Songs of the Stellar Wind

Requiem of Stars

Requiem of Stars was not only the first novel in the 'Songs of the Stellar Wind' series, but was also my own first solo book.

News on Future Books in This Series

This book series was truncated due to contract issues with the publisher. I do hope to complete this series in the future and will let you know when this situation changes.

Exerpt from Requiem of Stars

CHAPTER 1: HEROES

Llewellen Sector / ANCJ14496 / Downdrift Jekart / Clouds of Thel:
Aboard the Loyalist Raider Justar

"Sankt, how I love being a hero."
Windcaptain Carth Mandrith again reached desperately for a hand hold and missed. His helmet slammed against the blood brown lampgrids overhead before his flailing hands closed around the gun deck's maze of conduit.
Thank the Nightmother this isn't my ship, he thought. The raider corsair certainly had the look of death to her now. Most of the port side hull was staved in here. The huge iron guns had sheared from their mounts, scattered as though they had been carelessly tossed about the deck by some powerful hand. The power optics that had fed energy to the guns and their crews were now an indistinguishable mass of twisted carnage. The smell of boiling varnish mixed with seared flesh drifted with the haze that filled the compartment. The starboard cannons, still lashed to their rails with gleaming cables, danced in their mounts as the floor quivered. Fascinated, Mandrith watched the arm of one of the dead raiders. It raised flailed ominously with each roll of the deck, beckoning Mandrith on. The Windcaptain knew the gravity was stuttering; a sure sign that the keel was beginning to unravel. When the keel went, everything went - beams, spars, sails, rigging, air and life.
Through the shattered hull, the nebula's light painted swinging columns of warm pastels in the smoke filled room with regular precision. The Thel nebula was a breathtaking sight, its iridescent colors transforming the diamond studded velvet of normal space into diaphanous patterns of brilliant light. Mandrith watched it swing past as the ship spun slowly. He knew the nebula's beauty was a siren's call. It was, he thought ironically, breathtaking for if his ship fell into it, the nebula would certainly take their breath. It's glorious patterns lay outside the reach of the darkwind. Beyond the darkwind lay the Void; a place where no wind blew and from which ships never escaped.
He ought to get out. Many years experience told him he should, but he was in the chase now - and a driving part of him loved it dearly. Heroics was his breath of life. It was why he was here. It wasn't just the fighting or the conquest - those things were rather hollow to his way of thinking. No, it was the cause that made the fight worthy. It was the sure knowledge that Mandrith carried with him wherever he went. Above all, Mandrith loved to be covered in the holy sanction that put a seal of good on his heroics.
One other thing pushed him on - a brilliant crimson anger at having been dragged into this horror at all.
The capital ships of the Pax Galacticus, as with all interstellar craft, danced the stars to the beat of the Darkwind. It's invisible currents spun outward from the heart of stars, swirling along each system's ecliptic plain into the reaches of space. There, amid the darkness, these tendrils occasionally intersected. In such places the optical sails, woven of silverfire from the ship's temple deep in the hull, would catch the change in the unseen winds and bring the ship to new stars and new worlds. Sometimes the Darkwind currents were strong and wide. In other places, they were only wisps of force, narrow and treacherous. Regardless of its strengths or attributes, all Darkwind streams made their shores against the forceless doldrums called the Void. The Void was where the Darkwind was not; it was pure space where no sail could find motion and no keep could find purchase. All ships who drifted into the Void were becalmed forever, their crews sentenced to death without appeal or recourse.
Mandrith could have done little about the attack even if it had been expected. The loyalist captain and the corsair-class starship he commanded had trapped him cold, dropping down on him in the narrows exiting the nebula.
Mandrith normally would have preferred a safer passage; one with a strong and wide current. Yet some desk captain had decreed that the world of Kilnar would be accepted into the greater glory of the Pax Galacticus on a certain day. An Emissary from the Pax was necessary to attend. The darkwind passage through the Thel Nebula was the only route that could have delivered the Emissary to Kilnar in time.
The Straight of Thel was also the most treacherous passage on the chart with only a single filament of wind connecting to the other side. The unseen river in which their silverfire keel found hold had only a feeble current there. Mandrith's own ship - a Pax frigate normally swift and sure in the darkwind - had handled like a slug, even in the center of the channel.
