Starhold's Fate

by J. Alan Field

  Starhold’s Fate

  By J. Alan Field

  Starhold’s Fate

  Book Four of the Starhold Series

  Book One: Starhold

  Book Two: The Rampant Storm

  Book Three: Keeper of the Sun

  www.jalanfield.net

  Copyright © 2017 J. Alan Field

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9908493-4-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, entities, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Yvonne Less

  art4artists.com.au

  Contents

  1: Gambit

  2: Sacrifice

  3: Comrades

  4: Bond

  5: Imperial Aegis

  6: Ruin

  7: Denlora

  8: High-Rise

  9: Crossbow

  10: Happenstance

  11: Knife’s Edge

  12: So Much Fun

  13: Exchange

  14: Rampage

  15: Safe House

  16: Recon

  17: Gerrha’s Best

  18: Decision

  19: The Manor

  20: Cor Caroli

  21: Inferno

  22: Becalmed

  23: In Plain Sight

  24: Future Tense

  25: Onslaught

  26: BE3

  27: Steadfast

  28: Second Life

  For Your Consideration

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Special thanks to

  Adam Horne and Lenae O’Dell

  for their assistance.

  For Jacob Seitz.

  Devoted family man, educator, and friend.

  Starhold noun

  An area of space, including planets and star systems, which is controlled by its own government; a star-nation.

  1: Gambit

  Planet Adrynar

  Massang homeworld

  Year 2576 CE

  Harradoss zel’ Tobra stood by the window and examined the faces of the other Massang leaders milling about the conference room. They were severe, anxious faces. It reminded him of a group of frightened children, unsettled by the rumble of thunder as it swept across the great Adrynari plains. The Unity deserved better than this craven lot. He deserved better. Harradoss sighed to himself as he turned to gaze outside. It was what it was…

  The Temple of Purity rose high above the capital city. Staring through a large window overlooking the metropolis, Harradoss noted that dusk had given way to the full glory of the nighttime sky. It was the beginning of another blessed evening. The sandy, insufferably hot plains of their homeworld had forced the Massang to develop a nocturnal culture. They were people of the night, and on this particular night, their destiny would change forever. Harradoss was certain of that.

  “I’m sorry, First Protector, but all of the Purity Council members who are currently in the city are now present. This is everyone,” a flustered subordinate announced before he quickly shuffled backward into the shadows.

  “Fourteen,” growled First Protector Yutan as the others seated themselves around the circular conference table. “Only fourteen out of thirty-three. To think that things are so bad we cannot even convene half of the Council.”

  A gaunt looking Massang sitting to the leader’s right fidgeted, absent-mindedly stroking one of the vertical ridges of his reddish-orange face before working up the nerve to speak.

  “It is said that Shartok Ny’tel was dragged from his home on Cazzabius Four and beaten to death by a mob.”

  “A mob which included half of his own security detail,” added another Council member. “And Admiral Ergin is trapped on Loran Prime, blockaded there by rebel warships—from his own fleet, no less.” The folds of skin running over the top of the speaker’s head glowed softly, flushing with either anxiety or anger. Perhaps it was both, Harradoss could not tell.

  “Let us be honest, if not with our own people then with ourselves,” said Sturka, governor of Moz, one of the Massang Core Worlds. Sturka was one of the few people on the Purity Council that Harradoss respected, a person who spoke only when he had something useful to say.

  “Half of the Council has either been killed by traitors or are now traitors themselves,” Sturka said bluntly. “The Lytori and their damnable allies continue to turn this war to their favor. Our slave worlds no longer fear us, rebelling one after another with the assistance of the enemy. Disturbances and outright insurrection have even spread to some of the Core Systems.”

  “How did this happen?” wondered the gaunt Council member in a broken voice, as if the question had leapt from his throat of its own accord.

  “Indeed,” rumbled First Protector Yutan, his gaze turning toward Harradoss. “How did this happen? Shartok Harradoss, do you have any answers?” Yutan glowered at Harradoss as the anxiety level in the room grew.

  Calmly, he answered the query in his own good time. “Perhaps,” Harradoss said finally, “in your inestimable wisdom, First Protector, you have some thoughtful insights which might—”

  “Enough!” Yutan shouted, slapping a large hand down on the table. A muted snarl came from the floor. The noise had awakened the leader’s dhola, a fearsome companion which was never far from the First Protector’s side. The large hound began to stand, but his master reached into his pocket and tossed the creature a meat treat, bidding him to lay back down.

  Yutan’s focus returned to his political prey. “The war against the Lytori would have been over by now, Harradoss, had you not allowed them to meet your precious pets, the humans!”

  The younger Massang started to defend himself, but Yutan rumbled on. “A decade ago, the Council charged you with the task of studying the humans, learning their weaknesses, and preparing the way for invasion and conquest.”

  “Which I did,” Harradoss replied.

  “Their conquest, not ours!” bellowed Yutan. His dhola was now fully awake, its yellow eyes firmly fixed on the source of his master’s displeasure. For the time being, the animal was silent, allowing his master to do all of the growling.

