Chapter 41

  RSIA Preyon

  Karbay Nolan Sector

  Date: Zeran 33, Year 4731

  With the Preyon already on its way, having made its first journey through a rift, Klamarez woke early the morning after its maiden voyage. He moved quietly, careful not to disturb his roommate, Ric Karsen. Camerians didn’t need much sleep—four hours was enough—but a short daytime nap wasn’t uncommon.

  Sharing a room with Ric had been more of an adjustment than he expected. It felt too quiet, and he found himself trying to keep his noise to a minimum. Ric was always absorbed in his PDA or reading on a tablet.

  Klamarez had tried to strike up a conversation once or twice, but it was no use. Ric spent his first night aboard with his head buried in the PDA, chuckling occasionally at whatever he was watching, barely glancing up.

  He wore sound-dampening Sonic pods over his ears, cutting himself off from the world around him. Ric wasn’t the chatty type, and Klamarez had quickly accepted it. Still, a bit more conversation would have been nice. Sharing a room with someone without knowing anything about them felt strange, almost unsettling.

  It wasn’t the worst arrangement he’d endured. That title still belonged to his time aboard the Canticle, crammed into a narrow bunkroom with a Kirlu navigator who recited full navigational readouts in his sleep—night after night without fail.

  He’d considered recording it, just to prove he wasn’t imagining it.

  As he left the quarters, Klamarez found himself thinking back to the previous night in the ship’s rec room. There, he had met several crew members, getting to know them a little better than he had before, including some from the engineering team he would be working with. Many already knew each other from previous assignments within the RSIA or even from their days in the RDF. Others seemed anxious about serving under General Garen Rivers. To them, Garen was a war hero. Klamarez even heard the word "legend" once or twice. Though some seemed a little indifferent to Garen, Klamarez sensed varying opinions.

  A few had asked him what Garen was like, clearly intimidated by the General’s reputation. Some were surprised that Klamarez was a friend of Garen’s, which seemed to give him a certain credibility he hadn’t sought. Klamarez didn’t understand it.

  Though their words welcomed him, there was still an underlying sense that he was an outsider. He hadn’t gone to the RDF Academy or risen through the ranks, and he wasn’t RSIA—hadn’t been invited to join what many considered the elite group. The kind only the best ever got invited to.

  Anyone could join the RDF, but the RSIA required an invitation. As far as Klamarez was concerned, he was just a friend of the ship’s commander. Maybe once he started his shifts, he’d feel less like a visitor and more like part of the crew.

  It was hard for him to admit that much of it was in his own head. The crew had been kind to him, welcoming, but it was only the second day of the mission. For now, he headed down the corridor toward the mess hall.

  There had been some excitement the day before, and he’d found a way to stand out early—just enough to make a solid first impression. He hoped the incident had earned him a bit of slack—a little more time to find his footing.

  Life on the Preyon, ideally, would be a whirlwind of activity—idle chatter, gossip, and the unpredictable nature of people. He hoped it would be an experience similar to the days he spent working on trade and cargo ships. There was always someone new to meet at every port, and the engines were always on the verge of breaking down. Crews came from every corner of the galaxy, and tensions often spilled into fistfights. But despite the disorder, there was a comforting sociability—dice games, card games, arguments over cheating, laughter, and the occasional drink.

  Klamarez had made lasting friendships on those ships—friendships he hadn’t seen in years but would never forget. He hoped the Preyon would become a memory like that someday, though he knew the circumstances were different. The Preyon wasn’t a trading vessel; this was a military ship. They were headed into Vorcon space—where predictability didn’t exist.

  The Preyon was a top-tier vessel, fresh from its maiden voyage. Its smooth walls were pristine, unmarked by the wear and tear of time. The trade ships Klamarez remembered had been rugged—worn-out panels, creaky floors, barely holding together. But this was something new—and despite the difference in feel, he was grateful for the change.

