Reckoning: The Ixan Prophecies Trilogy Book 3

by Scott Bartlett

  They’d reached the entrance to Hangar Bay E, and Keyes put his hand on the panel that controlled the hatch as he locked eyes with Husher. “You’re about to find out.”

  The moment they entered was the same moment Tennyson Steele was escorted out of a Darkstream shuttle by a pair of the company’s mercenaries.

  “Bronson wants assurance you’ll treat Steele justly,” one of them said.

  “Oh, he’ll be treated justly,” Keyes said. “But it’s a little late to demand assurances for anything.” The captain drew his service pistol.

  “Sir!” Husher said.

  “Such a show you’re putting on, Captain Keyes,” Tennyson Steele said. “And for what? Do you really expect me to believe you’re going to shoot me in front of two armed Darkstream guards?”

  Keyes placed the pistol’s muzzle against Steele’s forehead, ignoring the assault rifles pointed at him. “If I was worried about the guards, I would have waited till they left before killing you. Get on your knees.” The captain’s voice was ice.

  “Come off it, Captain,” Steele said. “I didn’t realize you were so attached to your face that you’d behave this way after I mangled it.”

  “If you shoot, we shoot,” one of the Darkstream guards said.

  “And if you shoot, you’ll never leave this ship alive,” Keyes said. He drew his gun back and smashed the butt into Steele’s flabby face. Blood flew, speckling the CEO’s glasses, and Steele staggered backward. “Get on your knees!” Keyes yelled.

  Visibly shaken, now, Steele complied. His bravado had dried up entirely.

  “Captain…” Husher said, holding both hands forward, palms toward Keyes. “You don’t want to do this. There’s no going back from this.”

  “I know,” Keyes said. He replaced the muzzle against Steele’s forehead and pulled the trigger. The CEO toppled over, hitting the deck with a thud.

  The Darkstream guards both shook their heads, eyes wide. Keyes leveled the pistol at the one on the right. “Get back in your shuttle and leave my ship.”

  Slowly, they complied. As the shuttle’s outer hatch slid into place, concealing the guards from view, Captain Keyes spun on his heel and marched out of Hangar Bay E, leaving Steele’s inert body cooling in the middle of the deck.

  Chapter 4

  Scandium

  Gabriel Roach had always hated going through those wormholes. Every time, he felt sure the CIC crew would mess something up, maybe fail to position the conductor correctly in order to recapture the energy when it closed. If that happened, the wormhole would collapse, its energy blasting in every direction and incinerating everything within twenty light-minutes.

  Including him. Definitely including him.

  Two hours after the Providence left the Casper System, Lieutenant Commander Bob Bronson had given the order for a wormhole to be opened, and shortly after that the resettlement fleet had begun passing through it.

  To a whole new galaxy, Gabriel Roach reflected as he dismantled his assault rifle, inspecting each part. He liked to check them twice—once as he took the gun apart and once upon reassembly.

  A tremor passed through the shuttle, which was currently carrying him and other Darkstream guards through a rambunctious high-altitude weather system.

  This was a first in human history, and so Roach found it ironic that most humans wouldn’t know about it for a while, if ever.

  Back when Ochrim had first given humanity dark tech, he’d warned them against ever using it to open a wormhole to another galaxy. Based on the prevalence of intelligent life in the Milky Way, it was considered exceedingly likely that other galaxies teemed with spacefaring species too.

  By entering a new galaxy, the Darkstream employees and the UHF ships escorting them had risked running into a species more technologically advanced than humans. And that would come with a host of other risks, such as the species possessing the ability to find their way to the Milky Way, maybe by reading the residue of the wormhole somehow.

  It was even possible they’d be able to tell the human ships’ origins just from the metals used to build them.

  But that was what made the Darkstream resettlement fleet historically unique: they didn’t care about risking a powerful alien enemy finding humanity’s home galaxy, because they were leaving that galaxy forever.

  All two million people in the fleet considered remaining near other humans the greater risk.