  “And what did you do with the mandate the Council gave you, Harradoss? You toyed with the humans, you schemed, you played games—first at Beta Corvi and later at Epsilon Hydrae.”

  “The humans called that system Summit,” interrupted Harradoss, if only to irritate the First Protector.

  Yutan overlooked his insolence. “You staged elaborate deceptions to study them, to test them. You wasted time amusing yourself with these impure beings instead of simply crushing them as you were instructed. And then four cycles ago, you allowed the Lytori to contact the humans. Until then, the androids and their allies were merely delaying our inevitable victory. Does it not strike you as odd, Shartok Harradoss, that our decline began soon after the humans joined forces with the Lytori?”

  “I did not think it possible, but these humans are even more vile than the Lytori,” said a heavyset Council member bitterly. “They are not Massang and they must be cleansed from the stars. Only we are untainted and only we must rule. We are the Unity!”

  Those gathered muttered their agreement.

  “This collection of mongrels must be eradicated,” another Council member declared. “Suppression and subservience are no longer enough. I call for extermination!” Around the table others grunted their endorsements—all except Governor Sturka, who sat with his eyes closed, carefully listening to the proceedings.

  Harradoss stood. “First Protector
, have you examined my proposal for utilizing the Oplacai?” The room fell silent.

  Yutan leaned back in his chair and smirked, reaching to stroke the head of his dhola. “I have.”

  “And?”

  “You are a telepath. You should already know my answer, Shartok Harradoss,” chided Yutan, speaking his title with contempt. All of those who bore the rank of Shartok were mildly telepathic. There weren’t many in Massang society, but they were treasured by the state for their ability to read the mind of a tortured subject. They were also feared by most citizens for the same reason.

  Yutan’s jest got little response from the others. “No matter,” he continued sourly. “We haven’t built the Oplacai as a device to enable your cowardice. This proposal of yours is ridiculous—madness beyond measure.”

  It was time…

  Harradoss stiffened with resolve. “Yutan, it is not the war which keeps Council members away—it is the stench of your failure as First Protector. As usual, the facts are laid bare before you and you fail to read them correctly. The Oplacai is the only way to save our people—those who actually deserve redemption, that is.”

  Yutan leaned forward. “I repeat—your proposal is madness. In fact, it is worse than that. It is nothing less than retreat and surrender, which in turn makes you a traitor. Guards! Place Shartok Harradoss under arrest and remove him from the Council chamber.”

  There were only a few security guards trusted enough to be inside the room during a Council meeting. The largest of them stepped forward, taking a position near the First Protector. Three others held their stances along the wall.

  Yutan gestured to the guard commander. “Take him away.”

  The Commander drew a stun pistol from his belt and gave Harradoss a daunting look. Swiftly, he pointed the pistol downward and pulled the trigger, the narrowly directed force striking the First Protector’s dhola. The hound whimpered as it collapsed to the floor.

  “Futility, Old One,” said Harradoss glaring at the First Protector. “The guards are mine, and so is this Council.”

  Yutan sat frozen. He seemed to want to say something but nothing was coming out.

  Harradoss eyed the remaining members of the Purity Council. A few were plainly shaken, but most sneered, savoring Yutan’s fall from power.

  Yutan stared down at his unconscious dhola.

  “Don’t worry, First Protector,” Harradoss goaded. “The beast is not dead, only stunned. I will make sure that he and his brothers visit you later in the cutting chamber.” Yutan’s fate was clear. The proscribed method of state execution was death by vivisection—the dissection and dismemberment of a living, conscious being.

  “Commander, take Yutan to the cutting chamber and have him splayed open. Make sure the technicians pump him full of stimulants before the first cut—we wouldn’t want him to pass out from the pain. Shartok Phersu!”

  Harradoss’s longtime ally on the Council stood.

  “Phersu, go with the First Protector and see that it is done. As he agonizes, probe his mind and prepare a report on your findings. When it is all finished,” Harradoss said turning back to the fallen leader, “as Yutan lays there cut wide open and moaning in his final moments, allow his beloved dhola hounds to visit him one last time. My guess is that they will not be able to resist feasting on what remains of their master.”

  Yutan protested, struggling without success as the guards dragged him away. When the doors closed and the former leader’s cries faded, Harradoss addressed the remaining dozen Council members.

  “I’ve already spoken with some of you about what must be done. To those others, I apologize and will personally meet with each of you tonight. However, for now, allow Governor Sturka and I to have the pleasure of each other’s company.”

  Sturka zel’ Nor was small in stature by the standard of most Massang males—not much over six feet tall—but he was a giant in Massang politics. Where he walked, others followed. After everyone had vacated the conference room leaving only the two of them, Harradoss sat down beside him.

  “I never realized you had such a flair for the dramatic,” observed Sturka. “You know, I’ve been trying to oust that old fool Yutan for a long time. You managed to do it in one neat stroke. I am impressed.” Sturka’s compliments and broad smile should have pleased him, but for some reason Harradoss found it irritating.

