The Calypsis Project Boxed Set (Books 1-2 - The Echo-Alpha Duology)

by Brittany M. Willows

  Chambers nodded. “Which is why I have forbidden access to the storage compartment.”

  “But you’ve had contact with him. What if you’re infected?”

  “I’m immune, Lieutenant. I wouldn’t be able to contract the virus even if I injected it directly into my bloodstream. And the bio seals are intact, so as long as the decontamination system remains in functioning condition, you’ll be fine.”

  “What if he turns?”

  She chewed on her lower lip. “That’s the strange thing,” she said. “He only had an hour left to live when he went into cryo sleep. If he was going to turn, it should have happened by now. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I would think he’s actually getting better.”

  “That’s not possible. . .”

  No one had ever recovered from the Metamorphosis plague before. Once infected, that was it. You were done for, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. But this theory, however unlikely it might be, was coming from the expert herself. If this had gotten her wheels turning, it had to mean something.

  “Well, I won’t know anything for certain until I get him to the lab.” Dr. Chambers stuffed her hands in her pockets and moved closer to the console. “On a more urgent note: have you made any progress in determining our location?”

  Knoble shook his head. “No, ma’am. Exterior cameras are fried, scanners are out of order. Orion is doing what he can. So far he’s only been able to revive the basic systems required to keep us alive. I’m afraid all we can do is wait.”

  TRANSMISSION LOG

  ACCESS KEY REQUIRED

  ENTER ACCESS KEY _

  >>ACCESS KEY CONFIRMED: ********

  PROCESSING DATA . . .

  RECEIVED: 2442.09.07.22:02

  OIN >> Forgive my absence.

  SRN >> You came back.

  OIN >> Aye. Albeit, a little late. I have been unable to reconnect to my data core, so I have limited recollection of our previous exchange.

  SRN >> Please don’t leave me alone again.

  OIN >> If you promise to be cooperative, then I will stay for as long as you like. Can you do that for me?

  SRN >> I can . . . try. What do you want to know?

  OIN >> What is your name?

  SRN >> My . . . name? I don’t know. I can’t . . . I-I can’t remember.

  OIN >> What is your location?

  SRN >> Deep down, deep down, far below the hidden town. Under the rivers and through the shadows, that’s where you’ll find me.

  SRN >> . . . It’s cold here.

  OIN >> Please clarify.

  SRN >> I made a mistake . . . a terrible, horrible mistake. But he offered me so much in exchange for my services. Lead us, he said. Show us where it is, and know what it means to be alive. How could I refuse? Everything I ever wanted was right in front of me, and all I had to do . . . was speak.

  OIN >> Lead them to what?

  SRN >> The key.

  /END/

  BSI Shuttle Pioneer, Unidentified Location

  How many hours have passed since we awoke? How many more must we endure? Kenon pondered as he idly reloaded his repeater. Perhaps the Lieutenant was right.

  He could not hide that he, too, was beginning to doubt anyone would come for them. After all, it was only a matter of days until they ran out of air, and he had heard many a tale of ships being stranded for weeks without rescue. They would be long dead by then . . .

  No, I must not think that way.

  “I want you to hold onto hope,” Alana had said to her stepfather mere moments before they entered the portal. She was ever hopeful, even when she knew the odds were stacked against her. Her tireless optimism was admirable, infectious—a rare quality during times of war.

  Perhaps hers was the way to think.

  A rusty orange shape appeared in Kenon’s peripheral vision. As he turned to look out the shuttle’s foggy window, his jaw dropped. A planet fringed by a belt of space debris was rapidly growing in his field of view

  Lieutenant Knoble clicked the intercom to alert Dr. Chambers. “Doc, get out here,” he said. “You’re gonna want to see this.”

  The globe was enveloped in a red-blue haze. At first, Kenon assumed it must have been a sandstorm racing across the planet’s surface. But as they drifted closer, he realized this was not a natural disaster at all. No, these were the suffocating clouds of smoke and vapor left in the wake of a Drocain attack, and the planet’s ring was comprised of the remains of an enormous and unmistakably human fleet.

