The Orion Conspiracy (Max Mars Book 1)

by Tripp Ellis

  Suddenly, an adversary dropped down from a catwalk. The figure slammed on top of the container like a superhero plummeting off a tall building. Max spun her weapon around to take out the intruder. But her reflexes were slow, like in a bad dream. The mysterious figure kicked the weapon out of Max's hands. The gunmetal gray pistol clattered across the deck, discharging upon impact.

  Before Max could react, the business end of a plasma pistol stared her in the face. It belonged to an athletic woman with dark hair, and a similar build to Max. It had to be the woman she talked to earlier. It had to be the person that killed Chace Carter. But who the hell was she?

  37

  “You're not a former Reaper,” Max said, surveying her adversary. “Not enough honor.”

  The woman sneered at her.

  “You're not X-force.” Max's eyes narrowed. “You’re Cobra Company.”

  “You're smarter than you look,” the woman said.

  Cobra Company supplied the Federation with special operators on an independent contractor basis. Word around the cosmos had it they were trying to create their own perfect super-soldier. Maybe they had done it? They’d sell their services to the highest bidder. This woman was clearly a hired gun, working for Thornton.

  “We haven’t been properly introduced," the woman said. "I'm Clarissa… and you’re dead.”

  She was about to squeeze the trigger when a plasma blast hit the pistol, knocking it from her hand. She recoiled, and her head snapped toward the origin of the blast.

  Winston crouched in the air shaft. He had fired a shot with pinpoint accuracy at the barrel of Clarissa's weapon. Technically, he was complying with his primary coding. He was protecting human life, and wasn't harming anyone by firing at the weapon.

  Max sprung to her feet, spinning a roundhouse kick that connected with Clarissa's jaw. The impact snapped Clarissa's neck to the side and drew blood from her lip. But it didn't seem to faze her. She turned her head back to Max, and a slight grin curled on her lips. "I hope you’ve got more than that.”

  Max would normally wipe the floor with this wannabe, but in her sluggish state she was less than her usual self. Max swung a hard right, but it felt like she was punching underwater. She couldn't move fast enough.

  Clarissa dodged, and blocked the punch with ease. She countered with a left hook that connected with Max's jaw, sending her crashing down. Clarissa put her foot into Max's rib cage. Pain stabbed through her thoracic cavity. Clarissa had kicked Max directly on her surgical site.

  Max flopped over, crashing against the container top. She mustered all of her strength and attempted to stagger to her feet, but Clarissa mashed another swift kick into Max's jaw. The force snapped her head back, and she rolled off the edge of the container, dropping several stories to the deck.

  The impact knocked all the air out of Max's lungs. She gasped for breath, desperately trying to suck oxygen into her lungs. But it seemed like they wouldn't fill.

  Clarissa climbed down to finish the job.

  Max was huddling on all fours, attempting to stand. She finally made it to her feet, swaying like a drunk.

  Clarissa could taste victory. Max could see it in her eyes—the woman had a sadistic grin. She walked Max down, pushing closer. She jabbed twice, then swung another right. The blow stunned Max, but she managed to stay on her feet. Clarissa caught her with a left uppercut. The blow rattled Max's teeth and sent her crashing back down.

  “This is too easy. You are starting to bore me.”

  Max tongued a row of teeth, trying to feel for a chipped tooth, but they all seemed to remain intact.

  Clarissa glanced around and saw the body of a fallen comrade. She eyed the plasma rifle lying on the deck by the corpse. She strolled for the weapon.

  It was now or never for Max. She had to shake off whatever was dragging her down. Her advanced genetics had allowed her to process the neuro-stimulant faster than normal. She hoped it would allow her to bounce back just as quickly. Max summoned all her strength and sprang to her feet. She charged at Clarissa, attempting to tackle her before she reached the plasma rifle. She ran as fast as she could. She felt lethargic at first. But failure was not acceptable. Defeat was not an option. She let out a primal scream and muscled through the sluggishness. She careened toward Clarissa, wrapping her up like a defensive linebacker, slamming her to the deck. Max did the old ground and pound, unleashing a hailstorm of fists.

