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Outlaw Galaxy 4, short story collection
by Bill Smith
www.BillSmithBooks.com | www.OutlawGalaxy.com
See the Author's Note following this story to find out about other books in the Outlaw Galaxy series.
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Five short stories of magic, wonder and adventure among the stars and distant worlds of Outlaw Galaxy. Free at most retailers:
* "Little Wind." Charrogarn has been told he is the Pyarrun Senn, destined to save his world from the Ghat'han invaders and preserve his peoples' most sacred traditions. And it all feels like a lie.
* "Here. Alone." There's nothing better than spending the day watching the starships coming in to land at the starport, imagining what their stories might be....
* "One Man's Trash." No matter how desperately you need a new starship, don't trust your co-pilot to pick it out....
* "We've Come A Long Way." A tavern on a StarStation, a well-deserved rest after a long journey across the stars ... and a moment of reflection amidst a bar fight.
* "Echoes." A father and son share a very special memory of the past.
* About the Author
* A Note From Bill Smith
Short story collection, 15,000 words, about 45 pages, reading time: one hour.
Read for free here and at all major ebook stores: Smashwords (all formats), Payhip (epub, PDF and Amazon Kindle mobi format), Barnes & Noble Nook, Kobo or Apple iBooks and a direct download from Google drive. Sorry Amazon Kindle people but Amazon insists on pricing the book at 99 cents. (If you like this book, "Tip Jar" contributions are gladly accepted at https://www.paypal.me/outlawgalaxybill.)
Shyeean was leading the group when he held up his hand, motioning for them to stop. In the darkness, Charrogarn nearly stumbled, but his guardian, Kson, grabbed his hand and stopped his fall. Behind Charrogarn, the four other Ran'daggor warriors scattered from the trail, silently slipping into the brush.
Kson sprinted off the trail and into the forest, motioning for Charrogarn to follow. Charrogarn was amazed at Kson's stealth as he effortlessly pushed through the thick tangles of tree limbs and bushes. Charrogarn followed his guardian, straining to move in silence, but again he stumbled, cringing as he kicked a rock. He watched helplessly as it tumbled down the hill.
A sudden breeze rustled through the trees, swirling the leaves and branches, covering the sounds of the tumbling rock. A few moments later the forest was quiet again.
It was a perfectly clear night and the triple moons shone brightly. The stars were scattered above them, countless pinpoints of light. The night was still, silent.
Charrogarn, pushing through the forest, finally reached Kson. Kson raised his blaster rifle, his keen eyes searching the darkness up ahead.
Kson was seventeen or eighteen years old, the youngest of the Ran'daggor warriors here, but he was still about five years older than Charrogarn. Their closeness in age was probably why Kson had been chosen to be his personal guardian.
"Have patience," Kson whispered. "You will learn how to move in silence, young Pyarrun Senn. Just allow yourself time."
Pyarrun Senn. The legendary warrior-protector of his people. Supposedly imbued with magical abilities to speak to the spirits of the dead and to know that which was unknowable by ordinary means. According to the tales, the Pyarrun Senn was to be the leader of the Ran'daggor warriors as they fulfilled their solemn duty to protect his people from their enemies.
But this person, this story ... it was a legend. A myth. A fable.
A lie.
The abilities of the Pyarrun Senn were silly stories, told by foolish old men who believed in the Pyarrun, the "Hidden World."
The Ran'daggor warriors had sworn to drive the Ghat'hans off Nashmral and to free this planet from their rule. They believed the Ghat'hans to be invaders and tyrants, not trading partners, as Charrogarn had always viewed them.
The warriors believed in the Pyarrun Senn and his supposedly magical abilities to rally the people and lead them to victory. Somehow, through ceremonies and future-gazings conducted by the distant leaders of the Ran'daggor sect, Charrogarn had been chosen to be the next Pyarrun Senn. Kson told him that he was to be just the fourth in the last three thousand years. A Pyarrun Senn was selected only in times of great peril.
There was more to the fairy tale, but Charrogarn had forgotten the details. He thought them unimportant. It was all just foolish superstition. It was too much for a twelve year old boy to take in.
Kson cocked his head as if he heard someone calling out to him. Charrogarn thought he might have heard a trace of a whisper, a distant voice-ghost, but it was just a breeze, nothing out of the ordinary.
Kson motioned off to his left, pointing down the mountain. The other Ran'daggor warriors emerged from cover. There was no trace of their passing as they sprinted down the mountainside.
"We stay here," Kson whispered. "The Naiz Gairos patrol will be gone shortly."
Naiz Gairos. The "Night Cowards." That was what the Ran'daggors called the Ghat'hans.
Charrogarn tried to watch the guards, but they simply vanished into the darkness.
Kson pushed a blaster rifle towards him.
Charrogarn refused it. He would not take the weapon. An energy rifle was for a warrior, a man who worked with his hands. Charrogarn was the son of a Trademaster, destined to work with his mind. Using a weapon was beneath him. That's what bodyguards were for.
Charrogarn heard the whine of energy bolts cutting through the air. Explosions echoed through the trees, as did screams of surprise.
Then there was silence.
Moments later, Shyeean appeared in front of them, seemingly stepping directly from the shadows.
Regardless of their superstitious beliefs in the "Hidden World," the Ran'daggors were remarkable warriors. Even the Ghat'hans feared them. He'd seen it in the faces of his teachers when they'd scolded his friends for pretending to be Ran'daggor warriors while playing. The Ran'daggors were just a myth, a legend, not real, the teachers insisted ... but real enough that the teachers were afraid of them.
Shyeean looked up the mountain.
"There will be more. A troop lander ship is coming. Follow me."
Shyeean dashed into the darkness.
"Where'd he go? How can I follow if I can't see him?" Charrogarn felt his anger rising.
"Quiet, Little Wind," Kson said.
"Stop it!" Charrogarn moaned in frustration, his voice carrying through the forest.
Kson had taken to calling him "Little Wind" on the second night after he'd tripped over a tree root and tumbled down into a gully, screaming the whole way. By sundown, all of the Ran'daggor warriors were calling him that, much to his dismay.
He had not enjoyed the days and nights in the wilderness. Five days before, Charrogarn was just a boy, a child of wealth and privilege. His biggest worries were schoolwork and not getting into trouble. He daydreamed about playing games with his friends after school.
Then, in the middle of the night, the six Ran'daggor warriors showed up. His father, despite being a Trademaster who'd benefitted handsomely under Ghat'han rule, ordered Charrogarn to join these strangers. The boy was forced to leave his home and his family to embrace a life totally alien to him.
Staring into the darkness, Charrogarn saw four other phantom shapes creeping speedily along the ground. He saw a glimpses of silver as moonlight reflected off their blaster rifles. Then the dark forms vanished into the trees and brush. They made no sound.
"Be quiet and follow me. I know the way, Little Wind," Kson said softly, pointing towards the path. "But you must be patient. Keep your mind on the task at hand. You waste your energies on useless anger. It diminishes you."
"Diminishes?" How dare he speak to me like that! Charrogarn was the first son of Trademaster Dajwrett, a man of honor, respect and enormous wealth. By his birthright, Charrogarn was destined for greatness, for power. In time, he would be able to have any desire in life just by speaking it aloud. No one, especially a warrior -- a commoner -- had the right to address him in so crude a manner.
"No one speaks to me -- "
Kson's hand covered his mouth and squeezed. Hard.
Charrogarn released his breath and tried to pull away, but Kson squeezed tighter, holding him still. Charrogarn stopped struggling as his skin was pulled tight by Kson's powerful grip. His face ached.
"Charrogarn, you diminish yourself and your destiny in all respects. If you are to lead and be the Pyarrun Senn, you must not disgrace yourself. You will speak no more of this until you reach Borumankor. There, you can ask the Pyarrun Driall anything you wish. But now, be silent and follow."
Kson released Charrogarn and ran off into the darkness. After a handful of steps, he stopped and looked back.
"You should follow me. It will not do well to be captured by the Naiz Gairos. It would be exceedingly difficult for you to liberate our people from a prison camp. Or a grave."
Charrogarn wanted to argue, but something inside him knew there was truth in Kson's warning. Without another word, he followed Kson into the forest.
Charrogarn ran through the night. Shyeean and the Ran'daggors had not paused to rest for hours, leaving Charrogarn gasping for breath, his legs leaden and muscles rubbery. He wanted to collapse, but somehow he kept running.
His eyes were sore from the strain of squinting, trying to see the way in the darkness. He did as Kson had instructed nights earlier, trying to "feel" the way, to "sense" where the trees, brushes and rocks lay.
The idea seemed ridiculous. He had never been here before. He had no way of anticipating the path through the trees and boulders, but yet when he calmed himself, it almost -- almost -- seemed that he knew where to step, when to leap, how to find his way through the night.
His mind cleared itself of all thoughts except simply following Kson, putting one foot ahead of the other, hour after hour. Somehow, he matched the Ran'daggors, not moving a branch nor leaving marks in the dirt. Like the others, there was not a trace of his passing.
They finally stopped as the eastern sky started to lighten and the stars faded. The cool night air began to warm, although Charrogarn could still see his breath hang in the air. Summoned by Shyeean's call, the Ran'daggors crept from the darkness, emerging in silence, gathering around him.
Exhaustion hit Charrogarn. He collapsed, wheezing. The guardians stood around him, none of them showing any signs of exertion.
"We will rest here. This should give us cover from the Naiz Gairos until night falls again. We will need food."
Three of the guards pulled their blaster rifles from their back holsters and scattered into the woods.
"You kept up with us," Shyeean said to the boy. "Now you can sleep."
"I can't keep this up. It's been five days so far." Charrogarn wheezed, gasping for air. "How much longer?"
"Soon. Another night. Perhaps two."
Shyeean walked off into the night.
