Galactic - Ten Book Space Opera Sci-Fi Boxset

by Colin F. Barnes

  Chapter Nine

  Kingsley Babcock lurched forward, spilling his cup of coffee all over the printouts that had continued to spew forth from his ancient system for the past thirty minutes.

  He grabbed the pile of paper and dripped most of the liquid before mopping up the rest with a cloth.

  “Kingsley, you need to be more careful,” he said to himself as he always had since he came to Minerva, a barren rock on the far northern edge of the Salus Sphere, over twenty years ago in exile. Though these days he could barely remember his life before coming here and setting up his HAB on the rocky planet.

  The lights of his fabricated home, made from the modified fuselage of his destroyed ship, dimmed as the old computer system drew more energy and continued to spit out reports. Along with the paper copies, the solid-state drives were quickly filling with recordings of communications.

  “Squid, what do you make of this, eh?”

  The little hovering hexagon with eight articulated tentacles was half the size of Kingsley’s head and floated near his shoulder. It chirped a quizzical response.

  “Don’t chirp at me like that, you infernal little machine, I’m asking you a question. Why is there so much Axis chatter? Why now? And what’s all this about an Atlantis ship sighting?”

  Two red lights, Squid’s eyes, blinked on and off and its small voice spoke. “It’s quite the coincidence, don’t you think, sir? The Atlantis ship appearance has rumors flying around the CW communications channels. I’ve filtered the least redundant phrases and saved them to your smart-screen. It appears that Orbital Forty was destroyed, and not by the Axis Combine.”

  Kingsley nodded and checked his smart-screen. His devices had taken a beating during his years on the planet. Despite being sixty-five years old, his cybernetic heart kept him ticking along as well as someone a third his age.

  The screen on his left forearm, however, was crazed with scratches, mostly from clambering about on the planet’s surface, looking for resources. Although it was never habited, it had been the grounds for a battle during the Century War. Kingsley had, over the years, found enough debris and parts to build out his HAB.

  The computers that he used to listen in on the Salus Sphere’s communications were actually vestan quantum units. He had cracked the encryption and reprogrammed them for his own uses. They would surely be ancient artifacts these days compared to what the CW and the Axis Combine had developed, but for him, and his experiments, they were all he needed.

  With those he had created a brand new kind of self-learning AI, the code of which now ran his coterie of companions, of which Squid was one, and although he never said so, in order to avoid any tensions between his creations, Squid was his favorite. It was as close to the loyalty of a dog as he would get.

  Sure, it didn’t play fetch with as much enthusiasm or lick his face, but with its articulated tentacles, it could play a mean game of skillion and was helpful in maintaining the HAB. The harsh conditions of Minerva, including its dry, frigid winters, meant there was always something that needed fixing, and to better use his talents elsewhere, Kingsley had delegated those tasks to his mechanical crew members.

  Kingsley slouched into his favorite chair in front of his single screen salvaged from his old human-made attack ship. It was so old it didn’t even have holographic capacities, meaning he had to squint at the printed display. He synced the smart-screen on his forearm to the larger display and read through some of the CW chatter.

  As he scanned the rumors and surprise, he thought back to his friend Beringer. Back in the day, before Kingsley exiled himself, he and Beringer used to talk and dream about the Atlantis ship. “What if it was real?” Beringer had posited. “Imagine what we could learn from it, what cultures and technology it would hold.”

  They had guessed, based on the few snippets of sightings and reports, that the ship was likely thousands of ST years old. Which meant its creators were likely ancient, given the reported technical abilities of it.

  In the intervening twenty years of peace, there’d been fewer and fewer sightings and reports, making Kingsley less excited about the prospect of it being real. He had resigned himself to rationalizing it as a folktale, a space legend.

  But now there was this sudden explosion of communications and the destruction of Orbital Forty.

  “It’s not the damned horans, is it, Squid?” Kingsley said, rubbing his bony hand across the stubble on his chin. “Perhaps they’ve developed some kind of stealth technology.”