  Walking the corridors, Klamarez checked his PDA. Interest stirred behind his pale green eyes as he reviewed the information on the ship’s systems, wanting to brush up on his knowledge.

  “The calibration of the cellation rods needs to be performed in a sterile environment,” he said, mentally noting the steps he would take later.

  “Interesting. I’ve used these before, never did that,” he added, his ears twitching slightly in amusement.

  As he entered the mess hall, the sound of laughter greeted him.

  A group of Marines sat clustered around a table, their voices loud. They were rough, scarred, and clearly hardened by battle. For now, they were the only occupants of the mess hall.

  Klamarez approached the meal dispenser, selecting a pre-packaged, nutritionally complete meal. As he waited for the machine to activate, he glanced again at the Marines. They seemed lively and relaxed—almost too relaxed, given where the ship was heading.

  Tray and coffee in hand, Klamarez approached. The laughter faded as the Marines exchanged glances, sizing him up.

  Lirin Elara’s pale blue eyes narrowed—not with suspicion, but with intent.

  Aven reclined slightly, her expression shifted with the hint of something that might’ve been amusement—or a warning.

  Rainis sat with arms crossed, one side of his scarred mouth lifting in a crooked smirk.

  Unbothered, he slid into a seat with a warm smile, his fangs just visible as he unwrapped his utensils and took a bite.

  “Hm, not bad,” he said, though the taste was far from impressive.

  The Marines paused, sizing him up with a blend of amusement and curiosity.

  Rainis was the first to break the silence.

  "Yeah, it’s alright," Rainis grumbled, voice rough as gravel. "I’ve had worse."

  "I’ve seen you eat off the floor." Aven shook her head, as if a memory had resurfaced.

  “I’ve seen him do worse than that,” Warrick chimed in, a laugh accompanying his words.

  Rainis grunted in mock disapproval, then turned back to Klamarez.

  “I miss having an actual cook, but these pre-packaged meals’ll do.”

  “Gives me the shits,” Warrick said flatly.

  “Everything gives you the shits,” Rainis shot back.

  A round of laughter followed.

  Klamarez watched them quietly, letting the exchange wash over him. Rainis’s gum snapped between his teeth every few seconds.

  "Different," Klamarez said, poking at the food. "Colonel Taylen claims it’s got all the nutrients you need." He gave a small shrug. "From my limited experience, I can say not all military vessels from the Seven Worlds are like this. I actually had a short stint on the Resilience on my way to Rhyus. Meals were delicious—all you can eat. I had to loosen my pants after just one day there."

  "The battlecruiser?" Taryn Draek asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "Yeah," Klamarez replied. "Picked us up on our way to Eteren One. Spent a night aboard."

  "How did that come about?" Taryn asked.

  "They had some questions after what happened at Chiex," Klamarez said.

  "Battlecruisers really go all out on comfort, don’t they—maybe too comfortable," Rainis said, folding his thick arms across his chest. "Probably have synthetics to wipe your ass."

  Aven leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with mischief.

  “Too comfortable for you, Rainis? All I see you do is eat.”

  “And pass gas,” Warrick added flatly.

  Rainis chuckled, his gum popping loudly.

  “All I see you do is run your mouth.”

  Klamarez continued eating, though he couldn’t help but notice Rainis’s obnoxious gum-chewing. The way he toyed with it—letting it hang for a second before snapping it back—was grating.

  But there was something about the group’s banter that put Klamarez at ease. And something else—harder to define. Not hostility. But not warmth, either.

  A test, maybe. Or a performance.

  He couldn’t say why, but some of their smiles didn’t feel as loose as the jokes they told. It reminded him of the old trade ship crews—rough, loud, but fiercely loyal to each other.

  But every now and then, someone would disappear. During a stop at a port, the ship’s pilot might vanish—gone without a word after months of dedicated service.

  Loyalty was strong.

  Until it wasn’t.

  As Klamarez chewed, the Marines continued their exchange of insults and jokes.

