The Midnight Sun (The Omega War Book 2)

by Tim C. Taylor

  “No!” snapped Sun. She knew she owed the Tortantula Branco’s life, maybe her own, but she hadn’t time for Betty right now. “I don’t want to lose him, and you’re not helping. Go away!”

  “Doctor DiMassi said he’s lost his legs. That means he won’t be going back inside his metal suit.”

  While she was thinking of the right phrase to tell a Tortantula to go to hell, Sun stopped in surprise. “You’re right,” she said. “I’d never wish this on him in a million years, but…if he can’t work as a frontline merc, we could still make use of his armorer skills. And if he’s not with me in the frontline squads…”

  “You mean, it’s easier for you to love him when he isn’t there.”

  “What would you know, Tortantula? Humans are more complicated. All you understand is smashing things and eating them.”

  Sun felt herself being lifted high above Branco’s stretcher. Betty seemed at first to be shaking her, but then Sun realized she was only feeling the normal flow of fluids through the Tortantula’s powerful limbs.

  “Hold your fire!” she ordered. The Rietzkens who’d drawn weapons took on a slightly less aggressive stance.

  “You humans are a very immature race,” Betty scolded her. “My people don’t care to think hard. Spoils the joys of life, but we think more clearly than you. Tatterjee is no longer so close to me, and our separation hasn’t made me happier. You won’t be happier if you’re separated from your friend. Branco can’t stroke your fur or whisper clever insults if he’s far away.”

  Eight feet beneath Sun, Branco’s eyes flickered. “But he can’t drive a CASPer,” she told the Tortantula.

  “Good. He’ll ride with me. Branco fights in Vengeance Squad now.”

  The group of Rietzkens with her sister began shrieking and thumping the ground. Flares lit the sky. Red over blue. She looked up. What the hell?

  “What’re you two bickering about?”

  “Branco!” Sun wriggled to no effect. “Let me go, Betty!”

  “It’s obvious to all the survivors of this campaign that you wish to lay your eggs inside this man. Only a human could be so stupid as to find excuses not to do so. Try thinking like a Tortantula, ma’am.”

  “I am Betty,” Sun whispered.

  Betty’s arms unclamped, and she fell onto Branco.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 124

  Branco thought for a moment that he’d woken and heard Sun arguing with Betty.

  But then he fell into a bizarre dream in which a merc was making an atmos-drop directly onto his position.

  He rocked gently as the dream person landed on his stretcher, straddling it on all fours to avoid placing her weight on him.

  She was small and warm, and she smelled of home.

  And when she kissed him, she tasted far too good to be a dream.

  Sun’s kisses grew hungrier, and he could drink of those warm lips forever if only her chest weren’t pressing against his own. The faintest pressure against his flesh was excruciating agony. But he didn’t stop until he sensed Sun begin to fade, and he could bear the pain no more. He twisted his head away.

  “The darkness is coming for me,” he explained.

  “Don’t be a drama queen,” Sun told him. “The Doc only brought you around for a few minutes. She says she needs your metabolism in standby mode until she gets you to a hospital.”

  “Hold me—”

  “I’ll never leave you.”

  “Until I black out. Then get your fat ass off me, Sun. You’re hurting.”

  She sprang erect, looming over him on all fours like a startled cat, but blurring.

  “Hang in there and fight,” Sun told him sternly. She came in close and whispered, “I need you, Branco. I need you.”

  “I know,” he drawled. “Betty told me. Something about…about laying eggs.”

  Sun drifted away, and he sank down through his stretcher and beyond to a place of darkness. But that didn’t matter.

  Not anymore.

  He knew he’d be coming back because someone special would be waiting for him. Saisho Branco had been dreamed up by Binnig’s Department of Corporate Espionage. But she had made him as real as granite bedrock.

  Side by side, they’d take the fight to the Veetanho. He dreamed it, but he knew it to be true. Whether on mountainous battlefields, the chill silence of the void, or dodging beneath the feet of giant mecha striding across desert sands, his dreams of adventure stretched for eons. Always, Sun was true to her word: she never left him.

