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  The Lazarus Alliance: Book Two

  Blaze Ward

  Knotted Road Press

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Lazarus

  Chapter 2

  Addison

  Chapter 3

  Eha

  Chapter 4

  Aileen

  Chapter 5

  Lazarus

  Chapter 6

  Lazarus

  Chapter 7

  Addison

  Chapter 8

  Lazarus

  Chapter 9

  Aileen

  Chapter 10

  Eha

  Chapter 11

  Lazarus

  Chapter 12

  Aileen

  Chapter 13

  Lazarus

  Chapter 14

  Eha

  Chapter 15

  Lazarus

  Chapter 16

  Aileen

  Chapter 17

  Eha

  Chapter 18

  Lazarus

  Chapter 19

  Oluchi

  Chapter 20

  Eha

  Chapter 21

  Lazarus

  Chapter 22

  Lazarus

  Chapter 23

  Oluchi

  Chapter 24

  Eha

  Chapter 25

  Lazarus

  Chapter 26

  Aileen

  Chapter 27

  Oluchi

  Chapter 28

  Lazarus

  Chapter 29

  Aileen

  Chapter 30

  Lazarus

  Chapter 31

  Oluchi

  Chapter 32

  Lazarus

  Chapter 33

  Oluchi

  Chapter 34

  Lazarus

  Chapter 35

  Eha

  Chapter 36

  Oluchi

  Chapter 37

  Lazarus

  Chapter 38

  Eha

  Chapter 39

  Lazarus

  Chapter 40

  Oluchi

  Chapter 41

  Addison

  Chapter 42

  Lazarus

  Read More

  About the Author

  Also by Blaze Ward

  About Knotted Road Press

  One

  Lazarus

  It felt good to Lazarus to stride the decks of his warship Ajax again. He took a deep breath of the clean air and let it fill the depth of his lungs.

  The atmosphere aboard the cargo runner Shiva Zephyr Glaive had always made him feel like he was standing at the top of a mountain, trying to breathe air too thin. Similarly, the gravity over there was only about eighty-five percent of what he had kept Ajax at when he commanded the ship.

  He had finally come home.

  And then been polite to his friends and turned the gravity down some. He supposed he could live at eighty-five percent for now. Similarly, he had backed off the atmospheric pressure a few notches, so that his friends wouldn’t be unduly burdened by heavy air.

  Some days, Lazarus felt like a Hun, or a space orc maybe, invading the prettier lands filled with sophisticated people unprepared for the strength, endurance, or potential for brutality that an average Human brought to the field.

  He looked around the bridge of Ajax now as he entered. Friendly walls painted a soothing honey oak color a little softer than faded mustard, with the deck a dark gray that wouldn’t show off the inevitable scuffs. Crew stations around him looked as pristine as the day they had launched, rather than fire-scorched and blood-splattered in the aftermath of near-destruction.

  Thank God for the repair robots.

  He and the others had been able to make most of the adjustments the ship had needed from an engineering console in the landing bay, after he had confirmed that the ship was steadily repairing itself, and that both cargo shuttles—that pair of specialized pinckes—were fully operational and ready to start hauling things back and forth.

  Then they had spent the better part of four days moving things over, all the way down to draining the water tanks, so that Shiva Zephyr Glaive could be largely shut down and left in the same orbit that Ajax would be departing from.

  Today had been his first real chance to walk all the way forward from cargo storage and the landing bay, into the command quarters area of the ship, and step onto what had been his bridge.

  Before.

  His mind still flashed back angrily to the moment he had dropped out of a test jump on the new star drives and landed right in the kill zone of a Westphalian GunWall. A full one, too. Twenty-one enemy warships. Sixteen Phalanxes, protecting four Archers, with that dreaded CommandWall vessel at the rear in command. Ajax could have taken on a simple Patrol, a Four and One, and pounded it into scrap, even with a new crew just learning their jobs. But a full GunWall had been too much, and he had been fighting for his life almost from the moment his blueshift had cleared.

  “Thoughts?” a voice intruded. “You seem apprehensive or perhaps angry.”

  Lazarus turned to the man who had been his commander, back over on the cargo runner. Director was the term these folks used, rather than Captain.

  And man was only loosely accurate, if you wanted to get scientific.

  Addison Wolcott. A Churquen, that is to say a naga-looking creature, all snake from the waist down and a scaled humanoid with spindly arms above that, but everyone in Innruld Space had spindly arms, compared to Humans. Only a Kreeghal had similar shoulders, and they sacrificed long legs for stubby ones barely capable of running. Addison had green and blue linear stripes, like the galaxy’s largest garter snake.

  The man’s hazel eyes, slit vertically, missed little.

  The other Churquen had joined Addison, the two of them still holding hands like giddy teenagers, if the occasional giggle that emerged was any cue.

  Eha Dunham. Until recently, the woman had been a spymaster in charge of the cell of rebels that Addison represented. Unlike Addison, her scales were bright emerald, interrupted with linear stripes the color of honey. Her eyes were that same honey-amber color. They also barely missed anything, but she hadn’t known Lazarus as long as the man who had rescued him originally.

