Joe Devlin: And the Renegades’ Toil (Space Academy Series Book 5)

by James Thomas

  Joe Devlin

  And the Renegades’ Toil

  James R. Thomas

  Space Academy Series

  Book 5

  Visit James R Thomas’ books on the Web at:

  https://sites.google.com/site/childrenpicturebooks/

  Copyright © 2021 by James R. Thomas

  ISBN-13: 978-1973575283

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. Neither the author nor publisher has received any payment for this book.

  Visit James R Thomas’ paperbacks on the World Wide Web at https://sites.google.com/site/childrenpicturesbooks/

  First Edition

  Editor Susan M. Vertullo

  DEDICATION

  To my Joe Devlin book lovers . . . thanks for coming along on the journey with me to the Tourian Void and beyond. Though I believe I have just begun writing, I have immensely enjoyed the Space Academy series of books, and who knows where Joe Devlin will go next? My dreams are my guidance now.

  J.R.T.

  1

  ESCAPE

  The Boy, as Cadet Second Class Joe Devlin had once called him, was Sadar Tourian. He was a Living God. However, Sadar worried if living would be for the long-term amid the explosions that shook the station, some rapid in succession, others sporadic. The ordeal felt more like a chaotic amusement park ride than his race to freedom on the ill-fated Grax Space Station, Erebus.

  Sadar had been instructed to meet alone guard near a service platform that intersected with the space station’s rotunda. He was uncertain as to how he would identify him from the other sentries since the guards’ black fatigues and helmets were indistinguishable from each other. The solid green face shields on their helmets were intentionally designed to resemble lizard skin, which concealed the soldiers’ identities, and made them look like lizards from afar.

  The Grax soldiers seldom removed their masks between duties on the frozen surface of their planet, Huldra, or when in the merciless backdrop of Space around it. Their uniforms were pressure suits that protected their bodies from any change in temperature on the surface and the pressure differential between the body and Space.

  The helmet and suit worked together with a fully automatic environmental control system that held the guard’s body temperature at a perfect constant while maintaining an optimal humidity level to keep the wearer hydrated for combat. By default, the suits made the user extremely comfortable, so it became desired attire even when off duty.

  When the guards did remove their helmets and masks, their skin had become pale and hairless from overuse, which made the Grax look like adult-sized reproductions of newborns. Since military service was required by all Grax from a young age until mid-life of a long lifespan, it had changed their physical appearance as a race.

  However, once they had retired from military service and were no longer permitted to wear the helmets and masks, their skin became dehydrated, turning dry and rough to the touch from the harsh and fluctuating environmental conditions on Huldra’s surface. This gave an appearance of thickness to their skin.

  Sadar had been instructed to look for a guard with a small heart-shaped mark a few millimeters in width with an arrow through it. It was a new and growing symbol of Grax resistance against the enslavement of the Tourians. The group of defiant Grax was growing quickly, showing that even amongst evil there could always be hope.

  Sadar stepped with caution, trying to stay in the shadows of the dimly lit passageway. The very feat was becoming more challenging as he moved, due to the disorienting bursts of light emanating from the explosions cascading closer and closer. The blasts had identical effects on the Grax, giving Sadar some needed reprieve from capture.

  The catalyst for the station’s sabotage had begun by the hands of Commander Don Devlin, when he had destroyed the fission chamber. This added to Commander Johnson’s destruction of the station’s dampeners that were now combining. The result was a chain reaction of explosions that was quickly engulfing the station from one end to the other.

  Sadar’s thoughts roamed while he lurked through the corridors. He had grudgingly begun to admire Cadet Joe Devlin more than he was ready to admit, given his own hatred of other Bandorians. Nonetheless, Sadar had to leave the cadet behind until the appropriate time presented itself. Besides, the Grax resistance did not support the Bandorians, so arrangements were only made for one to escape.

  When Joe happened upon Sadar and released him, the plan had already been set, and Joe had only affected the start of the timeline. Joe’s fate would have to be left in his own hands, while Sadar returned to his people. However, it was a risky undertaking without the Black Medallion. Sadar was not sure if he was ready to gamble without it.

  BANG!

  The shockwave hit Sadar first with no forewarning, with its sound arriving later. Its force caused a stinging pain all the way down Sadar’s arm to his hand, rebounding with twice its original intensity. The blast had laid him flat against the dark metallic deck, in plain view of other Grax.

  In that split micro-cycle of time, it was already too late. A guard standing at the intersection of two passageways took notice and quickly moved toward Sadar.

  The guard’s weapon looked more like a large club held backward than a laser gun, with its butt end abnormally broad and round, requiring the user to insert their arm inside the rear end to reach the trigger. As the guard closed on Sadar, he slung the weapon over his shoulder freeing up his hands.

  Sadar leaped up from the ground but was caught between the guard and the passageway’s wall. Twisting his body for leverage against the sidewall, he pushed off it with his frail figure. Yet, his action was too late as the guard grasped him tightly.

