Chapter 1 “Anticipation” of The Last and Furious Hownan: The Doors of Veselago Book: 2

The worst thing about living with old Gerqui was how cranky he was most of the time. The hateful man spent most of his days cussing at the girl, and the other half complaining about the food. Kaletta despised him as much as anyone else did, but they had to live in the same rundown shack and thus a truce of sorts developed between them. He would keep his filthy mitts off her, and she wouldn’t stick a fish knife between his ribs while he was taking one of his long and undeserved naps. He abided by their agreement, mostly. The one time he slipped up, bought him a nasty scar across his chest and the loss of his pinky finger. She kept the dried out finger on a string around her neck as a reminder to him. So while he was more respectful of her person, he still insulted her at every opportunity. If she could leave the randy old goat, she would, but the situation was painfully inflexible – for the moment.

Gerqui owned Kaletta. Her parents had sold her to him during the last famine and had promised to buy her back when the harvest came in. It didn’t and her parents and younger siblings had all perished. The last member of the great Hownan Clan lay on a lice infested cot as property of a tax collector. Kaletta wasn’t the sort to moon about her circumstances, in fact she wasn’t unhappy in the slightest, because she had a secret which all of her Clan kept and the nasty Gerqui and his equally nasty friends were about to find out. She counted the days to the next full moon in anticipation. Kaletta left her cot when she decided it was getting too hard to sleep in the vermin filled straw, took up the entire bedroll, and tossed it out into the rain. Fetching up a fresh bedroll filled with new straw, Kaletta had just finished when she heard Gerqui trip over her soggy bedroll, and land with a splash in the large mud puddle in front of the door. She chuckled when she heard him cussing and waited for him to come into the shack.

“What is this mess by the door? I’m not gone an hour, and you are already tearing up the place. If it wasn’t for the law, you would already be out on your skinny little butt, especially after you maimed me.”

She gave him her most fearsome glower, and went back to preparing her bed. He was all talk and no action theses days, but not out of choice.

“You’d better not look at me that way! The law works in my favor too, you witch! If you disobey me, I am allowed to give you the whip once a day,” said Gerqui. He was wheezing because he was allergic to something in the hay.

“If you lay a hand on me Gerqui, you had better sleep with one eye open, because my little necklace needs another finger.” She waved his desiccated finger in his direction with a smile. Nobody threatened a member of the mighty Hownan Clan, even if she was the last and a slave as well. The law protected slaves from abusive owners, and required them to live under the same roof. If Gerqui threw her out, the social repercussions could cost him his position with the outpost commander. The only way she could leave would be if he freed her voluntarily or one of her kin came to buy out the deed against her flesh. The outpost commander had not punished Kaletta, for her attack on her owner, primarily because he was not exactly sure if all of the Hownan Clan were gone. The villagers, for their part, avoided her when she went to buy food at the market, or bathed in the nearby river. The men and boys didn’t even try to spy on her during her ablutions, because they were under the impression they would be cursed by merely looking on the naked body of a Hownan woman.

“Woman?” she chuckled to herself. She was not yet in the blood, so technically she wasn’t a woman at all, but if it meant a small bit of privacy in this smelly and crowded place, Kaletta was grateful. She counted the beads on her bracelet which told her how many years she’d been a slave. Thirty one years. For thirty-one years Kaletta had served this greasy and unworthy worm, long enough to see Gerqui transformed into the bitter old man he was today. Thirty-one years was long enough to see the Lutho Clan rise to prominence. She knew there were no other Hownan men alive, because she could feel it. With every full moon, her hormones surged a little higher, and during those times, she felt a world devoid of her kin. The villagers all felt the Hownan were witches or some other eldritch creature meant to blight mortal men, and only appeared to be human, but there was no denying the fearsome nature of an angry Hownan. Gerqui had done very well to go these thirty-one years with only the loss of a finger.

The rain outside intensified and the wind picked up in the manner of those autumn storms as Kaletta lay on her bedroll trying hard to remember the face of her mother. It had been so long ago when she had seen her face, thus Kaletta had to spend longer, and longer each year straining to recall every minute detail of her appearance. Mother wore her golden hair in long braids, plaited in intricate knots, which were enough to make a noble woman’s coiffure look tawdry. Her eyes were an almond yellow with round lids, which differed greatly from the squinting Lutho. When Mother entered a room, people usually made way without hesitation. If they failed to give way, Mother was quick to place her hand, with long pointed nails, on their shivering chest and force obedience. Soon, these Lutho and their sniveling minions will pay for what they have done! One more moon and I will show them true fear!