  “The odds aren’t likely, sir,” Squid said. “Besides, we’ve been tracking Axis movements and none were in the vicinity of Orbital Forty. Even if they had somehow developed wormhole technology, we would have noticed a sizeable ship on the move.”

  “Indeed. But Atlantis ship rumors aside, I don’t like how the Axis Combine forces are massing around the Sphere. It seems to me that war is imminent once again.”

  “Will they come for you, sir?” Squid said as it hovered to the pile of papers and used its tentacles to arrange them in neat piles for later reading and filing.

  “Who?”

  “The Commonwealth, of course. If war breaks out, won’t they need your help? It is your combat-AI protocols their destroyers use, is it not?”

  Kingsley shrugged and downed the rest of his bitter coffee. The beans were freeze-dried Alurian beans that he had found on some lactern wreckage. It was a trading ship and loaded with varied foodstuffs and drinks. Without that find, Kingsley, along with his mechanical companions, would have had to fix the destroyed ship and return to civilization.

  Which was not a good idea considering his reputation and wanted status.

  “I imagine they would have updated the protocols by now, Squid, especially after my screwup.”

  Squid finished sorting the piles of papers and brought Kingsley a tray of mashed potato. Using some parts from his crashed ship, he built a rudimentary microwave oven so that he could cook some of the crops he had managed to grow from his six eco-domes.

  “Your wanted status expired three years ago,” Squid said.

  Kingsley, of course, knew this, but it didn’t matter. He still had a bounty on his head, even if it wasn’t official anymore. One doesn’t do what he did and get away with it just because a few years had passed.

  “I’m sorry Squid, I’m not hungry. Please can you take it to the recycle bay and let Dozer deal with it. Thanks.”

  Kingsley got up and exited the computer station that had once been the bridge of his ship. He ducked below the bulkhead and entered the main corridor. Moving down the length of it, he moved through the plastic sheeting and out into one of the domes he had connected to the HAB.

  Two of his smaller creations, named T-Pod and Q-Pod on account of their respective number of limbs, busied themselves around the rows of corn and wheat. Kingsley had salvaged the seeds from the lactern trade ship and with some chemical know-how had turned the usually inert Minerva soil into nutrient-rich mulch with which to grow vegetables.

  T-Pod’s three-inch-diameter chromed spherical head twisted around to regard him. Its single camera eye focused on him. It approached on its three legs and looked up with the single eye. “Good evening, sir,” it said. Kingsley had given T-Pod and Q-Pod female voices to remind him of a certain fidesian he had once fallen in love with.

  “Evening, T-Pod. The farm all okay, is it?”

  “Affirmative. Q-Pod and I have been monitoring nitrogen and pest levels and we’re currently growing at one hundred and thirty percent efficiency. You’ll have enough crops to freeze and survive for at least another two ST years.”

  Two more years, he thought. How many more could he last for?

  His physical health wasn’t in question and he could easily expand food growth into another eco-dome to build up more reserves if he needed. The solar cells and wind turbines provided all the power he would need, and in his mechanical companions, he effectively had company.

  But it still wasn’t quite the same.

  Q-
Pod noticed T-Pod talking with Kingsley and approached slowly, being careful to place its four spindly legs between the rows of vegetables. Kingsley noted that its gyros would need recalibrating as it walked with an almost drunken sway that reminded him of Carson Mach.

  Good old Mach was inebriated more than he was sober, but he could still pilot a ship and captain a squad as well as anyone Kingsley had worked with.

  “I sense you’re feeling sad about something,” Q-Pod said, folding its legs beneath its boxy frame as though it were a miniature horse. Kingsley had built this one out of an old gun locker and some droid servos. It was his first attempt at creating a companion and he modeled it on a real pony he had once owned.

  “All this news about the Axis and the Atlantis ship has brought up some old memories, Q-Pod. I miss my old friends.”

