Maiden, p.1
MAIDEN, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Also by Charles Brass
CHAPTER 1 - SCROUNGER 01
02
03
04
05
CHAPTER 2 - HIGH DRONE 06
CHAPTER 3 - CRYSTAL 07
08
09
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
CHAPTER 4 - HIGH DRONE 18
19
CHAPTER 5 - YRTEN deTHAU 20
21
CHAPTER 6 - YMPRESS deTHAU 22
CHAPTER 7 - SCROUNGER 23
24
25
CHAPTER 8 - CRYSTAL 26
27
28
CHAPTER 9 - HIGH DRONE 29
30
31
CHAPTER 10 - YMPRESS deTHAU 32
33
CHAPTER 11 - SCROUNGER 34
CHAPTER 12 - CRYSTAL 35
36
37
CHAPTER 13 - YMPRESS deTHAU 38
CHAPTER 14 - SCROUNGER 39
CHAPTER 15 - HIGH DRONE 40
CHAPTER 16 - CRYSTAL 41
42
CHAPTER 17 - YMPRESS deTHAU 43
44
CHAPTER 18 - SCROUNGER 45
CHAPTER 19 - HIGH DRONE 46
CHAPTER 20 - YRTEN deTHAU 47
CHAPTER 21 - HIGH DRONE 48
49
CHAPTER 22 - CRYSTAL 50
51
52
53
CHAPTER 23 - HIGH DRONE 54
CHAPTER 24 - CRYSTAL 55
EPILOGUE 56
57
58
Before You Go...
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Acknowledgments
About the Author
MAIDEN
CHARLES BRASS
MAIDEN
Copyright 2023 © by Charles Brass
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are wholly the products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual business establishments, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of the book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.
ISBN: 978-1-947713-31-4 (Softcover)
ISBN: 978-1-947713-30-7 (Ebook)
Cover art by JD & J (www.jdandj.com)
SEABRASS PRODUCTIONS LLC
seabrass@seabrassproductions.com
Also by Charles Brass
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I, Warden
Lost Warden
Null Warden
A Last Raptori Novella
Witch Warden
The Unity Sphere
Terrorcruise
A Novel of the Unity Sphere
Salvage
A Novella of the Unity Sphere
Unpelted
A Story of the Unity Sphere
Closure
A Fantasy Novella
Chainsaw
Nit
CHAPTER 1
SCROUNGER
01
THE TIMER in the primary lock foyer ticked to zero and chimed twice.
Scrounger kneeled across the passageway and lowered her gaze. The lock’s inner hatch was already open, jammed so the pirates could see into her vessel before boarding. “When we arrive, I want you here kneeling,” the leader had warned. “And don’t presume you’re worthy to look at me. Or my stewards.”
She’d once disobeyed. The resulting bruise on her cheek lingered. At least the pirate hadn’t smacked her hand—her fingertaps made such blows excruciating. Especially at her knuckles, where the neural interfaces anchored on the bones in her palms. Hopefully, in time, they’d be less sensitive or even painless, like her chord, anchored in bone across the back of her skull.
She positioned her two vials of slipdust on the plating where her captors would see. If they didn’t, they’d leave nasty-tasting food and oily water—she’d made that mistake once, too. Not that the food packs they left when she obeyed tasted much better...
A dull clunk echoed through Sibly as their vessel docked.
Seconds passed as umbilicals mated and the lockway from their vessel sealed and pressurized. Then bootsteps. Then—
The primary lock’s outer hatch hissed open. Light and cool air spilled into Sibly’s foyer. Scrounger squinted in anticipation, her nodeship in perpetual gloom from running on minimal power. Slowly, her vision adjusted. By then, two pairs of glossy black boots stood just inside the lock. The bottom hem of a scarlet cloak with black trim hung at the calves of the nearest.
Only two?
A moment later, Sibly’s lock hissed shut.
The gloom shrouded again.
The cloak belonged to the pirate leader—she never got his name, his men addressing him only as Milord. Who’s with him? She risked lifting her gaze.
The size of the second man’s waist said the younger pirate, Nate. A satchel hung at one hip.
Assuming he came, Quoll must’ve stayed on their vessel. Quoll, who’d murdered Lis.
“Check the pilot’s deck.” The leader’s voice sounded like a prepubescent boy’s.
The one time she’d glanced at his tall, gaunt body and thin face, she’d thought he looked rather effeminate. And his hair—such an odd gray color.
“Aye, Milord.” Nate clomped away.
She froze.
It’ll be all right. They haven’t discovered Sibly yet. Just don’t look.
The leader asked, “Are those my vials of slipdust?”
Grimacing, she lifted them in offering. Pain shot up her forearms. Despite her best efforts, slipdust had gotten beneath her skin and burned her hands and wrists. Soap and water didn’t help. She needed kioli lotion.
