Star Runners: Odysseys: Star Runners Universe, #7

1

Legion Carrier Radiant, Parazonium Class

Staging Area

Near System: Alypso

Dark World

Galactic Legion of Planets, Quadrant 7

Why wasn’t she dead?

Lieutenant Tee Angel Lockley flexed her gloved hand over the Trident’s stick as the thought lingered. The cool leather of the black gloves stretched over her Lobera-green flight suit, reaching all the way to her elbows. The tight gloves always left a pink mark on her skin. Her dry, gritty hands were cracked from countless calluses—partly from time in the gym but mostly from too many hours gripping the Trident's stick in terror. Her fingernails were ragged, coarse, and black from too many hours biting them in her quarters while waiting for the next action. With that thought, she grabbed the Trident by the handle and gave it a hard squeeze.

She should be dead.

The Radiant’s systems hummed, providing a consistent vibration in the Trident’s cockpit. Angel thumbed the keys again, checking the systems for the tenth time since the canopy had sealed around her. She slid her quivering hand over the stick, her pace quickening.

Two minutes to curve, Captain Avan Frog Barrett announced, the speakers bursting in her helmet.

Angel sighed, gripping the stick tighter as she peered down the launch tube, washed in the blood-colored aura of the emergency lights. Comm traffic crackled and sizzled through the speakers, announcing their proximity to the curve.

There was a time long ago when she would have given anything for even the briefest moment inside a Trident. Now, she didn’t want this—not the action, not the mission. Not even the Trident…

Would this be the last time? Would this be the mission where she joined the others, her friends who had fallen in this terrible two-front war?

Boxey and Thunder had died in the liberation of Beran three weeks ago. Angel had spent every moment training with Boxey, raised on the same stops, the same ships. Boxey’s parents had served in the Legion, as had Angel’s parents. They had all been one big happy family, regardless of rank.

She had thought it would never end.

When Caitlin had been killed in their first clash with the invading Pisceans, it was as if the entire Legion had fallen apart. Then Blazer, Tinder, and Rattrap never made it out of Obrion as the mop-up actions continued to remove the Piscean scourge from the backwater planets. Angel knew her time was coming—how much longer could she expect to survive?

Angel repressed those thoughts and tried to focus on the impending engagement. She knew, like all Star Runners did, that distracted thoughts would get you killed.

Tridents, Barrett said, be ready for enemy swarms on our tails just like last time.

But Angel was still here, waiting in the launch tubes for the Radiant to finish the curve in what should be the final Legion-Shoborian campaign to oust the Piscean invader from their space.

One minute to curve.

Victory was at hand; the war was seemingly over.

But Star Runners were still dying.

Like a cornered predator that knew its time was up, the Pisceans fought in each engagement with ferocity, refusing to surrender—and the system disruptors prevented escape. Many thought the Pisceans would flee after their thrashing at Beran. As usual, the talk proved to be wishful thinking.

Ten seconds—here we go, people, Barrett said, a hint of weariness joining his tone.

Angel’s stomach dropped as the Radiant passed through the curve. Thousands of crew—both Legion and Shoborian—approached simultaneously through curves in the coordinated Alliance strike. With a final jolt, the Radiant passed through.

Lobera Tridents, Colonel Tassal said from the Radiant’s Combat Direction Center, launch when ready.

The Trident rumbled as the engines roared to full blast a moment before the catapult hurled her forward. Force pressed her into the seat as the lights of the launch tube shot past. Seconds later, she emerged from the Radiant, pushed the stick left, and joined her squadron’s formation above the carrier.

Three more Parazonium-class carriers appeared behind the Radiant, with a wall of Falchion attack boats bolstered by Corvo support craft filling the space between the capital ships. The Radiant was the spear, making Angel and the Eighth Lobera the spear’s point.