Kson leaned down and placed his hand on Charrogarn's shoulder. "He is impressed. He didn't expect you to learn the running so quickly. Despite initial doubts, he is starting to believe you may be the Pyarrun Senn."
"I'm so comforted. All I've ever wanted to do is live up to his standards," Charrogarn snapped, mockery in his voice.
Kson pulled his hand back as if he'd been stung. "Still, you do not see the way. You do not understand your importance."
"I understand," Charrogarn said. "I know the stories of the Pyarrun Senn and his ability to know the enemy and lead our people. I just don't believe in this fairy tale. I'm expected to sacrifice my future and leave my life -- a good life -- behind. For what? A hopeless cause?"
"You understand nothing. I can only hope that Pyarrun Driall Vras will open your eyes."
Charrogarn fell into a deep, restless sleep on the forest floor. Soon, he felt hands on his shoulders as he was guided, groggy and confused, toward a hastily built shelter. He fell into a bed of leaves and was soon asleep while Kson built a cooking fire.
He woke to the smell of cooking fren meat.
Kson pushed a hunk of fren to Charrogarn. "Eat. Your body used most of its energy last night. You are not used to it."
Charrogarn gobbled down the fren. "How long until we reach where we are going? What's the name? Borumankor?"
"We will arrive when the time is right. When you are ready."
"When I'm ready?" He was getting tired of their cryptic nonsense. "I don't know the way. I'm just doing what I'm told to do. I thought you were following maps -- "
Kson chuckled. "Maps aren't of much use when it comes to finding Borumankor."
Confused, Charrogarn said nothing. He grabbed another helping of fren meat and finished it in two bites. His body seemed invigorated. "How long was I asleep?"
"About twenty minutes."
Charrogarn knew that couldn't be true. He'd been exhausted and had collapsed, almost unable to move. Now, he felt like he'd slept a full night. He stood and stretched his arms and legs. There was not the slightest ache or stiff muscle.
Charrogarn walked towards the front of the shelter and pulled aside the branches. He saw the mountains and the river winding through the valley far below. Columns of smoke rose from the tiny, distant houses huddled on the riverbanks. He looked at the position of the sun, just now peeking over the horizon. It was still early morning. He turned back to Kson.
"How is this possible?"
"Your body is learning even if your mind resists. The Naiz Gairos and their schools have trained your mind not to believe, but your body knows the truth. The Naiz Gairos do not understand this."
"What are your talking about?"
Kson grinned. "I'm talking about Pyarrun."
That again.
"Pyarrun aids us. The spirits guide us."
Charrogarn laughed. "The Hidden World? You believe in that?"
"No," Kson said slowly, seriously. "Belief is based on ideas and words. I know. Pyarrun is real to me. I have seen the spirits with my own eyes."
"The Hidden World is just a story," Charrogarn stated firmly. "The world of the spirits, of our ancestors, reaching out to touch the living? It's just a myth. It's not real. Everyone knows that."
"We shall see," Kson said simply. He chuckled, muttering, "Perhaps Borumankor is farther away than I had hoped."
As they ate, Shyeean arrived and stepped into the shelter. "The others are on guard. At nightfall, we will move on."
He grabbed some fren meat from the fire and finished it quickly. "The Naiz Gairos will not find us. The ancestors are guiding us along the safest path."
Charrogarn held his tongue, but the arrogant smirk on his face betrayed his thoughts.
Shyeean turned to Kson, speaking as if Charrogarn were not even present. "I do not understand. I cannot see how this boy -- this non-believer -- can possibly be the Pyarrun Senn. He, like so many others, has been seduced by their world. That is where his spirit lives."
Kson listened respectfully. "Your insight is shrewd. But perhaps the Pyarrun Senn needs to understand the Naiz Gairos to be able to lead our people away from them. We have always trusted Pyarrun Driall Vras before. Why do you doubt him now?"
Shyeean pointed at Charrogarn, his contempt obvious. "Look at the boy! All he wants is what the Naiz Gairos tell him to want. He is blind."
"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Charrogarn muttered, even as anger bubbled up within him. Fools! They cling to myths and superstitions. Perhaps they're also afraid that someone will die if a jacrie crows before dawn!
Shyeean and Kson sat up straight and stared at him. Shyeean's voice paled in rage.
"See!" he screamed. "He is a disgrace to those who have come before! Pyarrun Driall Vras is wrong! His folly will cost us all!"
Kson's eyes darted from Charrogarn to Shyeean, hesitant, not sure whether to speak.
"His mind does not understand," Kson finally whispered. "But his body has already learned the running. He has the ability. Natural, pure, strong. All that remains is for his mind to be opened. Pyarrun Driall Vras was not mistaken. We ... you must protect him."
Kson's voice became urgent as he continued. There was no trace of doubt. "He will learn. He will lead. He will be the Pyarrun Senn. Someday, all of us will serve him."
Shyeean was angry. His face betrayed his doubts. "That remains to be seen."
He grabbed his blaster rifle and stomped out of the shelter.
Better get used to doing what I say. I have a good memory, Charrogarn thought to himself.
"That is enough," Kson said sharply. "That is disrespectful."
"What? I didn't say anything!"
Kson simply grabbed another peace of fren and ate in silence.
"Why did you come for me?" Charrogarn asked.
"Pyarrun Driall Vras saw you in a vision that was sent by the ancestors. He placed the vision in our minds and sent us to get you. We had little trouble locating you," Kson explained. "But we were not told that you would be so ... unprepared."
"I have no reason to believe," Charrogarn snarled.
Kson looked at him. "Your cruelty must be extinguished if you are to fulfill your destiny."
"My destiny. It sounds so grand. But my father picked my destiny a long time ago. I was to take his place as a Trademaster. I was at peace with that destiny. Then you showed up."
"Sometimes one's destiny is something other than what we expect."
"What if I choose not to try? What if I don't want to be the Pyarrun Senn?"
Kson shrugged. "Then turn back and go home. Hopefully, you can make it without the Naiz Gairos finding you. But you will not be allowed to live in peace. They do not believe ... but they cannot take the chance that there is something to our stories. You are forever marked. Your life will never be the same again."
"It sounds like I don't have much of a choice thanks to Vras and his visions."
"Sometimes destiny is like that," Kson said with a grin. "Run all you want, hide wherever you may, it will not matter ... your destiny knows your spirit. It will find you."
"My spirit. My destiny." Charrogarn said disdainfully. "It's all superstition. It's not real."
"The spirits spoke to Pyarrun Driall Vras. That is real ... they are real. They brought us to you. When you are ready, you will hear them. And then they will guide you."
"They talk to you? You hear them?"
Kson raised his eyebrows. "Where has your skepticism gone? Perhaps you are starting to believe?"
"No. I'm just curious. I just want to hear you explain your ideas."
"Fair enough. Sometimes they speak to us. A word, a phrase. Others hear them only when they are ready. You have to be open, calm. You must reach beyond your own ego, beyond your own ideas. You must sense that which is beyond your personal desire."
Charrogarn shook his head. "I suppose."
"You still don't believe."
"No. Of course not. These myths -- the Hidden World, spirits -- these stories were created to explain the world around us. Why does the sun shine? Why do the seasons change? Well, it must be the spirits. It must be magic. What a joke. Now we have knowledge, not superstition. We can explain the world around us. We no longer need these stories."
"Spoken like a true Naiz Gairos. When your spirit is truly attuned to its surroundings, you will hear the voices. You will find yourself doing things, knowing the right path. You will get your first glimpses of the Hidden World. And then you will never be the same."
Charrogarn shook his head.
Kson took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice had an urgency in it. "Charrogarn, our future rests with you. Pyarrun Driall Vras is old. He has foreseen that you are the one to take his place. If our people are to be free, you must follow him. This must be so."
Charrogarn shrugged. "Our lives aren't so bad. I don't understand why you hate the Ghat'hans. They gave much to us. It's not like they took over. Our trade councils invited them here. We are living better lives now. You don't know because you're not there ... but our lives are good."
"For a chosen few, yes." Kson nodded, picking the meat off a bone. "For those who never question, who do whatever their masters order them to do. That is a good life, I suppose, for a pet. But when others question the Ghat'hans, troops come in to quiet their voices. The Ghat'hans claim they are just protecting their financial interests, but the face of oppression cannot hide its true form."
"The Ghat'hans only act against those who deserve it!"
"Really? There are so many who are left behind, their lives beyond hope. They are cut off from the land and Pyarrun. Tell me how many are trapped in cities where you cannot breathe or even see the stars at night? The Naiz Gairos offer wealth to some, but only empty promises to most ... and these are worthless. The spirits of our people are dying even as their bodies live on."
Charrogarn felt sorry for Kson. He didn't understand. The Ghat'hans were traders, just like his father. This was simply the way the world -- the entire galaxy, for that matter -- worked. There was nothing Charrogarn could do about it -- and nothing he should do about it. He had worked hard. He had earned his place.
Charrogarn knew his fate could have been the same as Kson's. Kson was only a few years older than him. He had been taken from his parents around his seventh or eighth birthday. Like Charrogarn, he'd been summoned after one of Pyarrun Driall Vras's visions. Shyeean had trained him, taken him in like a son, and was now his commander.
In some ways, Charrogarn and Kson had much in common.
"Do you miss your old life, Kson?" Charrogarn asked.
"No ... perhaps ... sometimes," Kson slowly admitted. His voice was low, mournful. "Sometimes I miss my family and my friends. I've never had the chance to return home. But that life is past. This path is the one I am meant for. All our lives happen as they are meant to." Kson gazed sadly into the fire. "Everything has a purpose."
Charrogarn was quiet. Weariness crept over him.
"I'm going to get some sleep," he said as he stretched out on his bed.
Kson was about to wish him a restful sleep, but the boy was already snoring.