The pirate pocketed the vials. “Good.”
Head down but gaze up, she lowered trembling hands to her thighs. The idea that twirled into her thoughts the prior day returned. It would work and make scraping the damned slipdust ten times more efficient. But she needed certain tools.
Dare I ask?
They needed the slipdust for something. Despite all they’d done to her, if she helped with this one small thing, perhaps...
Dare I ask?
The leader turned to the small ops panel in the lock foyer. He typed on the pad, his side to her now. His scabbard hung low on his far hip.
She tensed. The other idea pushing at her, harder and harder by the day, stormed forward.
For Sibly’s sake, she had to end this.
Attack! Now!
She visualized her moves: Slam him against the bulkhead, pinning his blade. Grab his throat. Squeeze. A leg behind his knees. Drop him to the floor. Blows to the head. Take his blade.
She was taller. Stronger. She had training. He wouldn’t expect it.
Do it.
Now.
She placed palms to the plating—Aiy, that hurts! Her heart thudded. Her mouth went dry. Warmth flushed through her. She clenched her jaw. Her fingers—could she squeeze his throat hard enough, long enough? Grip his blade for whatever followed?
Now!
She breathed deep.
For Sibly!
The thought of the infant brethren in her care froze her in place.
If she failed—
The seconds ticked by, clicking from the ops panel the only sound.
Bootsteps on the plating—Nate had left the pilot’s deck.
Oh.
She relaxed. Her heart’s thudding slowed. Lowering her gaze, she settled onto her knees and slid her palms back to her lap. She loosened her jaw and drew a shaky breath.
Nate said, “No sign she fiddled with the lock-outs, Milord.”
The leader grunted. “Perhaps she’s learned her lesson. Leave the usual allotment.”
“Aye, Milord.” Nate lowered his satchel to the deck plating. He unzipped the top flap and removed small foil-covered packets. As he stacked them against the bulkhead—enough food for ten days—the sound of a pump engaging floated from Sibly’s aft quarter.
The leader turned. “I’m pumping in fifty extra kellers of water this time, Builder. Use it to clean yourself. Grandfather might visit.” He sniffed. “Gods, the stench in here.”
Nate zipped his satchel. “Aye, Milord.”
Dare I ask? Scrounger tried to wet her lips, but like her throat, her tongue remained parched. “M-Milord.”
“What? Did you speak?”
“Milord, if I may—”
The leader stomped close. “No, you may not.”
“The slipdust, Milord. I might help—”
Something thin and hard smashed her cheek. The blow spun her. Pricks of light flashed behind closed eyelids. She landed with her forehead on the plating.
He’d struck her with his scabbard. Just like the last time.
“I said no,” he hissed. “You have nothing to offer. Look at you. I give you extra water and what do you do? Speak when not spoken to.” He sighed and stepped back. “If only Steele and his maidens had succeeded, they’d have rid us of your traitorous kind. Nate.”
“Milord.” The steward unzipped the satchel again.
“Three this time.”
“Erm... Yes, Milord.”
Three vials clattered to the deck. One bounced against Scrounger’s hand.
; The leader said, “If you want your re-supply in ten days, you’ll fill all three.”
Someone slapped the primary lock control panel. The outer hatch hissed open. Brightness poked at Scrounger’s closed eyelids. Cheek stinging, she tucked her chin down.
Her captors’ bootsteps receded. The hatch hissed shut.
The lockway disengaged with a metallic scree. Umbilicals detached. Sibly shuddered as their vessel undocked.
Scrounger remained still, her good cheek to the cool plating, until the silence overwhelmed her. Breaths heaving, her palm to her face, she rose to a kneeling position. A vial rolled against her knee. She slapped it away.
Three vials? I need four days to fill one. How’m I to fill three in ten days?
She slowly realized...
They meant to stop the food and water.
They meant to kill her.
Hands and wrists burning, she crawled backwards until stopped by a bulkhead. She drew knees to chest, wrapped arms around legs, lowered her forehead, and wept.
02
LEGS DRAWN to her chest, an arm around her knees, a cold pack propped to her cheek, Scrounger sat in the pilot’s chair, the only decent one remaining on the Sibly. The chunk of debris just beyond the forward viewplates held her gaze. Something about it brought peace. Perhaps because the vessel it once belonged to could no longer harm her. She had nothing to fear from its blackened, twisted edges, reaching like metal fingers to cocoon her in a gentle embrace.
From a cabinet above and behind her, soft watery light illuminated the deck. Most arose from Sibly, a brethren only a single, fist-sized node in age. The cabinet’s biocircuitry, forming a nest around Sibly, cast a secondary collage of reds, blues, golds, whites, and greens.