  Either way…no sign of aliens yet.

  The very first system they’d entered in this new galaxy had contained little of interest, but no one had expected it to. It was just a lonely ice giant orbiting a brown dwarf star.

  Darkstream’s navigational experts hadn’t brought them to that system because they expected it would contain a place suitable for colonization. No, they’d chosen it exactly because it seemed unattractive, and therefore wasn’t likely to have unfriendly occupants.

  From there, company astronomers had employed their tried-and-true roster of techniques for indirectly evaluating exoplanets. Someone had tried to explain them to Roach, once, but he’d quickly zoned out during the litany. Gravitational micro-something…aurora radial…something…

  He gave his head a brisk shake and refocused on the shuttle’s display, which showed the intense weather outside the craft. Sensors said the storm cleared up farther below, and Roach was looking forward to that.

  The astronomers had finally settled on a star that looked promising, with one planet orbiting it that had the right mix in its atmosphere, along with four that didn’t.

  If I push through to the front of the shuttle, I could be the first person to step foot on a planet in another galaxy.

  He would miss the missions to the Bastion Sector, where he’d fought alongside UHF marines to put down various insurgencies. He’d relished every chance he’d gotten to neutralize a radical.

  That said, he’d hated the constant red tape and stifling oversight from the UHF brass. They’d been Darkstream’s most overbearing client.

  Now, it occurred to Roach that there would be far fewer rules, here. The only laws would be company policy. There’d be no government bureaucrats breathing down their necks, terrified that details on ops would leak to the traitorous news media.

  This galaxy meant a brand new start, and Roach burned with a sudden desire to make sure they did it right.

  The shuttle finally touched down on the planet’s surface, in a clearing amidst a sea of trees shaped like Earth’s pine trees, except with cascading waves of bare, spindly branches where their cones should have been.

  “Atmosphere checks out, according to these readings,” said the one scientist they’d brought with them, hunching over a tablet. “Still, we should send a rover out first, just to play it safe.”

  “Screw that,” Roach said, ripping off his straps and getting to his feet. “I won’t have some robot be the first one to walk on this planet. If I choke out there, you’ll know it’s not safe.” He raised his voice so the shuttle pilot could hear: “Open the airlock!”

  The pilot complied.

  After today, everyone would know the name Gabriel Roach. That would make a good start for his new life.

  The air outside the airlock tasted a bit like mildew, but other than that he felt fine. What’s a little mildew between exiles? If the odor became overbearing, they could easily clear these trees, assuming they were the source of the smell.

  Movement behind one of the strange plants caught his eye, and Roach raised his assault rifle.

  A creature that resembled a giant beetle trundled into view, navigating the bumpy ground with a steady, metallic whine.

  The scientist’s voice squawked from his transponder. “Roach. What did you find?”

  “I think…I think it’s a robot.”

  “A robot? That isn’t good. It means this planet is inhabited.”

  “We didn’t see any structures coming in.”

  “Yeah. Maybe they’re subterranean.”

  Roach hefted his rifle. “I’m gonna
shoot it.”

  “Do not shoot it. That could alert its owners to our presence. If they don’t already know.”

  He lowered his gun, but only for a moment. Then he aimed again and fired a burst.

  The Ocharium-enhanced rounds flipped the thing back against a tree, where it shattered, its innards spilling onto the ground. Walking over, Roach nudged the shiny, gray fragments that had spilled from the machine’s guts. The pieces looked metallic, with lots of little ridges sticking up from them.

  “That’s scandium,” the scientist said into his ear, sounding a little breathless. “A rare earth element.”

  “I’m guessing our new society could use that,” Roach said. “Meaning we should break open as many of these little critters as we find.”

  “They must be resource-gathering robots. It would be better if we could discover where it was headed with the scandium. We could have followed it, if you hadn’t—”

  “I’m sure there are more. I’ll look.” Roach strolled away from the shuttle, confident in his com’s ability to prevent him from getting lost.