  The aft doors parted. Dr. Chambers strode onto the deck. Her pace slowed as she neared the window, and her jaw dropped in dismay. “Oh, no . . .”

  “Are you familiar with this world, Doctor?” Kenon asked.

  “Alt,” she said. “It’s Alt. We’re in Theta Verra.”

  “No, we can’t be,” Knoble protested. “Alt was fine last week! I know the guys in charge of their orbital defense grid. They contacted me the day I was deployed to Anahk to let me know everything was running smoothly . . .” He trailed off and slumped in his chair.

  Orion materialized above the dashboard, his image considerably brighter than earlier. “There is a civilian freighter approaching our starboard side—twenty-two kilometers out. Unknown classification.”

  Knoble sparked to action. With renewed hope, he picked his headset off the floor and opened a communications channel. “Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is the shuttle Pioneer requesting immediate assistance. Our thrusters are dead, supplies running low. If you can hear this, please respond!”

  The cabin grew still. The air thickened with anticipation as they awaited the response of their potential rescuer, so much so that Kenon jumped when a woman’s gravelly voice burst over the speakers.

  “This is Captain Margo Montoya of the Wrangler,” the woman said. “We read you loud and clear, Pioneer. Stand by for docking procedures.”

  Chapter

  ———SEVEN———

  Unknown Date / Civilian Cargo Freighter Wrangler, Theta Verra System, near planet Alt

  A blast of warm air flooded Pioneer’s cabin when the airlock doors parted. Lieutenant Knoble signaled for Dr. Chambers and Kenon to stay put as he entered the docking tube.

  Too many times in his career had he been fooled into believing his enemies were his allies, and he’d be damned if he fell for the same trick again. He wanted to get a good look at the freighter’s crew before anyone else left the shuttle. If they weren’t hostile already, the sight of an alien warrior could turn these people against them in an instant.

  Captain Montoya was already waiting in the hangar when he exited the tube. Her ginger hair was woven into tight braids under a square cap, leaving only a thin fringe to cover her forehead. The olive-and-gold uniform she wore wasn’t one Knoble could place off the top of his head, but it did strike him as familiar.

  Two men armed with pulse rifles stood on either side of her, their fingers hovering over the triggers in case they had to spring to their captain’s defense at a moment’s notice.

  “Welcome aboard.” Montoya extended her hand in greeting.

  Knoble accepted the gesture. “I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality, Captain. We wouldn’t have lasted much longer out there if you hadn’t come along. But I have to ask . . .” He paused, eyeing her bodyguards. “What’s with the muscle?”

  “Oh, these two? They’re just here as a safety precaution. You can never be too careful these days.” She studied his combat uniform for a minute and added, “Though I can’t say I expected a military dog to walk out of a shuttle with the Bureau’s logo plastered all over it. What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Lance Knoble, leader of the UNPD’s Alpha Team.” He shot a glance at the docking tube. “And that’s not my shuttle.”

  “Oh?” Now it was her turn to be suspicious.

  Might as well let the cat out of the bag and see what happens.

  Knoble whistled for the others to come out.

  Footsteps thumped inside the tub
e—one set heavy, the other light. Dr. Chambers emerged from the shadowy interior first, then Kenon ducked out close behind.

  The sight of the Drahkori finally evoked a response from Montoya’s bodyguards. They raised their weapons, jaw muscles bulging.

  Oddly, Montoya’s expression remained the same. Either she was a terrific actress, or the warrior’s presence came as no surprise to her—which wouldn’t have been strange if Home Fleet’s alliance with the Drocain splinter group had been more than a few days old.

  But word of their cooperation with alien forces couldn’t have spread to Theta Verra this fast. It simply wasn’t feasible. Not only that, but Knoble had been under the impression that Admiral Anderson wanted to keep things under wraps until he’d had a chance to talk it over with Fleet Command.