  Left.

  Right.

  Left.

  Right.

  Each one connecting with Clarissa's face. The slap of fists against flesh echoed off the containers. The crunching sound of knuckles against bone filled Max's ears. It was a beautiful sound.

  But Clarissa managed to throw Max off her. She tumbled away as Clarissa scurried toward the weapon. Her fingertips found the rifle stock, and Clarissa pulled the weapon toward her.

  Max grabbed Clarissa by the ankle and yanked her away from the rifle.

  Clarissa's fingertips clawed against the deck as she was dragged away from the prize. Now it was Max's turn to put a boot into Clarissa's rib cage.

  Ribs snapped.

  Max kicked her again with everything she had. Clarissa flopped aside and Max started for the rifle. She snatched it from the deck and brought it into the firing position. Before Clarissa could react, Max fired two plasma bolts—one into her chest, one into her head.

  Carissa’s body crumpled to the deck, smoke wafting from the plasma holes. Her flesh sizzled for a few moments.

  Max scoffed and muttered snidely, “Cobra Company." She shook her head, then headed for Thornton. But he had realized it was time to vacate the premises.

  Thornton was dragging Dylan toward the dropship with a plasma pistol to his head. Thornton stopped Max before she got too close. "Don't come any closer, or he dies.”

  38

  Thornton used Dylan as cover. The only available target was Thornton’s head, and his hand as he pressed the barrel against Dylan's temple.

  Max attempted to align the reticle of her sights on Thornton’s right eye. But her vision still wasn't 100%, and her hands shook with a slight tremor, still suffering the effects from coming off of the neuro-stimulant.

  Max hesitated for a moment, unsure. She wanted to blow this creep's head off, but a slight miscalculation could vaporize Dylan instead.

  Max's heartbeat elevated, and a rare streak of indecision befuddled her mind. Max was used to clear and concise action. No hesitation. She executed plans of attack with swift and decisive force. Technical precision. But now she found herself worrying about the outcome. Worrying about Dylan. Second-guessing her own abilities. It could be a fatal combination.

  Max knew that more than half the game was in the mind. The moment you let the possibility of failure creep into the dark recesses of your brain, the more likely you are to fail.

  Max's hesitation cost her. Before she could squeeze the trigger, she felt the barrel of a plasma pistol press against the back of her skull.

  "Set the weapon down,” a female voice behind her said.

  Max recognized the voice—it was Officer Calhoun.

  "Drop the weapon, now!"

  Max tossed her plasma rifle to the deck. She knew her death would follow momentarily. She needed to stall for time, and she needed to get a clear view of Officer Calhoun's positioning. Max slowly turned her head to the side, trying to get a glimpse over her shoulder of Calhoun from the corner of her eye. “Is Thornton paying you that much?"

  "Yes, actually,” Calhoun said. “But it's not about the money. It's more than that."

  "I don't know why I didn't see it before,” Max muttered to herself. "It was plain as day.” She was putting the pieces together. Max was mad at herself for not seeing through Calhoun from the start. "You had me fooled. I genuinely thought you cared about Chace.”

  "He showed up sniffing around," Calhoun said. "It didn't take long to make him for a Federation agent. I got close to him to find out what he was up to. I don't expect you to unde
rstand. But what we're doing here is important."

  Max scoffed. "Important? Supplying terrorists with doomsday weapons? That's important?"

  "The Federation is a cesspool of corruption. Their oppressive policies and colonialist actions must be stopped. They impose their worldview and culture on the galaxy without a second thought."

  “Somehow I think your boss is just in this for the money,” Max said. “Countless millions of people will die because of your actions. The Federation provides peace and security for the colonies."