On the sixth night, they pushed mile after mile through the mountains. Now, Charrogarn found the running easier and he was more at ease in the wilderness. He hadn't come to feel like he truly belonged here, but it no longer seemed like the trees blocked his every step.
Charrogarn found himself staring up at the three moons hanging low and brilliant yellow in the night sky, just barely above the mountaintops. He gazed up at the stars, wondering if he would ever venture to the many worlds that circled them, like members of the wealthy classes did. Like he was destined to do as a Trademaster Apprentice ... before the Ran'daggors arrived.
Charrogarn ran up alongside Kson.
"Kson, why are we running? Why not just use an anti-grav skimmer?"
"Softer, Little Wind. I will hear you."
Sorry, Charrogarn thought to himself.
"That's better," Kson said.
Charrogarn shot him a surprised glance.
Kson merely smiled. "Our overland travel helps us avoid the Naiz Gairos patrols. It is the first step in your training. Already you are stronger, faster. Your physical form and your spirit are starting to achieve harmony with the land. Your body knows the way. Relax your mind and follow."
"I'm trying," Charrogarn said.
"Softer," Kson reminded.
I'm trying, he thought.
Then there was a rush of wind from the valley below, warm and moist, the smell of rain and the rich scent of ripening saismah berries thick in the air. You're learning, a whisper called out to him, tugging at the edge of his hearing.
Charrogarn frowned.
That couldn't have ... it must have been my imagination, Charrogarn thought to himself.
Kson laughed and pushed on.
"We're running because we're going to Borumankor."
"You don't want the Ghat'hans to follow you to Pyarrun Driall Vras's fortress?"
Kson laughed again. "No. No. It's because there's no other way. You cannot find Borumankor from a ship or vehicle ... the only way to find it is to feel it."
"That's ridiculous!"
Kson stopped suddenly.
"Charrogarn, I have never lied to you. Take me at my word or return home. Do you understand?"
Kson seemed so sincere, so honest. Kson put his hand on Charrogarn's shoulder.
Charrogarn anger melted to shame.
Kson's voice softened. "This is the only way to Borumankor. You cannot find it if you are not wanted -- or ready -- to be there."
"Only some people can find Borumankor and not others? That makes no sense!"
"Stop thinking. Stop using what you've been taught. Listen. Feel. Learn. There are many things about Pyarrun that do not make sense until you experience them for yourself."
"I'll ... I'll listen to you," Charrogarn said softly, uncertain.
"Good."
Charrogarn paused and looked around nervously. "That breeze back there, the one that came up suddenly. Did you hear something? Something ... strange?"
Kson ran off into the night. "Just whispers. Why? What did you hear?"
Charrogarn said nothing, running between a pair of trees and leaping over a bush to catch up with Kson.
He's unbelievably fast, Charrogarn thought as his feet pounded the ground, stride after stride. All of them are.
Charrogarn continued and heard-thought-felt ... something.
Believe and it is possible, a voice in the back of his mind seemed to say. Charrogarn knew the thought was not entirely his own.
On they pushed through the night, running in silence, Shyeean leading the way, wary of Ghat'han patrols. Kson and Charrogarn followed close behind.
Charrogarn tried to relax his mind. Soon -- more easily than ever before -- he was calm, sensing the world around him. The trees stood proud and tall. In his mind, Charrogarn pictured creatures creeping through the dark, pausing to observe the passing strangers.
And then, suddenly, Charrogarn was simply himself again, pushing step after step. He looked up, startled.
The moons were high in the sky, illuminating the forest floor. Hadn't they barely risen above the mountains just minutes earlier? The stars had shifted across the sky, racing towards the horizon.
It was now the middle of the night.
Charrogarn spotted a new star in the night sky, red and brilliant. It seemed as if it had appeared from nowhere. It darted across the sky, shooting towards the mountains up ahead, dropping steadily towards the ground.
"Kson, what's that?" Charrogarn called out.
"The Naiz Gairos. A troop lander searching for us. For you. Shyeean is already changing paths. Do not be concerned."
"How did you know about the course change?"
"I just know," Kson said cryptically.
They continued, Charrogarn feeling more confident and comfortable with each stride. He lost track of time, following Kson, matching him step by step as they climbed the mountain.
Then Kson stopped short suddenly.
"What's wrong?" Charrogarn asked.
"Quiet!" Kson whispered sharply. He pulled the two blaster rifles from his back holsters. He handed one of the weapons to Charrogarn.
"We've been over this before. I don't want this!" Charrogarn said, refusing the gun.
"Take it!" Kson insisted.
His intensity scared Charrogarn. He took the weapon, feeling its cold metal. It was heavy in his hands. It felt strange and foreign. He trembled as he imagined what it would be like to shoot this weapon.
"There's a Naiz Gairos patrol up ahead," Kson said. "Stay here. You're the one they want."
Charrogarn nodded, grateful that he didn't have to join the battle, but he knew it would be wrong to let Shyeean, Kson and the others risk their lives for him. Charrogarn wondered if he should follow.
"No!" Kson insisted. "Stay here until I call for you. You'll know when it's safe."
"Kson," Shyeean's voice seemed to call out from all directions. "You are needed."
Kson checked his rifle. His demeanor was stern. There would be no arguing with him. "Stay out of sight, my young friend."
Kson looked at Charrogarn. The sounds of energy bolts -- tschew! tschew! tschew! -- rang out in the night. Charrogarn heard explosions and saw white-yellow flashes of light. Bursts of flame lit up the mountain like flickering campfires. The battle was several hundred feet ahead of them.
"I will always be here to guide you, Little Wind," Kson said. Then he ran ahead to join the struggle.
Charrogarn listened and watched the battle unfold ahead of him. Green and blue energy bolts shot across the night. Explosions illuminated the mountainside. The trees shook, limbs blasted from their trunks.
The energy bolts and explosions were coming closer. One hundred and fifty yards -- one hundred yards -- then just fifty feet ahead. Charrogarn glimpsed forms moving in the darkness.
He stayed low. Then the sounds and sights of battle retreated up the mountain as the Ghat'hans suddenly pulled back, the Ran'daggors fast on their heels. Ferocious volleys of energy blasts and explosions rang out from above.
Charrogarn knew he had to move, somehow sensing that Kson needed him. He crept forward through the trees, slowly, careful not to disturb the branches, blending into the shadows. Up the mountain he went, a hundred yards or more, the sounds of battle ringing in his ears. He knew that he'd been able to creep forward unnoticed.
Just ahead, the Ghat'han soldiers moved clumsily through the brush, batting tree limbs aside, making a racket that carried on for miles. They were fighting not only the Ran'daggors but the land itself. Much as he'd done just days earlier.
Charrogarn glimpsed a trio of Ghat'han soldiers advancing towards him. No. They were advancing towards Kson, who was hiding behind a tree, off to the right and just twenty feet ahead.
Charrogarn raised his rifle and took careful aim. He squeezed off three quick shots.
The blue energy bolts shot out into the night, each finding its mark. The three soldiers fell to the ground amidst small bursts of flame. They did not move.
Charrogarn lowered his rifle, solemn, knowing that he had just taken their lives. His hands shook.
More energy bolts crisscrossed the battlefield ahead.
Charrogarn watched the other Ran'daggors advance, driving the Ghat'hans up the mountain. Kson was the rear guard.
Charrogarn took a step forward, planning to sprint across the clearing to join Kson, who stood and fired into the darkness.
Kson then turned and looked back at Charrogarn. He motioned to Charrogarn in the Ran'daggors' hand signal language. Come with me! He then pointed back down the mountain.
Follow me, Little Wind, Kson signaled.
Charrogarn and Kson ran down the mountain, picking their way carefully through the forest, the smell of burning wood thick in the air. Smoke blocked the moonlight and the darkness closed around him like a shroud. They became separated.
Charrogarn fumbled through the darkness. He stumbled, falling on his face as he tripped over a tree root.
He gathered himself up and crouched, silent. He heard more weapons fire, distant, far up the mountain.
Then he glanced down at the tree root he'd tripped over. But it was not a tree root.
Charrogarn backed away. He'd tripped over a body ... a Ran'daggor. The warrior was face down in the soil, clutching an energy rifle.
Charrogarn wanted to run ... but something compelled him to reach out. He rolled the body over.
Kson's face, eyes open, stared up into the night. Charrogarn's heart skipped a beat. He sat there and waited for Kson to sit up and talk to him, but he just lay there, unmoving.
Charrogarn looked around and counted. There were five more bodies, all of them Ran'daggors. All of his guardians were dead.
He sensed a presence moving in the trees ahead of him. He raised his energy rifle, ready to shoot at what could only be a Ghat'han fighter.
Out of the darkness, Kson stepped forward. He shimmered in the darkness.
Charrogarn looked down at Kson's body on the ground, then at the form of his friend who stood before him.
The Pyarrun -- the Hidden World -- has called, Kson's voice whispered in the breeze. You are ready now.
Charrogarn glanced away when he heard energy rifle fire, more distant than before. When he looked back, Kson's shimmering form was gone. His body still lie on the ground, just a few feet away.
Borumankor is not far now, a voice whispered in Charrogarn's mind. He took a deep breath and ran off into the night. Now, however, each step was guided by a sense of certainty. A breeze swept over him, tugging at him to pause. He stopped ... then saw a path that he had almost missed in the darkness. He ran down this new path, knowing it was the right one.
I will always be here to guide you, he heard a voice whisper in the wind.
I remember the exact moment when I lost my best friend.
It was one of those glorious hot summer days at Port Tarrant Starport, late afternoon, the time when you know the call for dinner is coming soon. And while dinner itself isn't so bad, it's what comes after that you dread. After dinner is the time of chores and baths and finishing school work you'd been putting off 'till the last minute.
Dinner means an end to a day spent with your best friend.