The corsair, on the other hand, was a smaller ship but of equal sail to his own. It rode far outside the center channel on the fringe of the faltering darkwind, weaving its wake like a shadow between titanic clouds of interstellar dust. Even with the barest sigh of a wind, the enemy overtook his ship. Not a soul on watch ever saw their approach until their first pass.
He was congratulating his crew on navigating the center of the Nebula when the alarm sounded. Running for cover in the nebula was impossible. Navigating blind in those clouds would have been a hazard even in a solid darkwind; here it would be suicide. Without a wide enough channel to turn and insufficient wind to run he had no choice. Fighting was all that was left.
He'd lost over thirty of his crew in the first two passes by the corsair. The enemy guns fired a port broadside first then swung sharply around, raking his ship again on the same side before his own guns were ready to open fire. Most of the guns Mandrith would normally bring to bear were suddenly rendered out of commission by the volleys. Worse yet, the foremast had collapsed as well, slowing Mandrith's frigate perceptibly. The corsair was coming around for a third pass when Mandrith ordered the keel locks released and pulled the helm hard over. The keel, momentarily free of the darkwind, answered the helm crazily, sluing sideways and rolling sickeningly over nearly a hundred and twenty degrees. It was just enough to bring the frigates starboard guns to face the on racing corsair. Mandrith ordered the keel locks slammed home again just as his own cannons fired in unison. The corsair slued sideways against the assault, firing its own guns a third time. Ultraviolet bolts ripped between the two ships, splintering the main rigging of the corsair. Mandrith knew he out gunned the corsair and was preparing to finish the battle when the opposing ship suddenly rushed forward, looping over his aft deck and turning suddenly into him.
In the end, the corsair had rammed him, tangling the optics lines of both ships. He watched with rage as the wrenching hulls merged, twisting the raider's masts flat against his frigate's boat deck. Mandrith's own masts and rigging were hopelessly tangled with those of the corsair's. The silverfire keels fought against each other until both lost their footing in the darkwind. Both ships then began tumbling in a dance that is every Delver's worst fear. Unchecked, the ships would both soon drift free of the darkwind plain into Void. There, beyond the darkwind, rescue was impossible and no ship could ever return.
There may yet be time, Mandrith thought, to save his ship from that fate, but all he wanted now was the neck of whoever had cost him and his ship so much.
The dim red glow of the emergency lighting wavered for a moment. The corsair had paid the ultimate price for the ramming. He finally found a secure hold and his muscles ached from alternately hanging from and standing on his hands. The gravity seemed to steady itself without much enthusiasm. Mandrith pulled himself quickly aft, swinging to lay against the bulkhead next to the rear hatchway. Through the rainbow colored smoke, he could see the shadows of his boarding party moving up with him.
Four rungs up a stair-ladder and down a long corridor, he could see his objective.
"Jarj! Finth! Forget the side ladders and corridors. Cave that aft hatch." Mandrith smiled grimly to himself. "I have an audience with the captain."
"Allai, Captain." Finth was already moving like a spider down the twisting corridor with Jarj - a silverfire acolyte - scrambling after him. Mandrith smiled. It actually looked as though his Deckmaster was using the shifts in gravity to his advantage. Well, he thought, that's a true Delver for you. He himself hadn't been all that long here on the Athix Drift - he had earned his own braid commanding full fleet maneuvers during the continual war with the Haven States in the Argo Drift. Still, that was over a thousand pardymes from here.
He was suddenly struck with the distance that represented. Pardymes were all anyone in the Pax Galacticus thought of any more. The Pax had somehow lost all track of real distance, or so Mandrith thought. When on occasion he was moved to think about the good old days on the frontier he also realized just how very far away they were. After all, the light reflected off his own great conquests for the empire would not reach his current area of service for at least another hundred thousand years.
His boarding party painfully made its way up the long corridor to take what little cover they could find and still have a clear shot at the hatchway ahead. Fighting corsairs with boarding parties were far different than the stand up and more civilized combat of sovereign stellar nations. War was tactics - this was vengeance and blood. Mandrith moved into the hall, tucking himself into a closed hatchway that offered some protection. He judged himself to be about half way down the corridor.