  “That’s what we’re here for,” Q-Pod said, raising its two ear-like antennae.

  Kingsley wanted to say they weren’t enough, but didn’t want to introduce any glitches into the AI algorithms. The self-learning protocols could be influenced by negative input and he didn’t have the mental energy to recalibrate.

  He walked to the edge of the dome and stared out at Minerva.

  It was the perfect planet for living in exile. So desolate and offering nothing of value in terms of minerals or resources meant that not even pirates would come here.

  All anyone would find if they were to visit would be dry air that scorched the lungs after a few hours, winters that would chill even the most frost-resistant of species; sunsets that made the planet look as if it were on fire, and jagged mountain ranges that were sheer and smooth as glass, making traversing the landscape a difficult, if not impossible prospect.

  Any life that may have once existed here was long gone. Kingsley had made two drones to survey for signs of life—methane deposits, carbon dioxide emissions and even any kind of radio signal—but after five years, the two drones found absolutely nothing. Just how Kingsley wanted it.

  He sat in a well-worn armchair he had made from one of the ship’s berths, in front of the glass panes of the dome. The bright red sun dipped down behind a craggy collection of mountains he had called ‘The Spires’ due to their triangular uniform shape. They pierced the red sky like black talons as if some great creature from beneath the surface was trying to bust out of its prison.

  Yet they never moved.

  They were as permanent as the sand and the dust that blew constantly against his makeshift HAB. He had come to enjoy the sounds at night when the winds died down and Minerva’s dry particulate rained down rhythmically, creating a soothing white noise.

  This solitary soundtrack helped chase away the memories, the reasons for his exile. It happened twenty years ago and was the one and only time he had regretted his curious nature. With regard to the old saying, curiosity killed more than just cats; through his undying need to know, he had inadvertently signed the death warrants of more than a thousand humans and fidesians.

  He was manning the cyber-combat unit on the CW’s flagship destroyer when they had breached through the battle lines into deep horan territory. After the horans were defeated and scattered they were left in a sector of uncharted space… only it wasn’t empty.

  And they weren’t alone.

  Kingsley and his crew had detected an unusual radio signal. When he tracked its source, he discovered an unknown alien object. Even now Kingsley didn’t know what it was, whether it was a station, ship, or just some satellite.

  It didn’t matter in the end, though.

  All that mattered was that Kingsley, under no orders, decided to hack into the source of the signal and by so doing unleashed a devastating virus that spread throughout the CW, taking down communications and altering the commands of the QRF drones.

  Two shuttles full of civilians heading for Fides Beta were caught in a devastating crossfire that killed thousands before Kingsley and his team realized what had happened and managed to quarantine the alien virus.

  Shortly after, the signal had disappeared along with any trace of the alien source. Kingsley faced court-martial and even more severe punishment, but he fled and made his way to the most remote planet his ship could find: Minerva, an ancient lactern mining planet that had nothing of value left in its rocky crust.

  For the next twenty years, Kingsley had been trying to decode the signal and the virus in order to seek revenge, or at least gain some understanding of what happened so that it might bring some closure to the families of those who were killed. He owed them that much at least.

  Still, he had yet to make a breakthrough.

  The old memory brought him back to the present. “Better get working again, Kingsley. All this chatter about mythical ships is just going to distract you from your primary task.”

  With the sun now fully set, the planet outside shrouded in darkness, Kingsley made his way back to the office and slumped into his chair, preparing to try a new idea that might lead to a breakthrough in breaking the alien encryption.

  “Sir, there’s… a message coming through for you,” Squid said. The small drone hovered over a table made from an empty gas drum. It was Squid’s preferred place to rest when not in active mode.

  “Are you pranking me again?” Kingsley asked. He had programmed Squid to have a sense of humor, knowing that all the years spent alone would be damaging to his psyche. A certain amount of humor would help him remain grounded and focused.

  “Not at all, sir, I believe it’s a friend of yours, if your muttering is accurate.”

