The Fire Eternal (Confederation Reborn Book 6) Read online

  "Another perfectly peaceful and quiet day," he sighed. He opened his eyes and looked down at the dog, "You have to admit, that doesn't sound nearly as exciting as being dispatched to the Demilitarized Zone."

  The dog scrambled up toward his face, pressing against him with its wet nose, panting in excitement that it was time to wake up, eat, and play. Kirn groaned as he rolled over in bed and tossed aside the covers, needing to grip the edge of the mattress to pull himself upright. He raised his arms and stretched, listening to the crackle of his spine and knees as he shifted and twisted, and eventually got to his feet.

  The dog took a running leap off the mattress and sailed through the air, landing near the bedroom door, nails scrabbling against the cabin's hardwood floor. He spun around in circles near the staircase, desperate to go down. "Show off," Kirn said, limping around the bed. "Let's see you do that when you're eighty-three." He walked past the large mirror on his wall and caught his profile, seeing the extra inches around his waistline and the fold of skin under his chin. He didn't recognize this saggy, unshaven person in the mirror looking back at him. He rubbed his hand against his cheeks, feeling the half-inch of white bristles there with his palm, and wondered if he should shave. He'd never gone more than a day without shaving for much of his adult life, keeping in strict accordance with Confederation uniform regulations.

  Not shaving is a luxury, he told himself. Something I've earned, after all those years of service. Just like the peace and quiet of this idyllic country life.

  He picked up a bottle of aftershave from the dresser and looked at it, remembering the way it made his skin tingle every morning, the way he'd dabbed it on his face as the final thing he did before leaving his cabin to head for the bridge of the Endeavor. It was a ritual. His way of preparing for the rigors of command, so that the moment he walked on the bridge and every head turned, he would nod at the crew and they would know it was time to get to work.

  The dog panted at him eagerly, smiling in its own dopey way.

  Kirn put the bottle of aftershave down and shuffled into the hallway, needing to hold the handrail as he worked his way down the stairs.

  He dialed up a bowl of warm sirloin with gravy in the replicator for the dog, but made his own coffee and fried his own eggs and bacon. No matter how many times he reprogrammed the damn replicator, it refused to include any caffeine or grease in his meals.

  He flipped the strips of bacon in the pan and watched it pop with mild satisfaction. "You see that?" he said to the replicator's display. "That's real food. Not those dried out pieces of rubber you call eggs, or those dog treats you try and pass off as bacon."

  The dog's head shot up at the sound of the word "treats," and Kirn said, "Not for you. You had yours already."

  "Warning," the replicator's display responded. "The effects of grease and caffeine on octogenarians is substantial, Mr. Kirn. Please consider your cholesterol intake before consumption."

  "Oh, I've considered it," Kirn said, picking up a crisp piece of bacon and snapping it between his teeth.

  "Mr. Kirn," the replicator sounded.

  Kirn picked up his plate of food and walked past it, saying, "That's Admiral, to you."

  He sat on the porch and sipped his coffee, looking out over the valley surrounding his cabin. The dog ran from one end of the yard to the other, kicking up clouds of dust along the fence line, and the horse inside the fence turned to look at him, bored, its long black tail swaying side-to-side as it stood. Kirn sipped his coffee slowly, enjoying it. After years of starship replicator coffee, this was strong and gritty. Earthy. He finished the rest and held the warm mug between his hands, rocking back and forth in his chair. He thought maybe he'd have another cup, and why not? There was nothing else to do, and nowhere else to be.

  The long list of projects around the property that he'd intended to do had fallen by the wayside. He hadn't ridden the horse in months, and it had stopped demanding to be ridden. Now, it just stood inside the pen, staring at the dog as it ran back and forth all day.

  Kirn imagined what his father would say. He'd always maintained that horses needed not just to be ridden, they needed to be worked, or they went crazy. It wasn't good for them to stay cooped up in one spot for too long. They went soft.

  He looked down at his liver-spotted hands and thought, If they don't get worked, they get old.