  After accidentally blowing up his shuttle, Ajax’s koch.

  Well, Wybert had done that. The Ilount strove to be a warrior, worthy to eventually mate with his queen, but everyone else on the crew understood the term when Lazarus had suggested Wybert was a little soft in the head.

  Aggressive and well-meaning. Loyal to a fault. About as safe as a six-year-old holding a loaded pistol.

  At least the Ilount looked impressively martial. The body reminded Lazarus of a centaur as Wybert entered the bridge and clacked to a halt on ten, noisy feet. The man’s bluish torso had four arms, upper pair and lower, and he was carrying his powerspear like that six-year-old who took his favorite teddy bear everywhere.

  The five eyes, two large and three small, saw an impressive range of details. Two antennae, located on the sides of his head like horns, picked up scent and sound simultaneously.

  Nobody could get Wybert not to wear his armor on the ship, any ship, so he had it on today: blue thorax covered by something like a light breastplate in a nicer shade, a turquoise, with the top side of his horizontal abdomen also armored over his natural scales from the waist all the way to his aft, where a pair of spinnerets emerged.

  Four mandibles with big, ripping teeth feeding into a toothy maw was the stuff of nightmares as well, but Lazarus knew that Wybert mostly ate a thin gruel that tasted remarkably like honeyed oatmeal.

  “What?” Wybert asked defensively as he realized Lazarus was looking at him.

  “Welcome to your new home, Wybert,”
Lazarus said. “All the weapons systems are controlled from here, so we’ll need to replace most of the furniture with something more comfortable.”

  “And I get to fire the guns?” he asked hopefully.

  Six-year-old. In a candy-shop. With money from grandpa. Not that Lazarus had any such memories himself.

  “You will,” Lazarus assured him.

  Wybert clattered happily off in the direction of the bridge.

  “You’re ignoring me,” Addison said quietly.

  “Trying to think of a polite way to answer you,” Lazarus deflected him instead. “You asked if I was apprehensive or angry. Both, I think.”

  “So you don’t think it was an accident that saw you and Ajax nearly destroyed,” Addison said, not particularly trying to make it sound like a question.

  “The odds of that are about as good as landing in the middle of the Phraettis Nebula safely from a blind jump out of the Rio Alliance side,” Lazarus chuckled, referring to the place where he had originated, where that grand nebula looked like a shield across a wide swath of the stars.

  Lazarus had managed exactly that random feat of navigation, escaping that first battle, but it wasn’t luck he wanted to try to recreate.

  “And you still think it wise to return to your homeland?” Addison replied. “With, I might remind you, an entirely alien crew.”

  “Watch who you’re calling alien, Scaly,” a different voice intruded.

  Kuei Akeley. Addison’s pilot, back on the other ship. Smiling as wide as she could as she followed Wybert onto the spacious bridge.

  The woman was a Vaadwig. To Lazarus, she always looked like an Australian kangaroo with a wider skull. The same heavy legs and big tail that almost made her look like a tripod. Fine sandy-brown fur covered her body where she wasn’t also wearing her usual baggy leotard with the big pouch across the center. Armless and legless, it was still clothing, marking her as intelligent.

  Just in case the sarcastic mouth ever failed to alert you.

  Lazarus smiled at her as she waddled close.

  “Where’m I going?” she asked, eyes almost as big and demonstrative as Wybert’s, with just as much excitement.

  Lazarus broke away from the two Churquen with a nod and guided his favorite Vaadwig to the station where his first star pilot had died. He wasn’t superstitious, and the various robots and cleaning systems had left it spotless, but his mind could still place the splatters and pools of blood, both on the seat as well as dripping onto the metal deck.

  “You’ll be here, once we change seats for something you’ll find comfortable,” Lazarus smiled at her.

  None of the bridge systems were turned on right now, so nothing bad happened as the woman leaned over and began memorizing keys and screens with her fingertips.

  Muscle memory for later.

  They were all here, even the crew who would rarely have a need to physically visit the bridge.

  Ereshkiki Nisab, the Qooph wheelman who would eventually become something of a Chief Engineer, even if his preferred title was Systems Mechanic. Assuming that the Rio Alliance allowed Lazarus to keep his crew intact. There was always that risk, returning with a whole new set of species nobody there had ever even heard of.

  Thadrakho the Necherle stayed close to Ereshkiki Nisab. A seven-foot-tall, skinny, off-white ice demon from somebody’s worst nightmares; the armored, insectile creature was a fantastic mechanic with a powerful redneck streak. Always damned useful on any starship, let alone an experimental warship.

  Khyaa'sha Ramarkhay, the species properly named a Tarni even though everyone called them pinwheel spiders, stayed near the door. On Shiva Zephyr Glaive, she had simply been the cook, if anything involving so many species could be considered simple. Ajax was largely automated, but someone needed to be in charge of the wardroom, and there was a full kitchen if you wanted to make it personal.

