Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1)

by Joshua Boring

  Planetary Powers

  Prime Alpha

  Deus Ex Machina

  Joshua D. Boring

  Dedicated to my first readers, and last editors: Scott and Melinda Boring.

  Mission accomplished.

  Book 1

  Prelude

  [Chrono - 06:24 – 7/21/5640]

  [Navpoint: Vantage]

  [HSN Headquarters]

  The prismatic starline shimmered against miles of battle steel.

  Deep in the folds of space, far from any gravitational force, rotated the Halo-military star fortress, call sign Navpoint Vantage. A single captured planetoid asteroid, shackled to its orbit by thousands of square kilometers of scaffolding encircling its equator like a ring of chains. The core of Navpoint was carved out, reshaped, and retrofitted with singularity reactors that powered the massive shipyards and lit the station up like a man-made star cluster. Positioned all around, hundreds of miles away linked to its rotation, were at least a dozen flat starshields, each outfitted with solar panels that glimmered and shone from across the system. Thousands of bustling maintenance and repair tugs shuttled to and fro while bigger, lumbering warships and transports settled down for long overhauls like burly predators bedding down for hibernation. Millions of personnel, soldiers, and naval crew lived, and served, in the depths of space where Navpoint resided.

  A gravitational anomaly lit up the outer perimeter.

  Ten minutes later, at the anchored command deck tethered to the upper pole of Navpoint, Grand Admiral Faust stepped out of the lift. The crew closest to the lift immediately snapped to their feet with a cry of “Grand Admiral on deck!” causing the collective heart of the military installation to skip. The older, mustached Grand Admiral waved them down with an order of “At ease,” and headed for the officer on station. Through the amplified viewport, starshields 5 and 6 glimmered against the starscape like plates of diamond.

  “What is this about?” Faust asked, narrowing his eyes. He’d been in his den, catching up on some light reading before turning in for bed. The officer saluted smartly before sitting down at his station.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, cautiously. “Eight minutes ago relay outpost Five-Seven-One reported in with a priority alert.”

  Grand Admiral Faust reached up and rubbed his eyes, trying to scrape the sleepiness from his head. “What did they want?”

  “I couldn’t make it out,” the officer shyly admitted. “The transmission was garbled, and there was some sort of commotion in the background. Then they suddenly got cut off. We haven’t reestablished contact as of yet.”

  Faust nodded with a grumble, starting to turn away. “Dispatch an emergency engineer team. They may be suffering some kind of technical failure.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” the officer said, passing off the detail to a secondary officer with a wave of his hand. “Oh, something else I thought you’d like to see. Before Five-Seven-One went dark we read a signal bounce from its sector. It was distorted, but I thought it looked like a hyperspace anomaly, so I called you.”

  Grand Admiral Faust froze. He turned back, arching a bushy eyebrow.

  “A hyperspace distortion?”

  “Aye, sir. A pretty considerable one to appear on our hyperluminal sensors.”

  Faust leaned in over the officer’s station, scanning the transmission data. “Probably some sort of abnormality in the regime. Are there any patrols coming from that sector?”

  “Nnno sir, it’s marked as clear. Admiral Stacker’s battle group isn’t due for another two days. Mass detection isn’t giving me any identifiable profiles. Ahhh… I, don't think they're ours.”

  “If they’re not ours,” Faust said, sternly. “Then who-“

  The Yew battlecraft burst from lightspace with a superluminal flash.

  Grand Admiral Faust straightened up, dumbstruck, as the bridge turned ghostly pale, starlight reflecting off the colossal folded saucer’s chromed silver hull. The reality of the warcraft’s presence was still registering with everyone. The battlecraft had just bypassed Navpoint's grid defenses. The wolf was loose in the sheep pen.

  Strangely, upon seeing the Yew Alliance’s deadliest warcraft, Grand Admiral Faust’s first reaction was… outrage. Then the terror took over as a thousand dazzling superluminal flashes lit up the sky.

