Zerberu: A Science Fiction Romance

ONE
ZERBERU

y eyes are strained from hours of staring at the
fickering holographic display emitted by the
conical projector on my smallest work table.
Surrounded by tools, circuitry boards, data chips, and a
small scale model of an Alliance battle cruiser’s main
engine array, the otherwise spacious room seems cramped
and crowded. Not for the frst time, I wish they’d have let
me put in a window here for more natural light, but the
Trident Alliance’s paranoia won’t allow for such frivolous
accouterments. Too much of a chance it will compromise
security on the top secret projects they constantly have me
engaged upon.
You might think that since I’ve been sitting here for so
long, that I’d have completed a great deal of work on my
current project. You would be wrong. The truth is all I’ve
done is stare at the schematics for days. One of our up and
coming all star ofcers managed to snag this data from an
Odex assault craft, and the truth is that it provides key infor‐
mation that can be used to improve our own engines. For

years the Coaltion has been able to outrun us at every turn.
My task is to bring those days to an end.
Easier said than done, however, especially when I’m not
feeling well. I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been on this
planet. Four years? No, almost fve. Five years on Teranus
Krom, fourth planet of the Teranus system. Abundant in
natural resources, but also teeming with dangerous indige‐
nous wildlife, the planet is too far away from the Alliance
core to be of value for plunder, and too dangerous to be
utilized as a vacation world.
In short, it’s a great place to stick the most advanced
scientifc mind in the entire Trident Alliance. I’m not given
to braggadocio, just stating a fact. Over the years I’ve been
personally responsible for some of the great innovations in
starship design. Many of them aren’t all that impressive
sounding, but vital nonetheless. For example, do you
remember tripping over that stem bolt on the Buzzards each
and every time you went to fush out the plasma conduits?
You can thank me for fguring out a way to integrate it with
the hull. Or the fact that our tracking systems have enjoyed
a ten percent increase on average in efective range for the
last two years. And soon, you’ll have me to thank when you
either catch up to that Ataxia Coalition vessel you’re
attacking or successfully fee from it if the battle goes awry.
Lately, however, I haven’t been feeling well. I stretch
laboriously and sigh, then take in my refection on a
dormant monitor. For one of my species, the Alzhon, I’m on
the skinny side, but athletics have never been my pursuit.
My Northern Continent ancestry on the Alzhon home
world means that I have reddish brown skin and copper
hair. I’ve been told that I’m handsome, but I have no frame
of reference to know if it’s idle fattery or sincere.
My refection looks sick and tired. Lethargically, I raise
6 ATHENA STORM

my head to regard the holo schematic one more time, but all
that happens is my headache increases in intensity. Perhaps
I have lost my touch, or come down with some hitherto
unknown microorganism?
The chime at my workshop door sounds. As usual, I
ignore it the frst time. Most likely, it’s one of the Vakutan
guards who joylessly protect me from threats largely imag‐
ined. I don’t know their names, partially because the
Alliance rotates them out every couple of weeks. This is
done for supposed security reasons, but sometimes I suspect
that the battle hungry Vakutan just grow bored babysitting
a scientist, no matter how prestigious my accomplishments
are.
The chime goes of again, and I push my chair back and
sigh. If it goes of one more time, I’ll answer it. The
moments stretch on, and just when I’m starting to feel
cautious optimism that I’ve waited out the unwanted inter‐
ruption, the chime goes of once more.
When I open the door, I’m expecting to see the
towering Vakutan with their ridged faces. Instead, I’m
greeted with Commander Ryco, an Alzhon starship
commander who also acts as my ofcial liason with the
Alliance. He’s an older Alzhon, his skin looking dusty like
old stone, but his blue eyes are still sharp with the glimmer
of ferce intellect. Ryco has enough of a science background
that he can mostly follow my explanations about the tech I
research and develop.
“Zerberu.” He smiles, but seems sad at the same time.
“You look like hammered shit.”
“Thanks, Commander.” I step back away from the door
and gesture for him to enter. “Please, come in. I assume that
you’re here to check on my progress with the Odex engine
modifcations?”

