Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1)

by Joshua Boring

  “Undoubtedly, sir.”

  Denver motioned toward the six commandos behind Nathen, the ember of his cigarette drawing a glowing line through the air. “I helped build this team. Your best interests are my best interests. I’m not putting a girl on the team because I like to see young people get killed.”

  “You killed all of us five minutes ago.”

  “Pfft, you’re still being salty about that? I’m already over it.”

  Nearby, Phillip overheard and looked over, curious. “Wait a minute, what was that? What did you say?”

  “I herd ‘im,” answered Kyler, towering over the other members. “Crikey, he sed theh’s gonna be a new girl on the team.”

  Nathen shot a meaningful look in his gunner’s direction. “Quiet, Buckshot. Now’s not the time.”

  Despite Nathen’s clear warning, the hunter went on.

  “I’m just sayin’, thet’s all. Blimey, she’s gonna be the translatah, isn’t she? Wow. Motha always sed, if youh lookin’ for a nice girl, get someone thet ken speak theh mind. But someone who ken do et en several languages…”

  “I said that’s enough!” barked Nathen, slashing his hand sideways for silence. “Alpha’s, wait outside while I talk to Chronos. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, suhr,” sighed Kyler, leading the way out of the room with a single backwards look. The others followed quietly joking and talking to themselves or congratulating the two who had made it without a scratch. Nathen turned back to the conversation.

  “Say we accept this new translator,” he said, crossing his arms. “We’re officially re-activated. You expect me to drop her into a warzone with no team training or experience?”

  “Look Knight,” said Denver, sighing. “She’s on the team, so you’d better start liking it. You can doubt if you like. But she’s got the potential, and I want you to bring it out of her. It’d be a crime to let her spoil her skills in the Infantry.”

  Nathen looked at Denver for a moment, pondering the information. At last, he shrugged.

  “Alright,” he said. “It can’t be all that bad if you say so. We’ll see.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re well insured,” joked Denver, tossing his cigarette stub on the floor and leaving it to smolder. “I’m telling you though. She’ll fit in just fine.”

  Denver looked down at his watch and checked the time. After a second, he looked back to Nathen.

  “Your ride leaves in three hours for the Minius System. You’ll refuel and re-supply at the Gladius Dome on Port Ive.”

  “The civilian spaceport?”

  “That’s the one. There will be some civilian traffic, but don’t worry about it. Troop traffic has really picked up, so you’ll be able to blend in. Haven Alpha has already been re-activated. She’s your ride to the Minius System. Your new member will be at the Northwest receiving terminal at 0600, sharp. Be there, because she will be. Any questions?”

  Nathen arched an eyebrow. “Do I get a hint this time on where we’ll be going next?”

  Denver breathed out, like he was thinking about it, then nodded. “Something did catch my eye. There’s been some interesting chatter intercepted near the Menturion System. Yew Alliance signal. Haven’t examined it myself, but it may be a decent challenge to test out your new translator. Want a crack at it?”

  Nathen nodded. “Might as well. After eight months of down time I would honestly rather go looking for trouble than have trouble come after me.”

  “I’ll strip the encryption and download the transmission to Haven Alpha’s data stores before takeoff. Anything else?”

  Nathen shook his head. “No. Just the best of wishes as we go our separate ways.”

  “Then I wish the same to you, Commander Knight.”

  Denver walked past the ESC commander and headed for the door, but stopped before he got there. He pulled out his cigarette pack and thumbed out a fresh stick with the practiced skill of a longtime smoker. He stuck the stick in his mouth and clicked the pack’s built-in thermal lighter. The pack went back into his chest pocket, and the aged commander took a long drag. The glow of the cigarette was obvious in the control room’s dim lighting. Nathen waited, sensing his superior’s hesitation. When he turned, any trace of jovial humor was gone. Denver’s expression was one of grim seriousness.

  “When you get out there,” he said, talking past the cigarette clenched tight between his teeth. “You give the bastards my regards.”