Chapter 1 “Breach” of The Ballerina in the Abyss: The Doors of Veselago: Book 3

I am falling…The wind rips at my clothing and there is pain in my side…I must stay awake. I must do something and I must do it soon. An alarm is battering my ears. A voice fills the thinning air, but my mind is pudding. What have I forgotten…Remember! Open your eyes, assess your situation, and then act according to your training. These words are not reassuring since my eyes are open and it’s still dark. I flail around in the rushing air and feel cold skin against my fingers. I feel an arm adrift and alone, delicate and feminine amidst a cloud of sticky wet droplets. I recoil in horror, jerking my hand away and encounter a breast, a torso, and a face with limp and cold features, hewn from one of my doomed companions. I hear a voice screaming, a woman’s high shriek of terror, and then I realize it is my own.

The escape pod…I must get to an escape pod. Why is it dark? Ah, a tiny light ahead, blinking. Swim in the air and get to a surface to move with deliberation. I swim toward the light, yearning for its uncertain ember. I feel more faces, shredded clothing, and blood, lots of floating spheres of sticky, clotting blood. The wind propels me toward the tiny light as though it were the end of a tunnel. To find an escape pod, merely whistle three notes with an interval of 2-4-1, the emergency locator will respond with the next available pod.

I whistle through shivering lips the peculiar tune and am blinded by a distant flood light. I can see where I am now and I feel no better. I am within a cavernous sphere surrounded by a swarm of human fragments. Far away on all sides, I see forests, grassland, and villages. Ah, a memory, fleeting, but then it is gone. I look behind me and see the source of the tiny light. Around the light is the Grand Ballroom with its transparent titanium geodesic dome shattered as if it were merely cut crystal. Its support braces and broken panels flattening pagodas and trees indiscriminately. The source of the light is a star, a single lonely star shining through a hole in the sphere and through which I would exit into the vacuum of space along with all of the dead and dying. …act according to your training. Swim at right angles to a hull breach and not against it. I begin swimming in the air, stimulated by the prospect of being squeezed out into emptiness along with the corpses and their bodily fluids. My side hurts and I look down and see a tear in my bloodied uniform. My progress is slow, due in part to the torrent of air exiting the breach, as well as the large bubbles of water which were once ponds floating about, still full of confused coy fish,

Finally, I get close enough to the escape pod and am about to enter its safety when I see what is written on a nearby console.

Distance to the nearest Commonwealth system is 54 light years. Chance of living recovery 0.0001%. Have a nice day.

Memory floods back into my addled brain. I am a ship’s steward aboard the luxury liner Imperial Fantasy, just one steward among hundreds meant to pamper tourists’ every possible whim. A crewmember’s primary duty is to protect the ship. The passenger’s safety is secondary to this primary duty. The ranking officer is responsible for all events that transpire under his, hers, or its command. Use of escape pods by an officer is not permitted until all passengers and subordinates are safely evacuated.

I touch the panel and request access to the Imperial Fantasy’s higher functions. A sphere with numerous warning symbols hovers before my eyes. I sweep my hand through the token, which would connect me to the bridge, but it is red instead of green. I try again, with the same result. Instead of hearing the voice of my captain, I hear the computer speak in its gentle voice. The alarm coming from the console stops.

“Hello, Steward Second Class Gloria Tsing, you are the first crewmember to respond. I am awaiting your orders. It has been seventeen minutes since the event, which has reduced passenger life signs to one third of their total. Most were lost during the initial penetration as many passengers were attending the Grand Marquis’ Ball. According to protocol, you are in command unless a higher status crewmember reports. Once again, Madam Tsing, what are your orders?” says the computer, imparting the news like a brick wrapped in a silk handkerchief.

“I want to seal the hull breach. Tell me how to do it!” I shout at the console. For all of their vaunted sophistication, the computers aboard the ship are prohibited from acting autonomously, and require at least one crewmember to issue orders. Thus, if no crewmember ever came to the console, the computer would merrily allow all of the air to whistle away into the void.

“Authorize me to dispatch a repair crew to the breach. I have them ready to go at your command.”

