Discovery

by Jan Domagala

  DISCOVERY

  A Col Sec novel

  DISCOVERY

  A Col Sec novel

  By Jan Domagala.

  DISCOVERY

  This is a work of fiction, any similarity to anyone living or dead or companies or institutes is purely coincidental.

  Editing by Vivian Head of BookScribe

  Cover art by James of GoOnWrite.com

  Copyright Jan Domagala 2012

  New Edition 2018

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Discovery (Col Sec)

  FOREWORD

  PROLOGUE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  32

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  EPILOGUE

  Fin.

  About the Author

  I would like to dedicate this book to my girlfriend, Joy for her invaluable help and support, not only in supplying ideas for the story but character development too, couldn’t have done it without you love you.

  I would also like to thank all those writers who inspired me to follow in their footsteps: Jack Higgins, Matthew Reilly, James Rollins to name but a few. Hope I don’t let you down guys.

  Other books by

  Jan Domagala

  in

  The Col Sec Series

  Ronin

  Omega

  Discovery

  Retribution

  Extinction

  Resurrection

  The Blackstar Gambit

  War Dogs

  Armageddon

  FOREWORD

  By the mid twenty-fifth century after decades of war over the colonisation of planets between the Colonial Confederation and the Elysium Alliance – an alternative to the government of Earth – an uneasy peace was reached and a cold war prevailed.

  The events of this story take place a few weeks after those depicted in Ronin and at the end of Omega.

  PROLOGUE

  Kurt Stryder stood in the rain listening to the service. Lost in the huge throng attending and wrapped up inside a large coat to shield him from the weather, he was certain no one would recognise him anyway. His was not the face of someone famous; rather it was of someone quite ordinary which had served him particularly well in his previous profession. Good bone structure gave his face a somewhat angular appearance, appealing to women, as were his cobalt blue eyes. His blond hair was longer than when he had been in Recon Delta and bleached from the sun of Celeron where he now resided in the family home he’d inherited after the death of his parents. In an effort to alter his appearance, he’d grown his hair and even sported a goatee, just enough, he thought, to pass any cursory inspection by security staff.

  When he heard of the attack on Confederation Headquarters by the terrorist group OMEGA, he was horrified. His first thoughts were for those who lost their lives in the attack and he wondered how Col Sec would ever come back from such a disaster. As always, General Sinclair would bounce back and reorganise it so they could regroup and continue their work. Col Sec needed people like the General, what they didn’t need, in Kurt’s opinion, was more people like himself. Thanks to an experiment he was the subject of a few months ago, Kurt had been altered at the genetic level. His immune system had been boosted so that his regenerative capabilities were improved. Simple injuries healed almost immediately, whilst life-threatening trauma took a little longer. Up to the present time he was not prone to illness in any form and he thought he was probably immune to toxins as well. He was certain he was almost indestructible but he had no desire to test that theory. Even though he knew all that, he still clung to life as something to cherish and he hoped that would never change. His newfound abilities were something he’d kept from Sinclair. Only a handful of people knew the truth and could be trusted to keep his secret and it was this secret, this burden he carried, that forced him to resign his commission in Col Sec. The escalation of violence that the knowledge of the changes made to him would bring was something he could not bear to see happen.

  The service he was attending that dank and dreary morning was just another example of man’s inhumanity to man and it reinforced his belief that his decision to leave Col Sec had been the right one.

  What to do with the rest of his life was something else though. For most of his young adult life he had been a soldier, a man of action. His decision to join the military was a direct response to something his father had told him: “All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.” Taking that to heart, he enlisted, hoping to make a difference. Now though, no matter what he did, nothing changed. All his efforts seemed to have achieved nothing and he was filled with a lethargy that affected his spirit as much as his strength. Whether he was still grieving over the death of Zara Hardy, the woman he’d grown to love, or the weight of the secret he carried was a burden too much to bear, he was uncertain. What he did know though was that he needed to get away, not just to relax because he could do that at home, but more of a change, something different.

  It was because of that he had purchased a ticket on the Colonial Cruise Liner, the Colonial Queen. He had never been on a cruise, so this might just help him sort out what he needed to do and at that moment in time, he had no idea just how right that decision was.

  The service was over. The thousands in the congregation began to disperse but he remained rooted to the spot allowing the masses to move around and past him. Down at the front he saw three figures huddled under an umbrella: General Sinclair, Matt Hawk, standing at least a couple inches taller than those with him and the man who led the rescue mission that helped him escape from Alliance space, and Colonel Anton De Boer who he knew from his time in Recon Delta. Matt looked up from his musings and for a second their eyes met. There was a moment there where he thought Matt recognised him but he looked away and the moment was gone.

