Praetorian Series [3] A Hunter and His Legion (74 page)

Some authors can do that, but I can’t.

I’ve found that all my inspiration when preparing to continue Starfarer has led me toward finishing the
Praetorian
Series instead.  All my thoughts, ideas, and eureka moments are for Hunter & Co. right now, not for Lawson & Co.  Maybe it’s because even I’m uncomfortable with my most recent ending, as I don’t like cliffhangers any more than you people do, but this is a book series, and drama sometimes dictates them (unless you’d really prefer a 600,000 word book, I guess).  Believe it or not, but the ending to
A Hunter and His Legion
is a cliffhanger even for
me
, and I’m just as excited to get to the end of the series as you are.

So, don’
t worry. I won’t be leaving you hanging as long as initially planned.  I’m already deep into the first chapter of Book IV as I write this note, which already has its own fresh surprises, and I’m dedicated to pushing through to the end.  I still have to contend with that soon-to-be kid of mine (almost there!), but at least you won’t have to wait for an entire other book to be written before I start the last one in this series.

Patience will still be required.

Just not quite as much as you may have thought.

Ed Crichton

October, 2013

Starfarer: Rendezvous with Destiny

If you haven’t yet read Edward Crichton’s Sci-Fi epic
Starfarer:
Rendezvous with Destiny
, his advice is that you really, really should.  For a brief look at the first few chapters, keep on reading…

INCOMING TRANSMISSION . . .

TO:   John Paul Sterling, Admiral, Allied Space Navy (ASN)

FROM:   Alexander Mosley, First High Admiral, Allied Space Navy (ASN)

ORIGINAL REPORT:   Richard Alderman, Colonel, Office of Strategic Space Intelligence (OSSI) – Original Report Attached

SECURITY LEVEL:   CLASSIFIED

XXXXX  -  XXXXXXXXXX  -  XXXXX

SUBJECT:   Anomalous ISLAND Activity – Action Required

SENT:   11.13.2595 (11:20:11)

AUTHENTICATION CODE:   Echo Echo Bravo Zero Zero Seven Echo

Admiral John Paul Sterling,

This could be big, J.P., so I’ll dispense with the usual pleasantries.  Word has been sent to OSSI that our Chinese friends have encountered an anomaly along ISLAND Transit Route AlphaCOL–BetaCOL.  The spooks haven’t been able to get anything specific out of the Chinese yet, but it has The Star Destiny Corporation, at least, very concerned.

They’re going to lose contact with the ISLAND Liner Sierra Madre on the aforementioned course very soon, and while OSSI isn’t saying much, we could be talking about another rumored contact with alien technology aboard an ISLAND.  That or they may have simply experienced their first mishap with WeT Tech.

Consider this your unofficial readiness report.  Prepare the 3rd Fleet for immediate redeployment back to Earth and launch the
Alcestis
as soon as possible.  I don’t think I need to remind you to keep your wits about you, John Paul.  There’s more at play here than even I’m aware of, and I can’t offer you much more advice than that.  This won’t be some silly sim we mucked about with back at the Academy.  Something big is about to happen and something about it stinks.

Regards,

First High Admiral Alexander Mosley, ASN

Admiralty Board, Chair

Washington Aerospace Naval Headquarters, Luna

P.S.  Should we get through whatever this thing is, I’ll get you a case of that ancient Jameson swill you love so much.

<<<<< SEE ATTACHED FILE FOR ORIGINAL REPORT >>>>>

SECTIO
N 1

The ISLAND

High Earth Orbit /

ISLAND Liner
Sierra Madre
– Red Zone /

Power Conduction Shaft – Delta /

11.06.2595

07:35:08 Zulu

That which defines mankind is nothing more than what he leaves behind.  In no other way will he be remembered when his presence in this universe becomes little more than dust to aid in the formation of new celestial bodies, and the onset of space travel centuries ago only helped to safeguard this legacy.  Later, the ability to travel to other planets cemented it.  If every human in existence simply vanished from reality, the ISLAND Liner
Sierra Madre
would remain, drifting through the depths of space for time immemorial.

And whoever finds it will think it little more than a hulking piece of junk.

Senior Chief of Electronics Dhaval Jaheed knew that was unfair assessment of a large portion of the ISLAND, but in the presence of so many undocumented, unbundled, ungrounded, and unfamiliar wires, connectors, cables, circuits, and other forms of electronic mayhem before him, gave him pause to curse the wretched ship.  It was a safety inspector’s worst nightmare, and the Red Zone was already an extremely dangerous, almost mystical, place, quarantined from entrance by all travelers aboard the ISLAND.

Senior Chiefs never sent technicians into the area, mostly because they never needed to, but the occasion had arisen today, much to the dread of every technician under Dhaval’s supervision.  His rank of ISLAND Senior Chief of Electronics gave him seniority over every electrician or technician aboard the
Sierra Madre
, and made him the only person he was willing to send into such a hazardous portion of the ship.  The rest of them were all back in the Green Zone, the outer layer of the ship that surrounded the Red Zone like an egg encasing its yolk.

Despite knowing it was in his best interest to focus on his work, it was difficult for Dhaval not to wonder exactly what kind of genius would let something as important as an ISLAND Liner fall into such disarray.  ISLANDs were the sole means of transportation to Earth’s colonies, and the only way to keep humanity’s presence amongst the stars connected.  The mess he was in now was a disgrace to mechanics, technicians, electricians, and engineers alike, but he supposed that’s what happened after hundreds of years of neglect.

