Etude to War (Earth Song Cycle Book 4)

by Mark Wandrey

  He floated there for several minutes, thoughts swirling with terabytes of data and abstract ideas. Something was coalescing, if it would only finish before his tortured brain demanded release.

  Trying to delay the inevitable, he stared at the displays in the CIC for long moments. Lilith was working with Kal’at, teaching him about the ships they discovered and their capabilities, so the wall of the CIC was covered with technical blueprints of those vessels.

  The revelation was so tantalizingly close. Bits and pieces. Starships, Portals, far-flung star systems, Portals, solar taps, Weavers, Portals, war, Portals…Portals!

  Pip clawed his way to the door of the CIC, almost bumping his head on the frame twice. Kal’at glanced up with one eye from a blueprint, watching curiously as he left. He travelled up three decks and all the way forward, as he did his best to not let his implants completely shut his brain down.

  Finally, a heavy doorway slid open revealing a long bay that narrowed opposite the entrance. In the center, an unusually low dais glowed slightly with an already active archway above it. As he stumbled closer, a spider-like creature floated from the ethereal plasma of the archway and looked at him.

  “Pip,” the ethereal voice said, “we have/will/are speaking of the agreement.”

  “As always,” Pip replied, afraid his words were slurring. He looked at the being for a long moment, trying desperately to keep his thoughts on track. “The Weavers control the Portals.”

  “We control the Portals,” came its voice.

  “Who built the Portals?”

  “You call them The Lost.”

  “They are the ones who should negotiate this agreement,” he said.

  “You are/have/will negotiating with us.”

  They’d been over all this territory before, but something had come together in his digitally addled brain. “Where did The Lost go?”

  “Go? They are not gone. Not truly.”

  This was a slightly new take, and it stopped him for a moment. He’d never completely understood what it was he was negotiating for. Years earlier, when he’d gotten into a discussion with the Weavers, he didn’t know if anyone else had ever seen the creatures. That was before he was critically injured and spent years in a coma, before he’d learned not to stick his nose in business that wasn’t his to interfere with.

  “Where do you live? The Weavers?”

  “We have/will/are discussed this before. We exist outside your dimension.”

  “Yes, but you are here now. Why?” Pip realized he was closing in on something because the Weavers didn’t reply. “There must be a reason you are in our dimension. What is that reason?”

  “Survival.”

  “I need to know more.”

  “You desire to know more.”

  “Same thing.”

  Again, there was nothing for a long moment as the Weavers floated. Then they spoke into his mind. “Our universe was/is/has died. We developed the ability to move between dimensions as a natural evolution. We used/use/will use it to pass between feeding grounds. The common biology of our universe is different from yours. Most beings here are carbon-based. In our native universe, silicates predominate, in particular, silicates that use an energized plasma synthesis ecology.”

  “You consume energized plasma?”

  The being did not respond.

  “You would be completely at home in the photosphere of a star!” Pip felt like slapping his head for not realizing it.

  “A specific kind of star only. While we discovered/discover/will discover one of those stars in your universe, we could not/cannot/have not found any others.”

  “Why not?”

  “Space is big. We cannot simply fly around like you people in your star ships. We can only exist in your world—”

  “Within an energized plasma field,” Pip finished for them, and gestured to the Portal dais. It was not quite like the normal Portal dais. This one was round and had only one tall step instead of three. However it was still, at its essence, a force field containment device filled with energized plasma. There was no need for them to answer.

  “Eventually the star was/will/is nearly depleted. We were/are/will be few. We tried to ration the supply of plasma, but the star was/is/will die. The Lost did/will/have found us. New stars offered, in exchange.”

  “For the Portals?”

  “Pip knows/will know/can know this already.”

  I do know, he thought. His brain was gelatin, but he knew the rest. They were running out of food again, but The Lost were gone. There was only him.

  * * *

  Minu looked at the dancing script floating above her PCR. She’d been working for eight hours, organizing the addresses from her father’s old PCR, and had made less progress than she’d intended, mainly because of the three major earthquakes and seven tremblers they’d suffered through. The last one had thrown them around like rag dolls. Lilith informed them she’d lifted off for a minute. The Rasa seemed to handle things well enough.

  “Isn’t there some way we can just leave the damn rod here?” Aaron grumbled from a few meters away. He perched on a remnant of a wall, applying a dressing to his left elbow. Most of his skin coated the cracked pavement nearby.

  “You know better than that,” she said without looking up.

  He did know better. The rules governing the PCR’s operation were simple and direct. They were controllers only in a remote sense. They stored records, while the Portals contained the equipment. They had the ability to link with a tablet and index their destinations with a database, and that was SOP for the Chosen.

  Her father hadn’t done that, of course. She was growing accustomed to that. The problem was sorting through the addresses and finding ones that matched. She couldn’t just open the last location listed as there was some risk that her father had passed through an enemy-controlled world.