Sibly, the first infant brethren in the three centuries humans had fallen into Brethren Space. The first to grow among humans, knowing humans. Its primary progenitor, Nomnen, had entrusted it into Scrounger’s care—hers and Lis’s.
She found the light comforting. Soothing. A reason to keep fighting.
But that fight now had a deadline.
They need the slipdust for something...
Travel through the slipring network that joined humanity’s spheres within Brethren Space required either a brethren’s permission, a slip-pass, or a slipdust-covered shell—a slipshell. The pirates obviously would not have a brethren’s permission. Slip-passes were difficult to get and even harder to install properly. They might have one. More likely, they needed the slipdust for a slipshell.
Slipshells came in various sizes, the largest only slightly smaller than the largest slipring. They were perfectly spherical, opened into halves, and laced with internal scaffolding that secured vessels hitching a ride within. When ready, the slipshell pilot sealed the halves and flew the ship through the slipring network. At the destination, the halves separated and the vessels inside continued on their way, replaced by the next group.
The life of a slipshell owner was rather profitable.
She figured the pirates intended to use a slipshell to move illicit cargo. Why else would they want one?
If only they’d let me really help.
As a systems integration specialist, she specialized in finding solutions to problems large and small. Lis, her mate-intended, had designed the Sibly as a first home for infant Sibly. She’d built it, turning his fancy schematics into reality and coaxing the various systems into working together. Solving problems was her profession.
This slipdust thing? She’d have it solved in hours if they returned her tools.
But they wouldn’t even let her speak.
Damn them!
This nightmare of the past six weeks could’ve ended if—
“Damn them!”
Though it burned her cheek, she clenched her jaw. After adjusting the cold pack, she wiped her eyes, scratched an itch above the thin metal chord across the back of her skull, then rested her arm on her knees.
Ancient and wise, hundreds of nodes old, Nomnen had sent them here to the debris field, filled with chunks of non-human vessels destroyed in a battle long past. Let my child’s curiosity take root. Let it develop and explore. Maybe together you can unlock the secrets of the alloys used to build these vessels. We’ve learned what little we could.
Nomnen also meant for her and Lis to decide if they might make their union official, if perhaps a child or two might be in their future...
She owed the aged brethren every ounce of her being to see its infant safely returned. Owed Lis too, who’d given his life protecting Sibly. Unlike some, Nomnen advocated positively for the roughly two million humans who’d stumbled into Brethren Space centuries earlier, the skip-drives on their fleet of twenty ships faltering after so long in use. Life under Brethren rule hadn’t been so bad. But if Nomnen learned a band of pirates had allowed its infant to die, or killed it...
The pocket of humanity here in Brethren Space would suffer. Terribly. First, the Brethren Ruling Council would dissolve the Representatives of Humanity, created in response to Steele’s rebellion, silencing humanity’s voice. Then the previous authoritarian rule re-instated. Small freedoms revoked, then larger ones, until... Another human like Anias Steele and his maidens came along and fomented another rebellion...
But how she might escape her predicament was beyond her.
Through specially designed interfaces, Sibly ran the ship—inhabited the ship as its body. This changed the vessel’s designation from a research freighter into a nodeship. But Sibly needed the interface specifically designed for its nodeship. The pirates had stolen it as one of their first moves. Interfaces were designed to be easily removed as part of the Covenant between Brethrens and humans. The measure helped keep sentient ships under control, to a degree. It also exposed the ship to quick sabotage.
Without its interface, Sibly fell deaf, blind, and silent.
It was there, waiting. Sensor facets throughout the nodeship captured all the audio, visual, and other spectrum information available. Still with power, they continued to stockpile data. The light rising from its single node testified the brethren remained alive. Just... in a coma.
She believed the pirates who’d removed Sibly’s interface didn’t really know what it was. To them, an interface was an interface. Had they known—or figured it out now, a thought that terrified her still—they would have certainly destroyed Sibly. And ended her.
As they had with Lis.
He flashed across her mind. Tall, broad-shouldered, handsome, a smile full of joy. A phantom giggle—the delightful noise of him in an unguarded moment—echoed distantly. She slammed the memories with a mental violence before her grief resurfaced.
For the sake of all her fellow humans, she had to get Sibly home. But... how?
The interface gone, the primary systems gutted, the comm relays burned out, the primary and secondary controls re-coded, the main power core disabled... With minimal lighting, power, and thrusters, the nodeship was a cold, quiet fragment of its former self. Power remained for maneuvering thrusters, the internal and external booms, the small slipdust-collection tools and a few basic amenities. But that was it.
She lived by her captors’ mercies. All she had to trade for food and water were those vials of slipdust, scraped one kemmer at a time from whatever sections of slipdust-covered hull she found in the debris field. Two vials for each ten-day resupply. Twelve vials so far.
She was alone, unarmed, and slowly losing what remained of her sanity.
