Points of Departure (The Robert Fenaday and Shasti Rainhell Chronicle Book 3) Read online

  Points of Departure Book 3 in the Robert Fenaday/Shasti Rainhell Chronicle By: Edward McKeown

  Points of Departure by: Edward McKeown Copyright © 2013 Edward McKeown

  Published by: Ad Astra

  All rights reserved. No part of this document or the related files may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means (electronic, photocopying, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13:

  978-1493511464 ISBN-10:

  1493511467 Digital ISBN

  Cover art by: Michael Church Edited by: Julanne Batterton This book is work of fiction. Characters, names, places, incidents, and organizations are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Dedication

  "To my love and my inspiration, Schelly Keefer." Prologue Sidhe flung herself outward from Olympus’ orbit, clear of the remaining vessels of the Olympian Self-Defense Force. Clear also of her supposed allies in the Confederate Navy. The warship carried the badly injured Robert Fenaday, former privateer and now unwilling agent for Confederate Intelligence. His mission on Olympia had been to bring down the government of Denshi, the genetically engineered assassins dominating the planet and rescue the first Confederate force sent to kill Jalgren Pard, head of Denshi.

  Fenaday, weary of war and loss, knew his supply of luck was overdrawn. His wife, Commander Lisa Fenaday, had disappeared in the Conchirri War, along with her scoutship, the C.S.F.S Blackbird. Selling off his family’s shipping line; he’d taken to the stars, searching for her. All he found was empty revenge on the Conchirri.

  Too many close calls later, Fenaday rescued Shasti Rainhell, a genetically engineered Olympian raised as a Denshi assassin. Beautiful, perfect Shasti, as cold as February moonlight, she’d been his right hand until the war ended and the market for privateers dried up. Confederate Intelligence, through an operative calling himself “Mandela” found them on Mars, broke and desperate. Blackmail sent them on a suicide mission to the forbidden planet of Enshar, in the company of ace pilot Telisan and Belwin Duna, the Enshari scholar. Against all odds, they survived, destroying their near Godlike enemy, the Prekak.

  On that dead world, Fenaday first learned Shasti was the escaped wife of Jalgren Pard. Something new and unforeseen grew between him and Shasti, as Fenaday finally laid the ghost of his wife to rest. Their friend Telisan silently feared they were not yet free of their pasts. It proved too true.

  Shasti and Fenaday returned to New Eire, wealthy, pardoned, free and happy. Or so it seemed, until Shasti left unexpectedly. Later, Fenaday learned that “Mandela,” alarmed by Olympia’s military buildup, had recruited her to kill her former husband, Pard. For Shasti, Fenaday abandoned all he had won back and tried his luck again.

  The delicate game of cat and mouse ended in a bloody assault by Sidhe’s troops. Shasti chanced onto Pard’s base at the same time. Fenaday discovered her locked in a losing battle with Pard. Telisan found them both later, nearly dead, in each other’s arms.

  They were not all he found. In the wreck of the compound, Telisan learned two facts that remade the universe. First was the real reason “Mandela” wanted Pard dead: Olympia’s alliance with a new species, the Voit-Veru. The discovery was the nightmare of every politician, general and admiral in the seven species of the Confederacy. The last contact had been the Conchirri, xenophobic carnivores who dropped out of the night sky, murdering millions.

  The second, more personal revelation exploded on them. The Voit-Veru had captured Lisa Fenaday’s ship eight years ago. She might still be alive.

  As doctors struggled to bring Shasti and Fenaday back from death’s brink, Telisan used Mandela’s name and General Dominici’s power in the chaos of Olympia to repair the

  Sidhe and launch before the Confederate Navy learned what they were up to.

  It seemed the past was not through with them yet... Chapter One Robert Fenaday lay on his cabin bed, sheets balled in his fists, sanity in shreds. He lifted an agonized face to the crucifix sitting on his locker, a gift from his long-dead mother. As a child, she told him it carried his words to God’s ears. Right now he wanted it to be true.

  “Is it funny?” he demanded of the cross. “Is it?” As always, there was no reply.

  “Well,” he shouted, “is it funny? It is. Isn’t it? A rare joke.

