Galactic - Ten Book Space Opera Sci-Fi Boxset

by Colin F. Barnes

  “...is our seasoned captain, Cole Musgrave, our brave test pilot.”

  Cole wrenched his attention away from the engineer and discovered he had a very affluent audience staring expectantly at him. The sun felt much closer than it normally did at that moment. His gloves creaked behind his back in the awkward silence, and he nodded, for it was all he could manage.

  A quick wink and a smile from Caliber, and the sales pitch resumed. Cole relaxed and met Forester’s gaze of approval at keeping quiet and composed. He crossed his eyes and double-creaked his gloves in response. Forester’s smile dropped, and Cole turned back to the commercial, victorious.

  The dog and pony show continued for several more minutes, and Cole thought he recognized a silver lapel pin on a middle-aged woman wearing a sleek, black business dress and gravity-defying stilettos. Triangular in shape, its design was similar to that of recycling arrows, only they were orbiting around a non-descript planet. Terracom, Cole thought with some trepidation. “Harvesting New Worlds,” he murmured, then swallowed hard.

  Forester cast him a knowing glance but did not reprimand him for making a sound. He, too, seemed to exude the slightest bit of anxiety at the sight of the terraforming juggernaut’s presence.

  After the group finished their brief inspection of the ship’s interior, Caliber broke away from the pack and stepped up beside Cole and Forester to offer some parting remarks and seal the deal. Cole wrinkled his nose at the CEO’s acrid cologne, though was pleased to see he was taller than him. Even more pleasing was the sight of the cute engineer making her way toward the trio.

  Interesting.

  Sensing Cole’s penetrating gaze, she gave him a wide berth and stood next to an indifferent Forester. He clenched his gloved hands in response.

  “Dr. Lin Dartmouth is the Senior Engineer over this project,” Caliber began, “and she will be joining captain Musgrave and Operations Director Forester on the ICV’s maiden voyage. Her expertise in cryorganics, nanobiotechnology, and artificial intelligence is unparalleled.” He turned to smile at Lin, whose flawless face remained impassive. “She will be implementing the C.A.I.N. software which will usher a new era of automated delivery.”

  And eventually phase me out, Cole thought with no shortage of disdain.

  Caliber leaned close to Lin and whispered something imperceptible in her ear. She nodded and raised her hands to reveal a formfitting pair translucent haptic gloves. She gazed off into her Ocunet world and gave a few deft flicks and swipes of her fingers to a computer screen only she could access or see. When she finished and glanced up, a transformation had begun to take place behind her.

  Cole stared over his shoulder in awe. “Huh,” was all he could manage. The ICV-71’s outer hull no longer showcased its familiar polished chrome finish. In a blink, the ship’s exterior had altered as though a team of detailers had stopped time and repainted it with the company logo and colors. It was an illusion of some sort, but the effect was so convincing that Cole doubted his eyes.

  “Nearly undetectable stealth and a cloaking system Military could only wish for,” Caliber said with sincere pride. “Multiple preset hull designs...” he gestured to the current design, “...as well as a mimetic learning engine designed to manipulate any current environment for near invisibility.”

  Another flick of Lin’s wrist, and the ship vanished.

  Cole’s jaw fell. Cloaking was nothing new with certain interstellar spacecraft, though the technology had never truly evolved past poorly replicating basic landscapes on stationary objects and military fatigues. Both could easily be spotted from alternate vantages or movement. This, however, was something else entirely. The cloaking system was somehow able to calculate accurate—though not entirely perfect—representations of its surroundings from all angles. Curved areas, recesses, landing gear, glass, everything mimicked convincingly. Unless you were actively searching for the ship, it could easily be overlooked.

  Too impressed to care if he was causing a scene, Cole stepped away to explore the “invisible” ship—walking around it, touching it. Cole blinked repeatedly and rubbed his eyes. Staring at the ship made him slightly dizzy. “You said something about stealth.” The words had tumbled out before he could stop them. He turned and shrugged toward a scowling Forester.

  Caliber arched one eyebrow and his trillion unicred smile widened. “Indeed. The ICV-71’s hull can absorb all manner of detection and allow it to harmlessly pass through and give it the perception of,” he nodded toward the ship, “invisibility.”