  Caught again, Sadar was disappointed that he had failed his attempted rendezvous. He was not sure where the guard would take him amidst the explosions. The station seemed doomed.

  The sentry towered over Sadar in height, so he was hidden from view between the guard and the sidewall. For the moment, the guard did not speak. Instead, he looked around before pulling Sadar upright while maintaining his grasp on the boy. Oddly, the guard started to once again observe the surroundings, but Sadar did not know what he was looking for.

  Before the guard turned back, Sadar noticed a slight mark on the rear of the helmet. It was a heart pierced with a dagger. The symbol of the Grax resistance was hidden on the lower curve of the back of the guard’s helmet, where the bottom of the outer surface met the inside of the helmet. It was only visible when viewed at an upward angle since it had been faintly etched on. Sadar had found what he was looking for—or had it found him?

  “Safe, I get you,” said the guard in a broken dialect. “You early. Now I fix. Move!” The guard did not speak further but pushed Sadar forward at a pace so brisk that Sadar thought his legs would give out.

  They turned left.

  Then right.

  Moved another fifty meters.

  Turned right again.

  Moved one hundred meters.

  Turned left.

  The pace was dizzying and with the effects of his injury, and the passageways seemed endless. When Sadar was able to focus, the station’s explosions rocked his senses back into a haze of partial confusion. He just knew he was moving forward, nothing else.

  After receiving such tough treatment, Sadar questioned if he had the correct guard, but
he went with it, despite the pounding pain in his tired legs. Malnourishment from the Grax’s captivity made Sadar fatigue easily compared to a healthy eight-year-old, but that is where the comparison ended. Sadar was a Living God, so any sign of pain had to be overlooked to keep his stature intact among his people whom, unknown to him, already thought he was dead.

  Although, as a pledge to his father, Sadar had never worn the Black Medallion, the Tourian people knew of its power and assumed Sadar had always worn it. Sadar had never actually experienced the medallion’s power of healing or ability to make its wearer impervious to death. Sadar had only heard about this from his father’s stories.

  He wondered if Joe had worn it and if he had felt its strength. Yet, Sadar knew he couldn’t let this moment of weakness and pain destroy the Tourians’ way of life. If his god status was threatened, the lives of the Tourians were as well. His escape was the sole hope to free his people from enslavement.

  A voice echoed from the guard’s helmet. “Move! Faster!”

  “I can—” Sadar stopped speaking. He could not say can’t. He had to push on for his people.

  Nevertheless, the guard understood. “Gone soon, if not hurry,” he replied. “People need you . . . hope!”

  More explosions shook the station, knocking the guard and Sadar off balance. Sadar’s legs gave out and he tumbled forward, setting into motion an odd two-person somersault that resembled a synchronized circus act instead of an escape. Three somersaults were completed before they landed on the deck with a deafening thud! The explosions were the worst Sadar had experienced since starting his escape. Whatever had happened, it seemed that the station was literally coming apart at the seams.

  “Levels one through five sealed. Compartments forty-three thru fifty-six breached,” a calm voice reported over the communication system, which seemed odd for the seriousness of the situation. The list consisted of the entire back end of the station. It felt like the entire station was getting blown elsewhere. However, the announcer calmly read through the list as though the damage had barely scratched the station’s paint.

  The detonations were becoming louder and more destructive and, in Sadar’s mind, getting too close for comfort. But now their path was blocked by a Grax search party, who had just found their prize. Sadar tried to turn right, toward the only clear corridor, but his guard yanked him back through a maintenance side door, with the other Grax in pursuit.

  Inside, he stumbled over several maintenance bots working on pipe re-welds, with sparks marking their locations in the dark. The guard grabbed Sadar by the arm, holding him up before once again shoving him roughly forward. The more desperate the situation became, the rougher the guard became. He seemed determined to finish his mission to free Sadar. Even at the risk of injury to the Boy God, and now with a station security team in pursuit, he was not easing up.

  “Move you, much faster,” shouted the guard as shots scorched the walls next to him, instantly vaporizing the surface’s coating. The guard slammed the maintenance door panel behind them, barricading his body against it. The pursuing guards smashed into the panel, but Sadar’s guard held it shut. “There,” the guard yelled.

  “What?” asked Sadar.

  “Hatch open! Now launch!” said the guard. “Experimental ship. Safe it get-you.”

  Sadar swung the hatch open, thumping against the wall with a metallic sound. However, the noise was quickly muffled by the sound of the impending explosions.

  “Quick, door block,” said the guard. “On own now,” he added. “Autopilot front dash, button fat. Press, rest care taken.”

  “I’m not going without you,” said Sadar.

  “Special ship. You fine.”

  “No! Not without you,” Sadar repeated.

  “Go, or both we die,” said the guard.

  The station was now fatally locked in a cascading chain of explosions. Sadar could feel compartments exploding one after another, moving toward them.

  “Go!” insisted the guard. “Time finished!” Then he pushed Sadar through the hatch and slammed it shut behind him.