  He sighed and looked out at all the serenity. Trees swaying in the soft breeze. A perfectly pale sky filled with thick, billowing clouds, as large as starships. The horse. The dog. Even the wooden fence. Everything was exactly as he'd dreamed it would be, all those years in space. All those nights cooped up in his cabin, listening to the ship's engines thrumming, telling himself that someday, one day, he was going to have his own farm and sleep in a real bed, and let someone else worry about the damned galaxy for once. He was going to sit in a rocking chair on his porch and do nothing.

  Kirn rubbed his hands along the armrests of his rocking chair, picturing Saris standing in front of him, saying, "A wise man once said, be careful what you wish for, Captain."

  It's not like I asked to go.

  At seventy-five years old, Confederation Command very politely offers you two options. Retire, or be transferred to the Academy as an adjunct professor. To hell with that.

  The last time he'd visited, Dr. Jackson "Jax" Kelley said he'd heard the cadets were now calling Inappropriate Personal Conduct sanctions a "Kirn Reprimand" and the two of them had laughed themselves into tears. "Your reputation grows with every passing year, Bill," Kelley said. "Hell, if you came back to the Academy, you could be the first person in history to get a reprimand for a reprimand that was named after him."

  "Not at my age, old friend," Kirn said. "Those days are long past."

  Kelley looked around the cabin's living room, filled with rustic furniture and paintings of wildlife, and said, "I can see that." He tipped the rest of his whisky back and pressed his lips together, grimacing. "You could try to reach out to her, you know."

  "Who?" Kirn asked coyly.

  "You know damned well who. Maybe she'd be ready to put the past behind her, as long as you showed her you were too. Who knows, maybe she'd enjoy the idea of living out in the woods like Liver-Eating Johnson."

  "Warning," the replicator sounded, "Eating animal liver in excess can lead to vitamin A toxicity and consumption of heavy metals. It is also high in cholesterol, Mr. Kirn."

  Kirn could only shake his head and sigh. "And you thought I would get lonely down here?"

  Kelley poured himself another drink and said, "Have you seen Saris lately?"

  "He's busy with the Felidaens. I hear from him occasionally."

  Kelley shook his head, "You know what I keep thinking about? That time we took shore leave at Yucl Minor, when we tried to teach him how to fish."

  Kirn raised his glass and tipped it back.

  "There we were with our hooks in the stream, telling him he had to follow the current, and the next thing we know, he's taking off his clothes and walking into the damn water. He got waist deep before he bent down, and sure as hell, came up holding the biggest bass you ever saw."

  Kirn laughed, remembering the Valkar's face as Kelley grabbed the fish out of his hands and stuck a knife in it, gutting it on the spot. "What are you doing, doctor?" Saris said.

  "What do you think I'm doing? You have to eat the first fish you catch. It's part of the tradition." He held up the still quivering tail and said, "Do you want to eat it raw?"

  Saris blanched slightly and said, "I was not aware that you intended to kill that creature." He turned away from them and headed back into the stream.

  Kelley watched the Valkar disappear under the surface of the water and said, "What do you reckon he's doing now?"

  "I bet he's telling the rest of the fish to stay away from here," Kirn said.

  Kelley threw down his knife in disgust, "What kind of a maniac comes on a fishing trip and doesn't want to eat any fish?"

  By the time they finish
ed laughing, the bottle was empty, and both men's eyes had grown heavy. Jax set his empty glass down on the table and slapped his old friend's knee as he moved to stand up. "Time for me to mosey on down the road."

  "It was great to see you," Kirn said, meaning it.

  "Likewise." He cocked his finger at Kirn and said, "Now, I will see you at Johanna's house for the holidays, right?"

  "Of course!"

  "I mean it, Bill. She's expecting you."

  "I'll be there."

  He never went.

  He'd made an excuse. Something about a house repair, or being needed elsewhere, or some other story, when in fact, all he'd done was stayed at home. That was the last time he'd looked Sara up on the Confederation network.

  He'd taken Jax's advice and summoned up the courage to find her. He had no idea what he'd say, but was sure it would just come rolling out of him. All of the things he'd meant to tell her. Something profound.

