SF Books by Vaughn Heppner
THE A.I. SERIES:
A.I. Destroyer
The A.I. Gene
A.I. Assault
A.I. Battle Station
A.I. Battle Fleet
A.I. Void Ship
A.I. Rescue
A.I. Armada
DOOM STAR SERIES:
Star Soldier
Bio Weapon
Battle Pod
Cyborg Assault
Planet Wrecker
Star Fortress
Task Force 7 (Novella)
LOST STARSHIP SERIES:
The Lost Starship
The Lost Command
The Lost Destroyer
The Lost Colony
The Lost Patrol
The Lost Planet
The Lost Earth
The Lost Artifact
The Lost Star Gate
The Lost Supernova
The Lost Swarm
The Lost Intelligence
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The Soldier:
The X-Ship
(The Soldier #1)
by Vaughn Heppner
Illustration © Tom Edwards
TomEdwardsDesign.com
Copyright © 2020 by the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents, are either products of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.
From A Collection of Foreign Affairs Hearings, United Earth, Secret Council 84
Group Six? You ask why the Agency relies upon assassins, spies and saboteurs when dealing with the New Worlds of the Concord. The answer lies in this understanding. Building and maintaining star cruisers has become prohibitively expensive in our poor era, especially considering how easily the vessels are damaged or destroyed. Always remember, a space war is the costliest thing for which to pay. It is much easier to send a skilled team aboard and quietly eliminate a problem.
Now, no more questions, please. It’s late enough and—what? What’s that you’re shouting? You want to know about the Ultras. I can assure you, senator, they’re a myth from the terrible Cyborg War, the one that destroyed the Old Federation. Besides, if the Ultras did exist in that dark time, they certainly don’t anymore.
Chapter One
The man wasn’t aware of the scrutiny. How could he be? He was inside a large clear tube. He was big, with steely muscles, and wore a mask over his face. A tube attached to the mask supplied the man with oxygen as he slowly kicked in a liquid green solution. He was unconscious, asleep after a fashion, the continuous movement protecting against muscle atrophy. The containment wasn’t as good as the original stasis, but that advanced unit no longer existed, as the technicians of Group Six lacked the expertise to construct another.
Did the man dream? It seemed likely. He and his companions would have been insane upon waking if they didn’t dream.
Two people regarded the man: the Director of Group Six and a special operative recently returned from the Rigel System.
Director G.T. Titus was old, tall and white-haired with handsome features. He wore heavy, black-rimmed glasses and an old-fashioned suit with a Guard’s Tie. He’d enlisted in the Home Guard in his youth and was still proud of the association. He had run Group Six for years already, with many victories and a few defeats under his belt.
“Well?” the Director asked.
The other, the special operative, a short olive-skinned individual called Dr. Halifax—he had quick movements like a fox and bright intelligent eyes—studied the man inside the tube. “I can’t tell without seeing his face.”
“We can change the face if necessary,” the Director said.
Halifax glanced sharply at the older taller man.
“Does facial modification bother you?”
“It does,” Halifax admitted.
The Director shook his head. “You can’t become attached to them. That is always a mistake.”
Halifax laughed sourly. “They’re not retards.”
“I realize that. In fact, they’re the opposite, but I understand your point. If you’re cold toward them, they’re cold toward you. I, however, said attached. There’s a difference.”
“We…we became friends. I trusted him—”
The Director turned his icy blue eyes upon Halifax.
“No, no,” Halifax said. “It’s not like that. He saved my life several times. Can’t I appreciate that?”
The Director rubbed his chin, finally shrugging. “The same build then? Does this one have the same height as yours?”
“I think so.”
“Be certain. It’s vital.”
“Yes, yes, the same build and height. Aren’t they all the same?”
“Surprisingly, no,” the Director said.
“What does it matter anyway? This one won’t have the same personality.”
“My dear fellow, are you serious? You brought the core element. Isn’t that true?”
Halifax fidgeted. “You wouldn’t believe how difficult that proved. I only had a moment alone, and I had to pry it out of his brain. It was gruesome and shocking.” Unconsciously, Halifax wiped his fingertips against his pants.
The Director caught the gesture, wondering if it might be time to retire Halifax. The little brown man was too emotional. That could be more than troublesome. The project was too important, however. The Agency couldn’t afford the interruption while training a new case officer for the Rigel System. He needed Halifax, at least until the mission was complete. He could always reassess afterward.
“With the core element, personality shouldn’t be a problem,” the Director said smoothly. “I’m told the former’s personality impinges upon the next. Once inserted into the hind brain,” the Director indicated the man in the green solution, “the core personality becomes dominant.”
Halifax shivered, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. It’s too…ghoulish.”
The Director frowned. “What does like have to do with anything? This is interstellar politics, maybe human survival.”
“They’re human.”
“My dear doctor, who said they weren’t?”
Halifax rubbed his hands. “You’re treating them like machines.”