The green world of Alypso, a Dark World known for its immense rainforests and dense vegetation, loomed in the distance, with one Piscean shell-shaped capital ship in orbit surrounded by swarming enemy fighters. The Shoborian task force, four capital ships in all, approached the planet from the opposite side to create the vise that would squash the final Pisceans remaining in Legion space.

System disruptors fired, scrambling sensors and preventing the Piscean force from using their bolt cores to escape. The bulk of the Piscean armada soared away from Alypso, flying at flank speed toward the Legion task force. They would not try to flee this time.

No, they were coming right for us.

Increase to attack speed and keep it tight, Barret grumbled. Roaches swarming to meet us.

I’ve got them, Lieutenant Tad Mustang Carl said. Let’s do this.

Enough chatter, Mustang, Barret snapped. Arm missiles and fire when in range.

Gray, swirling missile trails shot from Tridents, mixed with torpedoes unleashed from the Falchions and Corvos. The Piscean fighters broke their swarm, darting in different directions to avoid the incoming projectiles. Explosions popped in the dark, flickering and dissipating just as fast. Green return fire flashed toward the approaching Tridents as the two lead forces collided.

Engage! Barret shouted as the Tridents broke formation, entering the furball of twisting and twirling fighters.

I’m moving in, Angel said, palms sweaty in her gloves as she gripped the stick. Firing!

Her missile blasted through the Piscean fighter, splitting the craft in half. The cockpit was obliterated, and sparkling pieces floated backward. Angel released a tight grin as she moved on to a new target.

Green fire flashed over her canopy, battering the shields above the Trident’s nose.

Right behind you, Angel, Yafina Jewel Zerubabel transmitted. You’ve got one right on you!

Angel jerked her head, glancing over both shoulders to catch a glimpse of the crustacean-like Piscean close on her six. Banking and spinning, she hoped to make her Trident impossible to hit. Enemy fire sizzled into her starboard wing. In a fiery instant, starlight glimmered through a six-inch hole in her wing. Angel jolted her head back and forth, watching the bright alien tracers streak past.

Don’t take your time, Jewel!

The younger Star Runner, Jewel, had been with the Eighth Lobera for a week, joining them right after the Obrion campaign and her training at Tarton’s Junction. Quiet and reserved, Jewel had been a competent Star Runner during patrols, but she admitted on the mess deck that she had never seen combat. In a fatalistic fashion, she announced she did not expect to survive.

While many new Star Runners had similar feelings, Jewel revealed this news as if contemplating her survival rate after receiving a terminal diagnosis. Angel now fully realized her life depended on a kid who had never been in a scrap.

I can’t get a lock! Jewel snapped.

Break off! Mustang shouted. I’ve got this!

Firing! Jewel yelled as if Mustang hadn’t spoken.

The green fire surrounding Angel’s Trident ceased. Angel exhaled as she spun the Trident around in time to see the Piscean fighter coming apart. Mustang and Jewel flew past the debris as the three Tridents drifted away from the raging center of the fray.

I thought you said you couldn’t get a lock? Angel asked, breathing heavily.

I couldn’t, Jewel said. Dumb-fired it.

Nice—

Piscean fire burned past her canopy, snapping her back to the present.

Let’s go! Angel yelled, pushing her stick back toward the intense dogfight. We still have work to do!

The three Lobera Tridents reentered the melee, firing missiles as the fierce fight raged around Alypso. Legion forces pounded the Piscean threat with savage intensity. Hesitation vanished, replaced by cold determination. The Star Runners operated in perfect unison—graceful, efficient, and lethal—as they plowed into the enemy force.

The returning Lobera Star Runners gathered around their lockers, celebrating with aggressive headlocks and playful shoves in a flurry of green uniforms. The terror and tension seeped from their bodies with each cheer and each sweaty embrace.

Angel hugged Jewel and then looked her in the eye. Their hair was messy, with short locks falling about their faces. They smelled of sweat, a hint of disinfectant, and a whiff of engine oil and burnt plastic.

Can you believe it? Angel asked, framing her friend’s face with her hands.