  The Yew Alliance had arrived.

  Chapter 1

  [Chrono – 20:19 – 4/13/5641]

  [Co-ordinates: Withheld]

  [Location Unknown]

  The compound was little more than a splash of light on a canvas of pitch black.

  Looking out from its perimeter, nothing was visible but a sea of darkness, giving one the impression of floating on an island of artificial light. Looking up revealed an absence of stars and moons. The usually brilliant vision of deep space was blocked by the incredible mass of the giant blue host planet, preventing even a glimmer of light from slipping past its monumental form.

  The light emitting from the compound did its best to hold the creeping darkness at bay, like a levy against rising floodwaters. But despite the constant flow of power to the luminescent pods provided by the compound’s generators, shadows seeped into every corner, behind every structure, creating a twisting labyrinth of darkness and light. Security cameras, perched on roof corners like mechanical ravens, rotated from side to side, tirelessly searching. The occasional electronic chirp of an alarm system on standby would break the eerie quiet. But the quiet was deceitful in itself.

  Within the perimeter of the prison-like compound, past the automated spotlights and alarm-wired fences, the facilities’ tenants made their presence felt. Sentries in dark machine blaster towers perched ready to vaporize anything that didn’t belong. Guards were stationed at crucial buildings or intersections, silent as statues as they watched through fierce-faced helmets. Patrols prowled the shadows as specters, alone or in pairs. No display or verbal explanation was required to declare that this was their compound. Their infamous energy weapons were always at hand, and their warriors’ armor gleamed with an extraterrestrial alloy.

  These were Vorch.

  ***

  At a distance, they could be easily mistaken for Human. They were bipedal, and definitely humanoid by general definition, but several things betrayed their alien-ness. Their blister-red skin, boney protrusions, and flat, retractable nose flaps set them obviously aside from Humans. The compound’s guards, however, kept all obvious features hidden, wrapped under layers of armor, gear and weapons.

  Beyond the perimeter, deep within the compound’s network of structures and towers, a lone guard leaned against his post.

  The guard was dressed fully in warrior armor: boots, greaves, gauntlets, padded mid-section, breastplate, shoulder pads, impact gel scarf, and the fierce-faced, all-encasing helmet. The armor was a Vorch’s avatar. But it was their warrior spirit that gave it voice. Crooked in one arm was a Yew Alliance standard issue cell blaster. It was pointed at the ground at an angle, giving the false impression that it wasn’t ready to be fired. But whenever the guard turned to look one way or another, the weapon turned with him, always sweeping to his point of focus.

  The guard was around the side of the building, looking down as he drummed the top of the blaster with his fingertips. Only the sounds of the chirping, dormant alarms and the whir of electronic cameras kept him company. Suddenly, the small sounds were joined by the rustle of approaching footsteps, and a low, wet snarl. Like a flash, the guard snapped his weapon up and pushed off the wall, dropping into a combat-ready stance at whatever was approaching.

  “S’tolak! Who goes there?”

  A heartbeat after the guard’s challenge, the sources of the noise came ar
ound the corner. A patrolman, dressed in armor identical to the first guard’s, calmly strode around the corner, following the hungry-eyed alien feline chained to his arm.

  “Calm down, brother, it’s just me. Put that weapon away before your finger slips.”

  The guard eyed the beast and its tender, then took his thumb off the firing stud and crooked the blaster back in his arm.

  “Zaifan,” he said, offering the traditional Vorch greeting. “I was not expecting you. You, or your… friend.”

  “Surprise. We have come to eat you.”

  The strong, scale-covered feline curled its lip back and issued a threatening snarl, staring straight at the guard with its glassy, reflective eyes. The patrolman jerked the leash and scolded the cat in a hiss, but the alien cat hardly seemed to notice. The guard eyed the creature, then looked back to the patrolman.

  “So they’ve extended the Maul patrols. Why?”

  The patrolman shrugged, expression unreadable. “How should I know? I just walk the gasten things.”

