Under Fortunate Stars Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  UNDER FORTUNATE STARS

  “If the Guardians of the Galaxy crashed the Foundation... A twisty, enthralling space-time opera. Fortunate readers, and a future star.”

  Stephen Baxter

  “A perfect novel featuring my favorite time-travel paradox. Ren Hutchings weaves together a tapestry of past and present with a deft hand in this tender space opera about two crews doing everything they can to build peace out of the ashes of war. This is an absolute must-read for anyone needing a little hope.”

  K. B. Wagers

  “One of the best books I’ve read this year.”

  Gareth L. Powell

  “Takes familiar themes of time travel, interspecies conflict, and ensemble crews to spin a wholly original and compulsively readable story. Ren Hutchings’ first novel is exciting, funny, truthful – and a thoughtful account of the necessity of trusting both ourselves and strangers to secure our future and live in peace.”

  Una McCormack

  “Ren Hutchings has written a space opera that is close and personal in its conflicts and, at the same time, wide-reaching in its scope. This is destined to be one of the breakout science fiction novels of the year.”

  Michael Mammay

  “A fun, puzzle box of a mystery!”

  Megan E. O’Keefe

  “Questions of fate, predetermination and stepping into history are cleverly wrapped in an engrossing tale.”

  Sci-Fi Bulletin

  “An immensely fun space opera adventure, chock full of surprises and wonderful characters, laced through with humor and heart. Fans of Becky Chambers and Valerie Valdes will love this.”

  John Appel

  “A richly drawn world, complicated characters, and a time-travel plot that unwinds forward and backward, with stakes both massive and intensely personal.”

  K. Eason

  “Smart, slick, and mind-blowingly twisty, Under Fortunate Stars pits a memorable ensemble cast against impossible odds: fragile timelines, fifth-dimension science, and explosive politics. Woven with crackling wit, this is an unmissable debut.”

  Claire Winn

  “Boasting a heart full of hope, captivating characters you can’t help but root for, and a breathless, high-octane mystery, Under Fortunate Stars is the kind of space opera we need right now.”

  Karen Osborne

  “Feels like a newly unearthed classic that’s miraculously stood the test of time. You’ll love every lost moment.”

  SJ Whitby

  “An electrifying mix of wild ideas,

  vivid far futures and good fun.”

  Eeleen Lee

  UNDER

  FORTUNATE

  STARS

  REN HUTCHINGS

  First published 2022 by Solaris

  an imprint of Rebellion Publishing Ltd,

  Riverside House, Osney Mead,

  Oxford, OX2 0ES, UK

  www.solarisbooks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-78618-592-1

  Copyright © Ren Hutchings 2022

  The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owners.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  eBook production

  by Oxford eBooks Ltd.

  www.oxford-ebooks.com

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Acknowledgements

  To M, whose love and friendship

  have made me unbelievably fortunate.

  JERETH

  Deep Space Cargo Hauler Jonah

  The thing about luck, Jereth told himself, is that it always turns. Eventually.

  He knew he was taking a foolhardy gamble when he threw the packet of oversalted snack cakes into the middle of the table—especially after he’d already lost two rolls of pepper-candy and a quarter-tin of spiced fruit. His chances of winning a game against Leeg were infinitesimally small. Still, there had been those few occasions when he’d snuck a win, when a particularly lucky run of tiles had thwarted Leeg’s mathematical machinations.

  He was almost surprised when Leeg turned over the winning tile again.

  “Oh, what a shock,” Leeg said drily. “Who could’ve predicted?”

  “Damn it, I really thought I had you that time!” Jereth tossed his useless tiles on the table. “I had a wild three! Gods. I forgot how impossible you are.”

  “I can pretend you might win for a bit longer next time, if you like.”

  “Just shut up and take your winnings.” Jereth laughed and shoved the pile of food toward Leeg. Given their current odds of long-term survival, it hardly seemed to matter that he’d just gambled away the last of his snacks.

  Leeg picked up the packet of cakes from the top of the pile, examining it disdainfully. He tore open a corner, removed one salt-encrusted disc and bit into it with a grimace.

  “Ugh. This stuff tastes like salted earwax. You got anything else you want to lose?”

  “Forget it. I’m all out of snacks. And if you think I’m playing you for money, you’re out of your mind.” Jereth ran a palm over the table, rounding up the game tiles and sweeping them back into their pouch.

  “Well... in that case, I guess I’ll go to my bunk,” Leeg said. He collected a stray tile and flicked the little hexagon in Jereth’s direction. “Oh, wait... no I won’t. I’ll go lie down on the floor, because we haven’t got bunks anymore.”