Jewel’s brow lowered. I didn’t think I’d live to see the end of this.

Angel nodded, pulling Jewel close again in the swirl of celebrating Star Runners, their laughter and cheers blending with the music and revelry around them. As they twirled and danced, Angel felt a surge of joy and camaraderie among her fellow runners, united by their shared love for the stars.

Mustang released a brief cheer before collapsing on the bench in front of his locker, holding his reddened face in his hands.

Angel toed him with her boot. You all right?

Mustang nodded, then shook his head. That was crazy out there.

That it was.

You know they say Pisceans were once humans?

Angel shrugged. Dead humans now.

The Lobera Star Runners burst into a jubilant swirl of celebrations, their energy and excitement pulsing through the corridors. Voices echoed off the metal walls as they sprinted by the lockers' hatches, shouting and cheering in triumph over their enemy's destruction. On the Radiant, protocol crumbled under the immense rush of adrenaline and joy at their success. A thousand moments of pure elation and camaraderie swept through the ship.

Attention! Barret barked, standing on a bench in front of the lockers. He held a fat bottle of champagne over his head. Three weeks ago, we first met the Piscean roaches in battle. Today, we ended their invasion of our space. I’ve been saving this bottle for a special occasion. Angel?

Her jaw dropped. Yes, sir?

You did well out there today, Lieutenant. Barret tossed the bottle into her hands. Kick us off!

Angel shook the bottle, popped the top, and sprayed its contents across the locker room. The Lobera squadron cheered as champagne drenched their clothes and dripped onto the deck. Music blared from a locker, and the cheer shifted to a dance party.

In the back of her adrenaline-fueled mind, Angel began to realize she would survive the ordeal. More champagne appeared, white and clear, forming a perfect crystalline sphere in a silver chalice. The bottle’s edges were embossed with a flowing floral pattern. Guzzling the champagne heightened her realization that they would live. The unreal taste was even better when combined with the emotion of surviving battle. The sparkling liquid flowed quickly, the bubbles rising to the surface of the bottle so brightly that, for a moment, she could see through them like glowing jewels.

Thoughts raced through her mind as the celebration continued. The invasion had started just as Angel was about to begin the second half of her first year as a Star Runner. Casualties mounted, and news of their foe’s tenacity and technology spread, enhancing the feeling that she would end her days trying to stop an alien invasion of the Galactic Legion’s Quadrant Seven. Like many in her squadron, she had accepted that it was not a question of if she would survive, but when she would die.

And now it was over.

Quadrant Seven was liberated—and she was alive.

The mantra echoed in her mind as the Lobera squadron danced and drank on the Radiant.

The announcement whistle blared over the party. The swaying Lobera Star Runners ended their celebration, smiles slowly fading and embraces slackening.

"Radiant crew, this is Commander Jas, the old speaker buzzed, barely audible as the laughter in the locker room wound down. First, I want to give credit where credit is due—well done today. I can hear the celebrations across the ship, but it pains me to tell you we still have work to do."

With that, the shoulders of all the Lobera Star Runners dropped. They slipped down in front of their lockers. The party died, and Angel could barely hear the announcement on the old speaker. The room fell into silhouettes as each smiling face was thrown into shadow, hidden by rusted locker doors. Barret shut the hatch leading to the main hall and stood before the collage of portraits of past heroes and terrible images of Calpria's destruction.

Under the dim lighting, the low hum of the ship’s engines returned as the sound of the party in the adjacent locker room softened. The bright Lobera emblem emblazoned on the deck became the Star Runners' focus as all heads inclined downward.

What did Commander Jas mean?

"The Radiant will not be a part of the planetoid clean-up actions, Jas said. We have received orders to depart immediately for Oma to join the fleet there. Our forces have been pushed back from Tal Mara, and the Zahl forces have blockaded the planet. The Excalibur has been heavily damaged in the fighting. We still have a war on, people. Let’s get to it. That is all."

The speaker died.