But we still had an hour, perhaps two, before dinner and we were determined to enjoy the time we had left. It was just Moas and I, sitting on the bench of the observation deck, watching the starships.
The clouds were low over the city -- so low that you could hear the roars of the motors even before the ships appeared. It was so hot that sweat trickled down your nose and ran into your eyes, and no matter how much krazzi'mist you drank, you couldn't get cool.
Of course, we could've stayed cool if we went inside...but then we wouldn't be able to watch the starships come and go, and that...that was what summer was all about.
We were perched on the observation deck, above the landing bays, five stories up. We felt like kings as we looked down on the streets, watching the hawkers and merchant booths, the transports as they shuttled from the landing bays to Tarrant's distant warehouses and back, over and over again, an endless parade. Up here, we could look down on the landing bays spread out before us like miniature models. Crews of droids and men and aliens rushed around the freighters, refueling, making repairs, loading and unloading crates that contained the most marvelous goods from hundreds of distant worlds. We could see out across the entire starport, watching each ship come and go.
That was the best part of summer.
"That one," Moas suddenly called out, pointing towards an old Shazi-style freighter that rumbled in from the west. I couldn't figure out which specific model it was -- there was a run of five or six lines about sixty years back that looked almost identical. All I knew, though, was that she was old.
The Shazi was flying just above the building rooftops, great licks of fire shooting from her engines as she started gliding down. Three landing skids shot out from the ship's underside. The battered white hull was decorated with gold and blue trim, the name Sharrokoll painted next to the seal of the planet Zgani'kei.
I stared at the ship, noticing the numerous battle scars on her hull, the faded trim...and yet she moved with a grace that was impossible to hide.
"A smuggling ship," I said.
I was just about to get started when Moas took a drink from his bottle of krazzi'mist, wiped his lip and shook his head. "You say that about every ship, Broden."
"Do not," I said, bristling at the thought. If anything, I was creative. Never the same story twice.
I stopped to recall the day's encounters. "There was the freighter out of Kthas -- the one that was sheltering the prince and his love, the pair of them disguised as commoners as they hid from her father's mercenaries and tried to get to the secret Maarohke'eiln Temple in the N'Crix Belt."
"That's one." Moas admitted. He frowned. "And?"
I mentally ran through the day's other ships.
A-ha! "What about the Lay-lo? Aboard her, an Ayos'hei mystic who's been entrusted with a sacred kyaidae, what they call a 'sliver of life crystal.' He's taking it halfway across the galaxy, back to the mysterious planet Hau'jhin...but he knows this quest will have to be handed off to a young adept, pure of spirit, brave and noble. The old mystic knows he will not live to complete the long, dangerous journey. Instead, he will sacrifice himself in a battle against Drixxian mercenaries to give the adept a chance to escape and prevent the kyaidae from falling into the hands of the gangster Lirssin."
My heart began to beat faster at the thought of that one. It was going to be a grand adventure. I smiled at Moas. "There was that one."
Moas took a breath and sighed. "I suppose...but almost every ship? A smuggler...a bounty hunter...a young adventurer out to find his fortune?" He looked out across the starport. It had dozens of landing bays. Most of them were filled with small freighters just like the Sharrokoll.
He turned back to me and shrugged. "They can't all be like that. Somebody's got to be hauling droid parts, food, clothing."
I didn't know what to say. The comment was an unwelcome intrusion.
And in that moment, my friend, my best friend...was different.
He looked older. Wiser.
Sadder.
He looked down at the Sharrokoll as she dropped, settling neatly between the faded yellow guide marks painted on the bay's floor. The ship's landing lights flickered as a pair of droids lugged a hose towards the refueling port at the back of the ship.
I saw the gleam come back into his eyes, but it was dimmer than before. He nodded towards the newly arrived ship. "So, what's the Sharrokoll's story?"
I studied it for a few moments before I began. "Well, she looks like any ordinary freighter -- old, a little beaten up -- but you saw how she flew in here. She was as smooth as ... as Brialgi fast-talking his way out of trouble when he got cornered in the lair of Chiem the Scandalous One. That means she's got some mighty powerful engines pushing her through space. You don't need those for lugging around droid parts or food. And those laser cannons? I bet the captain's got some extra power generators hidden away to give those cannons the power to slice through armor plating like it was flimsiplast. No, she looks like a normal ship ... but there's a lot more to her than meets the eye."
Moas smiled.
"Go on," he said.
I pointed at the rear of the Sharrokoll's hull. "You see those blast marks on the hull? That ship's been in some terrible battles. I bet they fought the Emosi Pirates at the -- "
I paused.
Now where would a ship like that have been in a battle?
Then I looked at Moas and smiled. "At the Cursed Rings of Kriecc!"
And from there, the story just spilled out of me. I could picture everything in my mind -- the blue energy beams reaching out from the pirate cruiser, trying to blast away the Sharrokoll's engines and destroy her laser cannons. Kriecc filling the sky, the green gas giant silently observing this struggle of life and death as the Sharrokoll dove down through one of the outer rings, dodging asteroids the size of houses, dust sandblasting the hull as she desperately tried to outrun the pirate ship ... .
"The captain of the Sharrokoll was terrible afraid she was going to die...told her crew to fight to the end ... but she knew the pirates had a bigger, faster ship and better guns ... and lots of bloodthirsty thieves eager to get their hands on the fuel cylinders she had in the hold. There was no getting away -- "
I paused, raised my eyebrows and lowered my voice to a dread whisper. "No way to escape."
I waited.
"But?" Moas finally asked, knowing I wouldn't go on without the encouragement.
"But then, a mysterious black ship was detected off the pirates' bow. No hyperspace energy burst, no flash of light. One moment, it was just the Sharrokoll and the pirate cruiser locked in mortal combat, only escape or death ... and the next, this black ship just appears, like a phantom...like a ghost ship. The Sharrokoll's captain, why, she took the chance to turn tail and run for open space, while the pirates turned and fought off the black ship. And the Sharrokoll's captain, well, her jaw hit the deckplates when she saw that the pirates' energy bolts passed right through this black ship like ... like she wasn't even there! Maybe she was a ghost ship after all."
I took a deep breath and pointed towards the ship. "As for the Sharrokoll, she delivered that cargo to Orocies right on schedule. But the captain, she's vowed never to go near Kriecc again ... ."
I paused, squinted, and let out a sly smile. "Less'n of course, the price is right."
Moas nodded and let out a slight chuckle. "That's a good one."
I nodded and looked across the starport. Yeah, it was.
I heard Moas release a long, slow, heavy breath. He sounded like the burden of the Billion Worlds was pushing down on him.
"I'm not going to be able to come here much longer," he finally said. "Dad wants to start training me. Says I'm gonna take over the family business someday, so ... ."
He paused. He sounded so sad.
"Dad says I need to get started. Now. That way I'll be ready when the time comes. 'Time to grow up,' he says." Moas looked at me, then glanced away, staring down at the landing bay below us.
I wanted to say just the right thing -- but try as I might, I could find no right thing to say. I kept quiet.
Moas started talking, a ramble, all of it coming out, all at once. He wasn't talking to me as much as he was talking to himself and I just happened to be there to listen.
"Don't like the idea much. Dad's always mad or upset about something. Even when he's home, it's like he's not really there." Moas shrugged. "But I'm going to have to learn. Dad says, 'You're not supposed to like work. That's why they call it work!' He says it like it's something I should just accept. 'Part of being a man,' he says. He told me that what matters most is making as much money as you can. That's what life's all about."
Moas paused, like he was trying to think it over. He looked up into the low clouds that filled the sky. His voice was a whisper. "I guess he's right."
I didn't know what to say.
I turned to watch as one of the spacers we'd talked about yesterday made his way across the landing bay towards his ship. He was a Bersosi, tall, thinly built, with arms that reached almost down to his knees. A pair of long, thin tails trailing from the back of his head almost dragged on the ground. He wore a breather mask since the Bersosi need some trace gases that weren't in Wynnsparrle's atmosphere.
"He really doesn't look like a pirate-king to me," Moas muttered as he watched the alien bound up his ship's ramp. "Do you ever think of asking the spacers what their stories really are?"
"Why would we want to do that?"
Moas sighed. "We come up with these crazy stories. Don't you ever want to find out the truth?"
"But then the magic goes away."
I said it, not really thinking about what it meant, not even knowing where the words came from. It just came out.
Then I searched my friend's face.
The sparkle in his eyes was gone. And I knew, I just knew, he no longer saw the world the way I did.
He was going to become a man, a bitter, angry man. Just like his father. Not right away, but slowly, one wound, one hurt ... one disappointment at a time.
He looked down at his chrono. "I gotta go. Gonna be late for dinner. And Dad wants to take me to the office tonight -- to start training me."
He stood. He seemed so different. It was the way his jaw was set. The way he looked out across the starport, the city, everywhere ... except at me. He looked so serious.
"See you tomorrow?" I offered.
He nodded, but I saw the far away look on his face. He wasn't going to be here in the morning.
I watched him walk away.
I knew the truth. This was a grubby starport, filled with old, beaten-up starships and pilots who only wanted to deliver their cargo and get their pay and get on to the next delivery.
And yet, I believed in more.
I believed in all of those innocent daydreams of grand adventure ... of distant planets like Abaater and Vashuungor Minor and Yongui, and the billions of worlds beyond the Frontier ... of planets where the skies were red and purple and there were lost artifacts buried in ancient temples ... of adventures where there were pirates and smugglers and warlords ... and heroes who fought for what was right and just ... .
There was magic in those stories ... .
I thought of Moas and the world he was entering: Charts. Balance sheets. Deadlines. Productivity reports.
All of those things and ... and growing old.
He would never feel the magic again.
Tomorrow I would be here. Alone.