  The holidays were coming and the two of them could meet at the snow lodges on Karrus IV, or sail the oceans of light at the Cere Moons.

  "Computer," he said, situating himself in front of his desk. It came alive at his voice, the screen showing his reflection. He'd bathed and dressed and shaved and fixed his hair, all for that moment. "Find Doctor Sara Peters."

  "Locating," the computer responded. "Doctor Sara Peters is senior medical advisor aboard the ICSS Hadfield."

  "Excellent," Kirn said. "Call her."

  The screen went dark for a moment as the call went through. He saw a flicker of light and realized it was going through. She was picking up. His eyes were slightly red and wet, but that was uncontrollable. At his age, they always were. He blinked several times and wiped his face, steeling himself. She was picking up.

  His heart hammered in his chest as her face appeared on the screen. Time had done her no injustices. Her long hair was draped down around her shoulders, and her face was just as he'd remembered, save for the tiny etches of wrinkles around her eyes. She was even more beautiful than before.

  "Bill?" she said, surprised.

  "Hi Sara. Did I reach you at a bad time?"

  "No," she said, turning to look over her shoulder. She was in her quarters, dressed in civilian clothes. She looked back at him, "Is everything all right? What's wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong," he said, smiling. "I just wanted to talk to you. To…to see you."

  "All right."

  "Well, the holidays are coming up, and I've been giving it a lot of thought—"

  "Hang on one second, Bill," Sara said, holding up her finger. She turned to look back over her shoulder and said, "I'll be right there."

  Behind her, Kirn looked at her living quarters, curious if he recognized anything. There were plants and a few decorations, but nothing distinct. He saw a framed photograph on the wall of a smiling young man, dashingly handsome with bright blue eyes, and Kirn immediately looked away. No good could come of that subject right then. He heard someone speaking from the other room in Sara's cabin, a man's voice, saying, "How long can it take to make ready something that's already perfect? I finally get you all to myself for the evening, and you're on a call?"

  Sara laughed nervously as the man came into view of the camera and wrapped his arms around her. The man turned toward the camera and his eyes widened. He was tall, and well-built, and still in uniform. Young enough to be ten years Sara's junior. Kirn saw the man's captain insignia and winced slightly. "Admiral Kirn!" the man said, snapping off a salute. "Dan Haines. It's an honor to meet you, sir."

  Kirn nodded and said, "Thank you, Captain."

  "You never told me you know William Kirn," he said, looking down at Sara.

  "We…we served together for a brief time."

  "Is that what you call it?" Kirn muttered weakly.

  She looked back at him, pleadingly. Captain Haines was too overcome with admiration to notice. "There are so many things I've always wanted to ask you."

  "Actually, Dan, the Admiral just had a few health-related questions and now he has to go," Sara said, cutting in.

  "I'm old, you see," Kirn said, forcing a smile.

  "Not at all!" Haines said, a little too quickly. "I'm sorry for interrupting. Listen, since you're a friend of Sara's, is it all right if I maybe call you sometime? I'd love to pick your brain."

  "Sure," Kirn said quietly. "Anytime."

  "I'll let you two talk. But not too long," he said, laughing. He bent down and kissed Sara on the cheek, "There is a bottle of synthetic wine and a phony steak dinner with this little lady's name on it."

  Sara watched him leave, listening to the soft whistle of her door whooshing open and shut. She looked down at the floor and said, "I'm sorry, Bill. That wasn't fair."

  "It's perfectly all right," he said. "So," he started to say, but found there was nothing coming forth. He looked at her through the screen and tried to force a smile. "Are you happy, Sara?"

  She nodded, but still did not look up. She could not look at him. "Why did you call, Bill? After all this time?"

  He tried to speak, finding that the words had turned sideways in his throat and become stuck. He swallowed to clear them and said, "I just wanted to say hello. Listen, go have your date. He seems nice. I'm happy for you. Really."

  He reached forward and touched the screen, ending the call. He turned around in his chair and looked around the cabin, seeing nothing but a dark room, empty except for some furniture.