Angel collapsed in front of her locker. Two Core Worlds were now under the control of the Zahl Empire…

She stared down at the nearly empty bottle of champagne. It had been foolish to think today had ended the war. It was only a battle, a campaign. The war still raged.

And they were losing.

Slowly, she upended the bottle’s contents onto the deck.

2

Conference Room

Legion Carrier Stalwart, Kukri Class

System: Oma

Galactic Legion of Planets, Quadrant 2

A ll reports confirm the same—the Piscean invaders are in full retreat, Addison Rudd said without a hint of excitement as the glow of his tablet washed blue light over the Director of the Legion Intelligence Force’s face. The backwater quadrants are safe.

Sonia Codwell’s shoulders slumped as she stared with her almond-shaped eyes down into the atmosphere of Oma. The planet's light washed a turquoise hue over the room. Her tailored and form-fitting lavender suit hugged her form like a bodysuit. The space elevator leading to the recreational Glistening Orb appeared on the horizon, just a tiny sphere from this distance. Tridents flying CAP whisked by her view, catching her attention. The Prime Minister turned her head, tracking the fighters as they swept in an arc around the fleet.

Casualties? she asked.

Rudd exhaled. Still coming in. Looks like less than the Obrion Campaign, so that's something to celebrate.

Sonia sighed. It's a sad day when any dead Legion personnel constitutes 'something to celebrate.'

I didn't mean⁠—

I know, Addison. Please continue.

Rudd swept past a digital page on his tablet. Initial reports from Alypso show the same missing civilians as Obrion and Beran.

I figured as much, she said under her breath as she stared at Oma, remembering the beautiful oceans off the coast of Caldan and wondering about the survivors now under Zahlian control. If there were any survivors. We may have to consider Admiral Gist’s grim suggestion to rescue the prisoners from Dark Space before they are ... what are we calling it?

There's been no consensus on a term.

She winced, considering the reports on the process inflicted on prisoners rescued from Beran, Obrion, and now Alypso. People were placed in metal cocoons for a procedure that transformed them into Piscean warriors. Hundreds of thousands of civilians were captured from their worlds. Whatever alien force originated in Dark Space seemed to have fused their own DNA with humans from the ancient travels of the fanatical Banekell Don to create their invasion force. The actual leadership behind the Pisceans must hail from Osirus in Dark Space—an area the Legion had no way of reaching without taking hundreds of years and more curvature power than ever existed.

Gist's proposed rescue operation involved wielding a weapon more devastating than anything in the recorded history of human warfare: an unmanned vessel capable of entering an atmosphere and unleashing thousands of drones that would deliver a swarm of nanotechnology. This technology could target and destroy human beings on a molecular level across an entire planet over a matter of months.

The terrible weapon had been developed by scientists from a Dark World in the midst of a ghastly global conflict and had been considered by the Legion for use as a last resort. Sonia had never imagined such a barbaric act would advance beyond the laboratory. Did they have the right to unleash such a destructive weapon on the universe in the name of saving their captured citizens?

Difficult questions for another time.

So the immediate threat to Quadrants Seven and Eight has been defeated. Sonia took a deep breath and listened to the hum of the ship’s life support, allowing the silence to linger as she pondered situations beyond the Piscean threat. What’s our next dilemma?

Rudd did not smile, and the way his eyes bore into the distance revealed his concern. All his past softness had vanished into the task at hand. He seemed like a warrior, a leader. Swiping the tablet, he said, "The situation at Tal Mara has worsened. Our defense fleet there, led by the Excalibur, went up against a full Zahlian task force and pushed them back—for now. The losses were extremely heavy on both sides. The home ship was severely damaged and fled to Devona to regroup with our forces there."

What does that leave to protect Tal Mara?

Rudd clicked his tongue. Not much. I’m sorry, but we may have to accept that the enemy could blockade Tal Mara until we can reposition our fleets from Quadrants Seven and Eight to the Zahlian front. This means the enemy could theoretically soon resupply their force at Calpria. However, we dealt them such a blow that intelligence believes it will take time for them to rally. I think we may have bought ourselves a little time. Our hope is that any of their supply ships traveling to Calpria will have minimal escorts.

