Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1)

by Joshua Boring

  “ ‘Kay, on three. One... Three!”

  The table shuddered as muscles tensed like an electric shock. The competition was decidedly unfair. Kyler's arm alone was twice as big as Doc's. The fact that his arm didn't instantly slam against the table was a testament to his resilient nature. The medic gritted his teeth and pressed back, straining against Kyler’s strong grip. They deadlocked, and Trent shouted from his seat down the bench.

  “Oh, come on, now! You got more than that, Doc! Let him have it!”

  Doc strained and managed to get Kyler’s python arm to lean a little bit toward the table.

  Kyler smiled at the turn of events, shirt already staining with sweat. “Not bad, Doc. Let's see how long you can hold thet up.”

  Doc managed to grin back, but the grin was absorbed by the strain on his face as Kyler slowly began forcing his arm down toward the table again. Doc gripped the table edge with his other hand and gritted his teeth as the competition swayed more in Kyler’s favor. The giant smiled, knowing he had the contest won. After a moment, Doc let loose his strained lungs and groaned loudly as his arm hit the table with a dull thud. The medic flexed his sore arm as he pulled a folded bill from his jacket and tossed it on the pile.

  “Who's next?” Kyler said, eyeing Trent meaningfully. The sniper took a swig from his cup and dropped it on the counter, sliding over as Doc scooted out of the way. One-on-one arm wrestling with Kyler Jeston as a contest of strength was like deciding who was smarter by hitting themselves in the head with a hammer. But the Alphas had adapted it into sort of a game. By seeing how many consecutive contests the giant could handle before he tired and sank to their level. For every person who lost, a bill was added to the pool. If someone beat Kyler, the entire pool went to that person. If nobody beat Kyler, than the Paxtonite got the lot. So far, between the two of them, neither Trent nor Doc could sense any hope of reclaiming their winnings.

  The sniper settled in and took several clearing breaths before closing his hand into Kyler's waiting palm.

  “Ready,” he said, giving the hunter a thousand-yard stare. Kyler grinned.

  “Pull!”

  The two men slammed their muscles tight again like they were simultaneously grabbing a live wire. Trent instantly lost an inch, and Kyler grinned.

  “Hang in theh, mate,” he coaxed.

  Trent did. He held on, but he never quite managed to move Kyler's arm off his. Eventually he felt his strength draining and the sniper saw his arm drop. Finally, with a single trickle of sweat running down his grinning face, Kyler slammed Trent's arm onto the table. Trent gasped and released Kyler's hand, wringing his fingers in pain as he tossed a folded bill into the growing pool.

  “Ah, I give up. Kyler, what did they feed you at the Frankenstein nursery?”

  Kyler laughed and sat back, crossing his massive arms. “Oh, jus’ the family secret recipe. Made ou’ of the best traditional home grown engredients. Lotsa proteins an’ irons an’ all thet.”

  Kyler placed his arm on the table and leaned toward Doc. “Ta tell the truth, though, it’s in the seasonin’s.”

  Doc got up and walked over to the Plater refrigerated food dispenser in the wall. “Just like mother used to make it, right?”

  Kyler tilted his head and shrugged. “Couldn’t be eny otha’ way. Even I could’n handle what my old man ate. I could give yeh a preview if you’d like.”

  Doc hit a switch on the food dispenser and a heavily processed carrot ration rolled into the tray. “I’ll take you up on that some other day, maybe.” Doc scooped the processed carrot bar out of the tray and bit the corner off it. “But for now, I’ll stick to what I know is healthy.”

  Kyler scoffed. “I’m insulted. Don’ trust what my own motha cooks?”

  Doc jabbed the end of the carrot at Kyler. “Your mom ain’t here, Bucky ol’ boy. It would be different coming from her, instead of you.”

  “Yeah,” added Trent, fanning his hand in his fingerless gloves. “I never did envision you as the cooking type. More the ‘eat-what-you-killed-while-it’s-still-raw’ type.”

  Kyler twisted around so he was half facing Trent. “Trent? You’re the bloody survivalist, for cry’n out loud. You, of all people, must know what it’s like to have to work with what ya got.”