The Director removed his thick black glasses and stared at the little man. “They’re agents of Group Six.”
“Meaning you’d treat me the same way?”
“Enough,” the Director said as he replaced his glasses. “Your first message said this was urgent. After viewing the evidence, I quite agree. The problem here is time. Jack Brune is dead. Likely, the secret company went ahead with the project.”
Halifax shook his head. “No. I alerted the IPO before leaving the Rigel System. They alerted the Patrol, who are making a special point of watching the proscribed planet in question.”
“I’m not sure that was wise. It will make it harder for us later.”
“You’re right! I made a ghastly error. Maybe we should scrub the whole thing.”
The Director hid his anger at the suggestion as he studied the man in the tube. The core element would press the old personality onto the new, but would that last? Even if it did last, there might be small, telltale changes. Clearly, Halifax was frightened. Yes, he had a right to be. But he’d taken Earth money for a long time. The doctor would have to play it out to the end, or he would die hideously and painfully as a lesson to other slackers.
“We’ll proceed at once,” the Director said. “He will take Brune�
�s place.”
“As Brune?” Halifax asked.
That was too much. “I detest frivolous questions,” the Director said. “We will insert the core element into the cranium. He will remember as Brune and proceed as Brune.”
“How will he account for the lost time? And how will he react to his remembered death?”
“The technicians assure me those are simple matters. If you’re truly worried, you can speak with them. The cranial operation will take place tonight. In three days, we’ll place him in cargo. You can join him there if you wish or ride in style above.”
Halifax shuddered. “I have no wish to travel under, in cryogenic suspension. You do realize there is a twelve percent chance he won’t revive from deep freeze.”
“Don’t worry. A man like that…he’ll survive.” The Director touched the knot of his Guard’s Tie. “Is your Rigel team still in place?”
“Yes.”
“And you still have the operative in the Rigel IPO?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s find some lunch,” the Director said. “I’m famished.”
Halifax hesitated before asking, “I’d like to watch the cranial insertion if I could.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We’ll eat. You’ll brief me on any further suspicions, and then I’ll decide if you need backup. If you’re right about this, Dr. Hal—”
“Please,” Halifax said, glancing at the tube. “Don’t say my name.”
“He’s unconscious,” The Director said. “He can’t hear a thing we’re saying.”
“Still…”
“Quite right,” the Director said a moment later. “That was a slip on my part. Now, come. I’m famished. Probably the reason I made the slip.”
The two men turned and walked away from the tube, heading for the lit exit.
Meanwhile, the big muscular man in the tube continued to kick slowly in the green solution.
Chapter Two
(Earlier)
“Excuse me,” a man said, poking his head into the office. “Is this the agency of Jack Brune the Earthman?”
Brune leaned back in his chair, working to control his breathing, having barely beaten the three strange gentlemen to his office.
Brune wondered if the first man could smell the taint of dust in the air. He hadn’t been up here for about three and a half months, and apparently neither had the cleaning lady, robot, or whatever was supposed to do the dusting. Was he behind on his rent? He’d have to check up on that later.
“I’m Jack Brune. Please. Come in. Sit.”
The men filed into the office one by one.
“Would you like a donut?” Brune asked.
The three of them stared at him blankly.
A box of donuts sat on the desk. Brune had picked them up in the lobby on his way in. Couldn’t they figure out what he meant? To show them the correct protocol, he reached in the box, chose a glazed donut and made the chair squeak as he sat back again, biting into the sugar-dough delight.
The office wasn’t much. It had a window behind him, but it was covered with a heavy curtain to block the dazzlingly bright star in the pink-hued sky. He had a pseudo-wood desk, a swivel chair and five regular seats spread before the desk. The office was in a tower building in Sparta, the largest city on Helos, which was the second planet of Rigel A. Helos was of Earth norm and had been settled around thirteen hundred years ago by Earth colonists.
The three in the office were weird little men, definitely not from Helos and maybe not even from the Rigel System. They were short, at around five-three, with porcelain-white skin and thin black hair swept to the left. They wore expensive black suits, with black-tinted goggles—the lenses were perfectly circular, and the bands fit snugly around their head.
The two on Brune’s right had not spoken so far. They sat alertly, primly. They kept their well-manicured hands on their laps.
“You are ingesting a donut?” the speaker asked.
“Yup,” Brune said, using his index finger to shove the rest of it in his mouth. He could have used a cup of coffee with the donut, but hadn’t had time to get some before dashing for the lift.
“We shall decline.”
“Your loss.” Brune had been working for Salvage Collections the past four months, trying to drum up enough credits to pay what he owed on his ex-Patrol scout’s engine and hull repairs from last year’s space battle.
“Mr. Brune,” the speaker said, “we three represent a powerful tech company with interests in advanced stasis procedures.”
“And you three are?” Brune asked.
“We are in a delicate situation, wishing to remain anonymous, as the tech company’s interests in the situation might otherwise become known and cause our competitors to turn their attention to what we are attempting.”
