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  Wizard’s Flight

  Wilhelmina Kirk

  Magic & Mayhem Press

  Copyright © 2019 by Wilhelmina Kirk

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Also by Wilhelmina Kirk

  About the Author

  1

  The Outer Colonies had always been prosperous. Ill-treated, oppressed, and exploited, but always prosperous.

  The mining colony on Xanthes was no exception. Alone in the dark vacuum of space, the purple-hued planet orbited a yellow star two days of hyperspace away from the nearest neighboring planet. Despite its relative isolation from the Core worlds and the violent dust storms that plagued it, Xanthes’ spaceports hummed with activity, picking up large shipments of diamonds that had been mined by a peasant population to transport to wealthier worlds.

  And for those who didn’t want to seek life in the mines, the planet was a haven for smugglers. Often their illegal trading lined the pockets of Xanthes’ nobility, ensuring continued and mutual success. So the smugglers got rich, the nobles got richer, and life on Xanthes continued in a complicated swirl of dust and politics.

  The crew of the Star Streaker had a different reaction to landing on Xanthes—none of them wanted to set foot on the foul, backward planet. But the small bronze space cruiser exited hyperspace anyway in a blinding flash of blue and on a direct trajectory for the largest spaceport.

  Before the Streaker could radio for entry clearance, three dark fighters zipped by, passing so close over the ship that pilot James Fletcher ducked. Since Captain Rance Cooper was situated behind and above the pilot’s chair, all she saw was James’ sandy brown hair and broad shoulders hunched over the controls. The pilot’s practiced hands remained steady, keeping the ship on course.

  “That was a bit close for comfort,” James said dryly.

  “Hard to miss, weren’t they?” Rance said. She leaned forward in her harness, wishing she could stand and stretch her legs. Her loose brown hair fell in her eyes, and she quickly braided it over her shoulder while examining the screen before her. Three blinking dots sped away toward the planet. They joined with two more, flying over Xanthes in a V formation as if on patrol.

  Using her Neural Net Robotics chip, or NNR, Rance commanded the ship to pull up footage of the fly-by. The expensive chip implanted in her C1 vertebra connected with the Streaker and the artificial lens in her right eye—the Zeus Corporation Optical Display, or ZOD. Rance controlled the lens with her thoughts, and it rivaled any heads-up display found inside armor.

  Footage of the fly-by overlaid her view of the cockpit, giving her a view of both the ships outside and James’ head. But Rance wanted to watch on the larger screen near her chair, so she turned off the ZOD and sat back.

  She saw what she expected—fast-maneuvering Unity Dark Fighters armed with EMP cannons, hull-piercing blasters, and enough missile power to take out a ship ten times their size.

  James glanced back at Rance. She already knew what he was thinking.

  “Those aren’t my father’s,” she said. “See the signatures? They’re directly from Triton.”

  “What’re they doing all the way out here?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  They weren’t her father’s ships, but the presence of Unity, the military arm of Triton, was troubling. She was already anxious about landing back on her home planet and didn’t need added eyes on her. Eyes that would report straight to her father, Davos.

  The small, compact Star Streaker flew unarmed and equipped with the latest hyperdrive civilian money could buy. Although the drive implied money, the Star Streaker wasn’t out of place among the other sleek ships jockeying for position around Xanthes. The ship was Rance’s pride and joy, indeed her only true possession, both her home and the site of her small smuggling operation. But among the many other luxury ships around the spaceport, it was barely anything to look at.

  Good thing, too. She didn’t need anyone taking notice of her arrival.

  Soon after, they received clearance to land. At the first glimpse of the bustling port, Rance forced aside her misgivings. The Star Streaker had been absent from Xanthes a long time, but the planet was exactly as it had been when they left eighteen months earlier—purple, dusty, and probably still smelly.

  They wouldn’t be here long. She didn’t have anything to worry about.

  Rance propped her magnetic boots on the metal console while James set the ship down on the landing platform. Her legs ached from the two hours spent tucked in their crash chairs.

  “Captain, please,” James said, shooting her an exasperated look. He hated when someone didn’t treat his cockpit with the reverence and worship he thought it deserved. But whatever, it was her ship. And her boots weren’t touching anything other than a bare surface.

  “James, I don’t mind telling you that I don’t want to go out there.”

  After staring pointedly at Rance’s boots another moment, James unbuckled his harness and shut down the engines. “No one does,” he said. “But if you want a new CO, you’re going to have to.”

  “And this is the best place to get one,” she said, restating what they already knew. Rance sighed and removed her boots from the console.

  They’d gone back and forth about it for a week. Ever since her last CO, Rex, had left, she’d been flip-flopping on whether to promote a member of the crew or go to Xanthes to hire someone.