Br'okkin was sitting in the Friendly Bruiser Tavern, half-enjoying his drink when his transcomm went off. As the small communications device beeped, the heads of a dozen other pilots popped up. Most of them automatically reached for their blaster pistols.
Br'okkin took another drink, savoring the odd little concoction. It was called a "Mechin's Death" if he'd heard the bartender correctly. It was sour and bitter and burned his throat. It matched his mood perfectly.
He reached for his transcomm as it nagged him with another beep.
"That's me," he told the others, sheathing his wrist claws back into hiding. They'd instinctively flexed out when he started at the sound of the transcomm's chime. He normally didn't let that happen -- people tend to get alarmed when they see four inch claws shoot out of your wrists -- but he was tired -- exhausted to be truthful -- and on edge after his tense meeting with Dak'Wyynt.
He silently appraised his own warped reflection in the glass. We're off the hook. Just relax a little.
The others returned to their food, burned and overspiced to hide that it was most likely spoiled, and their drinks, watered-down, and their card games, crooked. As would only be fitting in a place such as this, he thought with a smirk that revealed his fangs.
Br'okkin checked the transcomm's vid screen. The identifier code indicated that his partner was calling.
Dushan.
"What's so urgent?" he asked with a sigh.
"I found it," his partner said in a high-pitched squeak. The boy-man was excited. Br'okkin was concerned that he might hyperventilate.
Br'okkin shook his head. Humans seemed to be such excitable creatures. It's a wonder they've survived at all, much less managed to spread across so much of the galaxy.
"Found what?" Br'okkin asked suspiciously.
"A ship! You remember that starship yard on the edge of town?"
Br'okkin vaguely recalled a junkyard out near the starport. It had a handful of rusted-out hulks on display.
What has he done?
Br'okkin closed his eyes as he shuddered. "Go on."
"Just meet me there."
Br'okkin let out a long, aggravated whistle. It started in his chin wattles, then fluttered up through the twin pairs of nostrils that flanked his deeply set eyes. "Am I going to be irritated with you?"
"Just get down here. Hurry up!"
Br'okkin looked at the transcomm. It would have helped if his partner had sent along an image or vid, but no, audio only. That meant one thing: He's hiding something.
He tried to picture what kind of vermin's nest Dushan had allowed himself to be talked into buying.
Br'okkin knew he should have taken care of this, but there was other business to tend to here in Yimbo Outland. I can't do everything.
He sipped from his glass, savoring the last of the bitter yellow liquid. He was tired. His back ached because of the crash landing. And he was still jittery after fighting to retrieve what was left of the cargo and then talking Dak'Wyynt into not spacing the both of them for this foul-up.
Now Dushan buys the first ship he sees. He sighed. I suppose it's better to have a task done poorly than not done at all.
He eyed the transcomm. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
He snapped the device off in the middle of Dushan's excited, prattling response and slid the transcomm back onto his belt. He slid some coins onto the tabletop to show the proprietor that he wasn't skipping out without paying. That could get you into trouble here in Yimbo Outland. Painful trouble.
He stood and started towards the door.
"Hey, Br'okkin," one of the pilots called out. He was a human, tall and lanky, with grey hair that he'd tied off into a ponytail that ran down to the middle of his back. He looked a good bit smarter than Dushan.
Maybe it wasn't the whole species that was wanting. Just his partner.
Br'okkin stared at the man. "You want something, friend?"
The pilot grinned at his companions. "I heard you got yourself a new ship."
The other pilots looked away, chuckling.
Br'okkin's blue-green eyes slitted. "What do you know?"
"I was up at that lot and saw your partner checking out the, ah, merchandise." The pilot leaned back in his chair and twirled his fingers in the air as he grinned. "You'll see for yourself. Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise." He smiled at his friends, then looked back at Br'okkin and added, "Good luck."
That was enough to trigger roaring laughter from the others.
Had Dushan been here to back him up, Br'okkin might have stood up to the man and taught him the error of flapping those fleshy pink lips in front of a Ryz'Sarrim ... but alone, outnumbered -- it wasn't worth it. Br'okkin was big and strong, but he wasn't dumb, no matter what the stereotype was. He wasn't going to start something he couldn't finish.
He turned towards the door and stepped out into the stiff breeze that blew down from the northern mountains, blinking as the grit flew into his eyes. The street's loose dirt was warm under his bare footpads.
He hated being made fun of. Especially by a human.
But at least I have a ship again. He started towards the starship yard. I can be thankful for that.
Dushan easily spotted his partner as Br'okkin wove through the street crowd. The Ryz'Sarrim was hard to miss, his triangular red head rising nearly a foot above the rest of the people, waving back and forth on the long, snake-like neck that swung with each step. Br'okkin held his left hand cupped above his eyes to block out the glare of Gahuvin's sun. As usual, his right hand rested on the blaster pistol holstered to his hip.
Over the three years they'd been together, Dushan had gotten fairly good at reading Br'okkin's body language. He was moving fast, like he did when he was anxious ... and Dushan saw the alien's wrist claws flexing in and out.
Oh, boy, Dushan thought. That's not promising.
Dushan glanced back at his new acquisition. It was a good ship, a Kitellus-36. Sure, it was an older freighter, and slow, but with plenty of cargo space. It had an odd-looking offset triangular hull, with the forward point of the triangle off to the far left of the vessel. To the right side, two long tubes projected forward, looking like giant spears that almost reached as far forward as the nose. The tubes held sensor arrays and shield projectors.
At the back of the ship, a pair of underpowered stock engines fed thrust through a pair of exhaust cones that pointed out from the squared-off rear part of the triangle. Surrounding the engines was an elaborate system of six individually adjustable maneuvering fins that fanned out from the engine cones like a pinwheel. The cockpit was directly amidships, a round bulge atop the hull, with a single, feeble-looking laser cannon, turret-mounted on top of the bridge section.
"Well, it's going to be a good ship," Dushan told himself, almost believing it. He glanced back towards his partner, who was by now almost to the yard. "Now I just have to convince him."
He waited patiently, watching as the alien's foot claws kicked up clouds of dust with each step. Br'okkin walked straight towards him, a pout on his face that Dushan had long ago learned to be wary of. Time to sell this ... .
"There she is," Dushan said, his face beaming with an insincere smile as he crossed his hands over his chest and proudly nodded towards the ship that sat in the corner of the yard.
Br'okkin took a few steps past Dushan. His hand still shielded his eyes. Despite modification surgery, which had only partly corrected the sensitivity of his eyes, he could barely see in illumination levels that humans considered normal.
I guess only being able to see in the dark isn't a problem if you're from on a world that's cloaked in perpetual twilight.
Br'okkin stared for perhaps half a minute. Whatever he muttered was drowned out by the winds that rolled across the fields. Loose slabs of hull plating whistled as they were jostled against the lot's sales shed off to the right.
"Got the hull plating free," Dushan added with a beat that! smirk.
Dushan saw the big Ryz'Sarrim deflate, his shoulders slumping, his long neck dropping the small, triangular head to eye-level with his partner as he turned towards him. The skin around Br'okkin's eyes had turned from its normal dark blue to a greenish-yellow mottling. That coloration meant he was worried ... or angry.
Dushan had gotten rather used to that shade over the past couple of years.
Br'okkin's four nose flaps fluttered, a gesture that was the Ryz'Sarrim equivalent of a groan. "You're kidding, right?"
He turned back to stare at the lowly freighter.
Dushan noticed that the ship seemed to list off to one side whenever the wind gusts picked up. Faulty landing strut. Wish I'd been told about that_. Ah, we'll get that fixed soon enough._
Dushan shuffled towards his partner.
"She's got a lot of potential," he offered, raising his hand to reassuringly grab Br'okkin's shoulder.
"Don't touch me," Br'okkin warned, not taking his gaze off the ship.
Br'okkin looked at Dushan and swayed his head back and forth, snake-like. "Do I just not understand human humor? Because now would be a good time to say, 'Hah, got you! The ship I really bought is over here,' and then you'd lead me towards something that looked like it might actually get off the ground." He stared at his friend, baring his fangs briefly. "Tell me this is some kind of prank, like Farizei likes to play on the other gods. Now would be a really good time to say that, Dushan."
Dushan looked down at the ground, drawing a pictograph in the dirt with his boot. He said nothing.
"So you really spent our hard-earned money on that ... that ... ." Br'okkin spat in disgust. "Words just fail me this time. I know you have a death wish, Dushan, but why do you have to take me with you?"
Dushan raised his hands as he circled around in front of Br'okkin, putting himself between his partner and the ship. "Now wait a minute. Don't rush to judgment. It's all in how you look at it -- "
"What I'm looking at is about to fall over when the wind blows!" He raised his head back up to its normal height and stared down at his friend, ears fluttering in irritation. "Don't tell me you spent all of our money on that ... that ... vreskk'jlel tsiz'ga!"
Ryz'Sarrims were masters at profanity, but that was one curse that Dushan had never heard before.
"It is a pile of junk," Br'okkin added, just to make sure his contempt was unmistakable.
"All of our money? No, course not," Dushan muttered defensively. "Only about ... thirty-six thousand Phaixes. Plus I'll need some more for parts and modifications -- "
"Thirty-six thousand," Br'okkin repeated. Dushan watched his partner's face scrunch up in concentration as the alien did the currency conversion in his head.
"Blast you, that's nearly nine thousand Steds!" Br'okkin shouted. "On that pile of trash? What in the Three Cursed Barons possessed you -- "
He lowered his head and scratched under his chin wattles, deep in thought. Then Br'okkin looked up, peering at his friend, his eyes now narrow slits. He started stalking towards the ship, his claws digging deep into the soil. Clouds of dust followed each furious stab at the ground.