Sonia sighed, a weight pressing on her chest. We should strike any enemy supply ships on their way to Calpria, slow them down if we can.

Already done. Rudd peered at his tablet. "The Excalibur will dock with our stations at Devona immediately. I have crews standing by to board her for emergency repairs, but it will take time. With the Piscean threat parried, the Lobera and Tizona will be reassigned to the capital worlds. But, again, that will take time."

Sonia glanced at the preliminary casualty reports for the Star Runners at Tal Mara. Is this right?

Yes.

But... so many. I thought our Star Runners were the best in the galaxy.

They are, Rudd said, pointing at the tablet displaying the Tridents lost at Tal Mara. We estimate we destroyed five times that number of Interceptors.

Sonia shook her head. Five to one, and you make it sound like a Pyrrhic victory?

Rudd pursed his lips but said nothing as he stared at Sonia’s screen.

She sighed and stood, walking to the viewport overlooking Oma as white clouds covered the waters. When I first became Prime Minister, I had to conduct all the pomp and circumstance tours of facilities, schools, factories, and the like.

I remember.

She turned, eyes fixed on him. I recall visiting the Star Runner Academies. I listened as the instructors told these aspiring Star Runners they would be the best and their talents would hold off the Zahl Empire if they ever tried another invasion. She swallowed, acid tingling the back of her throat. We lied.

I wouldn’t say⁠—

We lied.

Rudd sighed and glanced over his shoulder. It was the lie they needed to hear—the lie that got them out there risking everything to give the Legion a chance to wear down the Imperial zeal to fight.

Sonia collapsed into her seat, arms falling by her side. What about the enemy force at Calpria?

They haven’t moved other than to send a small force to the planet.

Why?

We aren’t sure. Might be scavenging for supplies.

I can’t believe it. We're on the defensive in our own space with no foreseeable opportunity to change the tide.

We bloodied them, too.

Sonia lowered her head. You know as well as I do we cannot trade ship-for-ship with the Zahl Empire—or even five to one. If we continue like this, the war will be over soon. I’m torn about our next move. The Pisceans are gone, but the Zahl are pushing us back from our home worlds. What do you recommend as our next course of action?

Rudd slid his fingers across the stubble forming on his chin. He looked weary, his eyes bloodshot and cheeks pale. His hair was short and ragged, and his face lined. His lips turned into a sad smile.

Give the people something to lift their spirits, he said, eyes on Oma. We’ve had mostly setbacks, defeats, and casualties since this whole thing began. Even pushing the Pisceans back only eased the pressure—it didn’t give the people a true victory.

Sonia shook her head. Our other operations behind the lines are still at least weeks away from starting. What are you suggesting?

Rudd locked his eyes with hers. We go with Gist’s operation, Your Excellency.

Her eyes narrowed and she swallowed. You want to rescue the people in Dark Space? Even considering the weapon Gist mentioned? When he nodded, she said, But we don’t have the ships to mount such a rescue—especially in Dark Space.

Very true, Rudd said, placing his hands flat on the table. But our friends do.

Sonia remembered the report of the Shoborian vessel, Jarna, that made a trip to Dark Space. She frowned. The Shoborian Chancellor was very clear on the boundaries and limitations of our alliance. Marok will not go for an invasion of the Piscean homeworld. In fact, he may believe the reasons for our alliance have come to an end since the invaders have been expelled.

Rudd leaned forward, tension lines in his face deepening. You need to convince him it is necessary.

I will try, she said, waving him away. I think I’ve had enough for now. Thank you for everything. Please tell Gantry⁠—

She froze, her eyes watering.

Rudd offered a tight smile at the mention of her dead assistant. I’ll tell Chicha to send in your next appointment.

Thanks.

