Celestial Ascension (Splintered Galaxy Book 1)

by Eddie R. Hicks

  Celestial Ascension

  Splintered Galaxy Book One

  By Eddie R. Hicks

  Copyright © 2016 Eddie R. Hicks

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This novel contains scenes of graphic violence, explicit language and sexuality and is intended for mature readers.

  Cover Art by: Deranged Doctor Designs

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  About the author

  Pr

  ologue

  “Absolutely not!” exclaimed Mil Folea, the Javnis representative for the Radiance Union Council.

  Ary Gonvilea, the Aryile representative spoke. “We agree.”

  “We agree as well," said Za Tuylinea. Now the Rabuabin representative had cast their vote.

  Vorcambreum representative Gab Wintaei stood and gazed with her gray eyes at the brightly lit delegation chamber. Here, all major decisions within the Radiance Union were made among its five council members, who each represented one of the races that came together to form this mighty galactic nation.

  Wintaei was surprised the Aryile would vote in this manner—after all, the human and Aryile races looked almost identical. Nevertheless, if the Javnis and Rabuabin voted “no” along with the Aryile, the original founders of the union, then Vorcambreum must also vote “no”…despite the fact that many in its community believed some humans deserved a shot.

  “Vorcambreum lean toward ‘no.’” Wintaei sat back down in her chair, which was taller than everyone else’s since the Vorcambreum were quite short. The average height for their race was about four feet.

  The Rabuabin rep’s tail relaxed, this terrifying proposal having been effectively shut down. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to Linl representative Ure Perfinea. "Humans cannot be trusted.”

  The Linl bore a striking resemblance to humans, even more so than the Aryile. This left many in their civilization wondering if perhaps humans and Linl had a similar ancestry, which is why Linl had proposed to have the human race uplifted from their world and brought onto the galactic stage. Had the proposal passed, humans would have been provided with technology and scientific knowledge far more advanced than what they currently had.

  “Understood," said Perfinea.

  "Humans continue to fight one another and poison the only planet they live on, which is probably why they haven’t completely wiped themselves out with their atomic weapons. Give them other planets to live on, and they will not hesitate to use those in some petty conflict," said Gonvilea. “They also act like the Hashmedai when we first uplifted them. Now the Hashmedai are our greatest enemy, and we don’t need another adversary.”

  Folea briefly rested his four eyes before speaking. “This brings up my next question. Do the Hashmedai know of the human home world?”

  “Not to my knowledge, but it will only be a matter of time before their explorers come across it like ours did," said Perfinea. “The closest Hashmedai system is a mere ten light-years away.”

  Gonvilea added, "I'm confident the Hashmedai will avoid contact with humans. They want their empire to grow, not crumble with human influence.”

  “Can scientific study continue?” asked Perfinea. "Humans live on an interesting planet. I see no harm in studying it.”

  All five council members nodded their heads in agreement.

  Cha

  pter 1

  A work glove spiraled out of control thanks to the effects of zero gravity. This was one of the first sights Vice Admiral Himton saw as he entered the engine room—that and Captain Jerut’s floating body releasing the biggest sigh yet, white mist leaving his Hashmedai mouth. Himton considered what to bring to Jerut’s attention first—the stray glove or that only two of five engineers were at their computer workstations.

  Himton waited for Jerut to acknowledge his presence as the captain gave his weightless body a good push off the wall to glide across room. Jerut extended his hand, and the stray glove’s free-floating trip came to an end. The captain's orange eyes scanned the surrounding area, probably trying to locate the missing three workers. He failed to spot them…or the waiting admiral behind him.

  “I thought you said you had all of this under control, Captain," said Himton.

  Jerut spun his weightless body around to face the admiral. He did his very best to suppress all body language, but Himton wasn’t fooled.

  “Vice Admiral Himton, my apologies. I was awoken from cryo last and didn’t get the chance to—”

  “Captain, you need not worry about it. We are far from enemy territory,” Himton said.

  Jerut turned to a nearby window and gazed out at the bright-blue planet in the distance. The orb was almost as blue as his hair color. Himton floated over beside him to peer into the void as well.

  “If they become our next threat, this will be enemy territory soon,” Himton muttered.

  "Humans are still too primitive," replied Jerut. “It won’t be difficult to wipe them out with our fire power.”

  “They have an impressive amount of nuclear weapons. Uplifting a species that already has that kind of power is risky,” Himton said. “This is one of many reasons I don’t want to go ahead with these plans.” Himton took notice of his reflection in the window—long gray hair, pale skin, and yellow eyes, the third and final eye color change for a Hashmedai. He was long overdue for retirement.

  The two floated away from the window and down the dark corridor, traversing past idle computer terminals, pipes, and system cabling. Bioluminescent material in their eyes reacted to the darkness, triggering them to give off a slight glow.