“Makes sense,” Brune said. “So, what am I supposed to call you three? A, B and C?”
“On no account,” the speaker said. “I am Rohan Mars. These two men are my associates. You will not address them, however, only me.”
Brune glanced at the other two, shrugged to show it was all one to him, and began to memorize little details about each so he could relay them to Dr. Halifax later. The doctor had an uncanny ability to wrest facts from the tiniest clues. It occurred to Brune that the other two were identical in every way to Rohan Mars. Were they clones, or was it something more sinister?
“Before we continue,” Rohan said, “you should know that we have made substantive inquiries regarding you and your services.”
“Glad to hear it. I doubt you would be here otherwise.”
Clarke from the Rigel Branch of the IPO had dropped Brune a line the other day concerning a battery of questions someone asked regarding his past. Clarke had said something about the questioner going to extreme lengths to keep his identity hidden. Now Brune knew who had been asking, although not yet why.
“Naturally,” Rohan said, “the inquiries were of a routine nature. But it did show us that you would have the proper zeal in assisting the company in the endeavor.”
Brune smiled to show Rohan how right the man was about that, as he badly needed a large influx of credits, which meant clients.
“Our—” Rohan said.
The two unnamed partners swiveled their heads to stare at him. Rohan turned to stare right back. If they communicated, they did so silently and without facial tics. Soon, the silent two faced forward again.
Rohan cleared his throat, and he spoke more robotically than before. “Here is the situation, Mr. Brune. Several months ago, a young woman of remarkable talents awoke from ancient stasis sleep. The planet where this occurred is unimportant. The new era confused the newly awakened sleeper, but as I said, she possessed remarkable talents. In a manner we have not yet discovered, she learned about the existence and whereabouts of Avalon IV.”
“Isn’t that a proscribed planet?” Brune asked.
“You are keen, Mr. Brune, as well as accurate. Avalon IV is an Edenic world of pristine beauty. Millennia ago, humans arrived there. How they reached the planet before the beginning of Earth’s Space Age has mystified many scholars and researchers. Nevertheless, a little over two hundred years ago, a long-search survey team crash-landed onto the surface. They reported ancient ruins of a nonhuman civilization. For a span, the survey team continued to report their findings. They were unable to leave the planet, however, as all forms of propulsion on their craft had crumpled upon crash-landing. Finally, the aboriginals discovered them, capturing the team and interrogating the leaders. The ensuing answers brought charges of witchery against the team members, all of whom died horribly for their perceived crimes.”
Rohan cocked his head.
Brune waited.
“You do not have a question for me?” Rohan asked.
“What would you like me to ask?”
Rohan turned to the other two. “He is a hunter indeed, comrades. Notice his deliberate patience. Another would have already peppered me with queries. We have chosen well in select
ing Mr. Brune.”
To celebrate Rohan’s intelligence, Brune grabbed another donut. Still, their manner had begun to trouble him. Brune wanted to pluck off a pair of goggles to see what their eyes would reveal. None of them seemed…fully human.
“Mr. Brune,” Rohan said. “I now inform you that the young woman is in extreme danger. She not only discovered the whereabouts of Avalon IV but also managed to steal a spaceship, slip past the guardian monitors orbiting the planet, land on the surface and escape into the ecosystem before the monitors disintegrated her vessel. If the Avalon natives discover her presence, they will undoubtedly kill her in a most excruciating manner.”
“That’s a pity,” Brune agreed.
“She is a pretty young woman,” Rohan said.
“Are you telling me this in order to arouse my chivalrous nature, by any chance?”
“Rescuing her will undoubtedly trigger a highly emotional and even erotic response from her to you,” Rohan added.
“Yes, sir,” Brune said. “That’s what I like—a carefully planned for, highly erotic response from a beauty for my performing of a gallant deed of courage. It hits you right here,” Brune said, using a fist to thump his heart.
Rohan cocked his head. “Are you engaging in sarcasm?”
“Since we’re making calculations,” Brune said, ignoring the question, “let’s consider the fact of these guardian monitors you mentioned. I’m guessing those are IPO monitors in tight orbit around Avalon IV.”
“That is correct,” Rohan said.
“Uh-huh. What’s a proscribed planet, after all, without the weapons systems to make the blockade effective? You also said something else interesting. A monitor disintegrated her shuttle. I imagine that’s standard operating procedure for the monitors.”
“That is correct.”
Brune stared at Rohan Mars. The man stared right back as if asking Brune to do this was completely ordinary, apparently unaware that Brune thought him a nutcase.
Brune debated grabbing another donut and chewing on it while he figured out if he wanted to play along with Rohan. Brune needed funds to pay his creditors, and nothing had come along for quite some time. He’d even begun to consider entering the cage again to win some prize money. Maybe he could wring something from Rohan Mars, something other than a life insurance policy for a messy suicide. It seemed Brune didn’t need another donut after all to help him think.
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