  “Goddamn, Warrick, you’ve got to be such a rotten bastard all the time,” Rainis said.

  “You calling me a rotten bastard?” Warrick shot back, his voice low.

  “What are you gonna do about it?” Rainis taunted, leaning forward.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Don’t do it, Warrick," Aven warned, half-laughing.

  "You know he’s gonna do it," Eth added.

  "He can’t help himself," Taryn chimed in.

  Warrick shoved his tray aside.

  "Me and you. Arm wrestle. Now," Warrick said.

  Rainis grinned. "Ready to lose again?"

  Chairs scraped back as they hastily made room on the table.

  Rainis and Warrick locked hands, arms braced, muscles tensing immediately—neither gaining an advantage at first.

  "Come on, bitch," Rainis taunted, chewing slowly. "You’ve got nothing."

  "Never seen someone chew so much gum and breathe that bad," Warrick grunted, struggling.

  "Smells worse than Eth."

  "What did you say about me?" Eth asked, half-laughing.

  Rainis barked a laugh but still managed to slam Warrick’s arm down to the table with a solid thud.

  "Who’s next?" Rainis asked, scanning the table.

  Warrick, grinning through his loss, jerked his chin toward Klamarez.

  "How about you?" he challenged.

  Klamarez laughed lightly.

  "I don’t think so."

  "Afraid you’ll get hurt?" Warrick teased. "Too rough for you?"

  "Rough?" Klamarez echoed, his tone light. Though he felt the claws in his fingertips react just slightly, he tucked his fingers into his palms.

  "I don’t know. I’ve seen my share of rough places."

  Rainis leaned back, chewing slower now, his tone sharpening.

  “Camerians don’t have much of a rep for being tough,” he said, smirking.

  Klamarez smiled wider, his fangs just slightly more visible.

  "How many Camerians have you met, Sergeant? We’ve endured a lot."

  The table quieted slightly.

  Aven chuckled under her breath.

  "Looks like Camerians have more bite than bark, Rainis."

  Rainis blew a large bubble with his gum, letting it pop loudly.

  "We’ll see if that bark’s worth anything."

  The conversation drifted on, but Klamarez caught something beneath the surface—a quick glance between Aven and Lirin.

  Marines are different, Garen had told him. They see the worst. Many in the fleet had experienced bad things, things that left lasting consequences. But the Marines—they were always on the ground. There was no looking away. They were right there, seeing it all. Everything they had witnessed had changed them. They were more ritualistic. Respect was hard-earned, and once it was earned, it was hard to lose. Tougher. Fearless. But loyal to one another above all else.

  The moment passed.

  Rainis leaned in.

  "I’ve heard you and General Rivers go way back—lived together on some remote planet in the Venddral Raidezel Sector?"

  Klamarez nodded.

  "Chiex. I’d already been living there a few years before Garen showed up. Actually, it was Garen who pointed it out to me. Said it could work as a settlement."

  "No trouble out there?" Aven asked.

  "There's a little trouble everywhere," Klamarez said.

  "Ain't that the truth," Rainis said.

  "So the General lived in the settlement with all the Camerians?" Warrick asked.

  Klamarez shook his head.

  "No. I live a little ways outside the settlement, and Garen's even farther out—he built his place deep in the forest."

  "That’s something," Rainis said, nodding. "General Rivers is a good man. A hero. And he calls you his friend. The general seems to have good judgment, so you must be alright, Camerian."

  "So, Chiex—that’s your home now?" Aven asked.

  "It is," Klamarez said. "After leaving Calio, I never imagined another place could feel like home. Yet Chiex became just that. I look forward to settling there again..."

  He hesitated slightly.

  "Well, after this mission to the Vorcon Empire. And after I pay my debts to the Vanicktus Syndicate, then I’ll hopefully settle in again."

  "Vanicktus Syndicate?" Warrick asked, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

  "Bunch of thugs," Taryn said dismissively.

  "Some of them are dangerous," Klamarez admitted.

