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    Demigod: The Last Waltz
    Demigod: The Last Waltz
    Demigod: The Last Waltz
    Ebook116 pages1 hour

    Demigod: The Last Waltz

    By Blaze Ward

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    About this ebook

    Piper hates the thought of dressing like the natives on the planet below. Of even going there.

    But someone must go down and steal a clean copy of the navigation computer or they’ll be lost forever in this star system, unable to make it home.

    Piper can’t stand this sort of field work.

    And she has no idea what else awaits her when she gets there. 

    Part of The Last Waltz series.

    Be sure to read the other Doyle stories: "Greater Than the Gods Intended" and "The Librarian".

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKnotted Road Press
    Release dateJul 25, 2016
    ISBN9781943663170
    Demigod: The Last Waltz
    Author

    Blaze Ward

    Blaze Ward writes science fiction in the Alexandria Station universe (Jessica Keller, The Science Officer,  The Story Road, etc.) as well as several other science fiction universes, such as Star Dragon, the Dominion, and more. He also writes odd bits of high fantasy with swords and orcs. In addition, he is the Editor and Publisher of Boundary Shock Quarterly Magazine. You can find out more at his website www.blazeward.com, as well as Facebook, Goodreads, and other places. Blaze's works are available as ebooks, paper, and audio, and can be found at a variety of online vendors. His newsletter comes out regularly, and you can also follow his blog on his website. He really enjoys interacting with fans, and looks forward to any and all questions—even ones about his books!

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      Book preview

      Demigod - Blaze Ward

      Dedication

      For Shandy

      One

      Please tell me that this is all some sick, twisted joke, Doyle, Piper leaned forward and hissed, pointing one accusing finger at the man.

      She would not grind her teeth. Not here. Not now. Not in front of these men.

      Later, in her cabin. Maybe.

      Maybe not.

      Doyle stood rigidly still across the starship’s chartroom table from her, face immobile, muscles standing out on his jaw. He was at least clenching his teeth, if not grinding them himself.

      Anything to keep from yelling back at her.

      Again.

      The cabin was too tiny for the amount of anger it contained right now.

      Piper was tall, taller than many men. Doyle was taller yet, a finger below two meters to her two fingers. Both of them were almost as tall as Piper’s husband, even if they were both much lankier than her husband’s solid bulk. But Bjorn was a giant.

      Her skin was also lighter than Doyle’s, a dark, rich brown. Chocolate, flavored with a kiss of caramel. Doyle’s was bitter dark coffee with no hint of sugar or cream or softness. Bjorn’s whiteness was so pale as to be almost pink in places that never tanned under the light of one of the many suns they visited.

      Piper knew she looked like her grandmother Vanessa, Doyle’s mother. Strangers on the street back home on Zanzibar had known her by those strong cheekbones, wide–set eyes, and pursed lips. She knew she reminded her uncle of the woman.

      But everyone at the map table today was family: Piper, her husband Bjorn, her uncle Doyle, even cousin Stig, a Finn as pale as Bjorn, but another great–grandson of old Papa Artur, the grand fisherman who taught the whole clan to love space as much as he had loved the sea.

      Still, she would not grind her teeth in anger.

      If you have a better idea, Piper, Doyle finally barked, I would love to hear it.

      Piper could see the exasperation on his face, in his eyes, in his hands. The latter looked like they wanted to reach out and strangle her.

      Still, she couldn’t help herself.

      Damn it, Doyle, she snarled at him, leaning forward to slam both of her palms flat against the metal tabletop. The whole cabin rang with the sound. Have you seen how they dress here?

      Doyle leaned forward as well. Do you want to be stranded on this planet forever, youngster?

      No, she yelled back. But you can’t just order me around that way.

      I most certainly can, Piper, Doyle’s tone was suddenly quiet.