  And then he woke screaming…

  # # # # #

  About the Author

  The author of multiple military science fiction and space opera series, including ‘The Human Legion’ and ‘Revenge Squad,’ Tim C. Taylor lives with his family in an ancient village in England. When he was a young and impressionable boy, between 1977 and 1978, several mind-altering things happened to him all at once: 2000AD, Star Wars, Blake’s 7, and Dungeons & Dragons. Consequently, he now writes science fiction novels for a living. For exclusive free eBooks, swag competitions and much more, join the Legion at https://humanlegion.com.

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of In Revolution Born:

  The Mutineer’s Daughter

  ___________________

  Chris Kennedy & Thomas A. Mays

  Now Available from Theogony Books

  eBook, Paperback and (Soon) Audio

  Excerpt from “The Mutineer’s Daughter:”

  Kenny dozed at his console again.

  There he sat—as brazen as ever—strapped down, suited up, jacked in…and completely checked out. One might make allowances for an overworked man falling asleep during a dull routine, watching gauges that didn’t move or indicators that rarely indicated anything of consequence, perhaps even during a quiet moment during their ship’s long, long deployment.

  But Fire Control Tech Third Class Ken Burnside was doing it—yet again—while the ship stood at General Quarters, in an unfriendly star system, while other parts of the fleet engaged the forces of the Terran Union.

  Chief Warrant Officer Grade 2 (Combat Systems) Benjamin “Benno” Sanchez shook his helmeted head and narrowed his eyes at the sailor strapped in to his right. He had spoken to the young weapons engineer a number of times before, through countless drills and mock skirmishes, but the youthful idiot never retained the lesson for long.

  “Benno, Bosso,” Kenny would plead, “you shouldn’t yell at me. You should have me teach others my wisdom!”

  Benno would invariably frown and give his unflattering opinion of Kenny’s wisdom.

  “Get it, ya?” Kenny would reply. “I’m a math guy. Probability, right Warrant? The Puller’s just a little ship, on the edge of the formation. We scan, we snipe, we mop up, we patrol. We don’t go in the middle, tube’s blazing, ya? We no tussle with the big Terrans, ya? No damage! No battle! So, something goes wrong, back-ups kick in, buzzer goes off, we mark for fix later. And when’s the only time you or the officers don’t let a man walk ‘round and don’t ask for this, don’t ask for that? When’s the only time a man can catch up on the z’s, eh? One and the same time! So I doze. Buzzer goes off, I wake, make a note, doze again till I can work, ya? Such wisdom!”

  Benno usually lectured him about complacency. He asked what would happen if they were hit, if the shot was hot enough, deep enough, destructive enough to burn through the backup of the backup of the backup. What if they did have to face the Great Test, to rise and work and save the Puller themselves?

  Kenny would always smile, relieved. “Well, then I be dead, ya? No more maintenance either way. Good enough reason to doze right there!”

  Benno could have reported him any number of times, but he never had. Putting it on paper and sending it above them was a two-edged sword. It would solve Kenny’s sleepy disdain for order, of that Benno had no doubt, but he also knew he would lose Kenny’s trust and the vigorous drive the young ALS plebeian applied to every ot
her task. Plus, it would signal to the officers above that Benno couldn’t handle a minor discipline problem on his own. And it would indicate to the ranks below that Benno was no longer one of their own—when he had gone from Chief to Chief Warrant Officer, he had changed his ties, forever.

  So Benno growled, but he let it slide, content only he would know about Kenny’s acts of passive rebellion. No one else would ever know why the young tech kept getting extra punishment duties. Besides, it wasn’t as if Kenny was actually wrong, in the fullness of things.

  Then, before Benno could check his own side of the console to verify whether things were indeed alright, his internal debate was blown away by the unforgiving, indiscriminate lance of an x-ray laser blast.