  That’ll piss off the pirates, Cole thought, wondering how SolEx acquired such an invaluable feature. If the stealth proved to be legitimate, along with the cloaking, the ICV-71 would be a ghost haunting the stars. He loved it.

  “Let it be known!” Caliber boomed, grabbing everyone’s attention. “On this date, Friday, March 15th, 2216, the next phase of interstellar logistics is born.” He glanced at Cole, Lin, and Forester in turn, and indicated they move closer.

  Photo op, Cole thought as a technician moved to the front of the trillionaires club and raised his hand to draw everyone’s attention to the camera drone hovering beside him. Cole grunted when the rancid cologne stabbed his sinuses from close proximity to Caliber. Smiling was now an impossibility.

  “The Milky Way in a Day!” came Caliber’s infamous motto.

  A quick flash forever etched Cole into the annals of SolEx logistical history. Hands were vigorously shaken, leather gloves and all, and the forced pleasantries reached a climax. Caliber had already rejoined his equals by the time Cole had finished furiously rubbing his nose. Forester sighed, but it was apparent from his watery eyes that he too had suffered the same nasal affront.

  “Good luck to you all,” Caliber said to the trio standing before the ICV-71. “We look forward to rendezvousing with you at Terracom 3’s exoplanet in the Kepler-452b system.”

  “Maybe they can hop a ride in the cargo hold with us and save the company on fuel,” Cole said to no one in particular after the suit stampede was out of earshot. “It’s the SolEx way, you know.” He nudged the air by Forester’s elbow.” Let’s go see if there are any spare fold-out chairs in a closet on board.”

  “He was the ultimate selection?”

  Cole’s eyes brightened at being described as “ultimate”, and he turned toward the source of the dulcet tones of a disgusted Lin Dartmouth. Sexy. Even if she already hates me.

  “Crude behavior aside, his impeccable attendance, company dedication, and Starforce service is quite impressive,” Forester said tightly.

  Cole paused a few paces away from the loading ramp. “I didn’t catch a positive adjective to describe my time in the military.” He grinned and gestured with an exaggerated flourish for his passengers to board the ICV-71.

  Lin blinked several times before turning to Forester, who simply shook his head and strode forward. The late twenty-something Operations Director stopped beside Cole and clasped his hands behind his back. “Shall we go and meet your replacement?”

  Cole glanced up the ramp, and thumbed in the ship’s direction. “Someone already aboard?”

  The slightest twinge of a smirk flirted with the corner of Forester’s mouth. “Hm.”

  Cole mock saluted his superior then turned to Lin. “You packing light too, Doc?”

  The dark-haired engineer seemed caught off-guard by the question, and she immediately slipped into the Ocunet and tapped a few keys of her imaginary keyboard. A smooth melodic hum of piano notes sounded from behind her, and a small nondescript cube—which must have been hovering close behind her—gently drifted to her front and softly landed in the palm of her hand. She tucked away the mysterious object and silently stalked past a bemused Cole who said nothing.

  When they were aboard and out of sight, Cole let out a tense sigh, his eyes tightly shut. He slammed a gloved fist into his palm and took a deep breath before jogging up the ramp toward his destiny.

  2 - LAUNCH

  Nothing beat the smell of a new cargo v
essel. Cole had been fortunate enough to pilot a couple over his tenure, but none as exceptional as the ICV-71. He relished the scent of faux leather, a hint of lubricant oil, an indeterminate breeze of ozone, and... Is that wood? He slowly worked his way through his ship’s bow, just in front of the of the cargo hold, dragging his gloved fingertip across the smooth, aluminum walls. The hallway terminated at a recessed lift. It was open, inviting.

  Guess they’re already waiting for me on the bridge, Cole thought with slight irritation. Were they so easily jaded by master craftsmanship? He stepped inside, and a woman’s soothing voice recited his options of “Cargo Hold” and “Bridge”.

  “The Bar,” Cole said with a stupid grin. Nothing happened, as was expected. “You must be related to Forester,” he said, shaking his head. He further considered the two choices and muttered, “Bridge?”

