Stars of Blood and Glory by Joe Vasicek Page B

the glory
days of the rebellion.”
    “ These youngsters are all same,”
said Roman. “Self-proclaimed patriots fighting enemy that never
acknowledged them for homeland they never knew.”
    Zura grunted. “And no memory of the
occupation.”
    “ Exactly.”
    “ Remember how they used to say
that the greatest act of resistance is to live?”
    “ I remember,” said Roman. “That
was after Imperials locked down Kutaisi Dome and turned off air
filters to root us out. Women and children were dying in the
streets before they distributed any gas masks.”
    “ They only shipped enough masks
for three quarters of the population—I heard that straight from one
of the distributors.”
    Roman grunted and took another long drink of
the vodka. “These youngsters—they think they have spirit, but their
will to fight would crumble in face of such things.”
    “ And you think ours
didn’t?”
    For all Roman’s pride, Zura’s question gave
him pause. “No,” he said. “Not all of us. It was fall of Gaia Nova
and collapse of Gaian Empire that sealed the last airlock.”
    “ Ah,” said Zura, stubbing out his
cigarette. “And yet, while the Empire still stood, where were
you?”
    “ I was here, with my men.” I was helping them
to live.
    “ And taking petty jobs instead of
fighting the true enemy. Am I right?”
    “ It was our captain who decided
where we would fight,” said Roman, clenching his metal hand into a
fist. “And we never took job from the Imperials—never!”
    Zura pulled out another cigarette and cupped
his hands to light it. “Of course,” he said. “I have no doubt of
that, friend. But you have to admit, for all their brazen
stupidity, those youngsters possess a passion that we lost ages
ago.”
    Roman opened his mouth to protest, but the
arguments that had made so much sense to him before were ones that
he no longer knew how to express. He tried to recall the words he’d
used to tell himself, but a wave of drowsiness came over him, and
it seemed so much easier to let the affront pass. Yes, let it
pass—it would all be so much easier.
    The old corporal refilled their glasses. “To
the homeworld,” he said, “and may all our other memories die.”
    “ Yes,” said Roman. “To the
homeworld.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    Rina parsed the raw data of the starlane
station network like a sponge absorbing water. Information flowed
in her and over her and around her, and in her disembodied state of
mind she felt herself merging and separating with it as she
searched for the relevant information. It felt almost like being
stripped down and exposed to the elements, but instead of water and
wind and sand, it was lines of code that pelted her—instead of her
body, it was her mind and consciousness that had been stripped
bare.
    She disconnected from the network and gasped
for breath, every muscle in her body quivering. The sudden return
to her physical senses jarred her so badly that she had to fight
the urge to vomit. Her hands and arms shook, and she blinked to
clear her cloudy vision. She was on the bridge of a starship of
some kind—an old Tajji ship, judging from the design. Several
officers were staring at her, and she gradually recognized their
faces: the younger one with the broad shoulders and carefully
trimmed beard was the pilot, Lieutenant Yuri; the graceful but
stern looking woman with the graying hair was the captain, Danica
Nova. And the one closest to her, with the half-cyborg face and
metal prosthetic arm was the NCO, Sergeant Roman Krikoryan.
    “ Lieutenant,” said the captain.
“Are you feeling all right?”
    Rina squinted and rubbed her ear. Everything
sounded distant, like it was coming to her through a recording
device. Gradually, however, her senses recovered. The nausea began
to dissipate, and the twitching of her muscles slowly came under
control.
    “ I’ll be fine,” she said
softly.
    “ Are you sure you don’t want to
see the doctor, Lieutenant?”
    “ No.” She tried to