Alsea Rising: The Seventh Star (Chronicles of Alsea Book 10)

  Alsea Rising

  The Seventh Star

  Fletcher DeLancey

  Heartsome Publishing

  For all those who love.

  You bear within you a spark of the divine.

  When our sea-dwelling ancestors forgot the importance of family and lost their future children, they cried out to Fahla to save them. Our Goddess wept, for she could not repair the damage they had done themselves. Instead, she offered a second chance. She gave them new bodies to bear the next generation, embedded them with her divine spark, and bid them leave their cities in the sea to build new lives on land.

  We are those children. Yet we did not learn from the mistakes of our parents. We made similar foolish choices, chasing status and limiting love to the forms which met our approval. We forgot that love is divine. As our ancestors lost their children, so we lost our divine tyrees.

  Once again, Fahla could not heal our self-inflicted wounds. Instead, she brought us children of the stars, who carried seeds that replanted our divine tyrees. But with those seeds came great danger. With them came other star-children, who envied Fahla’s gifts and sought to abuse them.

  Even our Goddess cannot save us from our mistakes. But she can give us the means to save ourselves, if we will but remember her lessons: Family is paramount, and love is divine.

  Lanaril Satran

  The Book of Verity

  Contents

  Map

  1. Launch

  2. Calm before the storm

  3. Racing the stars

  4. Left behind

  5. Taking odds

  6. Blacksun Base

  7. Swarm

  8. Unthinkable

  9. Anchored

  10. Shelter

  11. Flagship

  12. Deep dive

  13. Divide and conquer

  14. Surfacing

  15. Unthinkable truth

  16. Back to the beginning

  17. Emissary

  18. Invisible threat

  19. Command deck

  20. Endgame

  21. Path of the Return

  22. Ill-tempered

  23. Phoenix

  24. Negotiation II

  25. Aftereffects

  26. Blackout

  27. The deal

  28. Breakout

  29. Coming home

  30. A toast

  31. Ceremonies

  32. It’s time

  33. The last ritual

  34. Morning after

  35. Not the usual way

  36. Salomen’s surprise

  37. Culture shock

  38. Sanctuary

  39. Creation

  40. Seeing

  41. Full circle

  42. Losslyn

  43. Heavy truth

  44. The gift

  45. Visitor

  46. Warrior

  47. Admiral

  48. AFS Phoenix

  49. Truths

  50. Uninvited

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  About the Author

  Also by Fletcher Delancey

  1

  Launch

  Commander Cox didn’t speak a word as he led Rahel into the lift. She stepped in and turned, keeping her eyes forward.

  “Sedated, eh? Not what I thought you’d do.”

  She relaxed her rigid stance. From the moment he entered the bridge, she had sensed his admiration, colored with concern and a thread of envy.

  “What did you think I’d do?”

  “One quick swing with that stave would have put the captain in charge.”

  “It would have been more satisfying,” she admitted. “But worse in the long term.”

  “That’s for damned sure. Shuttle bay.”

  Her head snapped around. “I thought we were going to the brig.”

  “Captain Serrado didn’t order me to put you in the brig. She ordered me to take you off her bridge, which I have done. She also wanted you deported at the first opportunity. I’m doing that now.”

  Candini’s fighter was in the shuttle bay.

  Her first, joyous thought was that she would still fight this battle. Her second was a staggering realization.

  Despite being taken by surprise, despite having less than a minute to come up with a plan, Captain Serrado had gotten her off the ship. Legally, safely, and without repercussions for anyone on her staff. No one could fault Cox for his interpretation of the orders. After all, they were on the cusp of battle. Candini’s alternate gunner was on Alsea; there was no time to go back for him. Without a gunner, her effectiveness would be significantly reduced.

  When the battle was over, Candini would return to base and Rahel would step onto Alsean soil a free woman. The politics would no doubt rage over her head as the Protectorate officially protested the lack of internal justice, but Lancer Tal would defend her—especially once she learned what Admiral Greve had tried to do.

  She could still feel the oily weight of his anticipation. He had relished the moment as he set the trap, knowing Serrado would disobey an order that endangered two ships and their crews. He had used her honor against her.

  The lift doors opened, revealing a hive of activity.

  “Finally!” Candini shouted. She was already in her flight suit, jogging across the bay and pointing toward the locker room. “Get your ass in there and get suited up!”

  “May your goddess fly with you,” Cox said.

  She wished she had more time. “And with all of you. Thank you, Commander.”

  In the locker room, she stripped down and yanked her suit off the hanger, thinking wistfully of the friends she was leaving behind. They deserved a better farewell than her sudden disappearance. Quantum com calls could not hold a candle to the warmrons that Gaians gave so freely.