  Nathen uncrossed his arms and held his right hand out at shoulder level. Denver reached out and slapped his right hand into Nathen’s offered grip, and the two men locked their hands tight for a moment. Nathen’s eyes flashed the color of cold steel.

  “Yes sir.”

  Denver held the pressure for another moment, then released Nathen’s hand and saluted. Nathen returned the salute, and then both men dropped their arms.

  “Deus Ex Machina,” he said, quoting the ESC’s motto. He turned and strode out of the room, trailing smoke. Nathen watched him go, alone in the control room. He crossed his arms and glared down at the floor.

  Humanity was going to war.

  “Game on,” he said to the empty room.

  Chapter 5

  [Minius System] – [Port Ive Spaceport]

  Nathen took in as much of the surroundings as possible while he rode the moving walkway toward the terminal. So much was going on already, and he had just left Haven Alpha less than two minutes ago. He was barely inside the Gladius Dome before he’d hit a small crowd. The moving walkway made travel easier, at least around the outer areas of the dome where ships were docked. Such crowds were manageable, and easily routed or filtered to whatever ship transfer they needed to reach their destination. However, Nathen was headed inward, and the crows would just get larger and denser from here on in.

  Nathen was sporting the plain brown leather jacket that he wore for occasions when he left Haven Alpha to mingle with civilians. Mingling had its advantages. After years of practice, Nathen had learned to move among crowds unseen and unnoticed. The simple skill of blending into a mass of beings was part of what made Nathen an excellent ESC.

  Aside from his old weather-beatenjacket, Nathen wore a pair of brown leather gloves to match. For comfort reasons, as well as practical ones, Nathen was wearing a tight fitting white T-shirt tucked into his belted army pants. To avoid virtually shouting that he was military, Nathen was sporting a pair of athletic shoes, designed for running or simply walking. Nathen was an experienced veteran who had figured out many of the secrets of the trade. One of those secrets was in the dress attire. Nathen discovered that out of all the things he could wear, nothing would give away that he was military more than boots. Strangely enough, not even his fatigue pants gave him away as much as the boots would have. Nathen had seen it happen before: undercover operatives had chosen that particular footwear out of habit, only to find it blew their cover quickly.

  Under Nathen’s jacket was, of course, his trusty Denchura II. The Denchura model had upgraded a year ago to its mark IV stage, which was lighter and had four additional cartridges in the magazine. But Nathen preferred the older mark II for its honorable service to him. It felt right in his hand, like a true extension of himself, and the extra weight was more of a comfort than a hindrance, holstered under his left arm for easy access and concealment.

  Nathen never went anywhere unarmed, even when trying to play the part of a retired marine. Nathen’s .45 had the stopping power and reliability that he preferred. Other than his pistol, Nathen carried just one weapon, aside from his body, which would most likely be enough in any situation.

  Nathen carried a dagger, concealed in a hidden sheath in his right sleeve, just within reach. The titanium blade was six inches long and split in the middle before coming together in a wickedly sharp point. A blade that long would normally have made it impossible to carry and conceal, but the dagger was retractable and spring-loaded like a switchblade. Nathen could whip it out and have the blade deployed in the split second it took him to
analyze a threat. If need be, he could even deploy it straight out of his sleeve. A blade like that was illegal on most populated planets, but if someone discovered it, no one was going to question an ex-soldier of Nathen’s rank. Even as a “retired” Marine of the First Elemental Battalion, the rank of Major still carried a lot of respect from others.

  Nathen glanced up at a neon sign overhead that marked his exit. The moving walkways didn’t span the entire dome. They were meant to guide crew or passengers to their ships in an orderly manner. The purpose of the walkways was not to keep people from walking, just to control traffic; kind of like taking a lift or elevator.

  Nathen reached the ramp that led to the main concourse and stepped off. A few others got off as well, but most stayed on the walkway. At the top of the ramp, artificial light shone down, and the growing sound of a multitude of voices that had blended into one reached Nathen’s ears. Soon, he reached the top of the ramp and paused to take in the scene.