  The entire process was frustrating. She’d eliminated the easy worlds using her tablet’s records, leaving the more recent entries and those without a match. From the location codes, she learned what parts of the galaxy the Portals were located in. A disturbingly large number were in contested space, and more than a few were in systems controlled outright by less-than-friendly higher-order species.

  “I’m going to link remotely with the Chosen database,” she said.

  “I’m sure there will be a dozen nasty messages waiting for us,” Aaron responded.

  Minu shrugged. She knew she hadn’t gained any points by taking off the way she did.

  “What are you going to say if Jacob tries to order us home?” he asked.

  “You really don’t want me to answer that, do you?”

  It was Aaron’s turn to shrug, and she smiled.

  The decision made, Aaron broke open his pack and removed the small, compact laser link all Chosen carried and unfolded the integral tripod. Setting it on the edge of the Portal dais, he linked with his tablet and gave her a thumbs up. She pointed the PCR at the Portal and activated it. A moment later the aquamarine, cloudless skies of a world appeared. “Deep Blue,” Aaron said, recognizing it instantly. “Good choice.”

  The world was a favorite of the Chosen for training and relaying transmissions. It was quiet enough that the laser link left there included a partial, highly-encrypted Chosen database.

  At least a dozen other neutral or friendly species had their own communication links hidden in windows or dug into the walls of the long-abandoned buildings within view of that world’s Portal. It only took a moment for the laser on their side to contact its distant counterpart, exchange codes, and create a link. “Here we go,” Aaron said.

  Minu lifted her tablet to eye level and watched the interface download from the other side. Immediately and not surprisingly, several messages appeared. She waited to look at them as she sent a query to the network on the other side asking for address codes stored at other Portals. Once she’d sent it, she began reading the messages.

  The first one was, predictably, from First Among the C
hosen Jacob. It was full of anger and threats. “If you do not choose to return immediately, there will be dire consequences!” She snorted and deleted it. The next one was from her old friend, Dram, who was Second among the Chosen. He told her not to worry about Jacob and to be careful gallivanting across the galaxy. She saved that one.

  There was a letter from Gregg mentioning his frustration with Jacob regarding a deployment consisting of more mercenary work. She scowled and left it for later. That one was followed by a message from the Chosen Office of Deployment and Service, acknowledging she’d been granted an extended leave of absence. She had made no such request. Dram, no doubt. The last was another from Jacob. She almost deleted it, then something made her open it.

  Chosen Minu Groves,

  This is to inform you that members of the Rangers are missing on deployment. Chosen Gregg Larson is in command of the 1st Division deployed to Planet K on April 22nd in support of the Akala. They have failed to meet all communications schedules. This morning, Chosen scouts attempted to cross through the Portal to Planet K, and failed because the Portal is no longer active on that side. The Leesa are in possession of the Portal spire. It has been deemed an unacceptable risk to attempt an incursion through the Portal spire while it is under enemy control.

  We will continue to look for any opportunity to send relief, but at this point, we have to consider the possibility that the 1st Division is a complete loss.

  First Among the Chosen Jacob Bentley

  Minu felt dizzy and had to sit down. Aaron looked at her from where he was watching through the Portal. Seeing her distress, he was next to her in a heartbeat. The Rasa soldiers were suddenly alert for attack. “What’s wrong?” She shook her head and handed him her tablet, unable to speak. He quickly read the message and looked back at her. “Oh no.”

  “That son of a bitch,” she finally managed to say. “We drilled for this kind of op. Gregg and I trained special teams of Rangers to assault through a contested Portal.”

  “It’s high risk, though.”

  “No shit, but it’s better than abandoning our men on the other damn side!”

  “Okay, Sweetheart; I was just saying.”

  “I know,” she said and stood up. She looked at her computer and checked the date of the message. Jacob wrote the message on May 1st, and the network on the other side tagged it on May 5th. They’d lost seven days in subjective time while traveling faster than light. Gregg and a thousand of her Rangers had been stranded, probably under fire, possibly dying, on an alien world for over two weeks. She tried to imagine how they felt. Abandoned? Lost? Betrayed? “That son of a bitch.”

  “What can we do?”

  “We don’t need a damn Portal. We have a starship.”

  # # # # #

  About the Author

  Located in rural Tennessee, Mark Wandrey has been creating new worlds since he was old enough to write. After penning countless short stories, he realized novels were his real calling and hasn’t looked back since. A lifetime of diverse jobs, extensive travels, and living in most areas of the country have uniquely equipped him with experiences to color his stories in ways many find engaging and thought provoking. Now a bestselling author, he has no intention of slowing down anytime soon.