  “You're blinded by your patriotism. You need to open your eyes"

  “My eyes are open," Max said. With a fluid motion, Max ducked her head and shifted to the side. She rotated towards Calhoun, swinging her left arm underneath Calhoun's trigger arm. Max raised her arm up, trapping Calhoun's, then slammed an elbow into the officer's throat. She followed up with a knee to Calhoun’s belly. While still trapping Calhoun's arm, Max crossed her right hand over and grabbed the barrel of the plasma pistol, then twisted it backwards, snapping Calhoun's finger in the trigger guard. Even in Max’s groggy state, the whole movement happened in a flash. It was an operatic masterpiece of precision and timing. Max stripped the pistol from Calhoun's hand and spun around to face Thorton, lining him up in her sights.

  This time she didn't hesitate.

  She squeezed the trigger, and plasma projectiles rocketed toward Thornton. His square head exploded, painting Dylan in crimson blood. Thornton's body crumbled, and his pistol clattered to the deck.

  Max moved to Dylan and untied him. He gasped for breath as she removed the gag from his mouth.

  “You’re pretty handy with that thing," Dylan said.

  "I get lucky every now and then," Max said, feigning modesty.

  Dylan crouched down and grabbed Thornton’s weapon, then moved to secure Officer Calhoun. She was writhing on the ground, gasping for air with a crushed windpipe.

  "I'm going to have fun interrogating this one. I bet she has a plethora of useful information. That is, if she lives that long."

  Calhoun looked almost blue in the face. She coughed and gasped, finally able to draw air into her lungs.

  Dylan reached down and grabbed Calhoun's handcuffs from her utility belt, then he slapped them on her wrists. Dylan was going to take her back to FCIS headquarters. She was going to be brought up on multiple Federation charges.

  “You know, you made a hell of a mess for me to clean up," Dylan said to Max in a lighthearted tone.

  “I'm sure you'll sort it all out." Max smiled, but it was short-lived. The pain in her cheek from the shrapnel wound put an end to her grin. Blood was oozing from the surgical site on her chest, seeping through what remained of the protective skin-like cover—it had taken quite a bit of abuse during Max's siege of the bay.

  Max had summoned all of her strength to push through her injuries, and the effects of the neuro-stimulant withdrawal. But now that the battle was over, and the urgency was gone, her adrenaline levels crashed. Her face went pale, and her knees wobbled. Then she crashed to the deck.

  39

  “I told you to be careful," Dr. Matsuda said, chastising Max.

  She woke up in a in an intermediate care unit in Matsuda’s surgical center. A screen displayed her vital signs—blood pressure, oxygen saturation, and the peaks and valleys of her heartbeat. She had an IV sticking into her forearm, and wireless electrodes stuck to various points on her body.

  Dylan, Winston, and the doctor hovered over her as she regained consciousness. Their faces looked fuzzy for a moment as Max blinked her eyes, trying to see.

  “This little adventure of yours caused massive internal hemorrhaging. I had to open you up and operate again.”

  Max rolled her eyes. "You mean, you pressed a button, and the robotic surgical system did all the work?”

  Matsuda scowled at her. “It takes a great deal of expertise and knowledge to interpret the diagnostic scans and program in the appropriate surgery."

  “Whatever. Am I going to live?“

  “Until you go and do something stupid again," Matsuda said. “And, by the way, I want my pistol back.”

  “A .45?” Dylan asked.

  Matsuda nodded.

  “We collected it as evidence from Bay 72. I'll be sure to get it back to you.”

  “How long have I been out?” Max asked.

  “Two days,” Matsuda said. “But I may have to give you another sedative.”

  “Why?"

  “Because you’re doing that thing with your mouth again."

  “What thing?”

  "Talking.”

  Max scowled at Matsuda playfully.

  “I, for one, am thankful that you are still alive," Winston said.

  “I wouldn't be here without your sharpshooting skills," Max said.

  “Well, I certainly owe you a debt of gratitude," Dylan said. “You ever thought about working for the FCIS? We could use good agents.”

  Max shook her head emphatically. “No. No more government jobs.”