  Her change surely set a new speed record, yet when she raced up the ladder and landed in her seat, Candini gave an impatient huff.

  “It’s about time,” she grumbled, tapping the controls to stow the ladder and seal the cockpit.

  “Unavoidable delay.” Rahel opened the storage beneath her seat and squeezed in her rolled-up Bondlancer’s Guard uniform.

  “Doing what, picking your ass? This is the real thing, Red.” She pulled back on the control stick, guiding the fighter off the deck and toward the exit tunnel. “And since when do you bring that uniform with you? Is it some sort of good luck charm?”

  Rahel snapped her harness in place and settled back to watch the green guidance lights. “You won’t believe it when I tell you.”

  2

  Calm before the storm

  “Slow down, tyrina. They won’t be here in the next five ticks.”

  Salomen tripped trying to shove a leg into her trousers and needed two hops to regain her balance. “They’re a day early! I’m not ready! How are you so shekking calm about it?”

  Even if they didn’t share emotions, the use of profanity was a waving flag. Salomen rarely swore.

  Tal crossed the room and held her by the shoulders. “Tyrina. Stop.”

  “There’s no time—”

  “There is time. You’re allowing fear to override your logic.” She pushed Salomen backward.

  “What are you—stop this, I need to get my shirt on.”

  “You’re lovely without it.” Two more steps.

  “There are no words to express how not in the mood I am for that.”

  She reached her goal and turned them in place. “Look.”

  Frowning, Salomen looked past Tal’s shoulder. “At what?”

  “The base. The trees. The Blacksun skyline. Look at
the sunlight reflecting off the buildings. It’s all still there.”

  “It might not be if we don’t—”

  “Salomen. Look at it. Breathe.” She fumbled behind her back and threw open the window. Crisp morning air flowed in, carrying birdsong, warriors’ voices, and the sound of rustling leaves. In another hantick, the morning breeze would die down and the still air of summer would begin heating up the day.

  She looked into Salomen’s eyes and inhaled deeply, then exhaled.

  After a charged moment of resistance, Salomen followed suit. Her eyes slipped shut. “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

  “I know. It’s all right.”

  “Everything depends on me.” Her voice caught. “How can it be all right? The entire plan rests on my shoulders and I’m shekking terrified. It should have been you!”

  “No.” Tal brought their foreheads together. “It has always been you. Fahla chose you for a reason. I trust her wisdom, and I trust you.”

  Salomen collapsed against her, wrapping her in a desperate warmron. “What if I fail?”

  “Then I will help you pick yourself up and we’ll try again. You’re not the missile, Salomen. You’re the launcher. If you miss, we launch again. And again, until we succeed. It rests on our shoulders, not just yours.”

  She willed determination into the trembling body in her arms. Salomen had faced every aspect of this plan with unflinching courage, but until this morning, it had all been theoretical. Ekatya’s quantum com call made it real. Her news that the Voloth had upended their battle plan made it terrifying.

  “We’re already at a disadvantage.” Salomen straightened, wiping her eyes. “All those ninedays of preparation—”

  “Ekatya will handle it. Trust her to be the warship captain she is. Everyone has their roles. Our fighters will work harder to defend the space elevator, Ekatya will take down as many ships as she can—none of that changes what we do. Our plan is exactly the same.”

  “Goddess above, I envy your battle experience.”

  “No, you don’t.” Tal could not imagine her peaceful bondmate drawing blood. This was the woman who cupped hairy watchers in her hands and carried them off the trail to safety. Tal wouldn’t touch the things, but Salomen saw value in even the lowest forms of life.

  “Perhaps not the experience,” Salomen conceded, pulling the shirt over her head. “But the calm that comes with it.”

  Tal walked to the closet and retrieved their combat vests. Back at the windows, she dropped hers to the floor, then opened the other and held it up. “Fear is strongest when it has no competition. Once you make that jump, once you begin what you’ve trained for, you’ll have a focus other than your fear. You’ll still feel it, but it won’t control you.”

  Salomen slipped her arms through and settled the vest in place. “So I can look forward to gibbering panic for another hantick or so?”

  “Look at that.” Smiling, she sealed the front and gave it a pat. “You’re already halfway there. Making jokes is an excellent sign.”

  “It’s not much of a joke,” Salomen grumbled, but she moved with more of her usual fluidity as she picked up Tal’s vest to return the favor. “Did we formally thank the Protectorate for sharing their flexible light armor technology?”

  “Not exactly, since it wasn’t the Protectorate that did the sharing. I did thank Lhyn.”

  “So did I.” A quick smile crossed her face as she closed the seal. It was small but significant, and her emotions reflected the change. “These are certainly more comfortable than a cuirass.”