  You take Lisa from me. I searched. Everyone told me I was mad, searching for what could only be a frozen corpse. The things I did... “Now that I let her go, tried to start again, you dangle her before me like a taunt. I’ve betrayed both her and Shasti. Oh, what a fine trap. Either way I turn, I cut a woman I love.”

  He staggered off the bed and seized the crucifix. His head swam; a buzzing grew in his ears.

  “A fine joke,” he said thickly. He dashed the crucifix against the bulkhead. The seals on his wounds strained, making his breath catch. “Damn you,” he muttered, “damn you.” He walked away from the sacrilege to the alcove where Lisa’s image had hung from the day he bought Sidhe from the Confederacy. His lost wife’s image looked back at him, dark red hair, startling blue eyes, a nose slightly crooked from a hang-gliding accident as a teen. His heart lurched in his chest looking at the bright eyes and the slight, mysterious smile. He bowed his head in pain.

  “I’ve got to get moving,” he muttered, “got to get it together and get in forward motion. Telisan’s done well. If he hadn’t gotten us away, the Navy would never have let us go, but he can’t hold the ship together by himself.”

  Only days ago, he’d been as close to death as a man might go and yet return. He’d almost taken that journey with Shasti, wounded nearly to death alongside her in their final battle with Jalgren Pard, Master of the Denshi Assassins. Even with the miracles of medical science, he should still be confined to bed. He’d stormed out of sick bay, over Dr. Mourner and Arpen’s objections, mere hours after Telisan told him of Lisa’s capture by the new aliens, the Voit-Veru. Thoughts of his wife, imprisoned for eight years among non-humans, while he was safe on New Eire with Shasti in his arms, crushed him under a mountain of guilt and rage.

  Shasti had learned of Lisa’s survival first. Her Engineered body beat death back days earlier than his merely human one could and Telisan had told her. She too left sickbay, retreating to her own cabin. He knew he should go to her. There had been so much he planned to tell her when they were finally reunited. Now everything in his heart had frozen. All was pain and confusion.

  He took a few more minutes to pull himself together, dashing cold water on his face. Then he opened his weapons locker. His Martini laser hung there on its belt, typical of Telisan’s

  thoughtfulness. His father’s old Scottish dirk was missing, lost in the same knife-edged valley into which Pard had plummeted. He belted on the laser and headed for the door. When it cycled open, he found Moshe Karass outside leaning against the bulkhead opposite the door. He looked blankly at the Israeli.

  “Hey, Skipper,” Karass said, his dark soulful eyes on the taller Irishman. Karass was a survivor of Sidhe’s many voyages, one of the few reliables from the old privateer crew. Fenaday had hired him when no one else would, refusing to believe Pan-World’s cover-up story blaming him for the crash of a moon shuttle. Even after Karass cleared his name using the riches of the Enshar expedition, he stayed with Fenaday.

  “Moshe,” he said with a small smile, glad to see the man had survived the battles on Olympia.

  “You look like hell, Skipper,” Karass observed, with typical directness. “You ought to be in sickbay.”
br />   “No time,” Fenaday said, weariness pulling at his bones. “Never any damn time.”

  “Telisan wanted to be here,” Moshe said, “but he is trying to keep the lid on. Mmok’s in sickbay, the...visitor...is in quarantine. How long we can keep it quiet is anyone’s guess, especially as I have no idea where we are going or why.” Moshe paused, “I assume you know?”

  “Always, Moshe,” Fenaday said. “Straight to hell.”

  “Ah,” returned Moshe after a second, “the usual.”

  Fenaday found Telisan on the bridge; the Denlenn pilot looked over at his human friend. Telisan was younger, tall and elfin, with golden cat-irised eyes set in skin that appeared leathery but was soft to the touch. He was a veteran of the Confed Navy, wing commander, ace fighter pilot and Fenaday’s trusted friend since the Enshar Expedition. He stood next to one of his fiancées, Sharla, a demi-female of his species. The differences were mostly too small for an outworlder to tell. She was lean and flat-chested, only a slight curve to the hip distinguished her gender. She looked up at Fenaday’s entrance as well, smiling at the human. Telisan’s other fiancée was a full female, Dr. Arpen, empath and surgeon.