  The door slid closed and Cole’s knees nearly buckled as the lift rocketed up toward its destination. Instinct forced him to grab the railing for support, though the stop was smoother than he anticipated.

  “Bridge,” she replied in her sing-song voice.

  “Damn, woman!” Cole shouted. “I was kidding about you being related....”

  “It seems to be something at which you excel,” Forester said, finishing the hanging comment. He leaned stiffly against the doorway and crossed his arms at the sight of Cole gripping the railing and rubbing his head. “Are you certain you’re capable handling this launch?”

  Cole lightly banged the meat of his fist on the lift wall. “If seventy-one is anything like this lift, we might just shoot straight into the next universe.” He laughed and gave Forester a friendly swat on his perfectly pressed jacket sleeve as he headed off the lift. Out of the corner of his eye, amber light caught his attention. He altered his course from the bridge to the source of the illumination.

  Oh, yes.

  Behind the lift was a spacious setting fit for an admiral and his elite. The room consisted of two posh areas. Part mess hall, part lounge, the well-lit area brought a genuine smile to Cole’s face. He wagged his finger knowingly at the inviting enclosure. “I’ll be back to investigate you later,” he promised.

  “A wise decision,” Forester said, indicating the cockpit with a tilt of his head.

  Cole snapped his fingers and pointed at him. He said nothing and walked past his youthful superior, making a B-line for the bridge. As Cole slowed to acknowledge the elephant in the room, he clapped his hands loudly, startling a deeply focused Lin.

  “It’s not a bridge,” he announced as though a complex mystery had suddenly been solved. He admired the two comfy flight chairs positioned in front of the control panel, ignoring a pair of smoldering eyes. “Thisis a cockpit,” he explained, squeezing the plush leather. Armrests! “SolEx sure loves to flaunt their infinite funds.”

  Lin exhaled and turned back to her work at the console. Cole continued his assessment, gliding his fingers across the manual navigational controls. He located the source of the wood scent; parts of the console were inlaid with a rich, dark grain. “A true bridge would be closer to the top of a much larger vessel—let’s say a Corvette—and helmed by a crew of ten or more.” He slowly eased his backside into his throne.

  “Careful not to bruise your tailbone, Musgrave,” Forester said.

  Cole leaned back, and sighed, content. “You need to try this, Art.”

  “Arthur,” Forester stressed. “Please refer to me by my full name if you must address me.” The director’s dress shoes clinked on the metal floor as he approached. “And this is an inappropriate time to recline—”

  “Too late.”

  Forester paused. “You know what I mean, Captain.”

  “Cole sat forward, and glanced up at the suit. Kid talks like a seventy year-old college professor. “ ‘Captain,’ ” he said, trying it out for the first time. It tasted good in his mouth. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  Forester ignored the comment and turned to Lin. Cole could’ve sworn he’d seen the director’s eye twitch. He followed the suit’s gaze toward the engaged engineer. She had, at some point, moved into the co-pilot’s seat to continue whatever it was she was doing to the console interface.

  “Sorry,” Cole said, thumbing in her direction. “Ladies first. Guess you’ll have to experience the comfy chair on the trip back.”

  “Dr. Dartmouth,” Forester addressed her. “Is everything to your satisfaction with the software?”

  Lin turned partway in his direction and gave a subtle nod.

  Cole’s brow furrowed at the awkward exchange. “Not the talkative type, I see,” he said to Lin, hoping to disconnect the engineer from her virtual tether.

  “She’s mute,” Forester stated, as though it were obvious.

  “Is that how company executives refer to shy engineers?” Cole asked. “You’re making my point for me from earlier, Art...thur.”

  “It’s a fact,” Forester said, exasperated. “And I insist that we get this operation underway.”

  Cole raised his hands in mock submission. He looked at an uncomfortable Lin. “Alright, but I clearly heard you speak outside the ship.”

  “I spoke through this,” said the familiar dulcet tones Cole had heard outside the ship. The fist-sized cube he had seen in her hand rose from the console and hovered next to her head. The same piano notes emitted from the object, and swirls of reds, purples, and blues traced along its dull surface. “My Rook.”