  "You took a loan from them?" Rainis asked.

  "Yeah."

  Rainis shook his head.

  "That was stupid."

  "I guess it was," Klamarez agreed calmly.

  Rainis frowned, visibly frustrated that Klamarez wasn’t rising to the bait. His curiosity sharpened, his tone softening.

  "It must have been a huge challenge for you Camerians after everything that happened, huh?"

  "It has been," Klamarez admitted.

  Aven, who had been quiet for a while, asked, "Things have calmed down in the Camerian system, though, haven’t they?"

  Klamarez shook his head. "Some, yes."

  "Then why not move back?"

  "Calio’s suffered deeply. It’s still home, but it’s the least Camerian place left in the galaxy. And it’s the Mircarain System, not the Camerian system—a common mistake."

  Rainis and Warrick both made a face at the comment.

  "All the same," said Warrick to Rainis.

  "Hopefully, it can return to its former ways one day," Aven said, her voice carrying a note of quiet hope.

  "That would be ideal," Klamarez agreed.

  "The Seven Worlds should have done more to help the Camerians after we liberated them from the Vorcons," Aven added, a trace of frustration slipping into her tone.

  "We needed their help after the Vorcons' onslaught and the destruction they caused. We lost so much—countless lives." Klamarez paused. "It’s just not the same anymore. I don’t think the old ways are possible. Sadly, many of us feel that way."

  Aven nodded slowly. "It’s a lot to overcome."

  "Some have tried to rebuild, and there are thriving communities compared to others. But the planet as a whole struggles. The fear of extinction weighs heavy on many of us. We cherish peace, but the Vorcons left scars that won’t easily heal. Some younger Camerians, abandoning our pacifist traditions, seek vengeance. It breaks my heart to see it."

  Klamarez had never been a warrior by nature. He disliked violence—detested what it did to people. But he’d fought when he had to, and he would again. He just refused to glorify it.

  He realized the entire table was listening now, the playful atmosphere forgotten.

  "It’s hard to imagine losing so much," Taryn mused. "Coming from the Seven Worlds, no matter how bad things got during the war, it always felt... distant."

  "It’s a fucking shame, that’s what it is," Rainis growled. "Sometimes the Council of Seven really gets up my ass. We’re supposed to be a military force that helps other worlds. The Seven Worlds wanted to fight the Vorcons—not help the Camerians.”

  “I believe you’re right, Sergeant,” Klamarez said calmly.

  Rainis chewed his gum thoughtfully for a moment and nodded, seeming to appreciate the comment.

  “You fought the Vorcons much?” Klamarez asked.

  “I spent years fighting the Vorcons,” Rainis said. “I’m eager to do it again. I’m ready if it comes to that—though this mission isn’t about that. It’s not the objective.”

  Still curious, Rainis leaned in slightly.

  “So, how did you and General Rivers first meet?”

  “He was essential in liberating Calio from Vorcon control. At the time, I was leading a resistance group. Before the attack, I was an engineer at the main spaceport on Calio. After the attack, I coordinated escape routes for Camerians caught in the chaos. The RDF was protecting those evacuations, though I didn’t know it at the time.”

  He paused, letting the story settle over the table.

  “After the Vorcons were defeated, after years of struggle and when Calio was finally liberated, the RDF’s relief efforts were invaluable—though short-lived. Garen, commanding the task force, sought me out afterward to thank me personally. He credited me with saving thousands. He said that seeing the bravery of Camerians like myself reminded him that the RDF’s fight was a just cause.”

  Klamarez smiled again, softer this time.

  “Our initial meeting turned into a lasting friendship. He’s the most honorable being I’ve ever met.”

  “Isn’t that why we all signed up?” Lirin asked.

  “It’s always been our way,” Aven added quietly.

  “They never should’ve forced General Rivers out like they did,” Rainis almost spat, shaking his head.

  He paused, thinking something over.