  The single beam struck the Puller a glancing blow, centered on a space just beneath the outer hull and aimed outboard. Armor plate, radiation shielding, piping, wireways, conduit, decking, internal honeycombed structure, atmosphere, and people all ionized and ablated into a dense, mixed plasma. This plasma exploded outward, crushing the spaces surrounding the hit and dealing further physical and thermal damage. Combat Systems Maintenance Central, or CSMC, lay deep within the Puller’s battle hull—three spaces inward from where the x-ray laser struck—but that meant little next to the awesome destructive power of a Dauphine capital-class xaser warhead.

  The forward and port bulkheads in front of them flashed white hot with near-instantaneous thermal energy transfer and peeled away, blown out by the twin shocks of the outward-expanding plasma and the snapping counterforce of explosive decompression. The double blast battered Benno in his seat and threw him against his straps to the left. As the bulkheads vanished, their departure also carried away the CSMC monitoring console the two watch standers shared with them into the black, along with Kenny’s seat, and Ken Burnside, himself.

  The young engineer disappeared in an instant, lost without ever waking. Benno stared, dumbfounded, at the blank spot where he had been, and of all the possible panicked thoughts that could have come to him, only one rose to the forefront:

  Does this validate Kenny’s wisdom?

  Benno shook his head, dazed and in shock, knowing he had to engage his brain. Looking beyond, he could see the glowing edges of bulkheads and decks gouged out by the fast, hot knife of the nuclear-pumped xaser. Only vaguely could he recall the sudden buffeting of explosive decompression that had nearly wrenched him through the straps of his acceleration couch.

  He knew he had things to do. He had to check his suit’s integrity. Was he leaking? Was he injured? And what about Kenny? Was he gone, unrecoverable? Or was he waiting for his poor, shocked-stupid boss Benno to reach out and save him?

  And there was something else, something important he needed to be doing. He wasn’t supposed to just sit here and think of himself or unlucky, lazy Kenny. Oh no, thought Benno, still trying to marshal his thoughts back together, Mio is going to be so angry with me, sitting here like a fool…

  “CSMC, report!”

  Benno shook his head against the ringing he hadn’t realized filled his ears. He reached out for the comms key on his console, swore at how futile that was, then keyed his suit mic. “Last station calling, this is CSMC. We’ve taken a hit. I lost my technician, console is…down, hard. Over.”

  “CSMC, TAO,” the Puller’s Tactical Action Officer said through the suit channel, “pull it together! We just had a near miss by a capital class Dauphine warhead. The battle with the Terrans has spread out of the main body. I have missiles up but zero point-defense. I need guns and beams back, now!”

  * * * * *

  Get “The Mutineer’s Daughter” now at:

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07BRTDBCJ

  Find out more about Thomas A. Mays and “In Revolution Born” at:

  https://chriskennedypublishing.com

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book Eleven of The Revelations Cycle:

  Assassin

  ___________________

  Kacey Ezell and Marisa Wolf

  Now Available from Seventh Seal Press

  eBook, Paperback and (Soon) Audio

  Excerpt from “Assassin:”

  Deluge closed his eyes and let the taste of spiced Khava explode over the inside of his mouth. It burned its way over his tongue and down into his belly, filling him with heat from the inside.

  “You like it?” the Besquith trader growled. Deluge opened his eyes and looked up at the hairy alien. Besquith were not known for their charm, and this one seemed a representative member of his race in that department. It had somewhat beady eyes that glared at Deluge as he sat on the trading counter. Doubtless, the trader would have preferred for Deluge to remain on the floor in his bipedal stance. However, that didn’t make sense in the Hunter’s mind, given the immense difference between their two heights. Far better that he should spring to the counter and sit like a civilized being.

  It wasn’t his problem if his movements were too quick for the Besquith to track. Nor was it his problem if that fact made the other being nervous. Though Deluge had to admit it was amusing.

  “I do like it,” the Hunter said. “Your batch has a very good flavor.”

  “I have more,” the Besquith said. “Five credits gets you the whole fish.”

