Sneak Peak - The Last Angel: The Hungry Stars, Chapter 15 (Patreon)

So, waaaaaaay back in the original The Last Angel novel, we had Encounter 163, where a mining expedition discovered a strange vessel on the coastal floor of an ocean. This was Nemesis, and suffice to say, she was... irked at having her nap interrupted. So much so that seventeen months later, she returned and nuked the entire star system.

Well, in the wake of some new information from the Grasp, Nasham has been once again channeling his inner Wesley Wyndham-Price* and he's spotted something odd about Encounter 163 and after a little urging, he contacts Bastion Leader Yunl'ro to discuss the incident. She is somewhat hesitant, and that is where our conversation comes from.

I have one more section to complete for this chapter, and then I can begin editing. I'm hoping to have it done by the weekend and then posted early next week, so stay tuned.

*There's an exchange from Time Bomb that has had a significant resonance with me for writing Nasham's character.

"What's up with Wesley? I was just in his office-"

"Oh God, don't go in there! That's where he keeps his full-strength crazy."

"Yeah, I caught I whiff of that."

"I-It's like he's two different people. One is almost catatonic. He's the guy you see doing the inpatient shuffle around the hallways. And the other is just cooped up in there all day, jittering like
a bug on a hot plate, obsessing over every single tidbit he can find on Illyria."

~

“My people have always believed that from knowledge comes strength.”

“Many cultures do; my own has many such sayings. From our bronze age, there is the aphorism ‘For each question we leave unanswered, there is an arrow in a foe’s quiver’. A thousand years before that, the philosopher Dioc’es was quoted as saying ‘Not knowing is the purest form of torture’. One of our more famous contrarians disagreed; she wrote a treatise on the opposite concept and her most famous saying was ‘Not knowing the truth can be a kindness’.”

Nasham thought for a moment. “I think,” he said at last. “That I have had too much of that kindness.”

The woman’s eyelids blinked asynchronously. “Yes,” she observed. “I thought you might. However, this information is highly classified, submissive. In this entire armada, I am the only one who knows it. If it were not for your… unique circumstances, there would be no one who was even aware that it existed. Protocol and standard security directives dictates that this information remain in its limited circulation.”

“I see. Thank you anyways, ma-”

“I have not finished, submissive. As I hope I have made clear during this conversation and in the past, you continue to be something of a mixed blessing. Despite your status, you have still to properly integrate yourself into this vessel’s chain of command and you can be fractious and frequently irritating. I do not, however, believe that you are compromised by our quarry. Your history also shows your understanding of the need for discretion regarding certain security matters. However, logic dictates I deny your request, but in recent months I have seen more value in intuition.”

Nasham’s heart beat faster in his chest. “Matron?”

“If I were to grant you certain limited access to the redacted files, I would need more than your word as an officer of the Compact that you would safeguard this data.”

“What do you require, matron?”

“The first time I invited you to dinner, you demonstrated knowledge of my people’s culture. Allow me to reciprocate. A blood oath.”

The Tribune’s jaws opened in a slight gape of surprise. Blood oaths were archaic and little-known outside his people, but they were among the most sacred vows one of his people could make. Yunl’ro was an atheist; she certainly didn’t believe in any gods and even Nasham himself vacillated between agnostic and anti-theist on any given day – the latter most commonly when Nemesis was on his mind.

To Yunl’ro, the oath was no more binding than any other promise, if more theatrical and melodramatic. But even if his people no longer swore vows to the gods they’d imagined, the cultural resonance and sanctity of a blood oath remained. Even Unbound scum wouldn’t break a blood oath easily. No Tribune would. “You’ve done some research,” he guessed.

“I have,” the Bastion Leader replied. She didn’t say anything else.

Nasham didn’t have to think long. Probably even less than Yunl’ro did when she was told this mission could very well end in her death. He picked a knife off the table and slashed his palm, dark blood dripping down onto his plate. “I swear,” he said. “Before all the gods that there may be and by the Triarchs themselves that I will never reveal whatever information you show me without leave by you or anyone else authorized to give that dispensation.” He tilted his head. “Is that sufficient, matron?”

“Quite.” The Thoughtful’s expression was a little pained and somewhat repulsed by the display. “The files I read did not specify the amount of blood necessary. I could have provided a sterilized needle.”

“A single drop is hardly in the spirit of a blood oath, matron,” Nasham told her. The Thoughtful handed him a clean cloth to bandage his palm. Once that was done, she rose from the table, gesturing for her subordinate to follow her to her office. She sat at her desk, entering passcodes and biometric data to unlock the archive.

“The first thing I will tell you,” the Thoughtful said, turning in her chair to face Nasham. “Is that the System Kill of Delacore was not caused by the Wound.”