  The Jonah was a small cargo hauler that had seen too many years in space. The ship’s tiny living area fit only the loosest possible definition of sleeping quarters: three cramped compartments in the wall, each hidden by a metal door with just enough room behind it for a narrow pallet and some shelving. It was uncomfortable at the best of times, but now that there were five people on the ship, the situation was downright claustrophobic.

/>   Their hired engineer, Mendeg, had a contract that promised private sleeping quarters, so he had the compartment furthest from the bridge. The passenger they’d picked up, Keila, was paying a generous fee that warranted some semblance of hospitality. They’d given her the middle bunk, the one that used to belong to Jereth. The final bunk—Leeg’s—was now occupied by their unexpected prisoner.

  Leeg had argued that surely the prisoner should be sleeping on the floor instead of him. But the bunk doors, flimsy as they were, could be locked shut. So Jereth and Leeg were relegated to sleeping on a tattered red blanket in the bridge.

  Leeg cast a miserable look at the three closed compartments where the others were sleeping soundly. “Must be nice to have a bed to sleep in, huh? Not that the beds in this junk-heap are that much better than the floor.”

  “Can you give me a break?” Jereth sighed. “It’s only a couple more days. And I’m sleeping on the floor, too. What do you want me to do?”

  “Would it matter if I told you? You never listen to me anyway,” Leeg said. “I’m still trying to comprehend why you decided to pick up a hitchhiker.”

  “A passenger,” Jereth corrected. “A very well-paying one.”

  “A complete stranger! Who clearly had some kind of run-in with the authorities—”

  “She offered twenty-five thousand, Leeg. Come on. It’s not like I could turn that down! We could use some extra money for insurance, in case we run into any more unforeseen circumstances.”

  “You mean like when we got hijacked?” Leeg rolled his eyes.

  “Almost got hijacked,” Jereth said. “I took care of it, didn’t I? Everything’s fine.”

  “Sure. Everything’s fine, in the sense that we’ve now got a prisoner locked in my damn bunk,” Leeg muttered. “This is a marginal improvement over the day I had a gun to my head. The only thing that’s nearly killed me today is boredom.”

  “You’ll get your bunk back, okay? I promise. As soon as we get to Zora Outpost.”

  Leeg nodded, but he was silent for a long time after that. He chewed quietly on the rest of the crumbling snack cake, his eyes distant.

  Leeg wasn’t much older than Jereth, but the years had worn heavily on him. His dark ponytail was shot through with silver now, his temples almost entirely greyed. His ash-pale cheeks were hollower, and his rare smiles seldom reached his eyes. But he was still the same Leeg who had risked everything with Jereth once. The same Leeg who, despite everything, was willing to do it again.

  Jereth glanced back at the airlock leading to the ship’s hold. Beyond it loomed the ominous crates of their cargo: components for a black-market planetary defence system. Supplies bound for an unauthorized venture-ship heading outside Union space, away from this unwinnable war with the Felen, away from the inevitable collapse of human civilization.

  It would be Jereth’s final reckless gamble, if it wasn’t already too late.

  The word at the last outpost hadn’t been good. There were whispers that a Felen fleet was holding Etraxas under siege, and he suspected it was true. There was a certain bitter satisfaction in the knowledge that even the Union’s wealthy, self-serving capital wasn’t invulnerable. Etraxas deserved the same fate as the fledgling worlds they’d left to wither under the alien onslaught. After the way the Union had forsaken the desert settlements, left them unprotected until it was time to raid the ranks of their young for more soldiers—

  Jereth clenched his teeth, taking a moment to dispel the familiar rage before it had a chance to crystallize in his chest. Leeg’s voice broke the silence.

  “Hey... was that light up there always blinking? What is that?”

  Jereth followed Leeg’s gaze to the control console. An incoming message node was flashing, the pale-yellow hue indicating a sector-wide broadcast.

  He went up the scuffed steps into the bridge to retrieve the message. It unfurled haltingly onto the viewscreen:

  SECTOR ADVISORY—URGENT. Zora Outpost has been destroyed, lost to Felen hostilities. All civilian ships are strongly advised to avoid the area and use an alternate route.

  Jereth swallowed hard, staring at the grainy screen. He balled his shaking hands into fists and braced them against the sides of the console.

  “Jerry? You all right? What’s it say?”

  “Change of plans.” Jereth didn’t look back at Leeg. “Zora’s out. We’ll have to take a detour.”

  He tried to dismiss the message, but Leeg was already behind him, leaning over his shoulder.

  “Lost to Felen hostilities.” Leeg punctuated the phrase with a long, defeated sigh. “Oh. Great.”

  Jereth forced his hands back to the controls. He called up the sector maps and started to piece together a new route, avoiding whatever might be left of Zora Outpost. At least a dozen new orange zones had bubbled up on the map, marking sightings of Felen skirmishers.