Through the dust and dim lights, Mandrith saw Jarj finish the careful painting of the rune symbols on the great metal hatch that closed off the end of the passage. It wouldn't be long now. Mandrith pressed the back of his left glove twice with his right hand. One by one, soft symbols appeared glowing at the edge of his vision. Five green. One red. He recognized the symbol as that of Saqueth. It was the kid's first time 'over the side' and he was still having a little trouble with the battle suit. At least he's still here. They'd lost Urdin and Polk just getting below the main deck and three more clearing the gun deck. Now Dresiv's symbol failed to respond at all. Mandrith had known Serg Dresiv for nearly a year under his command. Serg was badly over qualified for a third-master of the ship but had fought against any promotion harder than most of his crew for it. Now he was probably dead. Well, poor Serg always seemed a bit careless ...
Saqueth's symbol turned green. Finth stood suddenly before the door and glanced back at the captain.
Mandrith tensed, flexing his gloved hands. At his will, the armor field on his left forearm activated, its clear refraction swinging forward to cover him. The shield and the handcannon were ready. Looking directly at Jarj, he nodded.
Jarj turned, starting to recite the words that would collapse the metal within the silvery runes. Once the recitation was completed, the silverfire would do the rest. Then all the Acolyte would have to do is get out of the way while all Demoni broke look from the captain's assault team behind him.
Jarj almost finished the chant.
The hatch suddenly opened. A driving rain of energy erupted from the breach. Jarj, standing full in the path of the shattering violence, never knew anything but surprise. He was silhouetted against the column of energy one moment - gone the next.
Mandrith screamed his worst oath as he pulled himself tightly against the side hatch. The corridor was ablaze with brilliant bolts, lighting the hall in stark whites with blue shadows. Screams punctuated the roar of evaporating metal. Pressing back flat against the sealed hatch, nearly blinded by the light, Mandrith watch four more symbols at the edge of his vision turn flashing yellow and then disappear from view. He turned and saw Sequeth, filled with rage, leap into the hall, his handcannon erupting against the energy pouring down the hall. Sequeth's shield flared a blazing red against the onslaught and held for three full seconds before collapsing. The young delver exploded, what was left of him being carried away into the now burning gun deck by the continuous barrage.
Mandrith turned his face away, just as Sequeth's symbol also faded from his vision. That left Finth, still up by the now open door, Huelmar and himself. Dinch! The team was falling apart.
Falling apart.
"Finth, listen hard!" Their skull-helmets carried their voices well but the captain still had to shout over the circuit for the delver to hear him above the blast.
"Allai, captain! Host in Herac, what's this pirate got under his bed?"
Rods of lethal energy continued to slammed past the captain. "Ya, odd weather we're having, isn't it. Look, what's at the other end of the gun deck behind us?"
"Gotta be one of the keel bulkheads - nothin' else would take this kind of rain or else he'd have vacated to open space before now."
"Right. So they have to stop soon or they'll blow their own keel. They'll shut down the blaster and try to close the door again."
"Yes, sire, that makes - Ah, Dinch! You offering me a job, Captain?"
"You got a job, Finth, I just want you to earn your pay. The moment the blasting stops - you rush the door."
"Captain?" The ominous groan of a melting bulkhead rumbled against the continuous bombardment.
"Yes, Finth."
"I definitely want a raise."
Suddenly the blaster fire ended. Mandrith swung out into the corridor just as the hatchway slammed shut. There was no sign of Finth.
The bulkhead far behind Mandrith groaned horribly as it cooled, twisting again, and sending another gravity flutter through the ship. It was now or never. With a single glance, Huelmar pulled himself free of his own hiding place and the two began frantically clawing their way up the shattered wreckage of the hall.
They reached the hatch. The remains of Jarj's runes drawn on the doorway could still be seen though they would be useless to them now. Swaying from the gravity shifts, they stood for a moment staring at the circle of metal.
"Well, captain, what do we do now, sir?"
"I don't know - knock?"
Suddenly the hatchway slid open. Mandrith flung himself sideways, out of the line of fire. Huelmar panicked and fell backwards, loosing his footing. He stumbled; the fall to his back knocking the wind from him. Horror struck, he stared straight through the now open hatchway into -
- Finth's smiling face.
"Gee, Huelmar, I didn't know you were so quick on your feet."
Adrenaline coursed through Huelmar like a thundering river. "Oh, yeah," he sputtered. "Joz, Finth, don't do that! I might have cut loose or something -"