“Do it! Do it now and get the power back on, but leave the gravity off until the atrium is cleared of survivors and debris. Tell me more about the event.”

“An object of unknown configuration punctured the hull and impacted the command observation deck during crew inspection.” The hologram showed an object the size of an escape pod slam into the transparent titanium shielding enclosing the command observation deck opposite the breach. “The object is lodged in a corridor on deck seventeen.”

“Send some protectors to guard it while the repairs are underway. I want medics recovering the living and recyclers to remove non-living debris. Why hasn’t the power returned?”

“Madam Tsing, the object passed through engine room four and punctured a power routing cluster. I have one hour of emergency systems power remaining before the Imperial Fantasy is classified as salvage.”

I don’t know too much about the ship’s systems. A steward second class is the second lowest rank among the crewmembers, which means my particular skills reside in entertainment and not command or engineering. My command training is three days, three lousy days! My dear father purchased my commission with his life savings, and it is up to me to pay him back when I can. If I don’t survive, neither will my family! I watch, floating amid the leaves and bugs dislodged from nearby shrubs, as a dozen large robots propel themselves toward the hole and begin spinning a web of carbon and titanium filament over the gap. Layer after layer are laid down in a thick mat. The net bulges outward into the vacuum but keeps its grip. The sound of rushing wind stops as the console lights up a second time.

“Madam Tsing, inner hull breach is secured and outer breach shrouding is in progress. I humbly suggest you make your way to the bridge. Ship’s sensors have detected another object in our path.”

“Can you avoid it?”

“It would deplete our emergency power reserves.”

“Get me to the bridge immediately! What sort of progress have you made getting power back up?”

I don’t relish the prospect of flying this behemoth any more than a squid enjoys crawling out onto the sand, but lives — mine mostly — depend upon how I perform. Fortunately, my training included a primer on how to give orders and perform basic ship functions, unfortunately, that training amounted to three days in a warm and poorly ventilated classroom.

“A protector is on its way to take you to the bridge. Power restoration will occur in approximately twenty-five minutes.” As I stare transfixed at the hologram, I feel a tug on my arm, a small boy drifts beside me, thumb in his mouth, other hand locked onto the sleeve of my uniform.

“Where are the medics?”

“Madam Tsing, they are finding considerable casualties on deck two below the Grand Ballroom. Your orders were to recover the living, the hospital is already filled to capacity. Medics will relocate the remainder to staterooms and treat them there.”

“Make the floaters in the atrium the priority, and secure any floating debris. Contact me when this is completed.”

A protector android arrives, hull painted in the colors of the Swiss Guard. I climb into its open arms, pulling the boy after me, and feel crushing acceleration as it blasts its way across the gulf of the atrium toward the command deck and the bridge, which lays twenty decks below the surface of the smashed observation area. Twisted girders creak as the ship oscillates slowly beneath them, painted on the inside with the gore of the unlucky officers who twenty minutes earlier had been standing in neat rows undergoing inspection. Somehow, the explosion threw me far enough to avoid death, though the pain in my side is beginning to get worse. The android shoves aside shifted planters and decorations to reveal a hatch.

The door opens with a groan and we enter the darkness lit only by the android’s headlamp, which bounces as the machine pulls itself along the corridor. Deck one is where restaurants and casinos ply their trade just below the atrium. Groaning from the ship’s weakened structure tells me how close we’ve come to being popped like a grape, but no other sounds are immediately discernable. The android stops by a door and speaks.

“I will be passing through compromised areas, you must wear an environment suit. Please don one and indicate when you are ready to continue. Time is critical.” It’s just like an android to get to the point. Stepping out of its embrace, I open the door and climb into the first suit in the queue. I can’t exactly cycle the carrousel to get one in my size, so I instead I get a male model. I thank the boring but thorough instructor who made me don an EV suit thirty times as I slip into the nylon and fullerene garment with the book sized recycler on the back. I hoist the boy into the front of the suit and am grateful it’s several sizes too large.

“I’m ready. Get me to the bridge as fast as possible.”

“Acknowledged. I will use the pengelium.”

Oh my! I’ve forgotten about the pengelium. Before I can countermand the android’s actions, it folds around me and Deck One shimmers and disappears. I lose consciousness as I hear mine and the boy’s screams.