SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

Van Haarlem returned, and he heard her gathering the writing supplies that he’d thrown to the floor. When he felt her presence at his shoulder, he rose and together they left the library. The peculiar city and its foreign townsfolk weren’t the inspiring distraction they had been just a few short hours ago. He’d dreamed of elevating Sallee from the riverbank muck of the Bou Regreg to emulate the pristine wonder of Grantville. Now…now he had to find a way to subvert the republic’s doom.

He was silent when they left the town. Their coachmen, surprised by an early return, were unprepared. Radi left them to Van Haarlem and sat for a time until they boarded to rattle their way back toward Hamburg and a slow ship south to home.

They set camp some hours later at a tributary flowing south to the Rottenbach. Radi did not join Van Haarlem and the men as he normally would.

Their mood was jovial, a general sense of completion and excitement for returning home. It was a mood that did not suit Radi’s thoughts. Though she concealed it when she noticed him watching her, and despite sharing his knowledge of what would befall his beloved republic, Dame van Haarlem seemed to share in the men’s high spirits.

Later, when the camp chores were complete, and the men retired to their tents to share lies or throw dice, she approached him where he sat.

“Walk with me?” As was her way, she said it like a question.

Radi rose, and together they moved away from the camp. She led him to a place where the river bent and followed along the shore until they were well out of sight from the camp.

A large stone was there. Grass grew soft and thick around the base and dark lichen climbed the sides. He watched her gather the fabric of her kaftan and sit upon the stone. After a moment, she patted the empty space beside her. Radi sat. He left a small space between them, hoping it large enough to be proper. His breath was coming faster, and it wasn’t from the walk.

The river was shallow there, churned to white froth by nearly submerged rocks. The water tumbled loud enough that they would need to put their heads together to speak. The men from the camp would not hear them. Should nature call, they would not find them.

Radi sat beside Beth van Haarlem and watched the sky darken while the river played with smooth, round stones. He pulled his gaze down to the woman beside him, her hands resting in her lap. Her fingers trembled, although if the motion was a reaction to the cool evening air or from anticipation or excitement, he could not be sure.

“What will you do?” she asked.

He leaned closer to her to respond and their shoulders touched. “I had thought to wait until morning before announcing my intention, but my mind is set. You may as well know now.

“I will travel to Dila to see for myself if there is a Berber tribe with expansionist designs on the north. I will seek out this Mawlay to attest with my own eyes the foretelling of his conquering army.

“Then, should the Diwan support me, I will ally Sallee with whatever force is stronger. If Sallee may not be free, I would at least spare her from the coming conflict.”

Her pale hands trembled again. He covered one of hers with his own. “You could come with me,” he offered.

“That won’t be possible,” she said.

“You are frightened.”

“No.”

“Why then do you tremble?”

“Because, Mohamed Amine Radi,” she said, and he met her eyes when she said his name. She turned her hand underneath his. Her fingers parted slightly and, with a gentle pressure, he twined his fingers through hers. She curled her fingers around his hand as she continued. “I lied to you in the library.”

“Lied?”

Pulling his mind back from the warmth of her hand, Radi struggled to focus on the republic and the doom she had revealed to him. “Does Sallee not fall to the unification of Morocco?”

“Oh no,” she said, “that was all true. Or at least, it is what I found in the Americans’ books.”

“What then?”

“It was not my brother that I visited in New Amsterdam,” she said.

Radi sighed inwardly. She had taken a lover in the Americas. Now, as they grew close, she felt ashamed. His wish for her was to feel no regret for past passions. He thought to tell her as much, but she continued before he could speak.

Anthony van Sallee is my half-brother. His mother is a Moorish woman from Cartagena.”

Radi loosed his fingers as if her hand would sear the flesh from him. She held him fast. He met her eyes. They shone like the brilliant blue of sea ice in the gathering gloom.

“I think you know which parent Anthony and I share.”

“Janszoon,” he whispered.

“You were not the first to ask the Americans for books about Sallee,” she said. “Another came before you.”

Janszoon’s brat. So Cornelius reached Grantville after all. Van Haarlem must have read in his face that he knew of whom she spoke.

“Word arrived while Cornelius stayed in Grantville. Jan Janszoon is yet alive and in the clutches of the Maltese and their dungeons. And finally I know where my father is.”

“Sallee is free of Janszoon.”

“You and your Diwan did not liberate Sallee from my father’s corsairs,” she said. “You have but been keeping her safe for us.”

He struck her then.

It was an awkward blow, seated as they were and with her holding one hand captive. She hunched, turning into the blow and taking it on her shoulder. He surged back, hoping to catch her off guard and pull free, but her damnable grip was like leather, wrapped wet and left to dry around his hand.

Beth spun toward him. She scissored her legs up and around him despite her kaftan. Together they toppled to the damp grass.

Radi lay on his back atop her with one arm pinned tightly across his chest. He swung his legs, attempting to roll free and saw her heels cross, locking around his waist in a crushing embrace.

“There has always been a Janszoon in Sallee,” she whispered into his ear. He felt her tugging at his belt with her free hand. “Should armies come, they will find Sallee ready.”

“Beth,” Radi struggled to squeeze words from his chest. She was crushing the life from him. “Please…”

“I am Lysbeth Janszoon van Haarlem, and I will see my father freed from those bastard knights in Malta. If I must raze Fort Saint Angelo to its foundation with every corsair on the sea, I swear it will be done.”

Radi felt a sharp pinch in his left side. He pulled in a breath to call for the men in the camp. No sound came when he tried to scream, and he looked down to where her free hand moved at his waist. It took a moment for his mind to piece together what he was seeing.

Only when he realized the blade of his knife was halfway into him did he feel any pain. Then Mohamed Amine Radi felt a firm pressure against his ribs. The blade disappeared from view, and Lysbeth Janszoon twisted the handle.

Originally published by Star Citizen Jump Point Magazine

The heads-up display on Gavin Rhedd’s Cutlass dimmed at the edges. Green triangles representing the members of his security team distorted to form horizontal spikes of flickering static. He smacked the side of his helmet into the Plexi canopy of his cockpit. It was a practiced move, and one that had snapped the HUD back into focus in the past. This time, the display flickered, faded and then died.

A heavy breath sent a thin veil of vapor climbing the visor of his helmet. Condensation obscured the view of black, empty space ahead.

Empty like the dead heads-up display.

Empty just like it had been for weeks.

There were brigands and marauders plaguing every planet in the ’verse and he couldn’t find one damned gang. Nothing was working out like he’d planned.