  The alien Maul bowed its head down and pawed at the ground, emitting a sound that was half growl and half purr. The guard gave a hollow laugh, causing his facemask voice modulator to cough with static.

  “Stupid beast. Hey!” The Maul looked up and blinked, making small gurgling noises at the back of its throat. The guard chuckled and reached out to scratch the cat’s rough ears. “How is it…”

  His hand was still reaching out when the Maul lunged, mouth opening wide and revealing a pair of incredibly long snake-like fangs. The guard stepped back in alarm as the Maul snapped at his hand, snarling loudly and hissing like a steam pipe. The patrolman yanked back on the leash, drawing it tight with a snap, screaming furiously at the attack beast.

  “Aato! Sey’to na vance dey gasten farlay!”

  The patrolman punctuated his words by bringing his shock wand down hard on the back of the beast’s head. The Maul choked off mid-snarl and yelped, drawing back and tossing its head, rattling its chain collar. The patrolman wasn’t done yet, though, and thrust the tip of his wand onto the base of the cat’s neck. There was a crack-like discharge, and the Maul howled, spasming in pain. It spat a snarl, but it was subdued, like the tender intended. The guard that had nearly had his hand bitten stepped in and towered over the animal.

  “Vahk! Damned cat! Bite the hand that feeds you.”

  The patrolman sheathed the shock wand and scoffed, causing his mask vent to distort.

  “The hand is what feeds it. And you should know better.”

  The guard started to say something, grumbled, and looked away, rubbing his blaster arm with his free hand. The patrolman cocked his head at the guard.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Its cold out here,” the guard explained, reluctantly. “This suit doesn’t do much to retain heat.”

  The patrolman reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a small box.

  “Would these help?”

  The guard stopped rubbing his arm at the sight of the cigarettes. “Where did you get those?”

  “Brought them with me,” the patrolman explained, shrugging. “I’ve smoked one or two when no one was looking.”

  “You shouldn’t have those,” said the guard, disapproval transparent as he reached for the pack. “If the commander catches you with them, he’ll carve one of your hearts out.”

  The patrolman scoffed and tossed the pack to the guard. “So? I’m supposed to have two, aren’t I? Just smoke the stupid plant stick. It’ll help you warm yourself a little. Besides, it’ll agitate the Mauls.”

  The guard chuckled as he undid the catches on his mask vent, shuffling the pack. “Well, just don’t tell the commander. We’re not supposed to have Human cigarettes.”

  “And yet you will never see the commander without one,” countered the patrolman as he turned away. “Enjoy the cigarette, brother. Nafiaz.”

  “Nafiaz,” repeated the guard. The patrolman tugged on the leash until the alien feline obeyed and followed him along their patrol route. The guard watched them go, smiling as he placed the stick between his teeth. He lifted the pack up and activated the built-in thermal lighter.

  He never got to take a drag.

  Chapter 2

  As the pack’s built-in lighter clinked closed, a hand materialized from the shadows behind the guard and grabbed him across the face, stifling his startled cry as the glowing cigarette was smashed against his face. Caught off guard, the sentry’s arms went out to his sides for balance as he was yanked into the shadows between buildings. He began struggling, but too late to do him any good. The glint of a knife passed before the guard’s helmet, and as the warrior fumbled to bring his cell blaster into his arms, the blade bit into the side of his neck, right between the helmet and the gel scarf. The guard shuddered in his attacker’s grasp, cell blaster trembling for an instant in his hands, before the weapon fell to the ground and the guard ceased all movement.

  Nathen Brampton exhaled as the adrenaline coursed through his veins.

  The commando dumped the body on the ground, next to the weapon, and knelt, waiting to see if the patrolman would return with the Maul. Nathen held his hand to the ground, feeling for the vibration of pounding footsteps. His fingers curled tightly around the knife, bracing like a runner at the starting blocks, ready to launch into an attack if the patrolman came bolting around the corner. He listened for the telltale wet snarl of a Maul on the attack.