  A genuine smile crept onto Cole’s face as he admired the device. The words had come from the cube, her “Rook”, but they sounded so human that he could easily think she had uttered them. “Wow...”

  Lin had already returned to her virtual macramé by the time Cole thought to say anything else. There was a story behind that silent face, and he vowed to uncover it on the journey to Terracom 3.

  “Now that we are all properly acquainted,” Forester said, “Shall we commence with the launch?”

  Brought back from his reverie, Cole’s eyes lit, and he leaned toward the controls, but held his hands just shy of touching them. “Sorry,” he apologized to no one in particular. “Almost forgot that I’m only here as an experienced back-up pilot to my,” he cast Forester a fleeting glance, “replacement.”

  Forester sighed, and faced Lin. “Dr. Dartmouth, please initiate CAIN.”

  Lin nodded and accessed the Ocunet. She hesitated and breathed a tense sigh before pressing an invisible button. Her Rook drifted over top of the console and paused above a small circular screen no bigger than itself and began to gyrate. It picked up speed, and a soft white light began to glow in intensity where none had been before. As the cube spun faster, Cole could feel a small breeze coming from it. The revolutions were so quick, it seemed to become spherical.

  Then there was sudden darkness, followed by a deep bass thump which shook the entirety of the ship. Her Rook dropped like a stone atop the console and fell to the floor. Nobody spoke; nobody breathed. Cole blinked, uncertain what to think. Was this part of the sequence, or had the software malfunctioned during the initiation process? As a few excruciating seconds passed with sustained silence and a complete lack of power, his hands began to fidget. Creak, creak, creak... He immediately ceased his nervous antic and looked out the front viewport and witnessed something unexpected.

  A power outage? he thought, confounded. With the exception of the backup generators keeping exits and a few terminals lit, S3 had gone black.

  “Are you two seeing this—?”

  Forester shushed him, and Cole grudgingly obliged, though he was not certain why. Only a few seconds ago everyone had been talking. Was their collective silence going to somehow elicit a reboot? Then he saw it....

  A soft green light, no larger than an illuminated diode, had lit inside the circle. The point sat unmoving, almost as though it was waiting. Or staring, Cole thought, though he had no reason to think such a thing.

 

  The voice—neither male nor female—had come from every direction. The li
ght trembled ever so slightly on the console, though the question still hung, unanswered. Cole spun back toward a lime-lit Forester. The young director’s face was blank, his lips slightly parted. He turned toward Lin, though without her Rook, she truly was mute. Her crestfallen expression confirmed his thoughts.

 

  The monotone voice sounded as though it was inside his head. Maybe it was. He shrugged and plunged head-first into the unknown. “The ICV-71,” he answered, surprised by his timidity. “Interstellar Cargo Vessel seventy-one.”

  The panel flashed before resuming its familiar point state. Lin bent down to retrieve her Rook and stared hopelessly at the device. Cole frowned, sympathetic.

 

  “Uh...” Cole said, uncertain how to respond to the age-old philosophical question. He assumed a company computer program would expect a simple response, something Fredrick Caliber would say. “To...” Another thought occurred to him when Lin gazed at him with desperate eyes. “To learn.”

  Forester stirred, and Cole could feel the suit’s vacant eyes boring into the back of his skull. Another flash preceded the director’s potential reprimand.

 

  “Dr. Lin Dartmouth,” Cole answered. I love trivia!

 

  “Well, no.”

 

  The flashes were getting brighter, and Cole’s hands were sweating harder. “Not exactly.”

  < ‘Not exactly.’ > No flash.

  Your captain, Cole thought, but answered with, “Your friend.”

  The point of light quivered.

  “Sure,” Cole said, confident. He winked at a jealous Lin and ignored Forester’s firm hand on his shoulder. “I’m Cole Musgrave, your friend and captain.”

  A brilliant flash of emerald pulsated throughout the cabin. When everyone’s momentary blindness faded, the ship’s power was fully restored. The green point at the center of the console had grown to fully encompass the circular screen. Now it was a brilliant neon green with hundreds of tiny silvery flecks floating aimlessly within.