Honor home world book tw.., p.1
Honor: Home World Book Two An Epic Space Opera, page 1
Honor
Home World Book Two
BONNIE MILANI
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Will she win her freedom?
On the twisted world of Sisyphus, where danger lurks in every corner and even the grass is a threat, convicted killer Mahdi Koshtar fights for her chance at freedom. After nine years of manipulation and desperation, she finally earns a spot on the early release list. But there's a catch. To secure her reprieve, she must convince her arachno-loving boss to let her go.
In this thrilling tale of deceit, determination, and the fight against an unforgiving world, the stakes are high, and the odds are stacked against Mahdi.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
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Other Stories by Bonnie Milani
Who’s Who in the Aliya War Universe
Glossary of Terms
Timeline
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
Home World. The white-swirled blue world filled the screens wrapping the gray sweep of Khali’s bridge. Myrra’s Cub, battle-named Strongarm, lifted his ears to the collective gasp from his bridge crew. He held silence himself, command habit, though the sight of Earth triggered a thrill that shivered every fiber in his body. He yanked his eyes away from the fulfillment of his dreams to sweep his gaze around the bridge. To a man, crew sat droop-eared, eyes fixed on the forward screens while ship’s systems chattered on behind them.
He couldn’t fault them. Every silver-tufted wolf’s ear, every amber eagle’s eye on his crew bespoke their ties to Earth. It had been seven centuries since the original species had bioengineered LupanType; six centuries since Lupans had turned against their human-only Makers. He’d more than half feared he was the only one left who still yearned to set foot on Home World. Yet the reactions of his crew proved they all felt the call, too. The sight of the bridge crew’s awe eased the ache in his gut.
Thank the Makers’ God Jezekiah Van Buren seemed to be living up to his invitation. If Khali had dropped into an ambush, they’d already be dead. Strongarm uhfed softly and crew snapped back to their duties. Around Khali’s domed bridge, the staccato tap of talon tips on controls replaced the awed silence. Satisfied, Strongarm finally allowed himself to dwell on the sight.
He recognized the paired land masses of the Americas. Only the America of the Histories wasn’t there anymore. The land bridge linking the northern and southern continents was too thin. The narrow strip where Panama should be had shrunk to a slender strip barely broader than the great gash of its namesake canal. To the north, Florida’s isthmus was nothing more than a stick finger jutting down into the Atlantic. The great Mississippi river had swallowed the delta where New Orleans should have been. Lightning played across the ocean-built spires of New York. On the western shore of the continent the cities of Los Angeles and San Diego had merged into a single concrete mass. Only Denver, where the ancient American gene techs had first created LupanType, was still recognizable on its mile-high plateau. Habit kept his ears upright. But somehow the changes felt like a betrayal.
A telltale flashed on his comm panel, underscoring the whiff of musk his headset’s silver nosepiece fed him. “What is it, Kait?”
“Planet side defenses have finally picked us up,” his brother-in-law’s voice drawled. No ‘sir’, of course; with Kaitin ibn Bengal, the fact he was reporting spoke for itself. “We have in-coming.”
Strongarm uhfed in satisfaction. “That will be the reception committee.”
“Thou were always an optimist.” It was scent, not sound, that told him Kait was laughing. “Thy guests flash StelFleet IDs. Samurai division.”
Suicide fighters, then. Helluva sorry excuse for a welcoming committee. Strongarm’s ears tried to flatten. He held them upright with effort. Jezekiah Van Buren knew he was coming. Whole damned trip was the Van Buren’s idea. But, then, even Jezekiah was still an onlie. Which meant it was still possible the man had lied. “How long to contact?”
“Fourteen minutes and counting. Assuming they drop out of Jump firing.”
“Are their weapons boards active?”
“Not yet. It is their speed that bespeaks the hunt.” A hint of challenge touched Kait’s scent. “Allow this one to teach the flat-teeth not to charge their betters.”