  “Come on. It's not so bad. Gotta be better than picking up merc work?”

  Max shook her head again.

  "How about I call you every now and then for those difficult cases? On an independent contractor basis?” Dylan had a hopeful tone in his voice.

  “I thought you might call me for non-work-related business,” she said with a grin.

  “I just might, if you're lucky.”

  Max arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Oh, by the way, I tracked down your luggage.” He held up a small bag. Max traveled extremely light. “When I mentioned it was a matter of Federation security, the space-line had it back to me in no time."

  “Bonus points for you," Max said with a smile.

  “Perks of the job.”

  Max winced as she tried to sit up.

  “Whoa, take it easy there,” Dylan said. “What exactly do you think you're doing?”

  "I'm getting up and getting dressed.”

  “I think you need to take it easy for a few days.”

  Max chuckled, as if she could ever sit around taking it easy.

  Dylan looked to Matsuda for support.

  "She's stubborn. Good luck trying to get her to listen to anything. If she wants to re-injure herself, that's her business." Matsuda shook his head and walked away.

  “You don't think I'm going to stick around this joint, do you?” Max said. “The corruption around here is systemic.”

  “I got a team of agents here. We found the Crygon Spheres and they’ve been shipped back to headquarters. Officer Calhoun's in custody, and I'm overseeing an official investigation. I can guarantee your safety while I'm here on Orion Station. I promise to look after you personally, if you will stay until you’re fully recovered.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said in her adorably sassy way.

  "As you've demonstrated."

  “But, if you're agreeing to be my personal bodyguard. Then I could be persuaded to stick around for a few days, I guess.” She had a flirtatious glint in her eyes.

  Dylan smiled. “Good.”

  “Mainly so I can spend more time with Winston,” Max said, pretending not to be overly interested. “He's quite charming.”

  “Why, thank you, ma'am.” Winston lit up with glee.

  “And you," Dylan said pointing to the robot. “You're getting a full refurb, courtesy of the FCIS.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Provided you allow us to attempt to recover the data on your hard drives.”

  “I find that acceptable.” Winston smiled, but it quickly faded. “It won't hurt, will it?"

  Dylan chuckled. "Of course not.”

  Matsuda marched back into the compartment. “Okay, enough. Everybody out. The patient needs to rest.” He motioned to Max. “Back in bed. I don't want any arguments. I will sedate you, if need be."

  Max frowned and grumbled under her breath. “Yes, boss." She sighed.

  Matsuda was surprised by how easily she
complied.

  “Can somebody bring me something to eat?” Max asked. "I'm starving.”

  “What do you want?” Dylan replied.

  “Pizza.”

  Dylan glanced to Matsuda to see if it was okay. He shrugged.

  “What kind?"

  “Pineapple, mushroom, and onions." Max’s eyes glimmered with anticipation.

  “Really?”

  “Really. It's good. Trust me."

  Dylan shrugged. "Okay. But don't consider this a date, or anything."

  “I won’t.” Max winked. “You’re going to take me someplace fancy if we go on a date.”

  Dylan chuckled. “Deal.”

  The room cleared and Matsuda left Max alone. Her eyes grew heavy, and she wondered if Matsuda had slipped a sedative into her IV. Consciousness faded away, and she drifted back to sleep, dreaming of her next adventure—dreaming of catching up with Silas Rage and avenging Doctor Tor’s death.

  When Dylan returned with the pizza, he didn't have the heart to wake her. He pulled up a chair beside her bed and watched her sleep. He was smitten with her, no doubt about it. There was no one else in the galaxy quite like Max Mars.

  Thank You!

  I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please consider reviewing the series on Amazon—a simple “Loved it,” or, “Hated it,” would be appreciated.

  —Tripp

  The Planetary Defense Force Wants YOU!

  Join my newsletter and never miss a new release. No spam. Ever. Just cool stuff. (All the cool kids are joining up.)

  See All of My Books!

  Tripp Ellis Catalogue

  The Galactic Wars Series