  Nothing.

  After listening for another moment, Nathen sheathed his knife. He reached up and adjusted his black face mask, letting in a breath of fresh air, and then turned his attention to his victim. It had been difficult to hold his breath through their entire conversation. And the whole time he’d been worried the beating of his heart would attract the attention of the blood-sucking attack cat. So he’d stood there, not five feet away, hugging the wall and melting into the protective veil of the shadows. Luckilly the patrolmans nicotine indulgence had numbed the Mauls sense of smell. The guards had never suspected he was there.

  Nathen rolled the body over, face up. He casually tugged the gel scarf back and checked the guard’s neck for a pulse. He felt a strong but rather relaxed pulse under his fingertips, with a beat coming every few seconds. He nodded to himself in satisfaction.

  That neurotoxin works fast, he thought. The dose I gave him should only put him out for an hour. That should be more than enough time.

  Nathen pulled his weapon out and turned the blade over in his hand, checking the knife’s fill-meter. It was down about two-thirds. Elsewhere in the compound, three other unwary sentries were having nice, long naps. He’d need to reload the knife with a new vial, but the current amount would be good for another two guards. Nathen re-sheathed the knife after taking a cautious glance around.

  Nathen quickly but carefully patted the guard down, keeping his eyes and ears alert for any more approaching guards. The last thing he wanted at this point was to have another Maul patrol come along and relieve him of several pints of blood. After several seconds, Nathen concluded the sentry didn’t have what he was looking for. He sighed.

  Nothing. I was hoping one of these guards would have an access card. This could get tricky.

  Nathen crawled over to the corner of the building, making sure to keep to the darkest areas, and carefully peeked around the corner. His eyes scanned the dark, blocky buildings around him. This deep into the compound, patrols were heavy, but fortunately the guards weren’t as hair-trigger as the perimeter patrols. All the buildings would be locked and secured, but Nathen only wanted to get into one. And the one he wanted stood over three stories tall dead center of the compound. On the roof was a massive satcom dish, and several more sentry towers with spotlights. But spotlights didn’t concern Nathen. He just needed to slip in, breach the building, and his target would be inside. The enemy VIP, on his monthly inspection…

  It happened as subtly as a gentle breeze. From a blind spot in his mind’s eye there was suddenly a glow of awa
reness. A silent but insistent alarm bell was ringing in the back of his head, warning him that he wasn’t alone. Though Nathen hadn’t heard, seen or felt anything, he knew it with certainty. With resolve, Nathen’s right hand crept instinctively to the electro-dart pistol holstered on his hip, finger curving around the trigger as he braced his legs to round on the presence. His muscles tensed, bunching up in preparation for a dive. Then, slowly overpowering the instinct to jump and attack, there was a recognition that came from years of trust and friendship.

  Nathen let his finger ease off the trigger.

  “Hello….. Bayonet.” he said, calmly.

  He turned, placing his back to the wall of the building, sitting in an almost relaxed position. It was only due to Nathen’s trained night vision that he made out the darkened outline of a tall, athletic woman dressed in a black infiltration suit that matched Nathen’s down to the face mask. This was Helen Platner, aka Bayonet, his second in command and tactician. Her six-foot figure stood with one hand planted on her hip, her other hand hovering by her holstered sidearm, identical to Nathen’s.

  “How do you do that?” she asked in a resentfull whisper.

  Nathen absently fixed his gloves, keeping his response short and low.

  “Do what?”

  “That thing you do. It’s eerie.”

  “Some would consider sneaking up on someone in the dark to be eerie.”

  “What about him?” Helen motioned deftly at the nicked guard heaped against the wall.

  Nathen shrugged. “Technically he’s dead. So his opinion doesn’t count.” Nathen glanced past Helen, checking to make sure they were alone. “Run into much trouble on your way in?”

  Helen walked over and leaned against the wall, sliding down until she was level with Nathen. “None at all. They’re making this too easy on us.”