Stars in Nova (The Sable Riders #6)

Pure Comeuppance

T he Cephei glided through hyperspace, the shimmering ribbons of light outside its hull warping and bending in an endless cascade of color.

Kisan sat in the med bay, his shirt discarded, the cool steel of the injector in his hand.

The luminous antidote radiated in its vial.

Crafted from the remnants of the toxin Samira had used against him, it was a product of Mirage’s meticulous calculations and his grit.

The AI Oracle’s minor node on the Cephei had walked him through every molecular adjustment, her voice a steady guide as they worked to counteract the exotic poison.

‘You’re sure about this?’

The AI’s incredulity echoed in his mind, her tone teasing despite the gravity of the situation. ‘I’d hate for you to keel over before we arrive.’

Kisan snorted, his lips curling into a smirk. ‘You’re the one who built it. If it fails, that’s on you.’

‘Darling, my calculations are flawless,’ she replied. ‘It’s your biology that’s unpredictable.’

The Rider pressed the injector to his arm.

His mouth pursed as the needle pushed in, and the hiss of the mechanism sounded as the antidote entered his bloodstream.

A sharp, icy sensation spread through his veins, followed by a slow warmth that rolled through his body like a rising tide.

He clenched his jaw, waiting for the telltale signs of rejection—tightening muscles, surging heat—but instead, he felt his full strength returning.

‘It’s working,’ he muttered, his viridescent eyes flicking to the infirmary’s holo display.

The diagnostics confirmed his vitals were stabilizing, the subtle disruptions from the toxin fading into nothingness.

‘Of course it is,’ Mirage said, her voice carrying a smug edge. ‘You’ll be back to your intense self in no time.’

Kisan rolled his shoulders, the tension easing as the antidote settled.

He pushed himself to his feet, the polished floor of the med bay cool beneath his boots.

‘One problem solved,’ he gritted, heading toward the weapons hold.

It was a stark, utilitarian space, its walls lined with racks of well-maintained armaments.

Kisan stepped inside, the scent of machine oil and scorched metal pungent in the air.

The ship’s systems vibrated through the deck as he ran his hand over the steel of a kinetic rifle, his fingers brushing the precision-engineered surface.

He checked the plasma cartridges, ensuring their charges were full. Under the overhead lights, rifles and lasers gleamed, their barrels polished and ready.

Satisfied, he moved to the cockpit, the 360-degree plex display lighting up as he entered. The stars beyond hyperspace were a blur, the ship’s sensors monitoring the path to Orilia XIV. He leaned against the console, his aqua eyes scanning the data streams.

‘Anything stirring out there?’ he asked.

‘Quiet so far,’ Mirage replied, her holographic form flickering into view. ‘Though I’d wager it won’t stay that way for long.’

Kisan nodded, his jaw tightening.

He reached for a nearby station, brushing the cool surface of the connection port. ‘I need a moment,’ he said, his tone curt.

Mirage tilted her head, her silver and gold eyes narrowing. ‘Shutting me out, are we? I’m hurt.’

‘You’ll survive,’ he said dryly, disconnecting the node.

Her presence vanished.

He activated the comms system, his fingers moving fast across the interface.

The signal encrypted itself as it bounced through a cascade of relays, each step masking its origin and destination.

The process took seconds, but the layers of security made it feel like an eternity.

After a beat, the holo flickered to life.

A cowled man appeared onscreen, his silhouette a shadowed contour against the backdrop of his austere surroundings.

The rough-hewn masonry behind him was unadorned save for the outline of a Paladian amulet hanging on the far wall, illuminated by a single flickering candle.

His face remained shrouded in darkness, though his tone commanded authority, hoarse and husky with graveled power.

‘Brother,’ the man growled. ‘This is unexpected. It’s been a minute since we last spoke.’

‘It has,’ Kisan rasped.

‘You look well.’

‘I am.’

‘You need a favor.’ The man’s drawl was emphatic.

