Copyright © 2015 by Annathesa Nikola Darksbane.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America.

First Printing, September 10, 2015

Darksbane Books
247 Macedonia Loop
Jasper, AL 35503-5959

DarksbaneBooks.com

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people and events are coincidence.

For my loving wife, with whom these tales were first woven and without whom these dreams never would have manifested.

CHAPTER ONE

Hawke's Landing

The steady click of Branwen's plated war-boots followed her down the star dock, wind born from the adjoining desert caressing her face with its warm, abrasive fingers. She wasn't pacing, not really. However, she
had
paced the length of the maintenance and refueling area enough times by now for her instincts to have committed all the ways in and out of the area to memory, just in case. Some days, like today, that instinct felt nearly as old as she was, almost as if she’d been born with it. But those thoughts were just bits and pieces of weariness speaking out of turn.

The typical sounds had blended into the background, finally; the howl of sand-bearing wind, the ceaseless murmur of mixed crowds, metal on metal and the rumbling burn of ship engines all fading away into a subtle cacophony of ambient noise. It always took days after coming to a new area for her unease to subside, but it was still leagues better than when she’d first come to space: those weeks of helpless discomfort and yes, even a little fear, born of unfamiliarity, superstition, and many long years of distrust.

It was certainly better now than it used to be, anyway. Honestly, part of her still wondered if it would be better if she'd never left her homeworld, Fade, but now she had the dependence of her crew weighing on her shoulders, yet another old instinct driving her ever forward.

A loud, sudden sound cut across the star dock, the searing screech of a metal hull ripping apart. Branwen's muscles tensed as her eyes instinctively sought the source of the “scream.” At least this time, she managed to keep herself from reaching for the familiar sword on her belt, or for one of the solid steel throwing axes strapped to the small of her back under her coat.

Across the way, the curtain of heavy pedestrian traffic parted long enough for her to glimpse two technicians, locked in an argument over some sort of fire-spitting device as it cut into the wing of a sky-ship at rest, and she relaxed. The incident temporarily separated her thoughts from the need for further crew to man her as-of-yet-nameless starship, though those thoughts were soon to return, as was her “pacing,” strides lengthening again as she approached the Altairan Personal Transit Gate.

Branwen accepted and ignored the number of odd or curious looks she received as she passed through the crowd, increasing in frequency as she grew nearer the raised Gate area and the city’s functional steel and stone structures shifted into pristine, refined Altairan architecture. It wasn't hard for her to stand out, after all; she had an inch of height on the average native Koltani males, and nearly three on the average Altairan. Not to mention her manner of dress: Koltani-style long coat over the earthy tones of her simply designed, yet durable, Fade attire, which most would consider unconventional at best. At least she had finally broken free of the habit of wearing her armored mail over most of it.

Of course, no amount of pacing and pondering would matter if she couldn't find a pilot actually capable of getting their “star-ship” off of the ground, out of the docks, and into —no,
past —
the sky.

Pausing briefly, she stepped to the side to allow the bulk of the swelling crowd to pass her by. Crossing her arms and leaning momentarily against a neat stack of thick wooden cargo crates, Branwen’s eyes traveled back and up the length of Koltan’s main port city as she reflected. The city was built onto the side of a mountain, climbing slowly down in an increasing sprawl until it hit nearly the bottom. The star docks spread out from that base like the splayed fingers of a giant’s armored glove, massive branching metal strips towering several dozen feet over the dry, dusty basin, providing homes to a multitude of resting vessels.

She turned to thoughtfully lean over the nearby railing of the long platform, looking out at the wind-blown expanse of one of Koltan's myriad deserts, as if the hot, arid wind would bring with it new ideas. And perhaps, in a way, it did, as she looked up to the sound of raised voices nearby, and spotted the small woman who would change the direction of her life forever.

1.1
- Merlo

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Merlo yelled in frustration at the guards—useless, stupid guards. They were too big to be worth anything in a fight, and those so-called “guns” they were carrying were so archaic, they looked like they belonged in a historical application. Why would they refuse to simply let her go back through the Altairan Gate to where she was “supposed to be?” After all, it wasn’t her fault she didn’t have credentials or identification. She was still waiting for the stupid Altairans to sort that out. And it wasn’t her fault she didn’t have currency to pay for using the stupid Gate, either. She was still waiting for, you guessed it, the Altairans to sort that out as well!

Merlo felt like she had been tricked into coming here in the first place, with those stupid job advertisements, and none of this would have happened
at all
if the stupid, stupid Altairans hadn’t blown her ship into so much useless debris. How was she, an outsider, supposed to know the planet she was approaching was some kind of enormous prison-world that no one was allowed to get near without clearance? It all came down to these stupid Altairans, their stupid laws, their stupid rules and protocols, and their stupid, stupid, Gates.