  Trent sighed and shook his head. “This conversation is suddenly getting way too personal.”

  Doc nodded and took another bite out of his carrot. “Yeah, let’s change the subject, hmm? Like, off of Kyler’s home cooking.”

  Kyler rolled his eyes and turned back to the table. “Its like you people don’ trust me or somethin’.”

  It was at that moment that the door leading to the hallway hissed open, letting a grim but mobile Jonathan enter. Everyone turned in his direction, glad to have something else to talk about.

  “Well, well. Speaking of distrust. Look who’s finally up and about.”

  Jonathan nodded, offering a friendly grin. “Oh yeah. I feel like a wonder. With a down payment of some broken ribs and internal bleeding you get a nice, comfy stay in the hotel regenerator.”

  The room was silent for a moment. Jonathan took a deep breath and let it out. “I need a beer.”

  Kyler jabbed a thumb in Doc’s direction. “Beer? Who needs beer? Carrets. Carrets are what Doc ets, so they must be healthy. Right Trent?”

  Trent scoffed and slammed a deck of cards down on the table. “Whatever. Johnny, you up for a game of cards?”

  Jonathan sat down across from Kyler and rested both his forearms, palms down, on the tabletop. “In a minute. But first, this guy’s got that look.”

  Kyler arched an eyebrow. “What look, per say?”

  Jonathan lifted his right arm and planted his elbow on the surface, holding his hand up palm open, his prison I.D. tattoo facing outwards.

  “That look that says ‘Someone please kick my ass’.”

  Kyler grinned and accepted the challenge, grabbing onto Jonathan's palm. “Yer on, mate.”

  Doc sighed and ground pieces of carrot in his mouth. “Not this macho mumbo jumbo again. Trent, I’ll take you up on that card game.”

  Trent leaned against the table and moved the deck aside. “In a minute. I want to see this.”

  Doc nodded and took another large bite out of the carrot bar, biting it almost down to the end. Jonathan turned back to Kyler.

  “On three then.”

  Kyler nodded. “On three.”

  The two stared at each other for a second, neither suggesting the first attempt.

  “Three!” said Kyler.

  Unlike Doc, Jonathan wasn’t so easily caught off guard and managed to respond with as much force as if he’d been expecting it. Kyler grinned and pressed harder against Jonathan’s hand. Jonathan pressed back, adding just as much strength. Despite Kyler's unfair advantage of pure bulk, the two Elite Stellar Commandos were keeping pretty even. Trent and Doc were watching, impressed that Jonathan, fresh out of the infirmary was managing to out muscle the big blonde giant who had bested them both multiple times. Only Kyler could tell how Jonathan was really able to keep up. From the second they'd clasped hands, Jonathan had bypassed the Aussie's thumb and squeezed Kylers knuckles together, pinching his hand. Kyler's hand had virtually no gripping power from that point on. Jonathan had superior leverage.

  Not wanting to lose face at Jonathan's 'unfair' tactic, he just kept playing, hiding his grimace behind a playful grin. Kyler gripped the tabletop with his free fingers, grinning as the contest remained at a standstill.

  “Bloody hell, Jonathan, give a mate a break. You get off of a medical bed and already you can hold your own against me? I’m begginin’ to think thet regenerator is givin’ you an unfair advantage in ahm strength.”

  Jonathan, ignoring Kyler’s words, glanced over at Trent and Doc, then looked back to Kyler, lowering his voice to a dull half-whisper. “I know something you don't.”

  Kyler smirked as the deadlock began wavering. “You’re just tryin’ to distract me. Sorray mate, but no
dice.”

  Jonathan gripped harder, pinching Kyler's knuckles together painfully, and managed to lean the game in his favor. “I think we were ratted out back on Cravac.”

  Kyler’s grin disappeared as the contest sank more against him.

  “Okay, maybe you’ve got my ettention. What makes you say thet?”

  Jonathan eased up on the pressure and let Kyler push the contest back into a stalemate.

  “You think too much with your brain. You need to think more with instinct.”

  Kyler let loose a gasping laugh. “I ain't nevah been accused of over-burdening my magnificent brain.”

  “Or stressing your humility,” Trent said. On Jonathan's right side, Doc leaned in closer.