"Yeah, kid, sure. Thanks for not blowing me apart by accident." Finth turned to Mandrith and offered him a hand. "Sorry, captain, but we got it all wrapped up. Come take a look."
Mandrith took the Delver's hand and swung into the room. Their was the strong smell of ozone and a thick pall of smoke hanging in the room from the dust particles that happened to be in field of fire. Mandrith could see the squat, hulking machine in the center of the room.
"Rapid pulse plasma gun? Joz, Finth, how do you think they got hold of that one?"
"Don't know, sir, but it looks like they have it tied directly to the keel power. He could have fired that weapon all day except -"
"Except I see you persuaded him otherwise." Mandrith looked at what was left of the figure on the floor. "Expensive cloak. The body armor is custom made - I think. You didn't leave me much to work with, Finth."
"Sorry, sir. 'Ol' Darni' just couldn't help herself and you seemed to want to get this done with quickly."
"Ol' Darni?"
"My handcannon, sir." He patted his weapon arm. "She isn't much at conversation, but she does keep me warm whenever I - did you hear something captain?
Mandrith froze suddenly, his eyes casting about the room. The smoke was clearing. Arched beams supported the low ceiling. The lush carpeting was ruined but did little to spoil the incredible sight out the half dome window spanning the full end of the room. There, the nebula continued to tumble, its new suns burning hot and blue in their infancy. It would have been beautiful if the quarter-deck of his own ship didn't hang at an odd angle in the view. There was a huge table and the usual chart cabinet. Even short trips along known routes required a tremendous number of maps. Navigating the darkwind between ports of call was not a gambler's game. No captains quarters would be without such a cabinet to keep safe the rare and valuable charts which were as easily sold without questions. Next to the table stood an astral globe repeater for determining the ships present position. But other than these necessities and the simple bed swinging freely in one corner, the only decorations in the room were the black scars of the recent battle.
The captain gazed once again down at the charred figure in the flamboyant crimson robe. Flashy costume but a plain cabin. What an odd pirate, he thought.
Then he heard it; the muffled pounding underfoot.
"Lift that deck plate, Huelmar." Mandrith took three careful steps back and leveled his gun arm. "We don't need any more surprises."
Huelmar carefully reached down and grasped the edge of the deck plate with both hands. Setting his feet, he crouched and after a moment, sprang back with his legs. The massive plating swung free, falling back to the deck with a heavy slam.
A figure, cowering from the sudden light, shivered in the corner of the cramped compartment. Mandrith saw the dirty blanket lining the floor of the hole. The space couldn't have been more than four feet square and five feet deep. The face turned up to blink at the light.
Her eyes were great watery pools of gray set in an otherwise plain face. They looked up from a tangle of matted hair. Her large, square jaw was set though her lower lip trembled slightly.
How long had they kept her here? Mandrith wondered. He spoke quietly. "Bring her out, Huelmar. Be slow and gentle. Don't alarm the lady."
"Allai," Huelmar spoke quietly. He offered his hand down into the hole. The girl took it hesitantly.
Even Mandrith was surprised. She was tall, a good hand's width taller than the Windcaptain. She was obviously not a Pax descendent for she lacked the frail structure common to the Coreward worlds. Other than that it was difficult to tell anything about her. She wore leggings and a loose blouse, both somewhat torn and soiled and neither of which looked to fit her very well.
The floor fluttered beneath them. Finth look quickly at the captain. It was time to go.
Mandrith quickly lowered his handcannon. He moved hurriedly to the girl. "M'lady, may I ask your name?"
Her large eyes blinked. "Th-Thyne. My name is Thyne."
Finth moved quickly toward the forward hatch. "At least she speaks Paxish." Urgency was welling up in his voice. "Come on, Captain, this ship's done for!"
"Right." Huelmar was right behind Finth. Mandrith turned to the woman. "Please come with me, M'lady Thyne. We'll get you back to where you belong." He took hold of her arm and moved her toward the door.
They were in the hall when he felt her suddenly stiffen.
"Jekanth! Sroi Jekanth!"
"Lady," Mandrith was startled, "What is it?"
"Jekanth!" She shook her head. "Jewelry. My jewelry!" She suddenly ran back into the room.
"LADY!" Mandrith and his men turned in the hall. "We don't have time for ..."
The girl grabbed the handles of the plasma gun and fumbled to open the ordinance release. Mandrith cried out -there was no time for formal orders. Instinctively, Mandrith fumbled for the shield activator but he knew it was too late even as he reached for the pad.
Flaming white rage filled his vision: for an instant then his thoughts evaporated with his body before the pain ever registered in his mind.