  One computer monitor attracted Jerut’s eyes to the corner of the screen. The current time flashed in Hashmedai language. Jerut’s head tilted back toward the engine room they had just exited. His trajectory across the corridor halted as he grabbed the side of a monitor. “I don’t recall authorizing four people to take a break at once,” Jerut shouted. “Back to work! I need that system check done before we deploy.”

  Himton stopped to look back to the engine room, taking in the sight of a single engineer, who was working and clearly oblivious that his partner was missing. What happened to the other? He was just there, Himton wondered.

  The remaining engineer turned around with a puzzled look on his face. Thick fluid splashed the side of his arm, and he glimpsed down to see large red orbs floating in zero gravity…and a lot more floating toward him from behind.

  A woman dressed in black, holding a glowing object in both hands, seemingly emerged out of nothingness. This wasn’t the missing engineer; that was for damn sure…and the red orbs? Blood.

  The engineer’s hand gripped the pistol holstered at his side. A shift strike from the woman’s weapon resulted in his severed hand, which now moved away from him along with the p
istol. The entire ordeal transpired in a matter of seconds. The engineer’s screams of terror echoed throughout the ship. “Assassins! Assassins!” The engineer had cried his last words, unable to speak when his throat was slit instantly.

  To complicate matters further, the woman hadn't silenced him. Instead it was a man who had materialized into existence, wearing the same outfit as the woman. He removed his weapon from the deceased engineer’s neck. It was a glowing-green plasma dagger much like hers.

  Droplets of sweat floated away from Himton’s wrinkled skin as he turned and fled up the corridor. Jerut followed suit, taking note of the assassin duo in pursuit of them. “They’ve come for me!” Himton shouted to Jerut. “This is the fourth attempt on my life since we left home.”

  The two entered a nearby chamber. Jerut swung his body over to interact with a nearby computer terminal. Sliding doors to the chamber shut and locked. “Why would the Assassins’ Guild target you?” Jerut asked.

  Himton hesitated a few seconds before replying. “Someone back home must know what we’re really doing out here.”

  A second computer terminal screen glowed red as Jerut triggered a ship-wide alert. The deafening sound of alarms ringing echoed throughout. Jerut turned his head toward the ladder at the end of the chamber. “In any case we need to back up your memories,” Jerut said. “That way, should they succeed, your knowledge won’t be lost.”

  “Agreed.” Himton floated toward the ladder.

  Jerut and Himton made their way to the ship’s cockpit, a small compartment with a large window that showcased the emptiness of space and a blue planet in the distance. A chair and workstation for the pilot were in front of them. They looked around for the pilot, but only the two of them were present. Behind them were the entrance to the cockpit and a few computer screens. One such screen displayed live flight-cam footage from outside the door Jerut had just locked. The two black-clad individuals entered the screen. Himton viewed the footage with concern.

  The female assassin effortlessly thrust her blade into the door. The part of the door where the blade went in was glowing red, melting. With the aid of no gravity, the woman moved in a circular direction around the door while cutting with the blade. She came full circle, a perfect glowing one at that, as she cut the door open.

  She pushed away from the door while her male companion’s foot slammed against the center of the circle she’d made, and a large hulk of metal flipped backward in zero gravity. Behind where what used to be the door, two armed soldiers stood side by side with plasma rifles pointed forward. Five seconds later they suffered the same quick fate the engineer had. With no emotion on their faces, their weightless blood gushed in all directions. The assassin duo continued forth to pursue their ultimate target.

  Himton’s body slowly distanced itself from the camera feed as Jerut pushed a button next to him that shut and locked the door to the cockpit.

  “They must have gotten to the pilot as well," said Jerut, who noticed a pistol slowly spiraling across the dashboard, a severed hand still holding on to it. Jerut floated toward the main control console. “We’ll have to back up your memories into the ship’s log, sir.”

  Himton hesitantly nodded in agreement. “This knowledge was supposed to stay with me, but our efforts will be for nothing with it gone.”

  Himton glided over to the chair up front. On the dashboard was a small triangular object. He picked it up and stared at it for several seconds. Still worried if this was the right choice, he slowly placed the device on his forehead, and it adhered to it. Jerut’s fingers danced with the computer’s console, as an image of Himton’s brain appeared on the screen followed by a series of characters from the Hashmedaian language.

  Screams came from the other side of the door. Seconds later came the sound of metal sizzling in intense heat. The two comrades turned around to see that the assassins were cutting through the door. Jerut reached over to remove the floating pistol from the sliced-off hand, arming himself with it. Taking aim at the door, he knew there was nothing else he could do now but wait.

  A chime from the computer indicated the upload was finished. Perfect timing, Himton thought as the assassins finished cutting through the door. He removed the device from his head, got up from the chair, and floated toward the door ahead of Jerut. He knew his end was near, so he figured he might as well face his killers head on.

  As the door was kicked in, Himton shifted his body slightly to the side to avoid getting hit by it. The two assassins tore through the entrance.

  Defiantly, Himton shouted, “You’re too late!”