  Deluge slow blinked at the outrageous price, and let his mouth fall open in his Human smile.

  “And what would I do with a whole fish?” he asked. “Especially at that larcenous rate?”

  “Larcenous?” the Besquith growled, its voice dropping lower. “Are you calling me a cheat?”

  “Larceny means theft. Technically I’m calling you a thief,” Deluge said. “But I suppose your language may not have such subtleties.”

  He didn’t, truly, mean it as an insult. The Besquith didn’t seem to care. It let out a low snarl and bared its teeth, then lunged at Deluge, snapping his teeth a hair’s breadth from where the Hunter sat.

  Or more accurately, where the Hunter had been sitting.

  Because, of course, Deluge was in motion as soon as the Besquith started his lunge. He drove his powerful hind legs against the firm surface of the trading counter and leapt up into the air. A quick twist of his body allowed his front claws access to the large, pointed ears that sat atop the Besquith’s head. He dug his claws into those sensitive ears and used them as a pivot point to anchor his leap. His lower body flipped up and around to the point where his back claws could grab on. One caught the alien’s throat, just above the jugular, and the other hovered scant millimeters from the being’s vulnerable eye.

  “Hunter, your pardon.”

  The voice that spoke was Besquith, and female, unless Deluge missed his guess. It was also smooth and laced with respect, unlike the nervous, aggressive tone of the one he now had by the ears. That Besquith was busy whimpering in pain and fear as Deluge wrenched its head around so that he might look at the newcomer.

  The newcomer stood in the curtained doorway at the back of the booth. She wore the rich silks of a wealthy Besquith trader, and the grey about her muzzle spoke of some experience. She inclined her head as Deluge met her eyes.

  “I greet you,” Deluge said. He didn’t want to be rude, but he rather thought that in this particular situation, he might be excused the use of an abbreviated hello. “Welcome to our negotiation.”

  “I am Jhurrahkk” she said. “I am the alpha for our people here on Khatash. You hold the life of my pup in your claws.”

  “I am Deluge,” he answered. “Your pup was rude and attacked me. His life is forfeit on my planet.”

  “This is where I propose we begin our negotiation.”

  * * * * *

  Get “Assassin” now at:

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079YTRLFN/

  Find out more about Kacey Ezell, Marisa Wolf, and “The Revelations Cycle” at:

  https://chriskennedypublishing.com

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of the Kin
Wars Saga:

  Wraithkin

  ___________________

  Jason Cordova

  Available Now from Theogony Books

  eBook, Paperback, and Audio Book

  Excerpt from “Wraithkin:”

  Prologue

  The lifeless body of his fellow agent on the bed confirmed the undercover operation was thoroughly busted.

  “Crap,” Agent Andrew Espinoza, Dominion Intelligence Bureau, said as he stepped fully into the dimly lit room and carefully made his way to the filthy bed in which his fellow agent lay. He turned away from the ruined body of his friend and scanned the room for any sign of danger. Seeing none, he quickly walked back out of the room to where the slaves he had rescued earlier were waiting.

  “Okay, let’s keep quiet now,” he reminded them. “I’ll go first, and you follow me. I don’t think there are any more slavers in the warehouse. Understand?”

  They all nodded. He offered them a smile of confidence, though he had lied. He knew there was one more slaver in the warehouse, hiding near the side exit they were about to use. He had a plan to deal with that person, however. First he had to get the slaves to safety.

  He led the way, his pistol up and ready as he guided the women through the dank and musty halls of the old, rundown building. It had been abandoned years before, and the slaver ring had managed to get it for a song. In fact, they had even qualified for a tax-exempt purchase due to the condition of the neighborhood around it. The local constable had wanted the property sold, and the slaver ring had stepped in and offered him a cut if he gave it to them. The constable had readily agreed, and the slavers had turned the warehouse into the processing plant for the sex slaves they sold throughout the Dominion. Andrew knew all this because he had been the one to help set up the purchase in the first place.