Anyway, these Koltani guards weren’t budging, and she was just about ready and willing to
make
them move instead. She didn’t imagine those weapons would touch her, not through her suit, and there was no way those two were any match for her physically. They were so tall and bulky… were all the people here so weak? She had barely seen a handful since her arrival who looked like they were actually in shape. The Altairans came closer with their shorter height and more slender frames, though their arms lacked the finely corded quality that a properly trained Arlesian’s limbs would carry. This cluster really was upside-down. It was a wonder they even spoke the same language.

Not that it was doing her much good. “Last chance, Primitives. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” Her muscles tensed slightly, ready—perhaps eager—for a fight, if it came to it. She could see the guard’s hand easing toward his useless, primitive weapon, but she was happy to do this the hard way. If it was a fight they wanted, they were in for a
really
bad time.

1.2
- Branwen

Branwen felt her curiosity piqued. Typically, one did not see someone arguing with the starport’s authorities. Arguing with Altairans tended to get you nowhere, while arguing with Koltani natives might just get you shot, though admittedly it was it was more likely to simply get you arrested this close to the Altairan Gates and “civilization.” Which, as a matter of fact, seemed to be the direction the altercation in question seemed to be going.

Branwen's experience allowed her to read a lot from the Koltani officer's body language, such as his nervousness and unease at the small woman's verbal fervor. Branwen flicked a strand of golden blond hair away from her face, from where it had no doubt wandered free from one of her several braids. She could see the way this situation was going to go, as the officer's hand began to inch toward his credentials, or possibly his gun, or maybe his restraints.

From the way she saw the compact, silvery-haired girl reacting, there would be no way she'd be understanding; the situation would escalate, and someone would get hurt. Ultimately, though, none of this was Branwen's business, which is why she sighed at her own predictability as she walked right into the middle of it.

The Koltani guardsman was slowly leaning back on his heels, partially due to the invasion of his personal space by the forceful-if-small young woman, and partially by the sheer volume of vitriol she was currently spewing. Branwen didn't even know what half of those words meant, and by the slight confusion on the man's face as he scratched at his chin, perhaps he didn't either. Her anger was clear enough, though.

Branwen noticed another, older, officer, dressed in the same typical uniform of well-worn leathers and durable sandy brown trench coat, complete with an officer's shining, star-shaped insignia on the front. He was clutching the wooden stock of his rifle as he eyed the situation, no doubt preparing to step in. Probably with a rifle butt to the young woman’s face. As he stepped forward from the small but growing ring of bystanders, so too did Branwen, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Stand down, soldier.” It likely wasn't quite the appropriate thing to say, but it was close enough for the moment. As long as she could resolve this before they started looking her over for credentials, at least; her military distinctions were both years ago and very far away. He relaxed and didn’t immediately try to stop her as she brushed past him. Perhaps he was just happy to let someone take the problem off his hands. Good enough. “What seems to be the problem here?” Branwen raised her voice with an authoritative tone, the very same she’d used for years upon years on her homeworld.

The concerned-looking guard in question visibly relaxed at the commanding inflection in her voice, taking the opportunity to step back from his barely five foot tall aggressor. Looking her over briefly, Branwen doubted the girl had hit her twentieth winter yet, though it was still hard for her to tell sometimes with sky-people. She couldn’t tell if the girl was from Altair, Elysian, or perhaps some other planet in one of the clusters. She assumed Elysian from the distinctly strange hair, but one could never be sure.

Branwen had never heard of Elysians being particularly violent-tempered, but she still lacked a lot of space-related knowledge and expertise, after all. The Koltani officer nodded to her appreciatively and opened his mouth to speak, but as Branwen expected, the fiery young woman dove right into the silence instead, though she managed to conceal the slight smile that crept in alongside her amusement.

“The
problem
,” the girl began fiercely, lifting her hand to jab an accusatory finger at the pair of guards, “is that these slack-jawed
Primitives
won’t let me go back through this stupid Gate to where I belong.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but like we said—” to his credit, Branwen felt the officer was still being more polite than could reasonably be expected.

“I know you
said
I can’t go back, but it doesn’t make any
sense!
Like I told you, I didn’t mean to come to this stupid dusty rock in the first place. Some asshole tricked me into coming over here and I didn’t even know you had to have all that crap to use the Gates!” She paused for a seemingly overdue breath. “Look, all I want is to go back through your stupid Gate to the place I was five minutes ago, and finish the stupid Altairan processing or whatever!”

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