Class-M Exile Read online

  CLASS-M EXILE

  RAVEN OAK

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Praise for...

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER 1: A FISH WITHOUT A BICYCLE

  CHAPTER 2: OUT THE AIRLOCK

  CHAPTER 3: PLANET MIRAL

  CHAPTER 4: ZEE’S A RIGHT JERK

  CHAPTER 5: GETTIN’ ANSWERS

  CHAPTER 6: WE NEED A SHIP

  CHAPTER 7: I FOUND US A SHIP

  CHAPTER 8: RYDDAR

  CHAPTER 9: THE TRUTH

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Message from Grey Sun Press

  Sample from Amaskan's Blood

  Join the Conspiracy!

  OTHER TITLES BY RAVEN OAK

  Amaskan’s Blood (Boahim Series)

  The Eldest Silence (Xersian Series)*

  * forthcoming by Grey Sun Press

  PRAISE FOR AMASKAN’S BLOOD

  “With a ferocious-yet-fragile heroine, resonant themes, and a sweepingly gorgeous backdrop, Amaskan’s Blood delivers food for thought and frank enjoyment.”

  Maia Chance, author of the Fairy Tale Fatal series

  “An exciting epic fantasy filled with intrigue and layers upon layers of well crafted secrets and lies.”

  Stephanie Hildreth of 100 Pages a Day

  “[A] fantasy novel in its truest form…these well-developed individuals held me captive. It was a very strong start to a fantasy series that I very much look forward to following.”

  Pure Jonal: Confessions of a Bibliophile

  “…a story that is like the love child of Bujold’s Paladin of Souls and Patricia Brigg’s Masques…If you enjoy intrigue, religions and politics, this would be a good match for you.”

  LibraryThing Early Reviewer

  “Holy crap, this is good!”

  Seattle Geekly

  “We all enjoyed her book immensely….Amaskan’s Blood most certainly receive[s] the Sparkle Motion stamp of approval.”

  Sparkle Motion Book Club

  “Oak draws on the power of themes found in fairy tales we’ve all grown up with, and weaves them into a powerful tale full of violence, emotion and anguish, whilst delivering a powerful and well held together story….If George R R Martin wrote Tangled, it might be a bit like this.”

  Noor Jahangir, author of The Adventures of Some Kid

  EARLY PRAISE FOR CLASS-M EXILE

  “A new voice in science fiction. Oak combines a multi-species future with a contemporary “down home” flavor to create a gripping work of heartbreak and racial tension.”

  Janine A. Southard, author of the award-winning Hive Queen Saga

  “There’s a nice twist to the end of this story…I enjoyed ‘Class-M Exile’. not only for the main story and plot twists, but for the implied depth to the back story. It’s well worth reading.”

  Andy Whitaker of SFCrowsNest

  “[It] proved to be an interesting sci-fi novella with a moral for both hu-mans and aliens alike. Will looking to read the author’s other books. 5/5 stars.”

  Bookseller Review from NetGalley

  CLASS-M EXILE

  RAVEN OAK

  Grey Sun Press

  PO Box 99412

  Seattle, WA 98139

  Copyright © 2015 by Raven Oak

  All rights reserved.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.

  ISBN 978-0-9908157-5-4

  LCCN: 2015936484

  The scanning, uploading, copying, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase authorized print or electronic editions. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials hurts everyone. Your support of the arts is appreciated.

  For information, contact: [email protected]

  This novella was an experiment and an accident, one dedicated to all the oddballs in school who thought they didn’t matter & that the bullying would never stop. You were stronger than you knew.

  And knowing you gave me strength, too.

  1

  A FISH WITHOUT A BICYCLE

  Bay-zar.

  Class-M planet in the middle of no-where. Dust, dust, and more dust. Unless ya circled ’round to the more habitable region, you’d be stuck without a ship to anywhere. ’Round the corner though, you could find everything from ship parts and dried food packs, to roast dog and the rare bi- cycle. Hell, you could even buy yerself a gen-u-ine religion if you were so inclined.