  “You should be in bed,” Telisan said sternly.

  Fenaday shook his head. “No time.

  “Sharla,” he continued, “I want all flight and control systems put under code restrictions. I will input the codes myself.”

  “The Enshar protocol?” Telisan asked, unperturbed.

  “Just so,” he replied. “I am going to move into my cabin off the bridge. How does it stand with the crew?”

  “Tense,” Telisan grimaced, “particularly with the Marines. Their officer, Lieutenant Gopal has not yet questioned my authority, but he was very unhappy when we broke orbit. He wanted to call Ambassador Davis and reconfirm his orders. I refused. With Daniel Rigg on his feet and Rask to back him up, the Marines and ASATs are under control. Still he is suspicious, and his men are nervous and unhappy.” He hesitated for a second then went on softly. “It would be good if Shasti would resume command of our ground force...”

  Fenaday raised a hand, “Let’s leave her be for now. I...I need time there.”

  Telisan nodded, uncertainty in his face. “We may not have that luxury for long.”

  Fenaday’s jaw worked as he bit back a hot reply and just nodded.

  “I want to see the visitor,” Fenaday continued, “then we need a council of war. How long till we hit the first warp point for favorable transit?”

  “We have eight days,” Telisan said, “not a lot of time for you to heal.”

  “It’s OK,” Fenaday said, “we’ve got two more jumps beyond that. It will be over a month before I have to worry about anything too physical.

  “Sharla, get me those codes and pipe them into my space cabin. Telisan, come with me, please.”

  Fenaday retreated to the quiet of the small space off the bridge with its terminal and cot. He gestured at his friend to sit on the other end of the cot. “I’ve got something important to say,” he began slowly. “Sidhe is going to the world where they are holding my wife. It’s dangerous, probably mad, but we are going. I am dragging everyone into hell. Some of them, if we survive, I’ll make it up to with money. Some would go anyway. Others are just out of luck. There is only one exception,” he said, leaning forward suddenly. “You. Take Sharla and Arpen. I’ll give you Pooka. Take it. Head for the science station near Atropos; the navy will pick you up. Do it before I become too selfish to let you go,” he finished, his face strained, skin taut over bones.

  “Have I given you such reason to doubt me,” Telisan demanded, “that you should raise this?”

  “No, no, no, no, listen to me,” Fenaday whispered. “Forget honor, forget duty, it’s all crap, just words. All that’s important is the two people you love. I am begging you as a friend, while I still can. Run, please run. You started us on this voyage because you know me better than any other man. You know I must go, but you have everything I am trying to get back. Don’t risk it. Don’t come with us.” Tears slid down Fenaday’s cheeks, he hid his face between his hands.

  Telisan looked at his human friend, over a gap of species and culture. They were at that place again, the uncrossable bridge of alienness. Telisan bottled anger and tried to understand. He reached over and pulled Fenaday’s hands away. The human’s eyes were red with grief. “You want human things for me,” he said softly. “I know you mean it well, out of love, but I am Denlenn and Selen, not human. I need Denlenn things. I could not withdraw from this voyage, this quest, and still be me.

  “It is no different for Sharla, and I have learned, with some effort, it is no different for Arpen, though I earnestly wish her safely home.

  “It is ‘Quaren' in my language,” he continued, struggling. “Ah, the word does not translate well. It is the need to go where the universe means for you to be. Understand, it is clear to me, I am meant to be here, in this place, on this voyage. What is to come, must come.”

  “I’m human,” Fenaday said. “How can I want for you what I don’t understand? I see you risking too much, for too little reason. To be part of that reason, possibly to see something happen to any of you, weighs as heavily on my soul as Lisa’s fate. If something happens, I’ll be responsible.”

  “Yes,” Telisan said gravely, “as will I, as will the universe itself. One cannot escape consequences. So Robert, my friend and you are that, though we barely understand each other at all—you must learn to want Denlenn things for me.”

  Fenaday sighed deeply. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you?”

  “It must have been good,” Telisan agreed.

  Fenaday did a double-take and a laugh escaped him, then another, in a second he was laughing so hard he had to lean back against the wall, clutching his injured ribs.