Br'okkin talked to himself as he marched towards the new vessel. "That's it. You are possessed. Back when those Kniddian fiendlings captured you. You swore you were fine, of course, but I should have known better. I let my emotions get in the way of what needed to be done. I should have taken you to a Purification Temple and left you there. Sure, Zizack's troops would have grabbed you, but that's fate now, isn't it? If I'd have done that, I'd still have the FlareRider, still have my money -- and blast, I might even be able to hire a pilot that knew how to repair my ship instead of blowing out the shields while Warlock's fighters were blasting away at us. But no, I believed you, kept you on as my partner ... and now you're possessed. Possessed by a great spirit of stupidity that's throwing away our money on a ship that can't even stay upright when the wind blows, much less fly! Oh, I should have listened to Tal-Tek when he warned me about partnering with a human --"
Dushan watched his partner go, muttering to himself, "Now, I was just going to explain to him that the Kitellus-36 is one of the best freighters in this arm of space. I should know -- my father had one. But no, now he has to go off and be rude about it." Then Dushan frowned as he replayed Br'okkin's rant through his mind. "Now, wait a minute -- "
He took a deep breath and ran up in front of the Ryz'Sarrim, holding up his left hand and pointing an accusing finger at his partner. "You were going to leave me on Ansignar? Do you know what Zizack was going to do to me? How could you -- "
"I didn't leave you," Br'okkin snapped. Then he shrugged and smiled, flashing his fangs. "I just wanted to."
"I ... I suppose I feel better." Dushan folded his arms across his chest. "You know, I never abandoned you -- and don't get started about that time on Tsuen'keel. There was no sense in both of us dying. And I came back for you!"
Br'okkin sighed. "Yes, you did." He rolled his eyes and snorted. "I still don't know about this --"
Dushan raised his hands for emphasis, almost pleading. "Think about it, Br'okkin. This ship is a Kitellus-36. It's a classic!"
"It's at least a century old."
"One hundred and twenty-six, as far back as they can trace it. This ship -- now she's ugly as Jas'nivin's Mother to be sure, but she's got some fine engineering. Rock solid, can take a pounding -- and that's important considering the company we keep."
Br'okkin growled softly and kicked at the ground, sending pebbles spraying across the lot. "Well, we sure aren't going to be running away from anyone in that barge."
"Now, Br'okkin, give her a chance. Sure, she's nothing special with her stock running gear -- slow and ungainly, a yepper-sow on ice. That's all true. But that's not what she's gonna be when I'm done with her."
Br'okkin frowned. "You? You couldn't plug in a power cable if you had a roadmap and bright flashing lights showing the way -- "
"Fine, when we're done with her. But don't look at her as she is now. Think about what she could be. She's a real mechanic's dream -- "
"A 'mechanic's dream'? Now, where did you hear that?"
"Well, the salesperson said -- "
"He did, did he? Where is he?"
"She's out getting lunch. Addey said she'd be back -- "
She? And then Br'okkin knew exactly how Dushan had allowed himself to get talked into buying this pile of scrap. You hide any old piece of junk behind a pretty face and some flirting and you could sell fire-flares to a furnacemaster from Volcrinnix. It was the oldest trick in the book. But it worked -- at least on humans, anyway -- and that's why it was still in the book.
Br'okkin shook his head as he looked at Dushan. "A 'mechanic's dream.' Do you know what that means? That's a polite way of saying, 'I got this ship so screwed up that even I don't know how to fix it. Here's some parts ... now, you try.' That's what a 'mechanic's dream' is."
The rest of the tirade was in Ryz'Sarrimian. It was a crude, guttural language even when it was being used in polite conversation. Br'okkin's rant sounded downright vicious. Dushan was glad he didn't know much of the language beyond, "Where's the restroom?" and "No, none of the kith-tripe for me, thank you, it's poisonous."
Dushan took a step back, put his hands on his hips and waited for Br'okkin to finish.
When Br'okkin seemed to have fully vented, Dushan raised an eyebrow. "Feel better? "
Br'okkin growled, but then he shrugged. "I'd feel better if you got our money back."
Dushan stared up at his partner, hoping he would be convincing. "All I ask is that you hear me out -- "
Br'okkin gasped in exasperation. "But -- "
"Now, wait," Dushan pleaded. "Br'okkin, I agree with you. This ship as it is now is a piece of junk. As it is now. But with some modification, it's going to be better than the FlareRider. I promise."
Br'okkin was ready to start in again, but Dushan gave him a stern look.
Finally, the Ryz'Sarrim asked, "How do you know? What makes you think you can work wonders with this ship?"
Dushan paused and let out a slight smile. His partner might finally be ready to listen to him. "As I tried to explain earlier, my father owned one of these ships when I was kid. I worked on it for years. Yes, this ship is big and bulky, but we're going to use that to our advantage. Now, just listen! First, we're going to take out the stock engines and replace them with a quad deck of Calibiee K19s."
Br'okkin looked doubtful. "What are you going to do, replace the entire power core? Can the spaceframe take the added stress? Have you even run the numbers on this?"
Dushan nodded. "Well, I'll need to put in some extra bracing, but as for the power core, that's the beauty of this project. I've got a set of four supplemental generators -- Gaspick A-class -- already lined up."
Br'okkin nodded slowly. "A-class, huh? You could run a customs cruiser with that kind of power ... but they're restricted. Illegal for a civilian ship like ours. How'd you get your hands on those?"
Dushan winked. "They're not illegal everywhere. Granted, they're a bit on the used side, but I can rebuild them."
Br'okkin pulled at his chin wattles as his nostrils puffed in and out. "You really think you can do this?"
Dushan grinned. "I've got all the mechanicals sorted out. With the right adapters and crossfeeds and splices, I can _patch -- _"
Br'okkin's eyes narrowed, suspicious.
Dushan held up his hands. "'Patch' really isn't the right word. I can, ah, modify the systems. The numbers aren't perfect, but, they're close enough_._ I mean, it's only starship engineering. You don't need to be that precise. Look in the engine rooms of half of the ships out here and they'd give a factory engineer brain spasms, but those ships fly. And so will this one!"
Br'okkin took a deep breath. "You're sure about this? You're talking about all kinds of modifications, using new parts rigged to work with rebuilt systems of questionable reliability ... with only cobbled adapters, molecular fuse tape and a whole lot of prayer holding it all together. If you're wrong about this, we could end up stranded in interstellar space, watching our life support dwindle away and hoping that our distress drone doesn't get picked up by pirates."
Dushan nodded. "This will work. And the setup'll give us more power than some ships twice her size. Power for more speed, to feed the improved shield generators and blaster cannons I've got coming -- and all of it neatly disguised as civilian grade equipment, so the inspectors will pass right by. This ship is filled with crawlways where we can tuck all of the 'questionable' components into hiding. And all of that extra space gives us room for more smuggling compartments."
Br'okkin found himself nodding, almost involuntarily, as he studied the ship. "Well, if we do all that ... she might perform like you say she will." Then he turned back to his partner. "But I don't understand. Why go to all of this trouble? We could just buy a newer ship to get this kind of performance -- "
"Sure," Dushan agreed. "We could go out and get a Capessian Hyper-66g or one of those new Pel'arrins if we had what, a hundred and fifty thousand Steds? Do you have that much laying around? I sure don't."
Br'okkin said nothing.
Dushan raised an eyebrow. "So, we don't have the money. Maybe we could borrow it? Let's see, if we go to a bank ... now, will they be offering a loan to two men with no legitimate credit history, with 'smuggler' penciled in under occupation, and with no collateral except the ship itself, which could get blown into millions of tiny bits?" Dushan raised an eyebrow. "Not likely. Am I right so far?"
Everything Dushan had said so far was undeniably true and they both knew it.
"Thought so." Dushan smiled. "So, a bank is out. That puts us in the position of having to borrow money from Tal-Tek or one of the dozens of other gangsters in the Five Systems. And whoever it is that loans us the money now owns us. You know how that works. Between jacked up interest and penalties, getting the runaround when it comes time to get paid for the runs we take ... by the stars, we'll never get out from under that kind of debt. And when our financier gets tired of us -- or feels that we're starting to have a bit too much success -- we'll have thugs showing up to steal the ship and rough us up in the process. And that's if we're lucky."
Br'okkin nodded. "I see your point."
"I knew you would." Dushan smiled. "Now, I want you to picture what we could do with this ship. It's an ancient freighter. Customs agents are going to see us hobbling into port and burst out laughing. They'll never give us a second glance. And this specific ship has a clean history. No prior incidents. Any time they do an identity check on her, she'll come up clean. We can nod and smile and say, 'Oh, no, sir, nothing to see here. You just move along.' And they will."
Br'okkin smiled at Dushan, then started for the boarding ramp. "You know, Tal-Tek might've been wrong about you, Dushan. You're pretty smart for a human."
"Thanks for noticing," Dushan said as he held his chin up proudly. "And Tal-Tek was wrong about you, too. You're pretty charming for a Ryz'Sarrim." He stared up at the ship. Their ship. "It may be junk ... but it's our junk. Ready to check her out?"
Br'okkin looked up into the dim interior. "At least I can see in there. Why not?"
He sprinted up the freighter's ramp, Dushan following and gesturing excitedly, hands flying in the air as he relaxed and started chattering. "You know, having the FlareRider get shot down ... and almost getting captured by Warlock ... and fighting off those mercenaries ... that was all just a stretch of bad luck. It's behind us."
"I'm sure it is," Br'okkin muttered as he reached the ship's engineering room. He looked around, his four nostrils flaring out. He turned to Dushan. "What's that smell?"
"Er, I don't smell anything," Dushan said, smiling nervously.
Br'okkin frowned as he peered around the room, then glanced up the access tube that led to the upper deck. "Well, I certainly do. Remember, my sense of smell is about one hundred times keener than yours. Smells like hi'neha sweat and mildewed cimm-pods ... and wet sqarrif fur ... ."
