him tingles.

  Siena set down her food and then crawled over to him on her hands and knees. She sat up. Looked down at him and he set down his noodle cup. Licked his lips. Then she straddled him. Kissed him. His lips went to her neck after, and she writhed.

  *

  Ever since her brush with death, her need to write returned to her strongly. A few weeks back, Claudia had an A.R.U. help her fit a mechanical arm with a keyboard attached to the wall next to her bed. It projected a holographic display of the word document. Every night she wrote something, even if it was just a little. She had made a lot of progress with the first draft of the action-adventure story she had been writing.

  Claudia got into bed, flexed her fingers and looked up. “Europa, can you play some music for me?” she asked.

  “Yes, Claudia. What would you like to hear?”

  Claudia sighed, playing with her tongue against the corner of her mouth. “How about…some of that Plysarian orchestra you let me hear before?”

  “Shall I compile a playlist of music from the same category?”

  Claudia grinned. “Yeah. Say, what’s your favourite music?”

  “I’m glad you asked. I have several suggestions,” Europa replied, with a degree of enthusiasm Claudia hadn’t heard from her before. She hadn’t even been sure if Europa was capable of answering a question of that nature.