  Jerut promptly moved behind Himton, placing the pistol at the back of his head. “Correction, they are right on time,” Jerut muttered to himself.

  A blast of green energy passed through Himton’s head, leaving a large hole through both sides as burned brain matter and blood flew from his forehead. The hole in Himton’s head was large enough for Jerut to see the two assassins still floating and not moving.

  Jerut smiled at the two. “Excellent work, Lettielia and Nodevar.”

  Lettielia’s hair was blue, much like Jerut’s, and cut short. Her slim figure and cream complexion projected an allure that often tempted her partner, Nodevar, to shift his eyes toward the general area of her chest and hips—like now, as their mission was more or less complete. Lettielia was indeed a true head turner and, more often than not, a head remover.

  Nodevar was tall, fit, and slim with light-blue skin, his black hair tied back and waving aimlessly in the zero-gravity environment.

  Lettielia asked, “Are we done?”

  “Yes, his memories have been recorded," answered Jerut.

  “All of them? He is an old man—that’s a lot of memories to scavenge through,” Nodevar said. “It could take years to find what is needed.”

  “There was no time to properly adjust it,” Jerut explained. He turned to focus his attention and the controls of the ship. “It was all of his memories or nothing. Nothing gets us nowhere.”

  Himton’s corpse slowly floated toward the two assassins. Lettielia smirked and blew a kiss at him—a human expression. Someone had done her research. “What shall we do with the remaining crew?” she asked.

  “Kill them. No one must know what happened here,” said Jerut. “Leave the psionic, however. We will need him, of course.”

  “Can he be trusted?” Lettielia asked.

  Jerut nodded. “I’ll take care of things up here after you travel to the planet below.”

  “And what of the recon team sent there?” asked Nodevar.

  Jerut thought for a moment and then turned to face the two with a smile on his face. “My associates down below are dealing with them. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  ………

  The fare meter continued to rise, despite the fact that the taxi hadn’t moved very far—stuck in New York City during Friday evening rush hour. The shining summertime sun beaming down additional heat to the surface didn’t help the lone passenger of the cab, Chloe Vaughan, who let out a sigh of frustration. She looked at the meter, which read $24.50—wait, $24.90 now.

  The whistling ringtone of her cell phone went off, indicating a new text message. She eagerly grabbed it. Only one of two people would be contacting here now—her sister or the cute guy who bought her drinks at the bar last night. Only one way to find out.

  There was one new message from Sarah. Why do men exchange numbers but never call or text? Chloe ranted to herself while reading her sister's text message.

  Sarah, 5:56p.m.:Couldn’t get a hold of u last nite, what did you end up doing?

  Chloe rolled her eyes, returning her phone to her bag—the fewer reminders about the cute guy at this point, the better.

  The taxicab finally reached its destination: a newly built condo. Its passenger exited after paying the costly fare. The bright sun prompted Chloe to put on her sunglasses to shade her green eyes. She wore a gray tank top and matching capri pants with flip-flops. The glass-door entrance shot back a refle
ction of her long brown hair tied into a bun and a reminder that she’d forgotten to put on makeup. That’s what happens when you wake up late, Chloe. Many thanks to the events of last night for that.

  She entered the condo, proceeding through its posh hallway and up the elevator. Arriving at last at the suite she'd been trying to get to all day, she knocked her fist on the door. A few seconds later, it opened to reveal a woman no older than sixty. She smiled lovingly and let Chloe in.

  “The traffic here is brutal, Mom.”

  “Chloe, we haven’t spoken in ages, and that’s the first thing you say?”

  Chloe looked at her mother, taking note of her wrinkled skin and her hair, which was now gray and cut shoulder-length. Her reading glasses were still on, definitely a new pair. “I’m sorry, Mom, just a little stressed out.” She then smiled. “I like the new glasses by the way.”

  A male voice called out from the kitchen. “Is that one of my lovely daughters?”

  “No, Rick, you’re hearing things!” said Chloe’s mother.

  The man came out from the kitchen to see that indeed his firstborn stood in the doorway. “Julia, why are you keeping secrets like this from me?” he asked his wife. He walked over to embrace Chloe. “How’s the Marines treating you, dear?” her father asked.

  “Challenging me all the time, Dad.”

  “I heard they plan on letting women fight on the frontline soon," he said.

  “Hell, yeah, beats taking backseat like I did in Iraq," said Chloe.

  “Don’t remind me of that nonsense," muttered Julia as she walked to the living room.

  “Nice to see she hasn’t changed,” Chloe said dejectedly.

  Rick went back into the kitchen. Small conflicts like this weren’t exactly his thing; making dinner was. Mom’s still wearing the pants. Chloe made her way to the living room to talk with her mother but not before examining how well her parents had been living.

  The condo wasn’t too huge. The main hallway led to the living room, which connected to the kitchen—only a countertop split the two rooms. Farther past that was a balcony overlooking the city and all its high-rise buildings, and on the other of the entrance to the balcony was a bedroom the couple shared.