  As they moved away, the rain eased off and the sun poked its way through the clouds allowing the warming rays to brighten the day ahead. No matter how bright or powerful those rays were though, they could not extend their influence to dissipate the dark gloom nestled deep within him.

  Bowing his head, he turned and joined the thinning crowd.

  1

  Kurt boarded the Colonial Queen, the most luxurious of all cruise ships and the company’s flagship, just two days after the service at the site of the catastrophic attack. She was in orbit around Titan, the largest of Saturn’s moons, and a shuttle service for passengers was run by the company so they could board from anywhere in the Solar System.

  Travelling light, he took with him one suitcase and a travel grip. He also took one extra item that stemmed from his past but which he found difficult to let go of, his Sig P996. The weapon had once been the standard sidearm of all Recon Delta marines. The pistol was based upon the automatic pistols of the twenty-first century, notably the Sig Sauer P200 range which had a slide on the top of the short barrel and a moulded grip beneath. The battery clip fitted into the grip where, once the slide was jacked, it was ready to us
e. It could deliver pulsed plasma bolts at two settings. The lowest setting was a ‘stun’ setting and the highest would kill. It went everywhere with him and even though he was certain there would be no reason for him to call upon its services on a relaxing cruise, he took comfort from having it near. He stashed it in a shielded, secret compartment in the base of his travel grip along with three fully charged battery clips.

  Kurt was more than moderately wealthy from his inheritance after the death of his parents. Monies earned from a lucrative sell-off of the family business completed a few years prior to his father’s death meant he could afford a berth on the Queen. This was the first time he had put the money to any use since inheriting it and he was determined to enjoy it.

  He’d been on board for around half an hour, just enough time to be shown to his stateroom and square away his gear, when he decided to take a trip to the Observation Lounge ready for departure. The steward, who showed him to his room, assured him the view from there would be spectacular. Dressed in dark blue cargo pants, lightweight walking shoes, which were the civilian variant to the Hy-Tek military boots he wore when in Recon Delta, and a light blue, short-sleeved shirt, he left his stateroom.

  Having accessed the available files on the computer via his Neural Interface, he knew every inch of the huge starship. He was familiar with all the facilities available to the passengers and he knew a few things the passengers were not supposed to know, all thanks to a careful hack or two, just to ensure his skills did not get too rusty and therefore go to waste. Things such as: they were being delayed in their departure because of one man, Prince Aswan, who had chartered most of the berths available. Kurt had been lucky to get his berth as most of them had already been sold to the prince and his entourage.

  As he walked down the corridor from his stateroom heading towards the Observation Lounge he realised just how big the ship was, easily as large as a Col Sec cruiser. In fact it had been designed around the basic body shell of the Legend. He also noted just how empty it seemed which in turn exaggerated the vastness of it all.

  Everywhere he went he noticed the opulence of the fixtures and fittings. Gold light fittings adorned the walls, oak panels covered the floor and the technology available was of the very highest specification. Luxurious seats were dotted about on the deck next to observation monitors so the passengers could track their journey. Each stateroom was fitted out like the best hotel suite with viewports, computer access points and comfortable king-sized beds. No expense had been spared to give the passengers a luxurious and comfortable cruise.

  He was nearing his destination when he found a group of people moving towards him. Two large men were in front, followed by one more behind, who was in turn followed by another man with an additional two bringing up the rear. They made no effort to would make room for Kurt to pass; instead they seemed to forge forwards damming up the corridor.

  There was no way Kurt was going to back track until these people reached their destination, so he decided to meet them head on.

  “Stop,” commanded one of the men in front. “You will back up the corridor, now,” he added in a tone that would brook no argument.

  “Don’t think so,” Kurt replied.

  The one who had given the command thrust out his right hand and placed it on Kurt’s chest to push him back in an effort to make him comply.

  A wave of fury erupted inside of Kurt, possibly some pent up rage fuelled by the grief over losing Zara Hardy, which was about to manifest in a whirlwind of motion.

  Grabbing the wrist, before the man had a chance to exert any pressure, Kurt twisted it violently. Bending the arm in a way nature never intended, he then punched him square in the face. As the first man hit the deck, Kurt back fisted the second man with same hand smashing him into the wall. The third man went to draw a concealed weapon, a pistol probably, but Kurt reached him before the weapon had cleared the holster. Grabbing the hand holding the weapon with his left hand, Kurt punched him with his right, snapping his head back. Still holding on to his hand Kurt relieved the man of his weapon then allowed him to fall to the deck where he lay next to his two comrades, stunned.

  Turning to face the man those three had been attempting to guard, Kurt said, “Excuse me, may I pass please?” with exaggerated politeness.

  Fear was etched across the man’s handsome features and in a quivering voice he replied, “Don’t hurt me.”