  I wasn’t sure why I’d come here; touristin’ weren’t my thing. Only that I’d never been to Bay-zar, and everyone said ya hafta visit at least once. It wasn’t the humidity that left my noses crinklin’ in the bright sun, but the smell of manure and too many beings as hundreds of heads bobbed up and down in a sea of booths, goods, and tourists.

  The ultimate tourist trap. And here I’d taken the bait.

  Sweat pooled inside my heavy ship boots. Other tourists from the ship bumped ma elbows as they disembarked The Marzipan (don’t ask, the captain has weird taste in food, or so I heard). This little squirt elbowed his way past me and half-a-dozen folks crowded ’round a blazin’ red booth promisin’ trinkets made of gen-u-ine gold, fresh from the mines of Miral.

  I cringed when he hollered ’bout his silly ideas for usin’ dead folks for energy. I weren’t but three steps away from this fool when a white-hooded figure shoved its way through the crowd.

  She skidded to a stop just inside my personal space. “Ever been to Bay-zar?” she asked with a quick glance over her shoulder. Two beefy men carryin’ scowls were comin’ in fast ’nough to knock over a stand of leafy green somethin’s. Girl leaned close to me like we was kin, and my frame hid her as them military beefcakes passed.

  Every race, religion, creed, gender, species, and nationality in over a hundred worlds traveled through Bay-zar, or so I’d heard, but never before had I seen her kind outside a book. Hell, I didn’t think they even existed no-more.

  A departin’ shuttle sent a cloud of dust skitterin’ ’cross us, and her hood fell back. Whispers moved ’cross the market like rain—first as tiny droplets, mostly ignored ’til the downpour caught everyone off guard. Then all motion stopped. The market’s chatterin’ and clankin’ died as all focus shifted to her. One of them fancy gentleman tumbled over a child in his attempt to flee. Some three-eyed creature let loose a half-cough, half-scream as it raced up the ramp of The Marzipan.

  “What?” I asked. “She’s just a hu- man.”

  “B-but look at her! She’s only got two eyes!” a voice cried out.

  “Yeah, and two legs. Who uses two legs anymore?”

  The cries from them tourists continued, but the female hu-man stood there in cargo pants and a tee-shirt that read, “A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.”

  To them, she was the plague. She was a one-way trip into the flames of a dyin’ sun.

  And she was awesome.

  I didn’t know what a fish was, and I’d never seen a real bi- cycle, but by golly, I was gonna find out.

  “The name’s Eerl.” Somewhere in all my readin’, I recalled somethin’ ’bout hands bein’ important to hu-mans. I held a slightly damp hand palm-up in front of her face. When she exposed two rows of lightly yellowed teeth, someone behind us growled as they passed. But she kept on a-smilin’ and flashin’ those weapons like they weren’t nothin’ at all.

  “Mel.” She seized my hand and pumped it up and down. “You’ve never been to Bay-zar?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. First time. You?”

  “I live here. Sort of.” Another g
rowl as a Rharstian passed, his tentacled eyes dartin’ back and forth. ’Round us, tourists settled back into their hagglin’ over knick-knacks and patti-macks, whatever they were. I ain’t sayin’ folks huddled near or nothin’; in fact, a nice empty circle settled ’round us.

  “I ain’t never heard of hu-mans livin’ here. Once upon a time maybe, but—”

  Her laughter cut like them hydraulics on the The Marzipan when they went belly up, but I pretended not to notice. “Where do you think that phrase came from?” she asked, and I shrugged. More laughter from her sent a whiff of moldy bread my way.

  With breath like that, no wonder them folks were scared, but I reckoned it were more ’n that. A quick look-see showed her body to be little more than bones and whipcord. She went on like she never noticed my frown. “From humans. More than half of your Common vocabulary came from Earth. Hell, your accent would put you right at home in the southern United States….”

  More words I ain’t never heard. What were states and how’d they get all united? I mean, there was a war goin’ on. As far as I knew, Earth was dead, long destroyed by them damned ryddarl—nothin’ more than bottom feeders from Ryddar with enough firepower to blow up a sun and then some. When she said home, I lost what little there was to my river of thought.

  “…But I figure it’s somewhere out there.”

  “What is?” I asked.