  It was just as he remembered it: The endless, dizzying height of the massive metal dome. Though the dome was constructed of heavy alloys, the insides were lined with giant vidscreens that projected the sky as though the entire spaceport was sitting under a clear bubble. Separated into hexagon grids, the giant inner-dome vidscreens highlighted orbital starship paths in various colors, streaking the ceiling with neon rainbow slipstreams. Incoming shuttles and landing starcraft were clearly framed, highlighted, tracked and identified so passengers waiting below could watch and know when their expected flight was coming down. Hundreds upon hundreds of people milled about every which way. The same as it had been all those years ago. Nathen shrugged his jacket up a little higher so it sat on his shoulders better and strode forward into the throng of beings that massed within the Gladius Dome.

  The first time Nathen had been here, he’d still been a Marine. Freshly commissioned as Major, Nathen and a select group of the men under his command had stopped a smuggling syndicate that was dabbling in everything from foreign weapons to human trafficking. Nathen looked up and could see one of the many maintenance archways near the top of the dome. He’d been developing his sniping skills back then, and he’d traded a bullet for a life that day perched on one of those archways. This wasn’t his first time back at Gladius since then, and while he didn’t avoid the place, he didn’t go out of his way to return here either. The memories were not necessarily pleasant.

  Nathen moved through the crowds quickly, moving people aside with gentle motions of his hands like someone would brush through the foliage of a forest. Moving quickly and discretely through heavily crowded areas was another skill Nathen had taught himself. Walking at normal pace was easy, and if need be, he could pick up to a run without knocking anyone over.

  The Dome was huge. Its inner complexes ranged from entertainment centers to hotels to military bars. Outside the dome were a series of mini domes and landing platforms, that housed craft ranging from full scale starships to fighters and atmospheric patrol craft. Haven Alpha, the ESC’s mobile headquarters, was berthed in Docking Dome #12. You couldn’t see any of them from inside, at least, not from where Nathen currently was. The center of the dome was elevated, with lower levels tiered around it. It was on these levels that the Gladius Dome attractions and comforts were located.

  Nathen glanced to his left as a group of five non-Humans walked by going the other direction. They were tall, rubbery-skinned bipedals, more amphibian than their purely aquatic appearance would suggest. Squlashers of the Sktish Empire, or “Squishies” as they were sometimes called by the common soldier. Nathen recognized them as civilians, dressed in a comfortably snug material that resembled woven baleen. As they passed, Nathen saw at least two of them glance in his direction, sweeping him over with their large, murky eyes. Not wanting to stare, Nathen looked straight ahead. The Squlashers did the same, and all went their separate ways.

  It wasn’t uncommon to see other species out here, Nathen reflected. The Squlashers had been involved in the Solar War years before the Humans. They were currently in the process of losing to the malicious Insectoid races of the War Hive, but to their credit, they were dragging it out for the long run, refusing to be steamrolled like many others. From what Nathen knew about their culture, they were a civilized bunch, and polite. Races of the Sktish Empire were welcome in most military bases under the flag of the United Race of Humanity… but only as guests.

  Nathen made his way farther inward, toward the stacked levels that marked the very center of the Gladius Dome. He followed the signs, because other than the various guard stations or storage hangars, there wasn’t much in the way of definitive landmarks. But, aside from the fact that Nathen was caught in the middle of an increasingly larger crowd of people, both military and civilian, before he knew it he was at the main concourse, the crossroads between stations.

  Nathen stopped and put his hands in his jacket pockets, looking casually up at the boards. They mostly just pointed to different landing domes and platforms, with an occasional shuttle departure time flashed on and off the main screen. Shuttles were needed to reach the larger spacecraft, which were too massive to land within a planet’s atmosphere. There were a few advertisements or announcements on a screen or two. Suspended above all the screens was one large screen displaying the current standard time in military format. Nathen compared the time to his own, displayed on his personal ESC comm. unit.

  05:14.