  “I just want to get to the Observation Lounge to watch our departure, that’s all. If your boys hadn’t been so overzealous in the performance of their duty, none of this would’ve happened,” Kurt replied as his anger began to dissipate. The guards behind the man facing him were understandably wary of the blond haired warrior and they had their pistols drawn and aimed at him. Unfortunately, because their charge was in front of them they did not have a clear shot.

  Recognising the weapon as the Sig P996, Kurt asked, “Are these guys military?”

  Finding his confidence returning the frightened man said, “Yes, they are supposed to be the finest, Col Sec’s Diplomatic Corp Security.”

  “Then you must be Prince Aswan. I’m honoured, sir,” Kurt said with a slight bow, before walking past the prince. To the two remaining guards, who flattened themselves against the wall as he approached he said, “At ease guys.” He tossed the captured pistol to them as he departed, leaving them to watch and wonder at what had just happened.

  2

  The old adage of ‘time flies when you’re having fun’ came to mind as Kurt took his morning shower. His early routine of calisthenics consisting of several sets of push ups, sit ups and various stretching exercises, followed by a series of moves from several martial arts such as katas or sets, depending upon the discipline, had left him fully awake and perspiring. It had been just over a week since boarding the Queen and yet it felt like only yesterday.

  The solitude he had enjoyed because of the depleted passenger list had helped him to relax. He was beginning to feel good about himself once more as the grip of his grief slackened, allowing him to feel again.

  Roaming the vast decks of the cruise starship, he hardly met any members of the crew. On the odd occasion where he bumped into Prince Aswan and his entourage, apart from a slight nod of a head, there was no indication that their first meeting had ever taken place. The prince obviously didn’t want to broadcast the fact he was frightened in front of his guards and neither did his guards want to admit that one man had bested them so easily. It was a mutual agreement by all parties, albeit a silent one, that nothing would be said about the incident. Kurt also did not intend to broadcast what had happened for fear of drawing attention to his enhanced strength and speed. It was something he was beginning to accept now as a fact of his life, but not something he wanted others to look too closely at in case they saw something else.

  As he dried himself off in the cubicle, which doubled as a drying chamber, he contemplated his agenda for the day ahead. The warm air jets felt good as the water was evaporated then recycled through the various filters and reclamation devices. Then he felt something, something that suddenly put him on edge – the starship had just made a jump to hyperspace.

  Getting dressed quickly in his cargo pants and tee shirt he made his way to the door of his stateroom, pulling on his walking shoes as he went. This jump was unscheduled and Kurt wanted to know what had warranted the captain to take his ship off course.

  Accessing the ship’s computer via his NI he hacked into the nav-logs. The jump was indeed not on the prearranged flight plan and when he learnt of the destination he felt a chill of dread sprint through his blood.

  Was the captain mad he wondered? Then, before leaving his stateroom, he turned back and went to his travel grip to retrieve his Sig P996. Quickly he shrugged the soft leatherine shoulder holster on with the integral recharging unit built into the pouches the spare battery clips slotted into and, after pulling back on the slide on the top of the pistol to prime the weapon, he placed it into the holster beneath his left armpit. To
conceal it he put on his favourite, battered old leatherine jacket then left the stateroom.

  What he knew about their new destination came from classified files and he had two scenarios running through his mind as to why they would alter course, and neither one was good.

  One thing was certain; they were heading for trouble.

  3

  The bridge was state of the art with the latest and best technology available; no expense had been spared there either. The layout of the bridge was circular with a centre command chair for the captain and two seats in front of that, the right one for the helm and the left for ops. As Kurt entered the circular room, each seat was occupied and the captain turned to see who had intruded.

  “Who are you and what is the meaning of your barging onto my bridge like this?” sputtered the captain in outrage.

  “Who I am is not important, where you’re taking us though, is,” Kurt replied.

  The captain’s brow furrowed in confusion as he asked, “How do you know where we’re going? Are you a member of Prince Aswan’s party?”

  “No I’m not, but more importantly, why are you taking us off course?” Kurt answered with another question.

  “That is none of your business. Now I must ask you to leave my bridge or I’ll have you forcibly removed,” the captain said, standing up to his full height and squaring his shoulders. He was an old man, nearing retirement age. His white hair was cut short and his face showed signs of his advanced years. Wrinkles across the brow, crow’s feet around the still bright and intelligent eyes, but he had a strong mouth, which was firmly set in grim determination. In good shape for his age, he stood tall looking Kurt straight in the eye at a little over six feet three.

  “Where you’re taking us is a very bad place Captain, there’s things about it that are not in the official report, things that will put this ship and all aboard her in mortal danger,” Kurt explained.