  Her smile sorta fell gentle-like. Poor girl weren’t nothin’ more than a youngin’ standin’ two footed on the dirt of Bay-zar. Poor and alone. My heart sank.

  “My home. Earth,” she said and fingered the stone slung ’round her neck with a frayin’ rope.

  “That’s it!” The shout from behind weren’t nothin’ compared to the shove that came next as a beefy, red-skinned man with a taser grabbed her tee-shirt. “You aren’t welcome here! You’ve been told that before, human. Now get gone.” He glared and twirled the taser by the wrist strap with one finger.

  “But she lives here,” I muttered, and the muscles of his four arms thickened.

  Before I had a chance of findin’ out exactly what that meant, a deep rumble set the booths to tremblin’ and the market’s chatter returned to silence. Mel’s blue eyes widened, and she whispered, “Oh, damn.” She didn’t laugh no-more, didn’t smile neither. Just stood transfixed. Mel stared at the sky like the heavens were fallin’, even when the red-skinned enforcer jabbed her shoulder with his meaty fingers. I followed her gaze, as did the rest of them folks in the market. And when the shadow fell ’cross us, blottin’ out the sun, even the enforcer fell silent.

  It was big.

  Well, big didn’t do it justice, but I’m a simple Tersic—words weren’t ever my strength. Damned ryddarl ship blackened that sky and then groaned under the weight of its own size. I ain’t never seen a ship like that. The Marzipan coulda fit in that ship’s pocket, and ya would’ve never seen it in all the coils and loops and doo-dads hangin’ from the engines of that behemoth.

  If you’ve seen a herd of cattle escapin’ a cyber-lion, you’ve seen Bay-zar in that moment. Feet kickin’ up dust as people ran in every direction, though none was the right one. Didn’t matter if they went left or right, that ship was everywhere. Mel trembled beside me. Those eyes—only two of ’em, yet I’d swear she seen more than me when she done looked at the underbelly of that ship.

  One moment she was still. The next, she gave me a shove that done sent me outta the street and behind some flimsy curtain. I had just enough time to recognize it as a street vendor’s booth before Mel barreled in. “Keep moving!” she shouted.

  I didn’t know where we was goin’, but I reckoned I didn’t need to. The screams and groans outside hurt my ears, and Mel gave my hand a desperate tug. The youngin’ led me through a maze of booths and back alleys that smelled of piss and shit. So strong was the smell, bile rose in my throat. That ship landed somewhere behind us, and silence descended. We musta run circles ’cause I saw The Marzipan as we ducked behind an empty wooden crate.

  Several smaller ships burned. Somethin’ struck The Marzipan with a muffled thud, but the shields held. I’ll admit, I didn’t do much thinkin’. My brain spun ’round in all that chaos while bodies dropped to the dust below. As Mel tried to catch her wind, I hauled her over to The Marzipan and pushed her through the open hatch. “What are you doing?” she hissed, but I shushed her. No need to call attention to her or nothin’. I tossed her jacket’s hood over her head to cover them dark-brown curls and placed a finger to her lips.

  “Don’t say nothin’.”

  The hatch closed behind us, cuttin’ off the sun. All them practice drills paid off as I pulled Mel toward the cargo hold’s front. Slightly muted sobs dead ahead corrected my path when I turned wrong, and soon after, the beam from a flashlight hit my front eyes. The light shifted to Mel’s hood-covered face before it clicked off, strandin’ us in darkness.

  “Why are the lights out?” someone whispered.

  “The shields are taking too much power, I suppose.”

  The speaker was hushed by one of The Marzipan’s guards who asked, “Everyone here?”

  “Everyone except Rhiohl. He’s dead.”

  I didn’t know which one of the passengers said it. Didn’t rightly recall who Rhiohl was either. Guess it didn’t matter no-more.

  When a crew-member ordered us strapped into the racks, I took care of Mel. Weren’t no reason to alert anyone—not yet anyway. She stayed quiet-like as she leaned against the cushioned wall-rack. When the belt clicked ’cross her scraggly frame and locked her into place, I seen the fear in her eyes just the once before she blinked it away. Sharpness stared back as I belted myself in. She took holda my hand and squeezed.