  Sadar leaped back toward the hatch’s window and saw the guard blocking the maintenance door with his upper torso. Sadar started to reopen the hatch, but his actions were interrupted as the maintenance door burst off its hinges, hurling the guard against the ship’s hatch and reclosing it.

  A dozen Grax guards started to file out in trail to each other and into the confined space between the two doors. This was a tactical error since Sadar’s sentry catapulted himself into the other guards, knocking them back in a domino effect. It was a gutsy move, causing half of them to fall back into the maintenance passageway. Then he aligned his back to the hatch in one last attempt to defend the door, a pointless feat against so many guards.

  Sadar turned around, looking for the fat button described in the guard’s broken dialect of instructions.

  “Sealed. System ready, launch,” spoke the ship’s computer in the same dialect as the guard. It appeared that the guard had also translated some of the ship’s language or had tried.

  The hatch behind Sadar was sealed, but his guard had been captured. His captors’ frantic banging on the ship’s hatch was useless against the outer skin of a ship since they did not have a cutting torch.

  Sadar looked amongst the countless ship buttons, all similar in shape and size. Some were flat and square, while others were rectangular and raised. He was puzzled as to which one to press.

  Without warning, an intense light temporarily blinded Sadar, who instinctively shut his eyes as tight as a clam sheltering from its hunter. He winced as he opened his eyes again. Purple spots blocked his vision as he struggled to see where the light had originated. Its intensity was so strong that even the reflection from the cockpit canopy was enough to blind him momentarily. He turned toward the hatch with his hand acting as a light filter.

  “A torch’s light!” he said out loud to no one’s ears but himself.

  He realized the guards were using it to cut through the door and it would soon be game over.

  Bam! A Grax’s contorted head smashed against the hatch’s window, then immediately disappeared. Sadar’s guard appeared in the window, waving for him to go. Then, in a flash of an explosion, Sadar was thrown against the ship’s controls as it spun head over tail.

  The hatch’s windows filled with fire from the blast, then instantly stopped as the vacuum of space took over. The guard who had helped him was gone, along with the other guards, and what looked like most of the station. His guard had sacrificed himself, delaying the other guards just long enough to allow the station’s chain of explosions to catch up with them.

  Sadar tried to right himself, but he continued to tumble head over heels, slamming against the controls repeatedly. He hit a dozen or more switches with each somersault. Finally, after at least twenty rotations in what felt like a washing machine, his body unintentionally hit the correct button. It lit up red, quickly righting the ship with its thrusters igniting.

  “Autopilot set,” came over the audio system.

  The red button was fat, twice the size of the others, but on the ceiling, the only place he had not looked.

  The guard had preset a course, but to where?

  “Computer, location for flight course?” asked Sadar.

  However, it responded in the Graxs’ language, which the guard had not translated. Sadar realized he would have to wait to learn his ultimate destination, so he decided to relax and await his fate. He took special care not to press any more switches by accident, since he was NOT a pilot or navigator. He just hoped the autopilot knew how to land or he would be in trouble wherever he was headed.

  2

  AI

  Master Repair Specialist Dumar called it AI, an acronym for Artificial Intelligence, meaning that it performed at a higher level and was self-aware. However, to Joe it was a lifeless name to describe a supercomputer that could make trillions of calculations instantly.

  AI could ask its own questio
ns and seek out the answers independently, and to top it off, AI also spoke among other trades. It was a new technology and still experimental, so for the short term, Dumar had asked Joe to keep it to himself since the Intergalactic Space Force, ISF, had not yet made them operational.

  Joe’s relationship with Dumar had deepened greatly since the time of his internship. Dumar now seemed to be working outside the box when it came to Joe. However, Joe wasn’t sure if the AI was a desired addition to his body. The device was a tiny implant, a computer processor the size of a thumbnail, concealed under the skin behind the ear. It worked with the eardrum to relay digitalized speech internally and could also project outward to be heard by others. In any case, Joe heard the AI’s voice the same either way.

  Joe was suspicious of the AI conceivably planting covert commands inside his head. Still, he trusted Dumar’s assurance that nothing of the kind could happen. By default, Dumar had become a mentor to Joe, saying that he had been through too many trials for his youth. He worried that Grax spies would be interested in Joe after his recent interstellar exploits, so he insisted that a little help would counter the risks.

  Nevertheless, Joe still worried about the big brother aspect for the AI, of which the Master Repair Specialist probably intended. Joe didn’t have a brother, and his sister certainly wasn’t big in size to fulfill that aspect. But like any sibling, he especially hated when his sister supervised over him, big brother or not.

  Dumar was a hardened senior enlisted who had seen most of life’s experiences over his years of wartime service. Yet, working with a cadet was novel to Dumar. The experience was rejuvenating and offered a renewed cause, even though it made him overly protective by default.

  “Cadet Joe Devlin, you will be late to class in two hundred and fifty seconds if you don’t move along,” said the AI.