by T. M. Catron
Contents
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
The Deliverance Code
Extras
Note from the Author
About the Author
Acknowledgments
More Books!
About Phoenix Prime
Cover
Solaris is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
2017 Antimatter Books ebook
Copyright © 2017 T.M. Catron
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
www.tmcatron.com
Book/Cover design by T.M. Catron
Star Streaker ship design by Allen Grippin
Phoenix Prime Logo used with permission.
License Note:
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For Eric,
who brings me breakfast while I write.
Chapter One
The Outer Colonies had always been prosperous. Ill-treated, oppressed, and exploited, but always prosperous. The mining colony on Xanthes was no exception. The purple-hued planet orbited around a yellow star, alone in the dark vacuum of space. Its nearest neighboring planet was two days of hyperspace away. Beyond Xanthes, whole realms of alien civilizations watched the human empire grow, mingling occasionally, but more often waiting for the day they would go to war.
But despite its relative isolation from the Core worlds, Xanthes’ spaceports hummed with activity. Large shipments of diamonds, mined by a peasant population, left its orbit every day for wealthier worlds like the glass cities and lush green plains of Barton or the intimidating seat of power on Triton. Even though violent dust storms plagued Xanthes, a prestigious Flight Academy took advantage of the wide-open spaces and trained the best pilots of the Empire Triton.
Xanthes was also a haven for smugglers seeking a life that didn’t involve mining. Many of them made enough money to buy fancy ships, and their pilots were every bit as good as those the Academy produced, albeit with less honorable credentials. Often the illegal trading lined the pockets of Xanthes’ nobility, ensuring continued and mutual success. So the smugglers got rich, the nobles got richer, and life on Xanthes continued in a complicated swirl of dust and politics.
The crew of the Star Streaker had a different reaction to being on Xanthes. None of them wanted to set foot on the foul, backward planet. But the small space cruiser exited hyperspace anyway, in a blinding flash of blue and on a direct trajectory for the largest spaceport.
The Star Streaker was beautifully built, with clean lines and a bronze hull that flashed like gold after it exited hyperspace. Originally commissioned as a luxury space cruiser, the ship held a crew of six in tight quarters, ten in a pinch. The hold was small, but the space was well-used and allowed the captain to smuggle small items and contraband.
The Star Streaker flew unarmed and equipped with the latest hyperdrive civilian money could buy. Although the drive implied money, the Star Streaker wasn’t out of place among the other sleek ships jockeying for position around the planet.
Before the Streaker could radio for clearance for entry, three dark fighters zipped by, passing so close to the Streaker that pilot James Fletcher ducked. Since the captain was situated behind and above the pilot’s chair, all Rance Cooper saw was James’ sandy brown hair and broad shoulders hunched over the controls. But the pilot’s practiced hands remained steady, keeping the ship on course.
“Well those were a bit close for comfort,” he said dryly.
“Hard to miss, weren’t they?” Rance said. She leaned forward in her harness, wishing she could stand and stretch her legs. Her loose brown hair fell down in her eyes, and she quickly braided it while examining the screen in front of her. Three blinking dots sped away toward the planet. They joined with two more and then flew over Xanthes in a V formation, as if they were on patrol.
Using her Neural Net Robotics chip, or NNR, Rance commanded the ship to pull up footage of the fly-by. The expensive chip implanted in her C1 vertebra connected with the Streaker and the artificial lens in her right eye—the Zeus Corporation Optical Display, or ZOD. It rivaled any heads-up display found inside armor. Rance controlled the lens with her thoughts.
Footage of the fly-by overlaid her view of the cockpit, giving her a view of both the ships outside and James’ head. But Rance wanted to watch on the larger screen near her chair, so she turned off the ZOD and sat back.
She saw what she expected: fast-maneuvering Unity Dark Fighters, armed with EMP cannons, hull-piercing blasters, and enough missile power to take out a ship ten times their size.
James glanced back at Rance. She already knew what he was thinking.
“Those aren’t my father’s,” she said. “See the signatures? They’re directly from Triton.”
“What’re they doing all the way out here?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
They weren’t her father’s ships, but the presence of Unity, the military arm of Triton, was troubling. Already anxious about landing back on her home planet, Rance didn’t need added eyes on her. Eyes that would report straight to her father, Davos.
Soon after, they received clearance to land. At the first glimpse of the bustling port, Rance forced aside her misgivings. The Star Streaker had been absent from Xanthes a long time, but the planet was exactly as it had been when they left eighteen months earlier—purple, dusty, and probably still smelly. They wouldn’t be here long; she didn’t have anything to worry about.
Rance propped her magnetic boots on the metal console while James set the ship down on the landing platform. Her legs ached from the long hours spent tucked in their crash chairs.