  “So what are you thinking?”

  Jonathan, arm starting to tremble, glanced sideways at the medic.

  “I think it was one of us.”

  Kyler smirked and levered Jonathan’s arm toward the table some. “You’re joking.”

  Jonathan stared back at Kyler, stone faced. Kyler lost his smirk. “You’re not joking.”

  Jonathan shook his head slightly from side to side. “Since when do I joke?”

  Kyler tried to grip Jonathan's hand harder, but Jonathan kept his fingers pinched, limiting his grip. “Youh lyin'. An Elite Stellar Commando, sellin’ out to the Yew? Theh's not a chance en Hell it was eny of us.”

  Jonathan shook his head slowly. “No? I guess we’ve all had that chummy family bond with each other, with the bloody missions we’ve shared. Every time I get shot I feel our connection grow.”

  “Bitter baby,” Kyler mocked.

  “Sure, okay. Maybe we think we know each other well enough to trust. But did you notice how odd the new girl’s been acting?”

  Kyler blinked as a sweat drop trickled down the side of his head. “Calico?”

  Jonathan nodded. Kyler glanced sideways, sweeping Trent and Doc with his eyes. After a second, he looked back to Jonathan. “The girl’s harmless.”

  Jonathan set his jaw. “I think she's the most dangerous thing to ever happen to Team Alpha.”

  Kyler cocked his head to the side. “You’re losing me.”

  Jonathan leaned forward, leaning his chest in close to the locked arms. “She's a whimpering greenhorn who expects the rest of us to die to keep her alive.”

  “You really are a fiend,” Trent commented, shaking his head. “You don't think any of us would have done the same to save you?”

  “I don't think,” Jonathan said, meeting Trent's accusing gaze. “I know no one would do that for me.”

  Kyler grunted as the arm wrestling contest leaned more in Jonathan’s favor.

  “Et was just a fluke. The Alliance got lucky. Theh’s not enough evidence to single the girl out as a spy.”

  Jonathan grinned smugly and managed to force Kyler’s arm further, leaving it hovering an inch above the table.

  “She speaks their language too well.”

  Doc frowned. Jonathan leaned in closer.

  “We don't know anything about her.”

  Trent sighed, rubbing his jaw and looking down. Jonathan leaned in close until he was nose-to-nose with the struggling giant.

  “And none of this happened before she showed up.”

  Kyler’s arm hit the table with a dull thud, and the contest was over. Kyler breathed heavily now that the struggle was done. “You’re just paranoid, mate. I’d imagine someone like you wouldn’t easily trust anyone.”

  Jonathan stood up and rested both palms on the table. “Paranoid and untrusting? I can't think of better qualities than those to help me survive.”

  With silent resignation, the others watched as Jonathan wrapped one arm around the pool of winnings and pulled them in to himself. They were all thinking on the stealth expert's words. Jonathan reached over, past Trent's resting elbow, and slid the deck of cards over in front of him. He pawed at the cards, crafty eyes darting from one teammate to another.

  “So,” he said, grinning. “Who's up for trying to win their money back?”

  Chapter 28

  Gordon woke to the sound of the comm. unit chiming.

  The Captain sat up in his bed, rubbing the drowsiness away from his eyes. He was in his chambers, just off the bridge and positioned behind the lift. His modest, generally undecorated quarters were a built-in strong point in the mobile headquarters’ upper hull. Bare battle alloy reflected off the walls, encapsulating the basic necessities that scattered the room. The only decoration visible was a clean-pressed flag, mounted on the wall just inside the door. Other than that, the captain’s room was empty.

  He checked his watch. 22:05, according to Haven's chrono. Everyone was following the scheduled “Night Cycle” and getting their rest. Gordon checked the instruments next to his bed. Haven was still in phase shift, travelling in a sub-space pocket that hid it from most long-range sensors. Most of the crew were getting their down time, and only the graveyard shift would be up, monitoring Haven Alpha's vital systems, which would run on automatic for hours. Gordon picked up his comm. unit, reading the alert that had awoken him.