  Both options had their merits—and their drawbacks. Promoting a member of her crew would show good faith in them. Rance liked the idea mostly because it wouldn’t upset the delicate working balance on the small cruiser. Except for the occasional “family squabble,” as James liked to call them, they all got along. In that way, losing Rex had been a blow.

  But none of the crew was particularly interested in the responsibility of being the CO, which meant Rance needed to hire an outsider. Xanthes may have been a dust-pit full of rats and refuse, but if she wanted a good CO, that’s where she’d find one.

  She shook off the uneasy feeling swirling in her stomach. They were already here, and now that she’d decided to come, she didn’t want to abandon the chance of finding a capable officer.

  With a long, ear-splitting beep, a bulletin pushed through to Rance’s ZOD, their individual handsets, and the ship-wide comm. Three different faces scrolled across the screen in the cockpit, each with the same name beneath: Solaris, Galaxy Wizard.

  A fugitive that Unity had been looking for. This was the third time in a week Rance had seen the bulletin, along with a warning that the man was extremely dangerous and could hide by changing his
face.

  She raised an eyebrow in amusement. Galaxy Wizard—she’d heard tales of them since she was a child, most too far-fetched to be true. Apparently, Unity wanted this one badly, though. It meant Rance would need to be extra careful. Unity might be looking for Solaris but end up finding her.

  “I put out the usual job posting,” James said, interrupting her thoughts.

  “Good,” she answered. “And don’t be too dramatic with the candidates—I don’t want someone to expect theatrics on board this ship. We just need a nice, sensible person who can think for herself.”

  “Or himself.”

  “Or himself.”

  “And take orders from you.”

  “And take orders from me. It’s not that hard.”

  “Whatever you say, Captain.”

  The small spaceport beyond the window was as colorful as ever, with red, blue, and green buildings haphazardly stacked atop one another like toy blocks. Layers of purple-gray dust coated all of them, on the Northern side in particular.

  There, beyond the city, a wall of purple sand rose up from the desert, so tall it stretched to the sky, mingling with the clouds until the two were indistinguishable from one another.

  James nodded at the sand. “Should we be worried about that storm?”

  “Nah, they won’t even sound the sirens for that one. But the air won’t be good. Tell everyone to wear their masks when they go out.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Rance frowned at him.

  “You see,” he said good-naturedly, “it’s ironic because I’m twenty-nine, three years older than you.”

  James stood aside as Rance extricated herself from her chair.

  “And yet,” she said, “you asked me just the other day if I wanted to play pirates and space marines.”

  “I asked if you wanted to play the video of Unity Marines catching those scumbag pirates near Ares.”

  Rance’s legs felt like they’d been clamped between the magnets they used to dock at space stations. She winced at the pain, then smiled. Winding James up was one of her favorite pastimes. It probably wasn’t appropriate for a Captain to banter with her pilot, but again, whatever, it was her ship. And after all the crazy schemes they’d come up with, James was like the brother she’d never had.

  While trying to maneuver out of the cockpit, her head accidentally hit a button on the ceiling. An alarm sounded. “Son of Triton,” she swore, mashing the button again and silencing the alarm.

  At six foot two, Rance was the tallest member of the Star Streaker. The Streaker was a fast runner, capable of jumping into hyperspace on a two-second notice. Only the official Unity ships could jump faster—a source of pride for her. But though the ship itself was big enough for the cargo they carried, the Streaker’s major drawback was the size of its cockpit. It hadn’t been built on Xanthes, where people tended to be taller. It was a Triton ship, and Triton’s people were shorter and more nimble than Rance.

  She turned back to look at James, who gazed at his reflection in the display console and attempted to make his sand-colored hair lay flat.

  “We’re looking for a CO, not a date, James.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

  Rance rolled her eyes. James had a girlfriend in every port, but she didn’t know what women saw in him. Sure, he was nice-looking, and charming when he wanted to be, but he was too fussy for Rance. Which was just as well—if she’d fallen in love with him, she would’ve had to fire him.

  When James had finished smoothing his hair, he turned to give Rance a thumbs up. Irritated, she climbed down the cockpit ladder. She made her way through the top deck past her own quarters and down a steep flight of stairs to the hold.

  Tally waited at the bottom of the stairs. With large, dark scales and bulbous green eyes that never blinked, the engineer—a Graeken—was the only alien aboard the Star Streaker. He stood on two legs, almost as tall as Rance. The ridge on his head looked like a lizard’s crest, and he had fangs instead of teeth. His crest was turning white—a sign of his advancing age. But he was just as spry as any of the younger crew.

  He would stay behind to close up after they left. Except for androids, intelligent nonhumans weren’t welcome on Xanthes unless as servants. Another reason Rance didn’t like returning to her home planet.