He stopped, inhaling sharply. His mouth formed an "o" as he recognized the source of the odor. He whirled around to face Dushan. "This ship smells like Throc'jin. A whole herd of them."
Dushan rocked his head back and forth, a guilty look on his face. "Well, yes, Addey did mention that the prior owners were Throc'jin ... but she assured me the entire ship had been sanitized."
"You're just a human. I suppose you could overlook the stench. But I'm a civilized creature -- " Br'okkin looked down at him. "We're never going to get the odor out. Great ... just great ... I'm going to have to wear a filtration mask inside my own ship."
"When we're done with it, this is going to be a wonderful ship!" Dushan raised his hands and gestured around the room, simultaneously shifting a few feet to the left to block Br'okkin's view of the frayed power cables. He made dramatic swoops of his hands as he dramatically narrated his vision. "Think of it -- fast, deadly in a fight. The scourge of every customs service in the Five Systems and pirates alike! I can see it now. Come on, just imagine it, Br'okkin!"
Br'okkin shook his head in disbelief.
"Trust me," Dushan said.
"That's what you said exactly three minutes before you 'fixed' the FlareRider's shield generators and we lost the entire system. Now, let me see, what happened next?" He stared at Dushan, eyes narrow and his breath coming in short, angry gasps. "Oh, yeah, we got blown out of the blasted sky!"
He turned and climbed up the ladder that led to the bridge, cursing under his breath.
Dushan watched his friend go and then looked around the room, studying the engineering console, the power core and drive feeds. "This ship's going to be beautiful when we're done with her."
He heard a faint buzz-crackle, followed by a sizzling sound. The smell of crisped electronics brought him back to reality. "But there's a lot to be done before that."
The piercing whine of the power core filled the room and Dushan's eyes grew wide. He jumped for the ladder, shouting, "Br'okkin, wait! She's a bit touchy when you first fire up the generators -- "
"We've come a long way." Brandt spoke softly as he held the glass in his right hand, gazing out the lounge's viewport and taking in the breathtaking view of the planet Wynnsparrle. Red-pink cloud cover dominated the viewport. Just a tiny sliver of open space was visible above the curvature of the planet.
The immediate area near the viewport was filled with starships, most of them cargo freighters waiting for permission to dock here at StarStation Tkerthian Home. In the distance, dozens of ships -- small flecks of varied colors trailing tails of fire from their engines -- criss-crossed above the planet. Some of the ships were angling nose-first to dive into the clouds and drop down to the starports on the planet's surface, while others pushed for open space, headed for jump points to distant stars.
Brandt looked into his glass, now half empty, and swirled the remaining green liquid to create a miniature whirlpool. His nose caught the aroma of Friigin spice, inviting and sweet, and he took a long, slow drink. He let the thick, syrupy mead coat his teeth and tongue, then swallowed.
His partner, Ghaz, nodded with a grunt. "A long way? You're telling me! Vistrik to Wynnsparrle in three days? That's over fifty light years of hard flying."
Brandt chuckled. "That's not what I'm talking about." He finished his drink, savoring the rich flavor of this local brew. He felt the burn on the way down.
Ghaz shook his head as he gazed around the lounge, continuing on as if Brandt hadn't said a word. "Not a lot of pilots could lay claim to Vistrik to Wynnsparrle in three days. No, not many at all."
"I'm sure you're right, Ghaz," Brandt said as he looked out across the lounge. There were plenty of pilots here, sitting, eating, drinking, chatting, going through the motions without any real enthusiasm or interest. They, like Brandt and Ghaz, were just waiting to move on as soon as their ships were refueled and loaded with crates and containers destined for planets in other systems. They were all vagabonds, stopping here and there on worlds scattered across hundreds of light years, never staying anywhere for long.
Brandt turned back to the viewport and stared down at the planet. "That's not what I was trying to say, Ghaz. Think about this. Who knows how many millennia ago, we were just primitives. Imagine what life must have been like. Huddled around fires, living in caves, wearing animal skins, hunting with spears. Fearing the night and the dark. We must have been little more than animals ... and yet somehow we made this incredible journey. We invented tools, medicine, technology ... developed art and literature. We grew. We somehow got to the point where we left the world that gave birth to us ... in fact, we left so long ago that we don't even remember which planet it was. And now? Now, we can jump from one star to another in a few hours. We've spread across ... how far? Perhaps the whole galaxy? We can engineer life-forms, build intelligent machines ... transform entire planets." Brandt paused, then smiled at his partner. "Like I said, we've come a long way."
"Hm." Ghaz shook his head.
Brandt stared at his partner. The expression on the man's face made Brandt wonder if his partner was inspired ... or frightened and ready to ask, "Who are you and what have you done with my partner?"
"It was just a thought," Brandt muttered, backing away from his observations with a weary shrug.
Finally, Ghaz smiled and emptied his glass, tipping it towards Brandt in a polite salute. "Never knew that underneath those calloused hands and behind that crooked smile lurked the soul of a philosopher ... a poet."
"A poet? Never thought of myself that way." Brandt cocked his head to the side and grinned proudly. "But I think I like that." He looked down at his empty glass and, with a satisfied smile repeated, "A poet."
Ghaz glanced at his chrono, then looked up at his partner and eyed the empty glass. "Our ship's supposed to be ready within the hour. You okay to fly?"
"What? A man can't have a profound thought now and then?"
"Just checking," Ghaz said with a wink, not mentioning the many agruments and fights when Brandt had been ... well, describing his behavior as less than philosophical would be stating it politely.
"I'm fine." Brandt shrugged, as if following Ghaz's train of thought. "I don't think about things like that too often, but sitting here, gazing out at that planet and all of those ships ... well, our ancestors couldn't imagine what it would be like to live in a time when jumping from one star to another was ordinary. Oh sure, there were maybe a few who looked up into the sky and saw the stars and dreamed ... but us? We're about to jump to another star and our biggest concern is getting our ship loaded so we can get to Abaater on time and get paid. We have come from such humble origins ... ." Brandt shrugged again, then looked at his friend. "It's awesome when you think about it, that's all. Don't you ever think about that?"
Ghaz was about to shake his head and admit that, no, he hadn't ever thought about anything even remotely like that.
Then, from the back of the lounge, there was the din of rising voices and a flurry of sudden movement. Three men and a couple of aliens Brandt couldn't identify jumped to their feet. The room fell silent as the argument's intensity increased. Arms waved and fingers pointed and faces contorted in anger. Brandt glimpsed an all too familiar swish of movement as the participants reached for their blasters. Brandt and Ghaz were among the first to dive beneath their tables.
Blaster pistols whined. Flashes of light lit the murky tavern in strobing pulses. The smell of ozone filled the air as energy beams exploded off walls and tables. Brandt nodded towards the entrance. "I think it's time to go."
Ghaz gave a quick nod. The pair crouched low, scooting across the floor on hands and knees, using tables, chairs and other patrons for cover as they crept towards the door.
As they dove through the entrance and emerged into the safety of the StarStation's main courtyard, Ghaz glanced back towards the tavern and the sounds of battle. "We may have come a long way ... but we've still got a long ways to go." He let slip a grin and elbowed his partner in the ribs. "Maybe the poets will show us the way."
As Ghaz disappeared into the crowd, Brandt smiled. "Or maybe, eventually, this journey will make poets of us all." He winced as more sounds of blaster fire echoed from the back of the tavern. "Maybe someday."
"Reid, hurry up!" Travus called. He chuckled as he looked back at his son.
"Coming, Dad," Reid called, his voice muffled. His feet stuck up into the air, kicking back and forth as he dug around under the tarp that covered the truck bed. The truck rocked back and forth on its anti-gravity field as Reid searched frantically.
Travus threw a couple of sticks onto the campfire, looked at his wife and shrugged. "He's gonna miss the show."
"He doesn't know there's going to be 'a show.'" She stuck a plump soutar sausage on a skewer and held it over the fire.
The smell of the spiced meat got Travus's attention. "Fix me one, will you?"
"What? And miss the show?" She gave him a playful grin, then added another sausage to her skewer.
"Found them," his son called from under the tarp.
Travus rolled his eyes as he kneeled close to the fire. He turned and shouted, "Hurry up!"
He looked up into the night sky. It was clear, not a cloud in sight. The moon was just a yellow sliver. The stars flickered and shimmered.
"I wish my dad could be here to see this," Travus said softly. "He would have wanted to tell Reid -- "
"I'd like to think that maybe..." His wife reached out, gently caressing his arm. "Maybe he's here with us."
A sudden gust of warm summer wind roared through the clearing. The nearby branches rustled and creaked while the fire flared up, flames rising high. The rich, sweet, almost-pine aroma of the throile trees filled the air.
Travus nodded slowly. "Maybe he is at that."
He glanced up into the sky again, then smiled at his wife. "It was a great idea to get out of town."
She looked up into the sky, her eyes dancing from star to star. There were so many to see. "I forget what a difference it makes being away from the lights in town. It's so beautiful out here."
Travus chuckled. "You'd think differently if you were here when the snow drifts are seven feet deep."
She pulled her skewer back from the fire, plucked the soutar sausages and handed one to her husband. "Reid will never forget this."
Travus looked up into the sky, his eyes settling on a dark spot between two familiar stars.
"Not even a flicker," he muttered.
Reid ran over to them, skidding to a stop in the dirt. Ten years old and full of energy, he never walked when he could run, never talked when he could shout. Travus remembered those days well.
His son was a solid boy, taking after himself and his own father. He was going to have broad shoulders and be strong and powerful ... but he had the soft green eyes and gentle, good-natured ways of his mother.
Reid held up the shiny package. "Want any faman-crisps?"
Travus shook his head. The chocolate and crispy wafers weren't so bad ... it was the crushed drihaj fruit filling that made his stomach queasy. "No. Maybe your mother wants a couple."
He smiled knowingly as his wife shook her head.