‘I might,’ the Rider grunted. ‘If I call on you in a few days, will you answer? Will you come?’

‘Always. How are you?’

Kisan huffed. The man onscreen was the only bleeding individual in Pegasi with whom he could be frank.

Yet also the one man who loathed all knowledge of himself made public. Who’d disavowed all his past connections and now eked out an existence on the fringes of the farthest quadrant in Pegasi.

‘I thought I was dealing with my present reality, but I’ve had a setback.’

The man tilted his head, his features hidden beneath the hood of his robe. ‘Your friends any help?’

‘They’re yours too, you know.’

‘ Nada ,’ the man scoffed. ‘Never.’

The Rider shrugged off the man’s disdain. ‘They always try their best but don’t quite understand our pain.’

‘Who’da thought it with all their powers, influence, and wealth,’ the other man mocked. ‘I don’t even grasp how you live and work with them.’

‘You still hate them.’

The man onscreen studied Kisan for a long moment. ‘Hate is too strong a word. I have severe reservations.’

‘They didn’t do it to us.’

‘ Nada , but they never came to look for us. What was our motto - none left among the stars? Yet they still abandoned us.’

The echoes of his bitter laugh rippled the airwaves between the men.

‘They’d good reason, brother,’ Kisan countered. ‘They thought us dead.’

‘They should have fokkin ’ verified it!’ the shrouded man growled.

The man sighed, simmering down, his fingers brushing the edge of the worn totem hanging around his throat. ‘Hell, apologies, my anger sometimes gets the best of me. Tis why I’m here,’ he growled, gesturing behind him without explaining his exact location.

‘It burns for me too,’ Kisan rasped.

They remained in silent solidarity for a few more moments.

The Guardian leaned forward in his chair, the cool leather creaking as he shifted. ‘Brother, I need information. Something’s stirring in your neck of the woods. Have you heard of Orilia XIV?’

The man tilted his head, arms folded over his chest.

The glow from the holo illuminated his sinewed, muscled limbs and hands, lined with veins, shifting meta ink, and the glint of weathered rings.

‘I’ve caught some chatter,’ he growled, his tone contemplative. ‘Whispers. A quiet world, or it was. Remote, isolated. A sanctuary for the Vaelorii.’

‘From all accounts, a peaceful people,’ Kisan said. ‘Why would shit be stirring?’

The man leaned back with a slight twist of his lips. ‘Why else does shit stir? Because that’s its nature.’

‘Language, padre.’

‘I’m no padre,’ the man clipped. ‘I’m a Saraba-.’

‘I know who you are, what you are,’ Kisan shot back. ‘I need more intel, brother. Tell me everything you know.’

The man curled his lips in contemplation. ‘The word from the Fringe is that Orilia XIV is under lockdown. There’s been unrest. The Vaelorii don’t often stray from their pacifism, but desperation can make even the meek act out.’

Kisan’s jaw tightened. ‘Unrest? Do you know why?’

The shadowed form shifted, his voice lowering. ‘No details. Comms have been sporadic at best. And on Skardis, the entire network’s been down for weeks. Rumors suggest blockades, something disrupting the usual flow of information. If someone is targeting Orilia, they’ve gone to considerable lengths to keep it quiet.’

Kisan cursed under his breath, the hum of the Cephei’s systems filling the silence. ‘Skardis? That’s a few million klicks away.’

‘It’s on the northern rim of Pegasi, in an axis with Orilia XIV, which tells me this ain’t a fluke.’

‘Indeed,’ Kisan muttered.

‘You and I survived the Fringe. The one thing I remind myself of every day in this haunted place is that very little happens. When it does, it’s never a coincidence,’ the mystic man said.

He raised a hand, his long fingers curling around the shifting metanoid ink that depicted a swirling Paladian design across his upper chest. ‘There’s a stirring in the badlands, Kisan. Something darker than the usual chaos. I can’t tell you what it is, but I can feel it, like a storm brewing just beyond the horizon.’