  “More practical, too. A little lacking in style.” Tal caught her hands. “If you remember nothing else when things get tricky, remember this. A battle never goes exactly the way we expect. Plans are guaranteed to fall apart. What separates the victors from the rest is their ability to adapt.”

  “I’ve been practicing the same plan for a moon and a half and now you tell me to adapt?”

  “I’m telling you that I’ll be right there with you, helping you do it.”

  Salomen took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right. Let’s go meet the divine tyrees. You know you’ll be repeating this speech to them.”

  “Without the hand holding, I hope.”

  They activated their earcuffs, officially ending their bubble of calm.

  “Colonel Razine, Salomen and I are prepped and moving to the quad. Any updates from the Phoenix?”

  “Captain Serrado has engaged the enemy,” Razine said. “There are five destroyers and two heavy cruisers.”

  “More than two-to-one odds!” Salomen’s fear rose once more.

  “I wouldn’t worry, Bondlancer. It started at three-to-one. Captain Serrado has already vaporized a heavy cruiser, and the Victory and Thea worked together to take down a destroyer.” Satisfaction rang through Razine’s voice. “We have the Savior on our side, and she’s not fighting alone.”

  “Neither are we,” Tal said.

  3

  Racing the stars

  The Phoenix’s fighters launched with them, just as they had in the last several war games, but the familiarity ended there. In their games, they had all flown to Alsea together. Sixty-one fighters traversing the distance meant that any missiles slipping past the Phoenix were easy pickings. Rahel had complained about having too few opportunities to take a shot.

  Now she had none.

  With the Phoenix moving up to support the Victory and Thea, Captain Serrado had ordered her fighters to take the ship’s place. All sixty were arrayed in a defensive net, prepared to neutralize any missiles that came their way. Alone, Rahel and Candini sped toward Alsea.

  “Not a single missile yet,” Rahel observed. “The Voloth are picking their asses, as you would say. Why aren’t they targeting the elevator?”

  “They haven’t done a damned thing we expected.” Candini glanced at the battle grid display. “I don’t like it. At all.”

  “Captain Serrado said they would study her tactics. That they’d be developing strategies to neutralize her. This has to be part of that, but I don’t understand how.”

  “Or it’s not part of their strategy and they don’t have time to fire missiles our way because they’re busy trying not to get blown to atoms. I bet they were expecting her to be closer to Alsea. They didn’t think she’d be waiting for them.”

  “She wouldn’t if Greve had his way.” Rahel had known it was the right thing to do when she did it, but she hadn’t expected such swift confirmation. Watching nine ships come out of base space—including three heavy cruisers that rivaled the Phoenix for size—had eradicated any tendrils of concern.

  “Best thing you ever did,” Candini growled. “I’d have shot him.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “Fine, then I’d have introduced my fist to his face. Several times. And none of this dokshin about laying him gently on the deck. You should have dropped him to see how far his head bounced.”

  “I was advised against that.”

  “By the same person who got you that sedative? It was Lancer Tal, wasn’t it?”

  Rahel passed a finger over her lips, miming the movement of sealing an Alsean shirt.

  “Asshead.”

  “It’s cute that you still swear in Common. If it were just me, I’d tell you. I can’t risk my, um, advisor.”

  “Yeah, I know. At least I can get a copy of the security logs. That footage will be on the black market by the end of the day.” Her glee faded as soon as it had appeared. “Shek, are you seeing this? They’re practically ignoring the Victory and Thea and going after the Phoenix. Maybe that’s why they haven’t targeted the elevator. Maybe their orders were to take out Serrado first, then focus on Alsea. It would explain the huge number of ships.”

  “Three-to-one odds.” Rahel shook her head. “What a testament to her reputation. She must be greatly feared in the Voloth Empire.”

  “Hated, feared, same thing. She’s the best and they know it.”

  Their quantum com activat
ed in a voice-only call from the Fleet wing commander. “New orders, Nightwing. We’re joining you at the space elevator, both squadrons. Serrado’s worried about the Voloth overleaping us if the battle breaks at the minefield.”

  “Well, they haven’t been doing anything else we expected,” Candini said. “Come on over, the weather’s fine.”

  4

  Left behind

  Lanaril had lit six rows of oil bowls when someone walked to the rack nearest hers and began lighting their own.

  She kept her head down, hiding her scowl. The temple was quiet at this hantick. With so few worshipers using the space, it was rude beyond belief to crowd her as this unknown person was doing.

  They had probably recognized her, though she was not wearing her templar’s tunic. If they were hoping for aid or wisdom from the Lead Templar, they would be sadly disappointed. She had none to spare.

  She lit the seventh and eighth rows with increasing anger. The one time she needed her own respite in this holy place, and this dokker’s backside couldn’t respect it?