  Telisan smiled, Denlenn fashion. The human grabbed his arm firmly. “One last time,” Fenaday said, “then I will never mention it again. Leave this ship while you can.”

  “No,” Telisan said. “The universe has placed me where I need to be. It is enough, no matter what follows.”

  “God bless you,” Fenaday said. “I was so afraid you would leave and I don’t think I have any chance without you.”

  “You humans are very contradictory creatures,” replied an exasperated Telisan. “Do you ever say what you are actually thinking?”

  Fenaday smiled sadly at him. “Back to work for you.”

  The Denlenn nodded, stood and left.

  The next moves, thought Fenaday, lying back on the cot, are critical. There is so much to do. I need to see Mourner and her regenerators again; thereafter only willpower and exercise can restore me. It will not be lacking this time. I won’t fail Lisa again.

  Meanwhile, I’ll alter the control codes on the shuttles, fighters and the subsystems controlling the Sidhe’s main drive. These I’ll keep secret even from Telisan. With Sharla and Arpen aboard, there are keys that might unlock Telisan. Eventually, I may give Shasti the command codes. No one could force them from her, though she might give them up if I become a hostage, one obvious way to scuttle the mission. Already, Telisan was concerned about the marine commander. Others might also become troublesome.

  Unwillingly, his mind kept returning to Shasti. After the code changes, he said to himself. I’ll figure out what to do about her then.

  He looked around the small cabin which he often used when they were maneuvering in deep space, or near a combat zone. Sidhe had been built by the Conchirri, a race of ruthless carnivores. Her bridge was the captain's den, approachable only by a passage leading to the rear of the bridge. The passage could be gassed or filled with automatic weapon fire at need. Fenaday had never removed these systems. Once before, he’d faced mutiny in the skies over dead Enshar. Before he’d allow Sidhe to be wrested from him again, the starship would die. Those who knew him from his privateer days knew his ruthlessness when it came to the search for Lisa. He hoped to God they were warning the newcomers. It was everyone’s b
est protection.

  Exhaustion cut him down and he awoke with a start an hour later, dismayed that even minimal efforts drained him so. With a curse he stumbled to his feet, composed himself as best he could and reentered the bridge. Telisan was again in the center seat.

  “Come with me,” Fenaday said.

  Telisan nodded. “Mr. Graglia, please take the con.”

  The senior lieutenant, another loaner from the Confederate Navy, nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  Telisan followed Fenaday to the turbo, out through the valved doors at the entrance to the bridge. As the doors cycled closed on the turbo, Fenaday punched the button for the sickbay access. “I want to see it,” said Fenaday grimly. “I want to see what took my wife.”

  Telisan nodded with a look another Denlenn would have recognized as worry. Fenaday’s face was pale and strained. He’d been among humans long enough to see the restrained fury in the man.

  They reached the sickbay in half a minute. Dr. Shizuyo Mourner, a tiny, bird-like woman with a predatory look and a sharp tongue to go with it, glanced up as they entered. “Finally come to your senses and decide to readmit yourself?” she asked tartly.

  “No,” Fenaday said shortly. He looked toward the iso-labs. There were guards on each door separated by about ten feet, Murphy and Chang, both from Shasti’s personal trouble squad.

  Mourner followed his look. “Mmok’s in the one to the right,” she said, her tone rich with disapproval.

  “Then I want the one to the left,” he growled, pushing aside thoughts of Mandela’s cyborg watchdog. “I want to see what they look like.” He strode over to the iso-lab door with its small portal. He could have seen the interior by view screen from anywhere in the ship. For this, only his own eyes would do. Mourner and Telisan followed. Murphy, tall, lanky and silent as usual, simply stood aside.

  Fenaday’s eyes bored in at their prisoner. The creature sat on its haunches in the middle of the room. Large brown eyes stared back.

  A goddamn kangaroo was Fenaday’s first thought, as his mind tried to resolve strangeness with a known pattern. He’d never seen a live one, but remembered the animals from books and tapes. The longer he looked, the less it resembled a kangaroo. This one stood smaller than a man did. It wore some form of short pants and vest through which its bizarre trio of tentacle-like arms projected.