Kisan’s stomach twisted. ‘You’re talking in riddles, monk.’

The man chuckled, the sound dry and humorless. ‘Not a monk. Riddles are all I have. Out here, clarity is a luxury. But I’ll tell you this: tread with care. The Fringe doesn’t forgive. Whatever is forming on Orilia XIV, it’s not just a local disturbance. I suspect it’s part of something larger.’

The man’s shadowed face turned as if gazing into some unseen distance. ‘Something dark. A tide rising in the void. If Orilia is involved, it’s more than provincial unrest. What are you after on Orilia anyway?’

Kisan’s face darkened, and he cursed under his breath.

‘Vengeance then,’ the man halfway across the galaxy grunted. ‘Or a treasure hunt?’

‘Bit of both, in some form,’ Kisan confirmed, fists clenching, his emerald eyes narrowing. ‘I require more than suspicions, brother. If I’m walking into a trap, I need to know.’

The man sighed. ‘I wish I could help you. However, out here, even the whispers are faint. All I can encourage toward extreme wariness.’

Silence stretched between them, the hum of the Cephei’s engines filling the void. Kisan’s digits drummed against the console, his mind racing.

The man’s hand lifted, the rings on his fingers glinting in the holo light as he kissed the tips.

His voice took on a sardonic edge. ‘May the stars watch over you, Kisan Sable. Nevertheless, I suspect you’ll demand more than celestial intervention in the wastelands of the Fringe.’

Kisan smirked despite himself. ‘Pray for me, vagus,’ he rasped. ‘The badlands aren’t forgiving.’

The man’s laughter was a dry whisper. ‘You’ve never needed prayers, my friend.’

The Rider hissed, letting some of his present bitterness shine. ‘I need them more than you know, so please offer them regardless.’

‘Will do. Though I imagine you’ll manage to survive, as you always do. I’ll leave it to the heavens to decide whether it’s by grace or stubbornness.’

‘Need to hang up,’ the Rider grumbled. ‘Or I won’t be able to explain the call or shut down time to the AI.’

‘Can’t believe you permitted that particular abomination to come even within a meter of you,’ the man on the other end growled.

Kisan sucked his teeth. ‘Let it go, brother.’

‘Never.’

Kisan sighed. ‘Fine. Promise me you’ll show up if I reach out to you for your aid?’

The man brightened, mouth smirking. ‘No question, I’ll come to your rescue, summer child of mine. I’m getting bored with harvesting grapes, bottling bourbon, teaching kalikrimakapo classes, and reading the ramblings of long-gone philosophers. I’m thirsting for some action. I’ll bring a case of my best brew with me.’

‘Grateful.’

‘I’ll also wear a face void and keep my noids working 24-7 so your AI doesn’t catch me out.’

‘She’s competent, but I can hack her node to hide your ID from her, face, voice, and all.’

The man on the other end of the line smirked. ‘So not as potent as I’ve become out here with my belt.’

‘Still have that old thing?’

‘Ye old artifact is Paladian, and it rocks, rages, and delivers vengeance and pure comeuppance to those who fokk around.’

Kisan huffed in amusement. ‘You’re a trip, Sax Sable.’

The holo flickered, the connection shimmering as the man’s shadowy figure grew dimmer. ‘Always. I aim to please. On an earnest note, be careful, brother,’ he said, his voice almost a whisper. ‘The Fringe has teeth. So does whatever is waiting for you on Orilia. Bite back, bite hard, and may the gods be with you.’

The transmission ended, plunging the cabin into silence.

Kisan sat motionless for a moment, his mind churning. The subtle scent of leather and metal filled the air, mingling with the distant hum of the Cephei’s engines.

He leaned back, his aqua eyes gleaming in the dim illumination. Focused on the rushing glow of light and dark outside the viewscreen.

‘So the Fringe has teeth,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Let’s see if they’re sharp enough for me.’

Orilia XIV awaited, and with it, the answers he sought—and the reckoning he couldn’t avoid.