  “I’ll tell you a story about Garen Rivers—one I witnessed firsthand,” he said, leaning in slightly. “I never met the General before Morelus, but we were both there…”

  “RDF and Vorcon forces were in a standoff on the ground and in orbit above Viara. The Vorcons withdrew their orbital forces temporarily, only to return with overwhelming reinforcements. The RDF’s commanding officer ordered a strategic withdrawal—abandoning the ground forces to save the smaller fleet in orbit.”

  He shook his head, the memory still fresh in his voice.

  “General Rivers defied that order. He took the Warpstar—a ship not built for rapid atmospheric entry—and pushed it to its limits, shooting down to the planet’s surface. That thing came down like a collapsing shuttle hull—fast, ready to break apart.”

  Rainis paused, then added flatly, “It came barreling down like a hot turd.”

  He didn’t flinch. No shift in delivery. Just laid it out, cold.

  “The ship barely held together,” he went on, “but his intervention was decisive. He provided critical air support, gave the RDF Marines enough time to regroup and hold their position until reinforcements arrived.”

  Rainis shook his head again, admiration thickening his voice.

  "He didn’t just save the mission.

  He saved hundreds of lives that day, including mine."

  Klamarez leaned back, visibly impressed.

  "I had never heard that one before."

  "General Rivers has too many stories to tell—he probably forgets most of them," Rainis said.

  As the conversation wound down, Klamarez stood to refill his coffee, coincidentally at the same time as Sergeant Eth.

  "I understand the plight of the Camerians well," Eth said quietly as they walked.

  "My people endured something similar. A war tore through our way of life—nearly wiped us out."

  "Fortunately, the Seven Worlds took a few of us in. I was lucky to be one of them. I was young at the time—barely walking when it happened."

  Klamarez nodded solemnly.

  "The tragedy of Wynthor saddens me deeply. It’s a reminder of how fragile peace can be."

  "You know of it?" Eth asked, a note of surprise.

  "I do. It’s a tragic tale."

  As the two returned to the table, they discussed the events of tragedy. Eth rarely spoke about his past, but something about Klamarez seemed to invite the words.

  Wynthor lay in the Sakuna System, deep in the Tolresca Sector. A localized war had fractured the region—disrupting trade, diverting relief fleets, and cutting off long-standing support routes. Wynthor had remained neutral, uninvolved in the conflict, but that didn’t matter. It felt the consequences all the same. Shortages mounted, commerce collapsed, and few dared to enter the system.

  And then the eruptions came.

  Already in crisis, Wynthor was in no position to withstand another disaster. The planet desperately needed aid, but every attempt from other worlds was intercepted, hijacked, or redirected into the war effort—never reaching the surface.

  Localized but catastrophic, the volcanic blasts tore through ecosystems and settlements that had barely been holding on. Communities were buried. Infrastructure collapsed. Those who remained were forced to survive on dwindling reserves. Eth’s family made it offworld just in time—one of the few Valzenkel families accepted into the Seven Worlds.

  It wasn’t a story he often shared, but the Camerian beside him understood. In a galaxy this vast, tragedy came in many forms.

  The silence lingered for a moment between them.

  Then Klamarez glanced down, breaking it.

  He checked the time on his PDA.

  "Looks like it’s time for me to head to engineering for my shift," he said, turning to the group.

  "It’s been great getting to know you all. Maybe next time I’ll teach you a Camerian card game or two."

  Rainis’s eyes glinted with challenge.

  "We’ll see about that, 'Camerian.'"

  As Klamarez left the mess hall, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the Marines—something deeper beneath the surface.

  Marines are just different, he reminded himself. Maybe that was all it was.

  But as Rainis’s low, rumbling laugh echoed behind him, Klamarez found himself replaying every glance, every jab, every silence as he made his way toward the engineering section.

  He didn’t feel threatened. Not exactly. He wasn’t sure he could call them friends yet.

  He hadn’t decided if he liked them.

  But he definitely wanted to see what came next.