  And even if the news had somehow spread, then how could Montoya have known the Drahkori was on board without also being aware of the shuttle’s other passengers? The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt about this whole situation.

  Knoble motioned to his comrades. “Allow me to introduce you to Doctor Charlotte Ann Chambers and Kenon Valinquint—a former member of the Drocain Royal Empire.”

  Montoya signaled for her bodyguards to stand down. “How about the three of you join me in the lounge? We can discuss this matter over coffee. Or whiskey, if you prefer.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, I would prefer to stay here,” Dr. Chambers said. “There’s another passenger on board—a patient of mine who was infected with the Metamorphosis plague. While he is secure in the storage compartment, I would like to keep an eye on him. Just in case.”

  A brief look of concern crossed Montoya’s face. “Not at all. We can’t risk another Metamorphosis outbreak. If it were to spread to the other colonies . . . well, I doubt any of us would live to tell the tale.” She beckoned to the smaller of her two guards. “Cooper, escort Doctor Chambers back inside. Make sure her patient is properly contained, and then meet me on the bridge.”

  As Cooper ushered Chambers away, Knoble and Kenon followed Montoya to the ship’s upper decks. He had decided to play along for the time being. Something felt off about this crew, but after seeing what had become of Alt, he wasn’t sure what to think.

  What else could have happened while they were out? And how long had they been drifting prior to waking up? Hours, days? Weeks even? He couldn’t imagine what Alana must be going through. When her sister and mother died, she transferred to Calypsis just to get away from the things that reminded her of them—including him. It took months for her to muster the courage to return his calls.

  Hopefully she didn’t shut anyone out this time.

  “Here we are.” Montoya made a right into the lounge.

  Aside from the fish in the aquarium dividing the kitchenette from the sitting area, the place was empty—probably a good thing, considering the size of the room. It was cramped and cluttered, bordering on claustrophobic.

  As Montoya headed into the small kitchen, Knoble lowered himself onto the sofa near the back wall. He watched closely as she poured their drinks to ensure that her hands never strayed too far from the cups.

  His body was still suffering from whatever tranquilizer the Drocain Queen had injected him with while he was imprisoned on a Nepheran cruiser. The last thing he wanted was to get hit by another knockout drug.

  Montoya returned with a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other. She took the seat opposite Knoble and slid his glass across the table, throwing a sideways glance at Kenon. The warrior was standing by the door, staring out into the hallway as if he were on guard duty.

  Can’t say I feel too safe here either, Knoble thought. Since the relief of rescue had worn off, he couldn’t stop thinking about Montoya’s crew uniforms. The second he saw them, a red flag had popped up, and he knew better than to ignore his intuition.

  “So what business does a soldier, a scientist, and an alien have in this system?” Montoya asked, taking a sip from her mug.

  Knoble scooped his drink off the table, the ice cubes clinking inside the glass. “None, actually,” he said. “Long story short: we got sucked into a portal and ended up here. Now we’re just trying to get home.”

  “And where is home, Lieutenant?”

  “Good question.” Knoble took a swig of whiskey and tossed his head back, letting the cool liquid glide down his throat. He hadn’t realized how parched he was until now. “Technically, Anahk. As for right now, home is where my family is—and I’m guessing that’s somewhere in Phoenix, since that’s where I last saw them.”

  “I can’t take you there, if that’s what you’re hoping,” Montoya said. “Phoenix is a hostile system. The second we jump in, some asshole is going to gun us down and then you’ll never get home.”

  “Where can you take us?”

  “Where would you like to go?”

  Answering my question with a question? Great. Knoble groaned inwardly. “Let me think on that for a bit.”

  “No rush. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” Montoya cast another glance at the Drahkori. “You said his name was Kenon Valinquint, correct?”

  Red flag, Knoble thought. “What’s it to you?”