As Rudd left, Sonia leaned back and gazed at the stars beyond Oma, knowing that Star Runners out there still believed the lie that they could outlast the Zahl Empire in an all-out war.

She felt like vomiting.

INVADERS PUSHED FROM QUADRANT 7

NAS Report

It wasn’t easy by any means, Commander Nahom Jameson said during a brief press conference after his carrier, the Liberty Hammer, returned from the victory at Beran. This enemy required us to learn new tactics, utilize new weaponry, and fight in a different way than ever before. Credit goes to my crew and their determination and bravery during this difficult time.

Casualties at Beran are being kept under wraps, but anonymous sources say the overall losses were not as great as expected. Civilians, however, are suffering the effects of the invasion, and relief efforts are being organized across the Legion to help the newest world in the Galactic Legion of Planets.

Now, Legion officials say a grand redistribution of its navy from Quadrants Seven and Eight to the war against the Zahl Empire is underway, but such an effort will take time…

3

Temporary Officer’s Quarters

Freighter Archangel, Svikari Class

Lutimite Space, En Route to Ashia System

The Fringe

The Star Runners sprinted down the corridor, dodging the hissing pipes spewing white gases into their path. Bright pipes, some longer than the height of a person, extended from the ceiling. The Star Runners moved with purpose, bobbing with grace beneath the dials, not one of them dropping their black helmets or flight tablets.

The clock ticked.

The lead Star Runner, Kris Skeeter Vance, grabbed the ladder with her gloved hand and slid to the deck. Her boots smashed into the grating as she swiveled toward the nearest Trishula, the elite space fighter parked in a line with the rest, glistening under the freighter's flickering, sputtering lights. Climbing the ladder, Skeeter pulled her helmet's tinted visor down with a hiss and thrust herself into the cockpit. The cockpit slid closed, and she loaded her tablets for launch.

The other Scorpions followed, dashing to their open cockpits, twinkling with working control panels and readouts reflecting off the seats. Hands moved swiftly across the controls, checking systems and prepping the fighters for flight.

When the final canopy closed, the cargo bay doors opened to the vacuum of space, removing the artificial atmosphere. The Trishulas' engines fired—quicker than a Trident—and the Scorpions exited the freighter, ready for combat.

Too slow, Major Austin Stone exhaled, his voice cutting through the silence. He reached forward and stopped the recording. That took over a minute for the first of us to get outside the freighter. A minute in battle is suicide. It won’t work. You know that.

I know, Captain Ricardo Spike Jardine sighed. Who among us is the fastest?

Runner?

Yeah.

Cheetah before her… captivity. Don’t know about now.

Ricardo snorted. Doesn’t matter anyway—that’d only give us a couple of seconds. What we need is some damned launch tubes on this thing.

We're not getting launch tubes. And launching slowly is the same as giving Interceptors target practice. Austin clicked his tongue. We need to work on the problem. I⁠—

Someone knocked at the hatch.

Hang on! Austin called, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring at the freeze frame of the final Trishula leaving the cargo bay for a long moment. The fastest fighters in the Legion won’t mean anything if we’re blasted to hell before we reach attack speed.

I know we can't maintain a CAP in enemy territory if we want to remain hidden, Ricardo sighed. What about shifts?

Go on.

"Alert fighters. We leave at least two Scorpions in or near the cockpits at all times. That should at least give us some time."

Austin stood and slapped Ricardo’s shoulder. Start with that, Captain. I want this figured out before we leave Legion space. There’ll be no friendlies past the border.

That’s a certainty, boss.

Austin opened the hatch to what had become the officer’s quarters he shared with Ricardo. The hatch squealed like a slaughtered animal as he opened it, the rusty metal grinding.

Hey man, Austin said when he saw Josh Morris standing in the corridor. What’s up?

Sorry to bother you, Major Stone, Josh said with a flicker of sarcasm only a lifelong friend would detect. "Waylon wanted me to tell you we’re entering our final stop before crossing into