  “Twenty-four hours,” Rance reiterated as James left with the tiny science officer, Harper, through the cargo doors.

  Abel’s hulking frame filled the open doorway as he waited for everyone to pass through. A full body of tattoos almost made his skin look purple, matching the sand blowing past him to settle on the floor of the small cargo bay.

  “You going to find someone that quick, boss?” he asked. Despite being on a spaceship for a year, Abel hadn’t yet shaken the habit of calling her “boss.” Before taking to space he’d worked private security on Triton, and “Captain” didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary.

  “The longer we wait, the more desperate we’ll seem,” Rance told him. “If I post the position for say, twelve hours only, we’ll get a better response than if I wait. I want someone who can make decisions on short notice.”

  “Sounds more like you’re looking for an impulsive person rather than a decision-maker,” Tally said as Abel left.

  “Not impulsive, just decisive,” she said.

  2

  Rance hopped off the ramp into the purple dirt. As her feet hit the ground, gritty sand accosted her from every angle, blowing into her nose, eyes, and mouth. Her single, tight braid whipped around and smacked her in the eye. She winced, grabbing for the mask on her belt. Behind her, the ramp was already rising, humming smoothly until it sealed shut.

  The crew had scattered. Rance made her way alone across the expanse of the docks, out of the wind. When she reached the broad thoroughfare spanning the marketplace, she broke into a jog. The street looked the same as it always did, with metal stalls facing the thoroughfare and enough food and goods to make the planet seem more like a Core world than a mining colony.

  Her implant synced with the city’s network, and a map of the marketplace popped up on her ZOD, displaying grid lines over the streets and even the names of vendors. She turned on her heel, drinking in the still-familiar sight of Xanthes. The smells of warm, rich food and dry sand. The sounds of vendors bartering and bickering.

  But Rance didn’t have time for misplaced nostalgia. She hunched over and hurried past the crowds, looking back occasionally to make sure she wasn’t being followed. The less time she spent here, the better. She didn’t want to run into—

  “Rance Cooper! How are ya?”

  Rance cringed and slowed to a walk. There he was, coming out of a tavern like he’d been waiting for her. Walking in a slightly crooked line. How did Harrison McConnell always know when she returned home? He must have a friend at the port office. Although it had only been five years since she ran away from home, Rance felt like she’d spent half her life avoiding Harrison.

  “Sorry—I can’t stay, Harrison. Tight schedule.”

  “You haven’t seen me in over a year, and that’s the ‘hello’ I get?” He lifted his mask expectantly.

  Rance sighed before sliding her mask over for him. Harrison stood on his tiptoes and kissed her cheek. He smelled sweaty, like he hadn’t bathed in days.

  And he was already pouting—a sure sign he was drunk. His bright blue eyes peered up at her sorrowfully. “When are we going to get married, Rance?”

  Rance rolled her eyes. “When Triton stops sending Unity to interfere with the Outer Colonies.”

  So, never.

  Now Harrison rolled his eyes. “We are betrothed, you know. I could tell your father you’re on Xanthes, get proceedings going.”

  Rance glared at him. “Don’t you dare, Harrison McConnell!”

  “If you didn’t want to get married, why’d you consent to the arrangement?”

  “I didn’t—”

  Rance glanced around, then grabbed Harrison’s shoulder and steered hi
m back toward the tavern. She pushed him through the door and ducked her head to enter. A wall of noise hit her before her eyes adjusted. Glasses clinking. Voices raised in drunken tirades. She removed her mask to see better, and then wished she hadn’t.

  The smell almost sent her to her knees. By the Founders, every time. She always forgot how horrible these places were. The room smelled like cats had died under every table. That stink alone would have been enough to send Rance back to the Streaker, but it had mixed with sweat and hair and alcohol to form a fetid odor all its own. She fought the urge to gag as they made their way around tables to the bar.

  “What are you having?” she asked Harrison.

  “A Blue.”

  Her nose was already wrinkled in disgust, so it couldn’t turn up any more. She settled for a sneer. Still gripping his shoulder much harder than necessary, Rance ordered the drink and steered Harrison to an empty table in the corner. He didn’t argue as she pushed him down into a hard metal chair.

  “You can’t say things like that out in the open, Harrison,” she began.

  He held up his hand, signaling her to wait while a young woman in a dirty white tunic brought his drink. It glowed blue and smelled like rotten eggs. Harrison didn’t seem to mind, downing the horrible thing in one swallow. When he finished, he waved his hand at the bartender for another. Then he fixed Rance with a less-than-focused stare. “Not having anything?”

  “You know I don’t drink.”

  “Right. Gotta keep up appearances and all that.”