ZERBERU 7

Ryco makes no move to enter.
“You assume wrongly, Zer. There’s someone I want you
to speak with.”
I feel heat coming to my cheeks. Struggling to keep my
tone level, I ask the dreaded question.
“Am I being reassigned?”
“No, nothing like that. You’re a proven commodity, and
this is right where we want you.”
I relax immediately. To my estimation, it’s greatly
preferable to be on Teranus than in some tin can star ship
poring over technical manuals as an engineer. I’ve already
been down that road, and it’s not as much fun as the
fctional entertainments make it out to be.
“However...”
I cock my eyebrow at Ryco. Here comes the caveat.
“However?”
He sighs and turns his gaze away for a moment. I’m not
used to seeing the Commander embarrassed.
“Your production levels have been, er, slipping for
months. Alliance command is prepared to be patient—to a
point.”
“And we’ve reached that point. Is that what you’re
saying?”
He doesn’t answer other than to give me a thin lipped
smile.
“Come on. I assure you this will be painless.”
I don’t believe him, but I follow Ryco anyway. He leads
me through the spacious and well appointed manor I rarely
have time to enjoy, up from my basement workshop to the
main level. In the huge foyer, under a curved elegant stair‐
case, there’s a sitting area complete with books, a music
machine, and bar for libations. Ensconced on one of the
comfortable seats with an original copy of Fylia’s Odyssey is
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a well dressed Pi’rell male. His hairless face stretches into a
smile and he quickly closes the book and gives me a spirited
salute.
“Nice to meet you, Zerberu. My name is—“
“You don’t have to salute.”
His pallid face scrunches up in confusion.
“I’m sorry?”
“You don’t have to salute. I’m not enlisted in the mili‐
tary any longer. Ofcially I’m a civilian consultant.”
“Right.” His smile seems strained, but it remains in
place. “My name is Dr. Tu’an. I understand you’re feeling a
little under the weather, to turn a human phrase?”
Oh, thank the stars, someone who’s actually ready to
listen. I list of my symptoms with great zeal. Fatigue,
headaches, an inability to sleep or be fully awake, and a near
complete lack of appetite.
He listens, ticking things of on a datapad, while Ryco
tries to be unobtrusive. Examining the famous nude
painting by Ristollo is probably not the best way to do so,
but Tu’an has my full attention regardless.
“So, what do you think is wrong with me, Doctor? Do
you want a blood sample? There could be some sort of
unknown microorganism that—“
“That won’t be necessary, Zerberu. I believe your condi‐
tion is psychosomatic.”
My eyes narrow, and I lean forward and glare at him.
“Are you saying it’s all in my head? Really? I possess
one of the most advanced intellects in the entire galaxy, and
you think—“
“I think that you are only a mortal being, my good sir.
And as such, are prone to the same foibles as the rest of us
less intelligent folk.” He smiles to soften the blow, but it
doesn’t make me feel much better. “I’m afraid that your
ZERBERU 9

work-life balance is askew, Dr. Zerberu. Also, the relative
isolation you have endured has taken its toll.”
“Are you saying I need, what, a holiday?”
Tu’an and Ryco exchange glances. There seems to be a
contest of wills between them, and I fgure it’s to see who is
going to give me news I don’t want to hear. I brace myself
for the worst.
At length Tu’an gives in, and turns toward me with a
neutral expression.
“Zerberu, have you ever considered that you need a
Companion.”
“A Companion?” My heart hammers in my chest, and
color comes to my cheeks. Companions are often contracted
by very wealthy members of the Alliance. Usually the
contract turns into a marriage, if both parties are willing.
While Companions can be just that, they are usually
considered one step removed from prostitutes. My reputa‐
tion will take a serious hit if I agree. “What possible need do
I have of one of those?”
“For one, you won’t have to eat reconstituted meals out
of a food dispenser unit.” Tu’an grins. “Forgive me, but you
seem underweight for your frame.”
“I haven’t been eating because I’m sick—“
“Zer.” Ryco’s tone is frm, but friendly. “Please let Tu’an
fnish.”
I close my mouth and sit back, still fuming.
“Alzhon, as a species, tend to be social. They share this
with most other sapient species in the Galaxy. Even the
Odex, brutish though they are, have some semblance of a
social structure. You are neglecting important aspects of
your mental health. A companion is the least...drastic...
measure we have determined to be of use to you.”
I bite back my anger and accept the inevitable. If I don’t
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agree to the Companion, I’ll likely be transferred out of
here. I don’t want that, because I can’t stand being
surrounded by people.
“Well.” I clear my throat. “I suppose it would be nice to
have a real, cooked meal for a change.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. Your new Companion will be
here by the end of the week.”
“What? So soon?”
Ryco puts his hand on my shoulder, then touches his
forehead to mine, a traditional Alzhon sign of friendship.
“The sooner you’re back up to speed, the sooner I get
my new engine design. Besides, I worry about you, Zer. In a
lot of ways you’re the closest thing I have to a son.”
I scrunch up my face and look at him incredulously.
“You have four children.”
“All daughters.” He pats me on the shoulder and then
turns to leave. “Tu’an will go ahead and give you a physical
exam now, but we both believe your problem is psychologi‐
cal. Assuming all is well, you can look forward to one of the
most highly trained Companions in the galaxy. Nothing but
the best for you, Zer.”
Nothing but the best. It looks like my life is about to
change, whether I’m ready or not.
And I’m not ready. Not at all.