  He is patronizing me.

  “The question is,” continued Sturka, “where do you go from here? Can you somehow pull off a military victory from what appears to be certain defeat?”

  Harradoss shook his head. “You know my plan. We still have the loyalty of the Vanguard.” In the doctrine of Massang Purity, the Vanguard were the truest of believers. They were also the most highly trained and best equipped of all Massang space forces. “With the might of the Vanguard and the remaining loyal regular fleets, we can take the offensive long enough to allow my plan to succeed.”

  Sturka idly stroked the ridges of his cheek. “This proposal of yours for using the Oplacai… Billions will be left behind. What of the Unity here on the homeworld? What of my people on Moz?”

  Others had asked these questions and Harradoss had perfected his response. “It is obvious that we have been losing the Purity of our people for some time now. Despite our best efforts, tainted ideas and manners have made their way from the conquered planets into our Core Worlds, even here onto the homeworld itself. It is a contamination so strong that it cannot be fully cleansed. Better to begin anew with a dedicated host of the faithful. Sturka zel’ Nor, my plan WILL work. A new Massang Unity can emerge, one that is stronger than ever.”

  Sturka studied him. “Harradoss, you’ve actually been with some of these aliens, haven’t you? During your study of them? The humans—you have spoken with them, eaten with them, even breathed the same air as them. It was most courageous of you. Tell me—how did you endure it?”

  Harradoss made a grim face. “They are disgusting creatures, Sturka. At times, it was nearly unbearable,” he replied, remembering his encounters with humankind at Beta Corvi and Summit. As both a species and as individuals, Humans were so erratic, so undisciplined, and so very unpredictable. Ironically, it seemed that those were the very qualities which had turned the war in their favor. When the Massang had fought only the Lytori and their few allies, the results had been predictable. Resist as they might, the Lytori would have eventually been ground down by the methodical Massang war machine and conquered—or destroyed.

  Now, however, the humans had gotten involved with their unconventional style of combat—hit and run attacks, psychological warfare, promoting rebellion on the slave worlds. Humankind refused to play by the rules. They had introduced what Harradoss called ‘coordinated chaos’ into the war, and even he had to admit they were quite good at it.

  “That was not the worst of it, Sturka. There are so many different types of humans—different sizes, shapes, skin colors, and more. Even multiple belief systems seem not only to be tolerated, but actually encouraged. It is bizarre beyond description,” Harradoss said contemptuously. “And the smell! It was all I could do at times to keep my men in line. Occasionally, even I felt unable to continue my deception as the inquisitive alien explorer.”

  Sturka shut his large eyes for a moment to consider it all.

  “As for this grand plan of yours. What if I choose not to go along?” Sturka asked, his eyes still closed. “If I decline, will you order me to the cutting table as well?”

  “No, no cutting table for you, my good comrade. But I tell you frankly, Sturka zel’ Nor—this will all happen with or without you. It would simply be easier with you.”

  Sturka opened his eyes and stood. “I need to think about it. I must return to Moz and consult with my brothers. You will have my answer shortly.”

  Harradoss stood and the two gave each other bows of respect. As Sturka reached the doorway, Harradoss called out.

  “Do not take long in your deliberation, Governor. Things are about to move very quickly.”r />
  Sturka gave a nod and departed, passing Phersu as he entered the room again.

  After the door closed, his anxious associate spoke. “Is he with us?”

  Harradoss leaned forward, spreading both four-fingered hands out flat on the smooth surface of the conference table.

  “Well?” pressed Phersu.

  “He is… not.”

  “He said this?”

  “No, but I have known Sturka for some time. When he embraces an idea, he does so immediately and without hesitation.”

  “And our proposal to use the Oplacai? He hesitates?”

  “He says he needs to think about it,” Harradoss reported in a resigned voice. “No matter. We move forward without him. What of Yutan?”

  “He is being prepared. I return shortly to take his thoughts.”

  As they gathered their belongings and readied to leave the conference room, a troubled Phersu turned to his mentor.

  “Harradoss—do you really think the Vanguard can buy us enough time to make this plan work?”

  The new First Protector of the Massang Unity smiled, then looked out the window at the thousand lights of his capital city. “I promise you, Phersu. The Vanguard will punish the enemy. They will punish them dearly.”

  2: Sacrifice

  Heavy cruiser Tempest

  Serrat system

  “Captain on the bridge,” announced the ship’s computer.

  Sephora “Sunny” Nyondo strode quickly from the turbolift to her command chair and sat down, kicking one leg up over the other as she settled in.

  “XO, report. How far along are the Marines?” she asked, interlocking her fingers and resting them in her lap.

  Rico Paruzzi didn’t need to look at his displays. He had served with the captain for years and had already anticipated her question.

  “The landings are about eighty percent complete, ma’am. Most of the transports have been emptied. All mechs and heavy armor are now dirtside. Marine Command is reporting one more MEU and some additional aero-flyers need to go down and then we are done. There is one snag, however—one of the large cargo shuttles is out of action.”