      Piper remembered when her uncle had grown quiet like that once before. Ten years ago, back home, when she’d only been thirteen, at a clan reunion outside Ballard’s capital city, Ithome, when someone decided to take umbrage that the daughter of the Ambassador from Zanzibar had chosen to marry a white barbarian Finn from the back end of beyond.

      Alcohol–fueled words had been exchanged, growing slowly heated and loud.

      And then Doyle had grown quiet. Pensive, even.

      Right before he jumped the man and proceeded to beat his own second cousin bloody before several other men and women managed to pull him off the drunken loud–mouth.

      I am the Captain of this ship, Doyle continued in the most eerily–serene voice she could ever imagine fearing. Your job title is Cook. That makes you the gunner and combat expert. And subject to my orders.

      But why me?

      Piper knew she should acquiesce. Felt it in her bones. But those bones were also Iwakuma, like Doyle’s.

      Stubborn, hard–headed bones.

      At least Doyle’s voice exploded again. That was probably safer, right now.

      Because I don’t have anyone else that can do it, damn it, he yelled at her, a little spit–bubble flickering like a firefly and landing on the table between them. In case you hadn’t noticed, there are no white people on this planet, young lady. Hell, even you’re a little too pale compared to the natives.

      Doyle hammered the surface of the table with an angry finger as he spoke.

      But the locals are a bunch of misandrist old hags who hate all men and nearly killed your uncle Jakaya the first time we came here. The only reason I’m alive today is because your mother’s even crazier than you are.

      That brought a ghost of a smile to her face, almost breaking the rigid iron masque. Doyle was not the first person to make that observation.

      Which was saying something.

      No, Piper said, consciously willing herself to lean back, however much she wanted to reach across the table and throttle her uncle right now. "Why are we even on Yaoundé?"

      Doyle leaned back as well and took a breath.

      A fingerful of tension bled out of the room.

      Hopefully.

      Stig? Doyle prompted, almost back to mere command voice. Or at least in command of himself.

      Close enough.

      Piper turned as well, to look at her favorite crazy cousin, the skinny, dorky redhead with the booming laugh so out of place in that tiny chest.

      Something’s gone funky with the nav computer, he said simply, the only tension evident showing in the whites of his knuckles around his bulb of hot tea.

      So restore from the backup, Piper said harshly. That’s what it’s for.

      I don’t know when it went started, Stig admitted, turning a shade of bright red that Piper could never hope to emulate.

      She felt the weight of something ugly settle around her shoulders. Like a three–days–dead herring, heavy and stinky.

      And? she hesitated, finally. There was no beef with Stig. He was just a genius doing his job as Ship’s Carpenter. There were no better engineers on their homeworld of Ballard.

      "And we can either continue to blunder around the Spinward Reaches until we find what looks like the path home, Doyle interjected. Or we come here and get our hands on a known–clean copy."

      They’re just going to give it to us? Piper’s voice started back up the ramp to loud.

      No, Doyle said simply, quietly. You’re going to go steal it from them.

      No, damn it, Piper snarled. I am not. I tell you what—

      Bjorn’s hand coming to rest on the back of hers shocked Piper sideways.

      Her husband did not often choose to interrupt family and crew squabbles. For all his size, he really was more of a gentle giant. A quiet, non–technical farm–boy from the inland suburbs who had gone into space with her. Because of her. For her.

      Piper lost her voice, turning to look over at him in shock.

      He had a presence like a blond Buddha, piercing green–gray eyes conveying a wealth of warmth and emotion that always seemed to somehow cut through her rages without leaving any marks.

      I think, he began quietly, barely above a whisper. Perhaps it would be best if everyone took a break for a while. After all, we’re safely hidden here where the natives won’t find us, and we’re not going anywhere.

      She watched Bjorn turn that same calm serenity on Doyle.

      And it’s Stig’s turn to cook dinner, the blond giant smiled, turning her silently without ever losing contact with Piper’s hand as he guided her towards the hatch.

      Piper decided to let her teeth start to grind.

      If her husband

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