“Find the breaker yet, Chief?”  Asked an unwelcome voice that infiltrated every recess of his mind.  It came so suddenly that Dhaval stumbled from his perch overlooking the exact breaker box he had in fact been searching for.  He shot his hand out to seize the nearest stabilizing handle, only to have it break away from the shaft in his grip.  His life was spared by a safety cable that secured his belt to a ladder rung – which amazingly held firm.  Dhaval dangled there for a few moments, his forehead glistening with sweat as he stared down the conduction shaft, noticing the green safety lights fixed to the wall descend only about ten meters before becoming overwhelmed in darkness.  The shaft descended for hundreds of kilometers, all the way to the Core, but few knew what was down there.

Dhaval touched a red button on his exo-suit, and a small object shot out from a mechanism on his back.  The magnetic wafer attached itself to the metal wall and reeled him back into a standing position upon his perch.  Once upright, he deactivated the magnetic anchor and took a deep breath as it recoiled.

“Chief?”  Came the disjointed voice in his head again, somewhat more worried this time.

Dhaval gritted his teeth in frustration and keyed his com.  “This is Senior Chief Jaheed.  I’ve found the conduit.  Initiating repairs now.”

“Copy that, Chief.  Be careful down there.  Some of that equipment could be a hundred years old.”

Dhaval paused for the briefest of seconds in frustration before returning to his work.

As far as he knew, he was the first person to visit this realm of the ISLAND since the last round of ship wide upgrades and renovations that had expanded the
Sierra Madre’s
overall size and mass to its current level.  There may have been the riff raff and Unwanteds who had inherited the bowls of the ship over the past few centuries, but even they were smart enough to stay out of the conduction shafts and rarely breached the Red Zone.

The only reason he was even down here was because the ISLAND’s Senior Systems Officer had identified a small power drain that originated in the very spot Dhaval now occupied, one that threatened the ship’s next WeT Jump.  Such a problem hadn’t arisen in the thirty-five years since Dhaval had been conscripted to work aboard the
Sierra Madre
, but it wasn’t Dhaval’s position to question how such a problem had arisen.  His job was simply to fix the broken conduit and bring the conduction shaft back to peak efficiency.  All he cared about was that the one hundred year old power box he was currently manhandling seemed repairable.  He pulled a data cable from his chest rig and jacked it into a port that seemed like it would accommodate the plug.  Numbers and figures poured across the Lens in front of his left eye, most of which was meaningless gibberish even for someone as experienced as Dhaval, but he comprehended enough to tell him it was at least fixable.

Just as Dhaval thought he had enough information to begin, he heard a loud metallic bang above him that reverberated through the shaft.  It was repeated a number of times before ending just as suddenly as it began.  It sounded like someone carelessly knocking over machinery as they moved through the area.

“Hello?”  Dhaval called into the darkness, knowing he was supposed to be alone.  He hadn’t been sure what he’d heard, but it sounded distinctly like moving people.  “Hello?”  He repeated.  “Is anyone there?”

Only silence answered him.

Dhaval shrugged and eyed the darkness above him one last time before returning to his work.

You’re getting paranoid in your old age, Dhaval.

He shifted in his seat and got comfortable on his perch, locking his exo-suit into a comfortable sitting position for a long repair job.  The
Sierra Madre
wasn’t due to depart on its two year voyage for another nine hours, and Dhaval had no idea how long this was going to take.  The last thing he wanted to do was report a failure to Ship Master Na and risk delaying the ISLAND’s departure time.  This was the young woman’s first voyage as ship master of an ISLAND Liner, and rumor had it that she was as ruthless as she was new to the position.  Upsetting her would not bode well for even a veteran like Dhaval Jaheed, for no matter how good he was, he was still an Indian aboard an ISLAND – little more than a slave on a farm.

Earth /

Havana, Cuba /

ISLAND Departure Spaceport /

11.06.2595

08:00:00 Zulu

In a time of great prosperity, the most obvious course of action is towards progress.

Growth.

Modernization.

To build towards the future and create a utopia of high tech splendor.

It’s what happened in the days following the end of Earth’s population crisis and later economic boom that came with the advent of interstellar trade and colonization only a century ago.  Cities across the globe became shining, glimmering metropolises of glass and light, more beautiful than ever, but not Havana.  Its spaceport may be the sole means of transportation to the High Earth Orbit ISLAND Docking Facility in the western hemisphere, and a prosperous city because of it, but it appeared little more than a dirty small town on the cusp of social annihilation.

At least that’s how it seemed like to Carl Lawson as he sat in a local cantina, waiting for the departure time for his shuttle to arrive.  The seedy bar was something out of a Western vid, an entertainment genre made famous once again after centuries in obscurity.  It was a setting that belonged in a museum, like the one Lawson had in fact seen at the Cleveland Museum of Ancient American History when he was eight years old.  The only difference being the lack of holographic personifications of living, breathing humans performing any number of mundane, yet clichéd tasks like bartending, piano and card playing, wenching, and the like.  This bar was authentic, with real live people enjoying the relaxed, stress free setting which Havana still exuded.  On any other day, Lawson probably could have died content as he sat among fellow travelers in seek of a cold
cerveza
, but life was never completely stress free, especially not with his folks visiting to see him off.

“This isn’t what you want to do,” his father, John Lawson, said from across the table.  “ISLANDs only come back to Earth every three years.”