She smiled kindly at her son. "No, thank you, honey. You go ahead and enjoy them."
Reid ripped the package open and slid three of the treats onto a skewer. Travus grinned. His wife leaned back so that Reid couldn't see, then feigned a gagging motion.
Reid leaned towards the fire, playfully waving the skewer back and forth through the flames. "So why did we come out here, Dad?"
"You don't like being in the woods? It's quiet and peaceful -- "
"It took us two hours to get here. It was a long drive just to go stargazing."
"I wanted to get away from the lights. It's a beautiful night. I thought we could enjoy this as a family." Travus walked over to the telescope he'd set up away from the fire and peered into the eyepiece.
There it is, he thought as he spied the dim star, the scope's electronics zooming in for a better view.
Then he turned to his son. "Tonight is a special night."
Reid frowned. "Really? How?"
Travus checked the chrono on his wrist. His heart fluttered. It was almost time. "Are those crisps done?"
Reid nodded.
"Good. Come on over here. I want to show you something."
His son scrambled over. Travus crouched down, now eye-level with his son, and pointed up at the two stars he'd spied earlier. "You see those stars?"
Reid nodded. "Yeah. Bijenhi and Ulsevois, I think?"
Travus smiled proudly. "You've been studying your sky charts. Good job. Now, watch."
Reid's eyes narrowed as he gazed at his father. Suspicion crept across his face. "Why?"
Travus turned the boy's chin back towards the sky. "Just watch."
The boy stared for a few seconds, but then started to fidget, glancing off into the woods.
Travus leaned over and whispered to his son. "Patience. Keep watching."
And then, in the murky black between Bijenhi and Ulsevois, there was a brilliant flash of white light, sudden and unexpected, a flare that filled the night sky.
Reid gasped in surprise.
Travus just looked up and stared. Memories of the past flooded back to him. He recalled a similar night, a long time ago on Laddenir, as a father showed a son this very same sight. He felt tears well up in his eyes.
"What is it?" Reid asked.
"A star. It's called Amurakke."
Reid frowned. "Never heard of it."
Travus smiled. "That's because it exploded a long, long time ago. That light you're seeing now is 1,453 years old. That's how long it took to get from there to here on G'jarrica."
"Wow," Reid said softly. "That's neat."
"Yeah, pretty neat." Travus nodded. "Around that star there once circled a planet named Koekbaan. Of course, it's gone now, burned to cinders ... but it was there once upon a time."
"So?" His son looked up at him.
"That world was our home ... not you or me, of course, but our ancestors. Koekbaan's where our family is from. Codin Karmmi was just four years old when they evacuated. He was your great-great-great-great -- well, let's say you'd need 46 'greats' in front of grandfather to get it right."
"Oh," Reid said softly, his eyes growing wide as he stared at the brilliant spot in the sky. "Why was his last name Karmmi? Our name is Niilo."
"About seven centuries ago, our family name was changed after ... uh ... ." Travus paused as he blushed. "Just don't go to Yarrito. They hold grudges something awful. I'll ... I'll tell you the rest of that story when you're a little bit older."
He looked up at his wife. She was her shaking her head and smiling. "Much older," she mouthed silently.
Travus grinned.
Reid stared up into the sky. "Over a thousand years ago ... that's kinda cool. My friends ... I don't think any of them have stories like that."
"No, probably not." Travus took a deep breath. "I've waited a long time for this night."
He stared up into the night as recalled those emotions and memories from that similar night so long ago. He could remember it all. His father pointing up into the darkness, telling him this same story. It was fall on Laddenir that night and the smell of the food was overwhelmed by the aroma of autumn. The leaves crunched underfoot and the wind turned chilly, warning of the harsh winter to come. He remembered it all ... especially the way his father rested his hand upon his shoulder and held onto him, like he was afraid that if he let go of his son something special would be lost. Back then his father seemed like a giant, so wise and good, so ... immortal.
If only that were so.
He looked down at his son. "You know, someday, 25 or 30 years from now, I hope you'll take your son someplace far away from the cities and the lights and...and the craziness of everyday life. Point up into the sky. And when Amurakke lights up, just like it did tonight, I want you to tell him this story."
"How can I do that? We're only going to be able to see this tonight."
Travus smiled. "Well, sure, here on G'jarrica ... but the light we're seeing takes a long time to cross space. It won't reach some stars for decades...even centuries. If you settle on a world 25 or 30 light years further out, you could get the timing just right. Just like my father did with me back on Laddenir when I was a boy. This tradition goes back to my father, and his father, and his father before that ... and well, maybe all the way back to Codin himself for all we know."
Travus took a deep breath. Only now did he know how much this night had meant to his father all those years ago. "I hope I can be there when you do this with your son."
Reid looked at his father, not quite sure what to say.
Travus stood and walked over to the telescope. "Want to see it up close?"
"Sure," Reid said, his eyes growing wide in genuine excitement. He ran over to the scope and peered down into the eyepiece.
Travus gently reached out and stroked his son's thick brown hair. His hand fell to the boy's shoulder and he felt a tiny shock, like a jolt of static electricity. "You're not just looking at a star, Reid. You're looking back through time. You're seeing memories...echoes of things that are gone forever."
He smiled at his wife. "Not bad for a quiet night of stargazing, is it?" She nodded as she curled back into her chair, letting her husband and son have this moment together.
Travus looked up, staring at the brilliant white light. It was a beacon in the sky. He squeezed his son's shoulder and realized that he didn't want to let go. He wanted this moment to go on forever.
"My father would have loved this."
Thank you for reading Outlaw Galaxy 4: Little Wind and Other Tales!
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Keep on reading to find out about other adventures set in the Billion Worlds of Outlaw Galaxy!
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Bill Smith is the author of the Outlaw Galaxy series of space adventure stories.
Bill has written several Star Wars books including, Star Wars: The Essential Guide to Vehicles and Vessels and Star Wars: The Essential Guide to Weapons and Technology, both for Del Rey books. He also wrote and contributed to two editions of Star Wars: The Roleplaying Game, Second Edition for West End Games. His books have sold nearly half a million copies.
Bill served as the Star Wars roleplaying game line editor for West End Games (1991-1997), where he edited, developed or contributed to nearly forty game books. During that time, Bill also consulted on several outside Star Wars projects for Lucasfilm, wrote many magazine articles, and contributed short stories to Shatterzone and Torg anthologies. Bill has also been involved in announcing, promotion, and marketing for local stock car racing tracks for nearly thirty years.
Bill has entirely too much fun writing the Outlaw Galaxy series and dreaming up stories filled with aliens and space pirates, amazing magic and wondrous technology, deep space battles and starships hurtling across a galaxy of a billion worlds.
Bill lives with his wife, Amy, and their son in their hometown, located in the foothills of New York's Adirondack Mountains, just a few miles from the Canadian border. Being "almost Canadian" by upbringing, he is enamored of many things that originate in the Great White North, including the band Rush, Loonies and Toonies and pretty paper money, progressive politics, and slaw dogs and poutine.
When not busy writing Outlaw Galaxy stories or changing diapers, Bill often can be found haunting the cafes of local book stores. He sometimes drives radio control racecars (poorly). He spends many weekends hanging out at the local stock car tracks watching his beloved Dirt Modifieds go in a circle real, real fast.
Bill hopes you enjoy reading his Outlaw Galaxy stories as much as he enjoys writing them.
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Thank you for downloading Outlaw Galaxy 4: Little Wind and Other Tales. This is my second collection of Outlaw Galaxy short stories and I hope it gives you a proper glimpse of some of the potentials of the Outlaw Galaxy setting. These stories were enormously enjoyable to write and through them, I got to sprinkle in liberal amounts of space action-adventure, magic, wonder and big ideas. The stories are glimpses into different parts of the Outlaw Galaxy setting.
Many authors and quite a few readers seem to prefer novels and other longer works and, true, there is nothing quite like diving into a big, thick doorstop of a book and immersing yourself with characters and imaginary worlds for a few hundred pages. Some novels are extraordinary experiences that linger long after the last page is read.
At the same time, my getting reacquainted with Ray Bradbury and Neil Gaiman and Stephen King a few years ago helped me develop a new appreciation for the power of the short story. The form is different -- a short story is a sketch and a very personal, close-up, intimate view of just a couple of characters, just a moment in time. But when written properly, short stories can have just as much of an impact, perhaps more, than a novel precisely because they are limited in scope: The author is dealing with one main idea, one central focus, the turning point of the entire work. Again, a moment of time upon which everything around it turns.
Novels are elaborate, with layers of plotlines threading back and forth, multiple stages of the story and often numerous twists, turns, reversals, developments. Novels often have huge casts of characters. A novel is like going to prom, where everyone you know is there. A short story is very personal, like a date -- sometimes they go poorly and you can't wait for them to end, but other times they are just magic and unexpected and delightful and you never want them to end.
As a writer, I love the totally different challenge of the short story. You have to dig right into the story, get readers familiar with the characters and setting and introduce the conflict immediately. There is very little room for lingering on little details, on exploring things not immediately relevant to the main storyline. Novels often have all sorts of room for these meandering side journeys, with the main characters or even a secondary cast, and you have plenty of time to build up to the final resolution of the main conflict. But short stories -- they are quick, they are immediate, and they can be deeply personal. There is something magical in the form as well -- short stories are an opportunity to explore new places, meet new people and play around with new ideas and then, and then move along to the next one, like a roller coaster of a ride, a day at the amusement park -- one new experience after another. And while short stories are hit and miss, as a whole, an author can create a profound impact with the overall collection of stories and how they are presented.
So I hope you enjoy Outlaw Galaxy 4: Little Wind and Other Tales and that it intrigues you enough to want to explore the other Outlaw Galaxy stories, both the novels and other short story collections.
To the stars,
Bill Smith
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