  The Marzipan’s thrusters sent a vibration through my feet. We were leavin’ Bay-zar.

  If we were lucky, we’d make it off world alive. And if we were luckier, no one would notice the hu-man stowaway.

  2

  OUT THE AIRLOCK

  The mystery of our escape from the ryddarl kept me frettin’ on it rather than worryin’ on the folks ’round me on The Marzipan. Mel kept her head down as the ship shuddered and bucked its way through Bay-zar’s atmo. A couple a dips set my stomach turnin’ and my ears to poppin’. Weren’t but a quiet few minutes ’til the ship’s artificial grav kicked in. The lights remained dim for a mite before brightenin’. We were free and into the deep.

  One moment, we were ace. The next, these two sisters from Barduun II did the math on Mel’s appendages.

  The scream they let loose made my ears wanna curl up and die. You’d’ve thought Mel was a ryddarl herself the way the captain glared, but I planted my three feet in front of Mel and glared right back.

  “She has to go!”

  “She’s an albatross.”

  Both sisters talked right over each other. I done rolled my eyes at the silly little fools. “Barta, Marta, do ya even know what that word means? I don’t think it means what ya think. Besides, where’d ya learn an Earth word like that?”

  “Like you’re one to talk,” muttered Marta.

  “What word?” asked Barta.

  “Albatross,” Mel whispered. The way she sorta shrank in on herself, I reckoned it weren’t the first time she’d been called somethin’ cruel. The crowd pressed closer to us, and I puffed out my chest, though the unicorn on my shirt might’ve diminished my false bravado a tad.

  “She’s cursed. I know that word. She’ll bring the ryddarl back!” This was from a little squirt who’d “accidentally” bumped into me as he’d deboarded The Marzipan. His apology was as shitty as his lame-brained ideas ’bout human fuel.

  Marta shouted, “Put her out the airlock!”

  “What if she brought the attack?” The little squirt scratched his nose as he tried to hide compound eyes behind red-rimmed eyelids.

  “Yeah! She’s human! They’re all violent creatures. War makers!”

  “And how do ya know that?” I asked.

  Barta’s nose scrunched up. “Every war tha
t’s ever been was started by those humans. Everyone knows that.”

  The whines set my nerves a-janglin’ and when this tough-guy type stuck his face in mine, the rot on his breath was more violent than anything I’d ever done. The look in his eyes—not sane at all. “You can’t just kill her!” I shouted over all them voices, but they went right on with their crazy talk.

  “Out with her!”

  “But she’ll die. Captain, ya can’t seriously—”

  “Who cares if she dies? Didn’t her kind kill yours at the beginning of the war?”

  Mel cocked her head to the side as she stared at me. She couldn’t figger it—that much was clear. Honestly, I couldn’t figger it myself. Why was I defendin’ her? Them folks be right that her kind’s war had brought all sorta trouble to my own. I flushed hot at the thought, but my eyes fell to Mel’s shirt.

  Them folks didn’t want her gone for nothin’ other than fear. I weren’t gonna let ’em kill her, not when I had so many questions. I stood taller, starin’ right into the face of that beefcake. There was no way I’d win in a throw-down with someone almost twice my girth and muscle mass, but I was hopin’ I wouldn’t hafta.

  I’d heard tales of a man named Moses partin’ some red sea—he must’ve been vacationin’ on Tyrus IV — but I never thought it possible. When Mel stepped between us, she parted the sea of passengers and crew just like that Moses fella. Them folks fell back a few steps, and the two sisters moaned.

  Mel smiled like nothin’ was wrong. “It’s okay,” she whispered to me as she rested a hand on my shoulder.

  “Captain, ya can’t do this. It’s wrong, and ya done know it,” I said, and he scowled. “Besides, I gotta know some things before I’m willin’ to lay down and kill someone.”

  The lights went out. A clamor of screams and moans bounced ’round in my ears alongside The Marzipan’s thrusters. Somethin’ large hit the ship’s side, and I clung to the racks with them others as unsecured crates slid ’cross the cargo hold. “Grav’s malfunctioning, Captain,” the pilot said over the comm-unit.