“Hold fire. Rig shields but hold fire.” Strongarm drummed talon tips against the command seat armrest, decided to rely on trust a few minutes longer. His life was already forfeit if this didn’t work. But he’d be damned if he’d let a flock of onlies scar his ship. “Hail Earth, Kait. I want to hear the explanation from Van Buren himself.”
“On it.” The Bengali’s scent bespoke his opinion more thoroughly than mere words.
“Put it through to my quarters. Then meet me down there.”
“Done.”
If Van Buren had lied, he’d made a fatal mistake. Khali was a planet-killer class battleship. An ambush might have worked. An attack could have taken her out as she dropped out of Jump. But she was awake and armed now. And even the war-hungry Streikern still did not know what her weapons could do to a planet. If Van Buren wanted to start a shooting war, destroying Home World would be his own, final claim to infamy. In the interim, he wanted to keep the risk private.
Strongarm pushed himself out of the command chair. Around Khali’s bridge ears swiveled attentively, noses testing his scent for danger as he stalked past. He willed the threat out of mind, kept his scent to business-as-usual and they turned back to their duties.
Commander’s quarters were an armored deck below and five battle shields behind alpha bridge. Most of what space he had was given to comm and nav equipment. He could drive Khali from here if he had to. His table was plain deck-weld, just big enough to seat his officers; his bunk barely big enough for himself. It was his walls that demonstrated his wealth. It’d cost him a small fortune to haul his book collection up to Khali, a larger one to have them encased in blast proof stasis pods. Worth it, though. His books dated back to the old NorthAm empire, one or two even older. He’d had stasis shields put on their crumbling pages and installed ID and comm capacity on the pods themselves. Even if Khali herself bought it, the books would survive.
He heard Kaitin’s scratch while he finished up in the john. He called ‘enter’ and started to step out. This time, though, his sidelong reflection caught his attention. He perked ears at himself in the mirror, wondering for the first time what he looked like to onlie eyes. His face was human enough even by onlie standards. He had the high cheekbones and coppery skin of his Apache ancestors. His forehead was high, the nose broad and straight beneath the eagle’s scowl of his brows. Only his eyes were amber, his nose bone rather than cartilage. His chin was strong and square and clean-shaven, though muscle bulged where an onlie’s ears would be. Made his neck look like it merged with the corded muscle of his shoulders. Still, the fine silvery hair on his chest was hair, not fur. And his sister Hellas claimed he had fine, sensitive lips. He wondered whether the Van Buren sister would mind that those fine lips covered a carnivore’s fangs.
He smelled his brother-in-law’s presence before the Bengali stepped into his field of vision. “Allow this one to guess,” Kaitin drawled from the doorway. “Thou found a zit.”
“Fuck off.” Strongarm splashed water across his face and reached for the towel. Only now he caught himself searching his chin for an angry red spot. Wasn’t one, of course. Maker’s balls, damned cat did it to him every time.
Kaitin knew it, too. He rested a shoulder against the john door, lifted a lip in feline superiority to reveal the teardrop ruby embedded in the tip of one fang.
Strongarm shook water off his face wondering yet again how onlies ever managed to claim all Lupans looked alike. Damned flatteeth couldn’t see the difference between wolf-bred and tiger any better than they could smell it. He wiped his talons dry, manfully resisting the urge to flick water at his brother-in-law and slung the towel over his shoulder. “Got Van Buren?”
“Patched in.” Kaitin stepped aside to let Strongarm shoulder out of the john. He was taller than Strongarm’s own six-four, and leaner, with a Bengali’s characteristic black-on-orange striped mane and a prince’s unshakable arrogance. “Holo coming up—” He clicked talons and the air above the table pearlesced. “Now.”
The image that formed of Jezekiah looked debonair as always. He stood beside an elegant desk in a tall-windowed, day lit office elegant enough to make even Kaitin gasp. And yet… if that man had had ears, they’d be at half-mast. Instinct twitched Strongarm’s nose, testing for scent clues. Beside him, Kaitin swore softly, sign he’d picked up the Van Buren’s discomfort as well.