  The dog looked up at him in wonder as he threw the saddle across the horse's back. He buckled the saddle and yanked it hard, making sure it was tight. "What are you looking at?" he said to the dog. "Did you think we were just going to sit around today? Today, we are getting some work done."

  He went over to his workbench and grabbed a few tools, needing to blow dust and cobwebs off of them. He dropped them in the saddlebag and went off to look for a box of nails. There were, of course, modern tools that eliminated the need for any of the things he was carrying, but he wanted to do it the old-fashioned way. He wanted to swing a hammer and drive in the nails, to smell the wood splitting open. Iron. Wood. The earth. Real things and not fabricated things. They were the treasures of his later years and he needed to do a better job of enjoying them. After all, not everything needed to be new, he thought. As a man with his record of romantic dalliances could attest, new is not always improved.

  He set out on the horse and took his first good, deep, breath in weeks. His body didn't ache. He was wearing real clothes, work clothes, not just loose lounge pants and a t-shirt. Hell, even lounge attire was better than what Confederation was passing off as uniforms now, he thought. They're moving everyone out of regimented uniforms and putting them in bright colored singlets. No wonder they're telling everyone my style of command was reckless and encouraging them all to be ambassadorial pansies.

  He reached up and ran his hand against his chin, feeling its smooth, freshly-shaven surface, smelling the aftershave on his skin, feeling the sun on the back of his neck, and thought, It's good to be alive.

  He was a rare thing in Confederation. A living former-captain of the ICSS Endeavor. There weren't many who could say that. Captain Scott Archway had made it to old age, but he'd been dead long before Kirn was even born.

  Gene Winter was the next to command the ship, but was so desperate to be promoted, he took the Commodore position with the 7th Fleet. Every Flag Officer before him had been killed fighting with the Felidaens in that sector, but no one could tell Winter differently. He lasted three months before the Felidaens killed him too.

  Winter's First Officer was a dashing young man, beloved by both his crew and Confederation. He was progressive, purposely seeking out minorities to groom them for command positions, one of his most celebrated finds being a young Valkar science officer. Kenny Hunter was a natural replacement for Captain of the Endeavor. He thought of Hunter's fate and shuddered, needing to shake his head to clear it of such thoughts. Whatever became of you after we left, Kenny, I hope you were able to find peace.


  Getting old is hell, that much is certain, he thought. It's like living with all the ghosts of your past, until they grow so thick you can't see the present. Sometimes, he felt like Jacob Marley from the old Charles Dickens story, weighed down by the iron chains of each and every bad decision. Of course, getting old was hell, he thought, but it was better than the alternative.

  He stopped the horse at the edge of his property, out by the milkweed field, and sat looking over the tall green shoots, filled with purple and red flowers. Monarch butterflies lined the branches of the weeds, their wings beating gently. Kirn watched several of them flitter past his head, circling wide before heading back into the field. He slid down off the horse and led it over to a tall oak tree, where it could feed on the grass and stay out of the sun.

  He retrieved his tools from the saddle bag and carried them around the outside of the field, heading for the old wooden fence that served as his property line. Several boards had come loose during the winter, and he'd never bothered to fix them. He twisted and stretched as he walked, sore from being in the saddle, but it was a good kind of sore, like stiff muscles after exercising. A reminder that the body still worked.

  He found the first group of unseated boards and raised the highest one up until it was level. With his free hand, he dropped a handful of nails into his shirt pocket and put a few in his mouth, holding them between his teeth. He picked up the hammer, tapped the first nail in slightly, just to get it started, before giving it a few good whacks. He smiled as he struck the nail, swinging the hammer hard and true, and smacking it in so deep it left a ringed impression in the surface of the wooden board on the last stroke. His smile faded as the board he was holding popped off of the opposite fence post and dropped in the dirt. He'd knocked it loose with his heavy swinging.

  He shook his head and laughed at himself. There had once been a time when he might have yelled and cursed, or even flung the hammer in frustration, but he'd grown past all of that long ago. Now, he found it easy to laugh at things. At the world. At himself. He turned to pick up the board again, when he stopped suddenly.