  Jereth hoped Leeg wouldn’t comment on how closely their new route dipped toward those swathes of orange. He glanced back at the three bunk doors, saw they were still shut, and exhaled. No need to discuss this with the others. Not yet.

  “Look... think of it this way,” he said, finally meeting Leeg’s eyes. “Maybe we’re getting all our bad news out of the way early on, right? Luck’s got to turn eventually.”

  “There’s no such thing as luck, Jerry.”

  The Jonah’s skim engines rumbled as the ship accepted Jereth’s course change, and the navigation display spun to their new heading.

  Jereth forced a smile. “Trust me. From now on, everything will go just fine.”

  His prediction held for precisely eighty-seven minutes.

  And then, every light, display and console on the Jonah’s bridge winked out at once as the skim engines stuttered and jolted into a sudden shutdown.

  So much for luck.

  SHAAN

  Research Vessel RV ZC-2812 ZeyCorp Gallion

  Shaan sat at an empty table in the Gallion’s canteen, staring at the urgent message alert blinking on her bracelet. She weighed up the consequences of ignoring it like she’d ignored the first one, and the second. But this was Director Barnabyn’s third message, and after three would come the voice-call. She didn’t want to wait for that, not with the Director of Administration in such a foul mood.

  She sighed and fished in her pocket for her ZeyCorp badge, wiping a smudge from one corner before she clipped it to her collar. The company logo gleamed brightly over her uninspiring title: Facilities Coordinator. Shaan hardly ever bothered with the badge unless she was leading a formal tour, but the captain’s directive had been clear: full uniform, at all times. Everything had to be kept in perfect order for their diplomatic visitors.

  As if a Felen Ambassador would care about a corporate badge. Shaan couldn’t understand what the Ambassador was doing on a ship like this in the first place. The Gallion was a mobile research facility for hire, a corporate science ship that delved long months into deep space so the researchers who paid for ZeyCorp’s services could run experiments. The decks usually teemed with people: scientists and their entourages, interns, engineers and equipment techs. But between rotations, there was a turnover when the ship was nearly emptied. Now, the Gallion was stripped down to its core crew, and the only guest apartment in use was the one occupied by the Ambassador.

  The Ambassador was on the way to a summit in mainspace, and ZeyCorp had leapt at the opportunity for one of their ships to ferry a Felen dignitary. A hundred and fifty-two years had passed since the Peace of Etraxas and the end of the war, but Felen were rarely seen by human civilians. Diplomatic matters were normally conducted out in the border sectors—not on corporate science ships.

  The week before the Ambassador’s arrival had been filled with frenzied preparations. Everyone in the Gallion’s core crew got a lesson in Felen diplomatic protocols, and Director Barnabyn had insisted that they all recite the list of rules aloud.

  Always address the interpreter, never the Ambassador directly.

  Do not walk beside the Amba
ssador.

  Do not turn your back to the Ambassador.

  Do not touch the Ambassador.

  Do not eat or drink in front of the Ambassador...

  Shaan had repeated the protocols to Barnabyn’s satisfaction, then promptly deleted the list from her lightpad. She intended to avoid the diplomatic visitors altogether. Even though she usually led the ship’s tours, on this occasion Director Barnabyn wanted to take care of every detail himself, and Shaan had barely tried to feign disappointment.

  This would be over soon. The Gallion wasn’t far from its next scheduled stop, where more crew and new researchers would come on board. There, the Ambassador would disembark, and she’d never have to think about any of this again. Soon.

  That is, if the ship’s engines ever started working again.

  Shaan pushed the thought of the Felen Ambassador from her mind. She tapped her bracelet to acknowledge Barnabyn’s message, then called the nearest lift and descended to the Engineering deck.

  Some small part of her still hoped that the Engineering team had overlooked something obvious, that this engine malfunction wasn’t as bad as it seemed. But hours had passed since the incident, and the ship remained disconcertingly silent. No one had uploaded an incident report yet, much to Director Barnabyn’s chagrin.

  Shaan emerged from the lift on the upper level of the Engineering deck. There was no one in sight. The consoles that controlled the ship’s scientific arrays were switched off, and the oblong meeting-table sat empty, its projection surfaces dark. She walked to the edge of the upper deck’s outcropping, looking over the rail into the Engineering pit.

  Arranged around the lower level were more semi-circular banks of workstations, each with a garish purple seat that swung out sideways. Most of those seats were empty, too, and only a half-dozen consoles were in use. The engineers were engrossed in scrolling columns of glowing diagnostics, and no one looked up as Shaan walked down the stairs into the pit.

  Uma Ozakka, Director of Engineering, was examining a stream of data at one of the main control consoles. The director perched on the very edge of the chair, tugging on a loose curl of her dark hair, twisting it around her finger the way she always did when she was deep in thought. Or when she was absolutely furious.