“Congratulations, Brother-in-Law,” Kaitin murmured sidelong, amber eyes target-locked on the Van Buren. “Thou hast dodged a wedding and run into a war.”
“Not if I can help it.” Strongarm faced up to the holo. “Friend Jezekiah, want to tell me what kind of traveling orders that reception committee’s of yours is carrying?”
He’d opted to keep his grin friendly. Said a lot for Van Buren that he grinned back. Except he wasn’t the one who answered.
“I had rather expected, Lord Strongarm, to ask you that question.” The tall backed chair behind the desk swiveled to let its occupant lock an unnerving blue scowl on him. Even seated, the woman radiated power.
“Makers.” That was Kaitin, gone droop-eared and slack-jawed.
The Protector of Home World dismissed the Bengali with a glance. She lifted her chin to him, though with her it was a sign of authority. Strongarm felt his balls curl into a tight little knot. Kaitin, he noted, discreetly slipped around behind his own broad back. Strongarm forced his ears up to a polite angle, clasped hands behind his back. “Madam Van Buren.”
“Admiral Yakamoto reports we have two minutes to contact.” Damn, if the Van Buren mother didn’t manage to look down her nose at him. “Be so good as to explain what kind of contact you intend it to be.”
“Friendly.” Strongarm realized his ears had sunk again and snapped them up. Inched his chin up with them, acknowledging her dominance in her own territory. “I’m here on invitation.” He lifted an ear at Jezekiah for reinforcement.
“It seems my memory fails me.” Van Buren’s mother swiveled her chair to target Jezekiah.
“I did indeed invite Lord Strongarm to visit us, Mother.” Jezekiah arched those Bengali red brows of his at Strongarm. “However, I expected time to allow you to prepare. He wasn’t scheduled to arrive for several weeks yet.”
“Timing only matters on the battlefield. Among friends, doors are always open.” A draft of air wafted him the worrisome scent of Kaitin’s satisfaction. No way to tell without a scent track what Jezekiah really felt. “Seems to me the question is whether we’re still friends.”
Sixty seconds to contact, DefComm murmured through his headset. Behind him, Kaitin’s scent sharpened. Strongarm flicked an ear in approval, listened to Kait’s mutter as he brought Khali’s weapons boards up.
Mother Van Buren flicked a glance at Kaitin. No question she recognized the threat. She simply opted to treat it with disdain. “I must ask your pardon, Lord Strongarm. I see now we are both the victims of a miscommunication. Please consider our Samurai as your honor guard.” Keeping her eyes on him, she tapped her comm. “Admiral Yakamoto: hold your fire. Repeat, hold your fire.”
Fighters have dropped out of Jump, DefComm reported. Strongarm leveled an ear at Kaitin. The Bengali hissed but muttered the command to hold fire.
Samurai breaking formation, DefComm announced. They are waggling wings.
“Disengage.” Strongarm salaamed to the Van Buren mother onlie style. Didn’t melt the blue ice in those eyes, but he caught the faintest hint of a smile in the twitch of her lips.
When she spoke, it was to her comm. “Admiral Yakamoto, Lord Strongarm is our invited guest. You will escort the Lupan battleship into orbit. Then provide our guest an honor guard down to Niihau port.” Only then did she return his salaam. “Welcome to Earth, Lord Strongarm.”
#
Strongarm tracked DefComm reports long enough to make sure the Samurai really were lining up peacefully, then lowered himself into a chair. For once, Kaitin was keeping his thoughts to himself. But his scent was troubled. “What is it, Kait?”
The Bengali lowered himself into a squat on a facing chair. Typical Bengali, he made sure his emerald bloomers draped becomingly before he spoke his piece. “Turn back now, while thou still can. Jezekiah lied—”
“Not necessarily. We’re a month early. I can see where he’d want time to convince his sister to accept a Lupan husband.”
“His mother did not even know thou were coming. Can think his sister was told?” Kaitin ran a red-haired hand across white mustaches. “He plans no marriage. Not in truth. The Van Buren wants thy battle fleet, not thyself.”