  Kingsley raised a wiry gray eyebrow and adjusted his spectacles. “I have few friends, Squid. Just tell me, what’s the message? And where did it come from? No one should know I’m here.” He picked up his cup of coffee from earlier and began to sip the bitter contents.

  “They don’t,” Squid said. “It was a broadcast message using a signature encryption belonging to Theo Beringer, and it appears to be about all this Atlantis ship nonsense.”

  Kingsley nearly choked on his coffee, spitting it out of his mouth. “Theo? You sure?”

  “Unless you have shared your encryption keys with anyone else, then I’d say I’m sure.”

  With a hand that trembled with excitement and nerves, Kingsley Babcock switched his smart-screen on to his communication program and read Theo’s message. The blood drained from his face, and his heart, although cybernetic, quickened its pace.

  “What is it, sir?” Squid asked.

  Kingsley looked up at his small friend. “He… wants me to join a secret mission… with Carson Mach to find and capture the Atlantis ship. It’s apparently real.”

  Chapter Ten

  Mach rolled his right shoulder and grimaced. The horan at the bar had dealt him a heavy blow during their brief fight. He stood at his cell window and watched the circular ceiling lights in the corridor flick off in turn.

  Night procedure, meaning no cells were opened until the morning checks. Two guards patrolled the corridors at fifteen-minute intervals.

  After their next pass, he planned to make his move.

  The soldiers locked him and Sanchez in neighboring solitary cells. They didn’t go through the full checking-in procedure designed for long-term residents. This was more of a screw around on our planet, and we’ll make things uncomfortable for you deal. Carson twisted his fingernail into the artificial skin around his forearm and released the security swipe from the secret pocket.

  Morgan had sent a message two hours ago. He provided the coordinates on Minerva for Kingsley Babcock, an old pal of Mach’s from back in the CW. He was a techy geek that nearly brought the CW down. Babcock was the final member of Mach’s crew… if he could convince Adira to join.

  Adira had a simple option, agree to the mission or rot on Summanus for the rest of her natural days. Mach knew that went against her instincts. She was a fighter and would relish the chance of winning her freedom by assisting him in finding the Atlantis ship.

  Footsteps echoed along the corridor outside. Two beams of
light flashed around the corridor’s walls. Mach jumped back on his bed and lay in the fetal position. He waited for the guards to walk to the end of the corridor, return, and gave them a couple of minutes to get back to the reception area.

  Mach keyed in a message to Phalanx-E on his smart-screen, telling the JPs to prepare for takeoff. He gambled that the drones wouldn’t shoot them down right away.

  Sanchez could be relied upon in situations like this. During every tight spot when they spent a few months gun-running, the big man always had his back. Cornered by lactern pirates, Sanchez always fired first and asked questions later. Threatened in a bar, he threw the first punch. This was all on top of providing Mach with modified CW weapons he created after reengineering the best parts of horan and vestan technology.

  Taking one last check outside, Mach took a deep breath and decided to go for it. He held the security swipe against the door. A bolt clanked and he pushed the door open.

  The lights along the corridor blinked on.

  A piercing siren blasted from speakers on the ceiling. Security cameras spun toward Mach’s cell.

  Sanchez peered through his window. Mach swiped his door and the electronic bolt thudded open.

  “You take me out, bring me back in and now we’re in a world of shit,” Sanchez said with enthusiasm. Mach felt pleased Sanchez had lost none of his sparkle.

  “Did you see Adira’s cell on our way in?”

  “Nope, but we need to find her quick,” Sanchez said.

  Mach turned and looked toward the thirty cells leading toward the false wall at the end of the corridor. A vague square outline betrayed the position of their escape.

  Boots echoed along the A-wing corridor. The guards would round the corner in less than a minute. Mach didn’t fancy being on the receiving end of their stunners. If they had any sense, they’d be accessing the system to block the stolen swipe too. He sprinted past the cells, checking names on the digital display. Half were blank. The rest had horan names.