  He could see her doing that. Hopefully, the food stores he had originally laid in for his shakedown cruise would prove palatable to the others. And not poisonous.

  Cormac the NavCrawler was nearby, mostly staying as much out of the way as Khyaa’sha was. They hadn’t had a chance to build any interfaces that would let a two-foot-by-two-foot-by-foot-tall sentient rolling computer communicate with Ajax.

  Yet.

  Well, there was an audio input channel, but the ship was designed for organics, Humans, to control everything. Even if Cormac had eleven decades of uptime at present.

  “So, finally decided to quit?” Aileen asked as she stepped around Cormac’s shell.

  Aileen Enjehn. Yithadreph. Four and a half feet tall, a space otter covered over with dark brown fur. Today, her mobile whiskers were straight out sideways with humor that reached even to her eyes. She wore her favorite pearl-colored capri pants and banana-colored vest for the occasion.

  “Might have gotten a better offer,” Lazarus smiled back at her.

  Down at her. He was a shade over six feet, and only Thadrakho was taller.

  “I’m still going to be expecting you to be down in cargo occasionally, busting your ass to pack and unpack stuff,” she volleyed with a laugh. “It’ll keep you grounded and not too lazy.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Lazarus laughed.

  It felt good to be able to laugh, especially with his new friends.

  Five months ago, he had been a Capitão De Mar E Guerra with the Rio Alliance. Captain of Sea and War. Taking this very ship, this experimental wonder, on her shakedown cruise to make sure everything worked the way he had originally designed it.

  Now he was something of a pirate in Innruld space, fleeing from the so-called Overlords of the Galaxy.

  Lazarus was genuinely looking forward to one of these days introducing the Innruld specists to Westphalian, Human supremacists, just to watch the two grind each other down. Then the Rio Alliance could be free, and maybe expand to include dozens of new species, instead of the main four they represented at present.

  “What about me?” Remahle Mebarsu asked. “I can do his job just as well.”

  Lazarus had to agree. Most of the cargo on Shiva Zephyr Glaive had come in one or two square cubic foot boxes, heavy enough that he was the only one who could simply lift things and put them atop stacks. On Ajax, the boxes tended to be huge by comparison, designed to be carried in even larger standard containers.

  At the same time, there were cranes and waldo arms that Remahle could drive just as easy as anybody else, which let the four-foot-tall glider squirrel of a Kr’mari handle big loads by himself.

  “I suspect that I’ll be too busy with other things,” Lazarus said carefully to him. “That means you’ll have to step up to take one of the loadmaster jobs, just as Aileen has had to become a full quartermaster.”

  Her fur ruffled with pride when he said that, but it was God’s honest truth. Lazarus had never met anybody with such an intuitive ability to rearrange forty boxes, in her head, to get the perfect fit, with the things needed most at the front, on the first try. Ajax was mostly empty now, but at some point, they would get home, and if he could keep her as crew, there would be five hundred Humans serving here, plus whatever diplomatic mission they hopefully asked him to carry back to Innruld space.

  It was going to be an utter revolution when he did return. Not just bringing eight new species with him, nine if you counted the two robots: Cormac the NavCrawler and Lenox the MedCrawler.

  No, somewhere in High Command was a spy. High enough placed that they had been able to tell Westphalia exactly where to go, and where to hide, to ambush Ajax when he came out of jump.

  They had come that close to killing him.

  Lazarus took that just a little personally.

  Two

  Addison

  It was ship’s evening, and Addison had joined Lazarus in the man’s office for a chat. Eha had joined them, in her capacity as a senior member of the Species Underground, rather than maybe Addison’s current girlfriend and potentially-future mate.

  The room betrayed th
e person Lazarus had been before, matching the name on the wall outside: Francisco Luiz Oliveira, Capitão De Mar E Guerra.

  Walls had been vertically paneled with a dark wood. Carpet had even been laid, which had been utterly weird to slither over, entering across the threshold. A wooden desk had been centered in the room, with the first chair Lazarus would find comfortable in five months, while the Human had removed the two on this side.

  Addison and Eha would be comfortable coiled for now. And Addison needed this to be something of a private conversation. Ereshkiki Nisab had been his second-in-command, back on Shiva Zephyr Glaive, but he just wanted to be a Systems Mechanic, not a rebel. As long as the two could be pried apart.

  “So we’re proposing revolution?” Eha asked carefully as she settled onto her coil.

  She was the outsider here. Lazarus had been with his crew long enough that they had threatened to quit if Addison had turned the Human over to this woman. Paranoia, perhaps, but the gendarmes had staged a raid, just as he was coiling to talk to Eha back there, and they had all blasted their way out of Zhoonarrim Station and presumably into a life of crime.

  “That’s one way to look at it,” Lazarus replied just as carefully. “The Rio Alliance is just barely holding its own against Westphalia. Ajax could tip things back in our favor. At the same time, the Innruld, while they dominate in your sectors, are not powerful enough to fight either side in my sectors. Knowledge of Innruld space will get out, and merchants, pirates, and spies can be expected to go looking.”