Maker’s balls, he did not want to re-fight this battle now. Tension tightened the muscles around his eyes, trying to trigger hunting vision. Strongarm shook himself to clear it. He bought himself an extra minute’s calming time by hooking an empty chair into position with a booted toe. “We’ve been over this track enough. Jezekiah had nothing to do with Streiker hijacking my caravan. He’s out to stop his uncle’s war, not fight it. That suits me just fine.” He propped his feet up on the chair, willed his ears upright. “I didn’t dodge out of my mother’s house just to re-fight the Schism.” Even so, warning tinged his scent.
“Then this one grieves for thee, Brother-in-Law.” A brocaded pant leg kinked; he paused to shake it loose. “Among the women of Parliament the question is now asked: How many more times will thou redeem thy honor with money?”
Strongarm shot upright, fangs baring on instinct. From anyone else he’d have answered that question in blood. But then, no one else had as much right to complain as Kaitin ibn Bengal del Lobo. Knowing that, Kaitin only locked talons around his chair and let the sorrow in his scent speak for him.
“I’ll take care of Streiker if I have to.” Strongarm managed to cover fangs. Kait knew enough to ignore the growl. “But I’m not going to fire the first shot. End of story.”
“Thy words carry wisdom as always, Brother-in-Law.” Kaitin sheathed talons. He swiped his tongue across fingertips and raked them through his mane to smooth it down. “This one advises thee to suit action to them. There is time yet; turn back. Complete thy Impression among thy own kind. Give thyself the chance to smell the onlies’ treaty with a clear nose.”
Hunter vision tried to trigger again. Strongarm shook himself until it cleared. This time the action raised enough hair shed to make them both sneeze. Just as well, too. Nothing broke tension like hair up your nose. “Can’t, Kait.”
“The position is still open.”
“Drop it. The chemistry was wrong.”
“The chemistry was fine. Thou held thy breath.”
Ah, shit. He kept his ears up, but the guilt registered in his scent. Kaitin twitched his nose to prove it. Strongarm ran a hand across the table, bringing up a holo of the Hawaiian Islands. “When did you figure it out?”
“At the time.” Kaitin lifted a lip enough to let light strike fire off the tear drop ruby. “There was no other explanation. This one conducted the strip search—”
“Don’t remind me.” Strongarm’s rectum puckered at the memory.
“Thou had no hidden nose filters or scent vials. Plus, thou had thy nose between the most beautiful pair of legs on Den Lupus, so attraction was not the issue. Which left only breath control.”
“If you figured it out, why didn’t you just hold me in place? That would’ve finished the job.”
“The thought occurred. Yet the stronger question was ‘why?’”
“You mean why wouldn’t I want to bind myself as fourth husband to your sister? Spend the rest of my life playing step and fetch for three senior Bengalis?” Damn, that sounded insulting. Their marriages had been intended to complete an inter-clan treaty. Traditional son swap, each clan marrying its alpha prince to the other’s alpha daughter. Kaitin had accepted his fate, fourth husband to sister Hellas. It was himself who had ruined the plan. Strongarm lifted his chin, offering apology.
“Accepted.” Kaitin folded hands atop his knees and rested his chin atop his knuckles.
“So why let me go?”
“Because…” Kaitin straightened fluidly, wafted emerald brocade into place. “This one still hoped Jezekiah Van Buren had told thee the truth. A marriage treaty with Home World offered greater advantage for all.” The ruby flashed. “As this one quickly explained to our joint mothers. Did think thee would have lived to reach Khali otherwise?”
“And here I thought I just ran too fast.” Strongarm salaamed with sincerity. “Owe you, Kait.
Kaitin kissed fingers to himself smugly. “Never allow it to be said the onlies have a lock on subtlety.”
“Agreed. So – why the change in heart? Why push me to turn back now?”
“Because now this one smells a trap. For all his pretty talk, Jezekiah Van Buren has not obtained his mother’s consent to the marriage alliance. And it is his mother who holds power.” The fluffy white ears lowered. “One fears he has lured thee into a waiting game. One he intends to end in thy death.”