  “Be careful, Roach. We don’t know what sort of defense systems they have.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  The more risks he took today, the better the story would be of the first man to step onto a planet in a new galaxy. And the better that story was, the farther it would spread through the company, and the longer it would be remembered. The longer his name would be remembered.

  Everyone would remember Gabriel Roach, just as he was sure everyone he’d ever met had never forgotten him.

  Chapter 5

  Hang Out

  Only the captain could access crewmembers’ locations via their coms, and even then he could only do so in an emergency, or for reasons related to a mission. So if Husher wanted to act on the sudden urgency he felt to speak with Sergeant Caine, he’d have to find her himself.

  Especially since she wasn’t answering his messages.

  The mood aboard the ship crackled with tension and unease. When he checked the crew’s mess, a nervous ripple ran through the men and women gathered there.

  Husher knew more and more of them were distilling alcohol illegally inside tucked-away Engineering compartments. He could have scoured those areas and put a stop to the practice, if Keyes had wanted him to. But Keyes’s areas of interest remained fairly limited since returning from Hades. Maybe, now that he’s dealt with Steele, he’ll get back to his old self.

  Somehow, Husher doubted that.

  As for the Wingers, they seemed to be keeping to themselves more than they had before. They were probably just as taken aback by Keyes’s actions as the humans were. Letting most of Darkstream go, murdering Steele without granting him a fair trial…

  This isn’t the same ship we served on three months ago.

  Soon, they would return to Sol, and Husher had no idea what would happen then. He needed to speak to Caine before that.

  More people packed the smallish gym than usual, apparently using exercise as a means to combat the stress everyone felt. He found Caine there, waiting to use the seated row machine.

  “Hey,” he said. “Can I talk to you?”

  She glanced at him. “About what?”

  “I don’t mean in here.”

  Sighing, she grabbed her water bottle and walked into the corridor with him. “I’m not going far. Just because you have something on your mind doesn’t mean I’ll interrupt my workout for very long.”

  Her black workout shorts hugged her frame tighter than her uniform ever could, and it definitely accentuated her curves more than her battledress did. Husher hoped she didn’t catch him noticing.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “All right, I guess. I’m having some trouble keeping the new recruits from the Bastion Sector in line. The insurgents—former insurgents, I guess—have an annoying tendency of seeing themselves as outside the chain of command. As my equals.”

  “You’ll correct them of that notion, I’m sure.”

  She gave him a tight smile. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

  “Have you picked up on how tightly wound Keyes has been since Hades?”

  Caine’s smile faded. “Who hasn’t?”

  “He’s worrying me. I don’t think he’s the same Keyes, which means this isn’t the same Providence.”

  “He certainly seems bloodthirsty. But bloodthirsty’s probably what we need right now.”

  “That was the wrong call, letting Darkstream go. You can see that, right?”

  “Sure,” she said, nodding curtly. “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  Husher drew a breath. He’d been stalling, and Caine had called him out on it, in typical Caine fashion. “Sera—”

  Two sculpted eyebrows leapt up Caine’s forehead. “First names now, Husher?”

  He swallowed. “Listen, I was wondering…do you want to hang out sometime?”

  Eyes widening, Caine’s eyebrows climbed higher. Then she laughed. Sudden and loud. “What are you talking about?”

  “On the shuttle down to Hades, right before we rescued Keyes, I felt like we had a moment.”

  “A moment?”

  “You didn’t feel it?”

  “Feel what?”

  “Listen, do you want to hang out or not?” Husher felt like she was being purposely obtuse, and this wasn’t fun for him. “It’s not like there’s a chain of command issue, now that you’re reinstated as marine commander and I’m back with the Air Group. If that’s what you’re worried about. Don’t you feel anything between us?”