* * * * *

"Aros, I hate being a hero." she sniffed.
Thyne Haught-Cargil, captain of what was left of the Kilnar Free Corsair 'Justar' stood from behind the gun. Reaching under the blanket lining the still open floor compartment she pulled out a short-cut plasma repeater and two light fusion grenades. Now properly armed, she walked slowly into the corridor.
One of the men had been their captain, she thought - though by the look of things they might never have been in the corridor at all. They may have been blasted apart to the molecular level for all Thyne knew - or cared. It was better not to concern one's self too much with one's prey.
Standing in the twisting corridor she saw the charred and shattered remains of those who hadn't had the fortune of taking the full plasma blast.
A tear traced a line down her dirty cheek. She drew a single, shuttered breath then straightened up. She hated it. She hated it all. There were a thousand pains she would have suffered more readily than those her calling promised. Yet if she didn't right the wrongs done to her people, who would? Where were those who would rise up and fight off the yoke of the Brotherhood and the Pax they served if she did not? Her people needed a hero to champion their cause. Their pain cried out to her - or so she had named those cries she heard in the darkness of her sleep.
She remembered suddenly who she once was and, for a moment was able to connect with that bright faced, confident girl. Yet that girl had died years before; the Pax had seen to that. She mourned for the loss of her own innocence and for the bright future that would no longer be her own. All that was left was a hero - dedicated, relentless, and whose brightest future included only a swift death.
A shadow crossed over her. She turned and saw the dark figure of a man framed in silhouette against the open hatch and the nebula in the windows beyond.
He had surprise over her but raw adrenaline was on Thyne's side. She raised the Repeater sharply, pressure already coming to bear against the release . . .
The world suddenly went blinding white inside her eyes. Her mind tumbled, shattered into disjoint filaments. On instinct alone she raised the weapon again.
Once more the sun exploded in her head and consciousness blurred darkly. She couldn't see but instead heard the deck overhead splintering. The massive figure moved toward her. It swung her over its shoulder. She heard the creature say only one thing before her mind slipped into the safe bliss of unconsciousness.
"Ugh! I hate heroes!"

Reviews

Requiem of Stars; Songs of th eStellar Wind, Book I by Tracy Hickman
(Bantam, Paperback, 384 pp, $5.99)

After collaborating for more than a decade with Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman has left fantasy to strike out on his own, and makes his solo debut with an intriguing SF space opera.
The Pax Galacticus vessel Shendridan, while traveling through a nebula, is ambushed by a rebel ship and sustains heavy damage and casualties. First Master Serg Dresiv (a former commander witha burdened past) rallies to defeat and capture their attackers. The rebel leader, Lady Thyne Haught-Cargil, plots to free herself and her crew, just as other guests on board the frigate try to ensure that their various schemes come to fruition. But all this quickly comes to naught when unimaginably huge vessels appear seemingly from nowhere and begin systematically exterminating life everywhere. In order to survive, the remanants of both crews must band together.
What at first seems like a rehash of old premises and older character archetypes eventually takes a much more satisfying turn with the appearance of the gargantuan enemy, bizarre amalgamations of tentacled horrors and biotechnology. Much of this first novel serves as exposition and introduction to this universe, but many of the characters shine nonetheless. Hickman's exploration of a magic-based way of crossing the stars -- by harnessing a chaotic force known as silverfire -- may well be the most fascinating part of the book.
-- John S. Hall
Starlog Magazine / June #227