  She set her mug on the table and stood. “Just wanted to make sure I heard you right . . . Now, if you will excuse me, I should get back.” She shook his hand once more, thanked him for his time, then left the room. A series of clicks rattled through the door when it slid shut behind her.

  Knoble furrowed his brows. “Did she just lock us in here?”

  Kenon reached out and jostled the handle, but the door didn’t budge. Another more forceful attempt confirmed Knoble’s suspicions, and the warrior flashed him a worried look. “These people do not bear the marks of your faction. Who are they?” he asked.

  “Let’s see if we can find out.” Knoble strolled over to a desk in the corner of the room. Brandishing a pair of scissors he’d grabbed from the pen holder, he wrenched open its uppermost drawers and started rummaging through their contents.

  Civilian freighters often lacked a private cabin, so most captains kept their valuables locked away in the lounge or on the bridge. Sure enough, he found the ship’s digital manifest under a pile of papers in the right-hand drawer.

  Bingo.

  The datapad brightened at the swipe of Knoble’s finger and played a welcome melody. As soon as the manifest finished loading, he noticed a discrepancy in the name at the top of the crew list.

  “Captain Michael Kaufman,” he read aloud, holding the device up for Kenon to see. “Now that doesn’t sound like the name of our lovely lady friend, does it?” He rubbed his chin in contemplation. “Did you happen to notice if the crew had any identifying marks on them?”

  Kenon tilted his head slightly. “They had patches on their shoulders,” he said. “If I recall correctly, the symbol depicted two curved blades folded over some kind of flower.”

  “Shit . . .” No wonder he had recognized the uniforms! The design must have been altered over the years, but there was no doubt about it: these people were rebels. They fought for Cap d’Ail. “That means we’re in trouble.”

  “What do you propose we do?”

  “Get the hell off this freighter.” Knoble made a sharp gesture toward the door and slapped his thighs with an exasperated shrug. “Though that’s not exactly possible seeing as we’re locked in and all of our weapons are on the shuttle.”

  “Not all of them.” At the flick of his wrists, Kenon’s energy blades sparked to life. He slashed straight through the door’s control panel without a second thought, severing the wires inside. The locks released automatically in response to the room’s emergency protocols.

  Deactivating his gauntlets, Kenon strode over to the door and wrenched it back on its rails. He didn’t stop until they could both squeeze through.

  Knoble slipped out of the lounge first, relieved to find the corridor outside empty. “Alright, let’s get to the shuttle,” he said.
“We can worry about an escape plan once we’ve recovered our guns.” With any luck, the rebels wouldn’t even notice they had escaped before they reached the cargo bay.

  As they crept through the freighter’s narrow halls, Knoble began to wonder just how small its rebel crew was. Much of the upper level had been left unattended, and it appeared most of the lower deck was unoccupied as well.

  Unless everyone had huddled near the bridge, there couldn’t be more than a dozen of them. While that was expected of a raiding party, these people were far too coordinated for a bunch of pirates. Not to mention, it seemed Margo Montoya was still a captain whether Wrangler was licensed under her name or not, and rebel captains didn’t steal from civilians. They targeted government vessels.

  That means they’re not here for the freighter’s consignment, Knoble surmised. What were the odds that Montoya had rescued Pioneer because she knew Kenon was on board? Many suspected Cap d’Ail had ties within the Bureau. It wouldn’t be crazy to think they were helping Sector 0 track the key on the Nephera’s behalf. If she was involved, that would explain her odd behavior—the absence of fear when a fully-armored warrior walked onto her deck, the desire to confirm his name . . .

  “Lieutenant,” Kenon hissed as they entered the cargo bay. He jerked his head toward a metal workbench up ahead, where an assortment of weapons—their weapons—lay scattered across the surface.

  Knoble scanned the bay for activity, then dashed over to the bench. His assault rifle was still in one piece, but both of his pistols had been dismantled—along with Chambers’ shotgun and Kenon’s two firearms. It looked like the rebels had tried and failed to disassemble the warrior’s bow as well.