  Required on the Bridge:

  Gordon sighed and clipped his comm. unit to his belt, then grabbed his Karl 9 and strapped it on. Stepping into his boots and heading for the door, he shrugged his jacket on as he went. When he stepped through the door, it was like emerging into open space. Most of the lights were off, and the consoles were dark. Through the window was the mystic, soap bubble distortion of phase space. Distant starscapes moved like melting ice floes, shifting, disappearing and re-emerging. It was impossible to navigate by sight under phase conditions. Fortunately, the auto-navigation had things under control.

  Gordon narrowed his eyes, cutting into the miasma of distortion that projected through the front viewscreen. He stood in the darkness, scanning for anything amiss. Slowly, he walked to the silent captain’s station, staring down into the command pit. It was empty, save for the helm. At his station, Haven Alpha's pilot—Tycho—was maintaining the ship on its silent course.

  “What is it?” Gordon spoke.

  Tycho turned and looked over his shoulder, face half in darkness.

  “We’re not alone out here,” he said.

  Gordon sat down, powering up his console. The first thing that popped up was their position projected on a star chart. They were still thirteen hours away from their next jump point. At the moment they were in deep space. A long way from anything.

  Gordon checked the sensors that could reach beyond their safety bubble of phase distortion. Wavebands, and mass detection. From the looks of it, both had been triggered. Over a hundred times.

  “How close are these readings?” Gordon asked, not finding the data himself.

  “Five hundred kilometers,” Tycho said, calmly. “Just the edge of our detection range under phase.”

  Practically spitting distance. Gordon took a slow breath. At the flick of a switch, he could wake everyone up and send them to battle stations. His hand stayed, tapping thoughtfully on his armrest.

  “Do we have identification?”

  “I dropped a probe out of subspace to take a look,” Tycho said. “We’ll get visual feed in a few minutes when it buffers. Take a listen to the waves.”

  Gordon reached down and tapped into the transmission waves Haven Alpha had intercepted. It was distorted, filtering down to the level of subspace where the mobile headquarters was, but the signal seemed strong. The captain switched on the audio feed and started running decryption. The noise that came through the speaker seconds later was ghostly, yet soothing. The sound had a consistent thrumming bass to it, but was punctuated with incremental wails and moans. Gordon frowned, adjusting the frequency to try and amplify the sounds. For a moment, he just listened in the dark.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  The Captain rotated his seat halfway around, eyes locking onto the figure standing in the shadows behind him. In the warped light trickling through the window, Gordon made out a flash of red hai
r. Calico Trast was leaning against the wall by the lift, arms and legs crossed, green eyes staring at the swirl of subspace. She was wearing a spare casual uniform provided by Haven's apparel supply; shin-hemmed cargo pants, athletic self-adjusting boots, snug T-shirt and a jacket with its sleeves cuffed back to the elbows.

  “Sktish Telecode,” she said, directed more at the empty bridge than at Gordon. “I remember hearing it for the first time. I thought it was… music.”

  Gordon rotated his chair the rest of the way and crossed one leg over his knee, slowly studying his visitor.

  “I didn’t hear you arrive.”

  Calico shrugged, still not looking his way. “I’ve been here several hours.”

  The ghostly sound of the transmission continued its song. Gordon sighed and curled his hand down, tiredly checking his watch.

  “You found your quarters unsatisfying?”

  Calico shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep.” She paused, eyes shifting to follow the hypnotic patterns of the melting starscape. “This isn’t what I expected space to be like. Every time I’ve traveled before it was in a troop transport, with no windows like a sealed can of sardines. My idea of space was this… terrifying emptiness that would suck your soul out if you looked at it for too long.”

  Gordon said nothing.

  Calico continued to gaze at the phase-distorted starscape until the sound of shifting feet brought her eyes down. Tycho stood halfway up the stairs to the command pit, staring at the young speaker. She stared back, awkwardly, before looking away. The pilot glanced at Gordon, but the captain gave no indication back, staring hard at the girl. Finally, he issued a tired sigh.

  “Would you care for a cup of hot instacoffee?” Gordon asked, raising a single eyebrow. Calico looked at the captain, slowly nodding. Gordon swiveled partway toward Tycho and gave a small, three-fingered wave to the pilot. “Go on. Get some for yourself too, Mister Tycho.”