  The shield-shaped comm. unit matched the time shown on the main screen. Nathen slid the comm. unit back into the inside pocket of his jacket and sighed. His new speaker wasn’t due to be at the Northwest receiving terminal for another forty-six minutes. Nathen thought it over for a minute. Being early wouldn’t hurt. If he was there waiting for her, the better for both of them. He’d get a good chance to size her up for himself before having to whisk her back to Haven Alpha. On the other hand, forty-six minutes was a long time to wait, and he didn’t like sitting in the open for that long. Nathen glanced one more time at the overhead screen, which had just changed to 05:15, and made his decision.

  Nathen headed north, toward the lowest level of the stacked center of the Dome. The few times he’d been here before, there was one place where he and/or those under his immediate command could kill time. There was a strictly military bar, called the Blue Oasis, where you could buy just about any kind of drink you wanted, whether it was alcoholic or not. Nathen often opted for the latter, but he enjoyed a Latin-ale every now and then. He’d find something to do to kill time for the next thirty minutes.

  Nathen worked his way through moving crowds until he spotted the familiar glowing blue sign of a palm tree silhouetted against a crescent moon. Aside from the glowing sign, the Blue Oasis did not have much in the way of decoration. There was a single black-tinted window next to the automatic sliding door. That was about it. There was a fully-uniformed sentry standing at the door, but he was mostly there to make sure that only military personnel made it into the bar. Patrons of the Oasis did not often cause trouble, since the punishment for misbehavior in the military were severe. Civilians had other bars to choose from.

  Nathen walked up to the door and faced the sentry. The uniformed guard turned toward Nathen and extended one hand, the other hand held behind his back. Nathen realized that holding his free arm behind his back was just as much a formality as it was an easy way to reach a concealed weapon.

  “Identification, please.”

  Nathen reached into his inside pocket and pulled out his passport. He handed it to the guard, who took a look at it for a moment, then handed it back.

  “Ex-marine, huh, sir? How’d you manage a ticket out?”

  Nathen shrugged. “I guess I’d killed my share.” A little surprisingly, the door sentry smiled.

  “I see. Well, enjoy your time at the Blue Oasis.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Nathen saluted the sentry as the door slid open to let him in, and the guard, left arm still formally behind his back, saluted with his free arm in re
turn. Nathen stepped inside and paused briefly, two paces inside to let his eyes adjust to the subdued lighting once the door had slid shut behind him. Most bars had dimmer lighting, so as not to agitate patrons who’d had imbibed one drink too many. Nathen’s eyes adjusted quickly and he picked out the bar’s other occupants.

  There were probably no more than sixteen people in the bar. Four were actually at the bar, and the rest were scattered around the room, mostly in groups. About six out of sixteen were Infantry; two were, by Nathen’s guess, off-duty Marines sitting off in a corner; and the rest were Navy. There was light music playing from the speakers in the ceiling, some kind of soft melody that wasn’t all that catchy, more memorable for the moment of silence when it stopped. A few of the bar’s residents looked up to see who’d entered, but they quickly found their drinks and conversations more interesting. Nathen walked over to a vacant stool at the end of the bar and sat down.

  “Can I get ya anything?” asked the barkeep, walking over to Nathen and leaning on the bar. “ ‘Fraid we’re out of Masquerade, but anything else on the list is in stock.”

  Nathen shrugged lightly. Masquerade wasn’t his choice of drink anyway. A bit too classy for him, though cheap by high standards. Nathen tapped the bar top in thought. After a second, he met the bartender’s eyes.

  “Been a while since I was here last. Do you still serve Silverion Spice Mead?”

  The barkeep shook his head, disappointedly. “No, ‘fraid not. We stopped stocking that months ago. War blockades from Vigal space kinda shut that product down.”

  “Alright then. Give me a glass of water. You can’t go wrong with that.”

  “Heh. You clearly haven’t tasted recycled water, pal.”

  The barkeep turned away, chuckling to himself as he selected a clean glass from the shelf. He walked past the tap toward the sink, squeezed the handle until water spouted out, then shut it off once the water sloshed up over the sides. He returned, wiping the sides with a hand towel, and placed it in front of him.