“Captain, please,” James said, shooting her an exasperated look. He hated when someone didn’t treat his cockpit with the reverence and worship he thought it deserved. But whatever, it was her ship. And her boots weren’t touching anything other than a bare surface.
“James, I don’t mind telling you that I don’t want to go out there.”
After staring pointedly at Rance’s boots for another moment, James unbuckled his harness and shut down the engines.
“No one does,” he said. “But if you want a new CO, you’re going to have to.”
“And this is the best place to get one,” she said, restating what they already knew. Rance sighed and removed her boots from the console.
They’d gone back and forth about it for a week. Ever since her last CO, Rex, had left, she’d been flip-flopping on whether to promote a member of the crew or go to Xanthes to hire someone.
Both options had their merits. And their drawbacks. Promoting a member of her crew would show good faith in them. Rance liked the idea mostly because it wouldn’t upset the delicate working balance on the small cruiser. Except for the occasional “family squabble,” as James liked to call them, they all got along. Losing Rex had been a blow.
But none of the crew was particularly ready for the resp
onsibility, which meant Rance needed to hire an outsider. Xanthes may have been a dust-pit full of rats and refuse, but if she wanted a good CO, that’s where she’d find one.
She shook off the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. They were already here. And now that she’d decided to come, she didn’t want to abandon the chance of finding a capable officer.
With a long, ear-splitting beep, a bulletin pushed through to Rance’s ZOD, their individual handsets, and the ship-wide com. Then, three different faces scrolled across the screen in the cockpit, each with the same name beneath it: Solaris, Galaxy Wizard.
He was some fugitive Unity was looking for. This was the third time in a week Rance had seen the bulletin, along with a warning that the man was extremely dangerous and could hide by changing his face.
She raised an eyebrow in amusement. Galaxy Wizard—she’d heard tales of them since she was a child. Most were too far-fetched to be true. Apparently Unity wanted this one badly though. It meant Rance would need to be extra careful. Unity might be looking for Solaris, but end up finding her.
“I put out the usual job posting,” James said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Good,” she answered. “And don’t be too dramatic with the candidates. I don’t want someone to expect theatrics on board this ship. We just need a nice, sensible person who can think for herself.”
“Or himself.”
“Or himself.”
“And take orders from you.”
“And take orders from me. It’s not that hard.”
“Whatever you say, Captain.”
The small spaceport beyond the window was as colorful as ever, with red, blue, and green buildings haphazardly stacked on top of one another like toy blocks. Layers of purple-gray dust coated all of them, on the Northern side in particular.
There, beyond the city, a wall of purple sand rose up out of the desert, so tall it stretched to the sky, mingling with the clouds until it couldn’t be distinguished from them.
James nodded at the sand. “Should we be worried about that sandstorm?”
“Nah. They won’t even sound the sirens for that one. But the air won’t be good. Get on the com and tell everyone to wear their masks when they go out.”
“Yes, mother.”
Rance frowned at him.
“You see,” he said good-naturedly, “it’s ironic because I’m twenty-nine, three years older than you.”
James stood aside as Rance extricated herself from her chair.
“And yet,” she said, “you asked me just the other day if I wanted to play pirates and space marines.”
“I asked if you wanted to play the video of Unity Marines catching those scumbag pirates near Ares.”
Rance’s legs now felt like they’d been clamped between the magnets they used to dock at space stations. She winced at the pain, then smiled. Winding James up was one of her favorite pastimes. It probably wasn’t appropriate for a Captain to banter with her pilot, but again, whatever, it was her ship. And after all the crazy schemes they’d come up with, James was like the brother she’d never had.
While trying to maneuver out of the cockpit, her head accidentally hit a button on the ceiling. An alarm sounded.
“Son of Triton,” she swore, mashing the button again and silencing the alarm.
At six-foot-two, Rance was the tallest member of the Star Streaker. The Streaker was a fast runner, capable of jumping into hyperspace on a two-second notice. Only the official Unity ships could jump faster—a source of pride for Rance.
But though the ship itself was big enough for the cargo they carried, the Streaker’s most major drawback was the size of its cockpit. It hadn’t been built on Xanthes, where people tended to be taller. It was a Triton ship, and Triton’s people were shorter and more nimble than Rance.
She turned back to look at James gazing at his reflection in the display console and attempting to make his sand-colored hair lay flat.
“We’re looking for a CO, not a date, James.”
“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
Rance rolled her eyes. James had a girlfriend in every port, but she didn’t know what women saw in him. Sure, he was nice-looking, and charming when he wanted to be, but he was too fussy for Rance. Which was just as well. If she’d fallen in love with him, she would’ve had to fire him.
When James finished smoothing his hair, he turned and gave Rance a thumbs up. Irritated, she climbed down the cockpit ladder and made her way through the top deck, passing her own quarters, and down a steep flight of stairs to the hold.