  “Between us.” Caine’s shoulders rose and fell with her breathing. “Even if I did feel something, what would we do about it? Life aboard a warship doesn’t exactly allow for nice, sociable little outings.” She shook her head. “We’re in the middle of a war, Husher. Even if I was willing to entertain the thought of us, which I’m not, I’d be afraid it would compromise our judgment. Do us both a favor and put this out of your mind. Okay?”

  He focused on keeping his facial features inert. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry I asked.”

  “Take care, Husher.” She turned and strode back toward the gym.

  “Put it out of my mind,” he muttered. “Take care.”

  Feeling totally humiliated, he spun on his heel and made for the crew’s mess, toying with the idea of seeking out a mug of whatever swill the crew had brewed this week. He wouldn’t, of course, but turning the thought over in his mind did serve to distract him from the mental discomfort of what had just happened.

  Chapter 6

  Huddled like Sheep

  No Providence corridor was ever completely deserted. To save on the amount of atmosphere they’d needed to drag up from a planet’s gravity well, the ship’s designers had included as few corridors as possible—only what the crew required to get wherever they needed to be, which sometimes involved some pretty inefficient routes.

  But Husher knew which corridors saw the least action, depending on the time of day. Engineering conducted their checks at the beginning of each shift, and so now, three hours into third shift, the corridors in that section bore relatively little traffic.

  It surprised him when Keyes found him there as he was pacing back and forth past one of the main engine rooms. Did he use my com to track me?

  “Captain,” Husher said. “I thought you’d be preparing to meet with President Wateridge.”

  “That is what I’m doing,” Keyes said, as matter-of-fact as always, with an underlying grimness that hadn’t been there before Hades. “The topic of your father’s trial will almost certainly come up at the meeting. I want to give you the opportunity to offer your view on it to the president.”

  “I don’t think it will matter what I say.”

  Keyes held his gaze, shrugging slightly. “I wanted to give you the opportunity.”

  “Well…thank you, Captain. I’ll attend the meeting.”

  “Our shuttle awaits.” Keyes about-turned and marched down the corridor. Hush
er followed.

  It didn’t take long for him to realize they were headed toward Hangar Bay E, where the captain had spilled Tennyson Steele’s blood a little over a week ago. Today’s leisurely pace toward it stood in contrast with Keyes’s hurried stride on that day. Though the man remained just as silent.

  During the shuttle ride down to Mars, Keyes sat in the crash seat next to Husher’s. Halfway through the journey, he produced a tablet, bringing up footage of the Providence’s recent journey through the Sol System.

  “What do you see?” he asked, zooming in on the hundreds of ships in orbit around Mars, humanity’s adopted home planet.

  Husher stared, his eyes slowly narrowing. “Not a fleet preparing for war.” He hesitated. “I see a fleet huddling together. A fleet awaiting the coming onslaught like there’s a chance they’ll survive by doing so.”

  Slipping the tablet inside his breast pocket, Keyes pursed his lips. “Good eye.” Then he turned toward Husher slightly, without meeting his gaze, which would have been difficult while strapped into adjacent crash seats. “You should know that I brought you along against my better judgment. I need you to check your habit of speaking your mind at the most inappropriate times. Throughout this meeting, you’re only invited to offer your views on Warren Husher’s trial. Nothing else. Is that understood?” Now Keyes did twist his head far enough to seize Husher’s gaze.

  He paused only for a moment before nodding. “Yes, Captain.”

  President Kayden Wateridge received them in a private lounge deep within the presidential residence. The man’s approval rating was sky-high, which was typical of the initial honeymoon period, especially following a president with a rating as low as Hurst’s. Loved by the public as he may be, Wateridge didn’t have Husher’s trust. Not yet.

  The man was no Sandy Bernard, for one. He’d made some pretty promises, and he’d even fulfilled a few of them already. But part of Husher worried that Wateridge would turn out to be just another corporate stooge.

  There’d been warning signs already—like the leaked memo, written by a member of Wateridge’s campaign even before the election, which provided advice to military contractors interested in lobbying his administration should Wateridge get elected. Contractors interested in becoming the next Darkstream, maybe.