She nodded at Tally at the bottom of the stairs. With large, dark scales and bulbous green eyes that never blinked, the engineer—a Graeken—was the only alien aboard the Star Streaker. He stood on two legs but didn’t look human: the ridge on his head looked like a lizard’s crest, and he had fangs instead of teeth. His crest was turning white—a sign of his advancing age. But he was just as spry as any of the younger crew.
He waited to close up after they left. Except for androids, intelligent nonhumans weren’t welcome on Xanthes unless they were servants. Another reason Rance didn’t like returning to her home planet.
“Twenty-four hours,” Rance reiterated as James left with the tiny science officer, Harper, through the cargo doors.
Abel’s hulking frame filled up the open doorway as he waited for everyone to pass through. Body-covering tattoos made his skin look purple, which matched the purple sand blowing past him and settling on the floor of the small cargo bay.
“You going to find someone that quick, boss?” he asked. Despite being on a spaceship for a year, he hadn’t yet shaken the habit of calling her boss. He’d worked private security on Triton before taking to space. Captain didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary.
“The longer we wait, the more desperate we’ll seem,” Rance told him. “If I post the position for say, twelve hours only, we’ll get a better response than if I wait. I want someone who can make decisions on short notice.”
“Sounds more like you’re looking for an impulsive person rather than a decision-maker,” Tally said as Abel left.
“Not impulsive, just decisive,” she said.
Tally nodded, regarding her with a look that was both affectionate and respectful.
Rance hopped down off the ramp into the purple dirt. As her feet hit the ground, gritty purple sand accosted her from every angle, blowing into her nose, eyes, and mouth. Her single, tight braid whipped around and smacked her in the eye. She winced, grabbing for the mask on her belt. Before pulling it on, she turned to tell Tally to close the ramp. But the ramp was already rising, humming smoothly until it sealed shut.
The crew had scattered. Rance quickly made her way alone across the expanse of the docks, out of the wind. When she reached the broad thoroughfare spanning the marketplace, she broke into a jog. The street looked the same as it always did, with metal stalls facing the thoroughfare and enough foods and goods to make the planet seem more like a Core world than a mining colony.
Her implant synced with the city’s network, and a map of the marketplace popped up on her ZOD, displaying grid lines over the streets and even giving her the names of vendors. She turned on her heel, drinking in the still-familiar sights of Xanthes. The smell of warm, rich food and wet sand. The sound of vendors bickering and bartering.
But Rance didn’t have time for misplaced nostalgia. She hunched over and hurried past the crowds, looking back occasionally to make sure she wasn’t being followed. The less time she spent here, the better. She didn’t want to run into—
“Rance Cooper! How are ya?”
Rance cringed and slowed to a walk. There he was, coming out of a tavern like he’d been waiting for her. He walked in a slightly crooked line. How did Harrison McConnell always know when she returned home? He must have a friend at the port office. Rance felt like she’d spent half her life in space and the other half avoiding Harrison.
“Sorry I can’t stay, Harrison. Tight schedule.”
&n
bsp; “You haven’t seen me in over a year, and that’s the ‘hello’ I get?” He lifted his mask expectantly.
Rance sighed before sliding her mask over for him. Harrison stood on his tiptoes and kissed her cheek. He smelled sweaty, like he hadn’t bathed in days.
And he was already pouting—a sure sign he was drunk. His bright blue eyes peered up at her sorrowfully. “When are we going to get married, Rance?”
Rance rolled her eyes. “When Triton stops sending Unity to interfere with the Outer Colonies.”
So, never.
Now Harrison rolled his eyes. “We are betrothed, you know. I could tell your father you’re on Xanthes, get proceedings going.”
Rance glared at him. “Don’t you dare, Harrison McConnell!”
“If you didn’t want to get married, why’d you consent to the arrangement?”
“I didn’t . . .”
Rance glanced around, then grabbed Harrison’s shoulder and steered him back toward the tavern. She pushed him through the door and ducked her head to enter. A wall of noise hit her before her eyes adjusted. Glasses clinking. Voices raised in drunken tirades. She removed her mask to see better, and then wished she hadn’t.
The smell almost sent her to her knees. By the Founders, every time. She always forgot how horrible these places were. The room smelled like cats had died under every table. That stink would have been enough to send Rance back to the Streaker, but it mixed with sweat and hair and alcohol to form some sort of fetid odor all its own. She fought the urge to gag as they made their way around tables to the bar.
“What are you having?” she asked Harrison.
“A Blue.”
Her nose was already wrinkled in disgust, so it couldn’t turn up any more. She settled for a sneer. Still gripping his shoulder much harder than necessary, Rance ordered the drink and steered Harrison to an empty table in the corner. He didn’t argue as she pushed him down into a hard metal chair.
“You can’t say things like that out in the open, Harrison,” she began.