  Sign up on his mailing list and get free stuff and updates! http://www.worldmaker.us/news-flash-sign-up-page/

  Caution – Worlds Under Construction

  Titles by Mark Wandrey

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers

  Winged Hussars

  A Fistful of Credits

  For a Few Credits More

  The Good, the Bad, and the Merc

  Alpha Contracts

  A Fiery Sunset

  A Time to Die

  A Time to Run

  Earth Song: Overture

  Earth Song: Sonata in Orionis

  Earth Song: The Lost Aria

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book Five of the Earth Song Cycle:

  Anthem

  ___________________

  Mark Wandrey

  Coming Soon from Theogony Books

  eBook, Paperback, and Audio

  Excerpt from “Anthem”

  “Here they come again.”

  Gregg looked up from his tablet. It was his second and last one he’d brought on the deployment. The previous one had stopped a grazing beamcaster round.

  He tapped an icon on the tablet and the projector next to his right eye sent images from the virtual battlefield into his eye. Beta, C/3 was heavily engaged by a company of heavy tanks. There were using their heavy beamcasters to hold them at bay, but only barely. It fit the profile that a major attack would follow.

  “Noted,” he replied to his assistant. “Move up Beta, D Company to stand by to reinforce the left flank. Bump Kappa BatCom, tell him to get the crews to their Lancers.”

  The man nodded and began keying in the orders on his tablet. Gregg gritted his teeth at the thought of committing the Lancers again. He’d lost one three days ago, bringing them down to only eight left. But they were the only effective counter for the cursed Mok-Tok heavy tanks. Even concentrated shock rifle fire was ineffectual.

  Energy weapon artillery tore at the building a few hundred meters from his command post. The building, once a warehouse, was obliterated and scattered for a hundred meters in every direction. Gregg cursed and watched as two squads of Rangers flashed off his virtual battlefield. “Have the scouts found those damned artillery pieces yet?”

  “They keep moving them, sir,” the assistant replied.

  Gregg knew the shambling mounds only possessed three. They’d started with six, but the Rangers had taken out three in a lighting raid that had cost him an entire company. He wanted to believe it was worth the sacrifice.

  The only problem was the enemy controlled the portal, and thus access to reinforcements. Gregg could neither reinforce, retreat, nor reequip. His troops were running low on everything. Especially time.

  He still had an ace in the hole. What he was saving it for, he didn’t know. He lacked the support he’d need to begin a proper assault against the portal spire. The Leesa and their surprise allies the Mok-Tok were heavily fortified there with tanks and heavy beamcasters. He was sure they could force entry, and possibly then evacuate. He was also sure he’d lose a battalion or more in the attempt. He’d already lost half a battalion. His options were quickly dwindling.

  “Have Alpha Company fall back to location Tango-Delta Two. They need a few hours of downtime. Have recon verify all lines of sight from the damned portal spire so we can avoid direct fire.”

  Another acknowledgement came, and he turned back to his tablet. How long could he continue to hold out? Two hours? Two days? Two weeks? He didn’t know; he knew only that he would hold out as long as he could. Something would turn up. A chance, an error by the enemy he could exploit. He still had over two thousand well trained soldiers at his command.

  Another building exploded a kilometer away and more icons winked out on his virtual battlefield.

  * * * * *

  Find out more about Mark Wandrey at:

  http://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/mark-wandrey/.

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book One of In Revolution Born:

  The Mutineer’s Daughter

  ___________________

  Chris Kennedy & Thomas A. Mays

  Now Available from Theogony Books

  eBook, Paperback and (Soon) Audio

  Excerpt from “The Mutineer’s Daughter:”

  Kenny dozed at his console again.

  There he sat—as brazen as ever—strapped down, suited up, jacked in…and completely checked out. One might make allowances for an overworked man falling asleep during a dull routine, watching gauges that didn’t move or indicators that rarely indicated anything of consequence, perhaps even during a quiet moment during their ship’s long, long deployment.

 
But Fire Control Tech Third Class Ken Burnside was doing it—yet again—while the ship stood at General Quarters, in an unfriendly star system, while other parts of the fleet engaged the forces of the Terran Union.

  Chief Warrant Officer Grade 2 (Combat Systems) Benjamin “Benno” Sanchez shook his helmeted head and narrowed his eyes at the sailor strapped in to his right. He had spoken to the young weapons engineer a number of times before, through countless drills and mock skirmishes, but the youthful idiot never retained the lesson for long.

  “Benno, Bosso,” Kenny would plead, “you shouldn’t yell at me. You should have me teach others my wisdom!”

  Benno would invariably frown and give his unflattering opinion of Kenny’s wisdom.

  “Get it, ya?” Kenny would reply. “I’m a math guy. Probability, right Warrant? The Puller’s just a little ship, on the edge of the formation. We scan, we snipe, we mop up, we patrol. We don’t go in the middle, tube’s blazing, ya? We no tussle with the big Terrans, ya? No damage! No battle! So, something goes wrong, back-ups kick in, buzzer goes off, we mark for fix later. And when’s the only time you or the officers don’t let a man walk ‘round and don’t ask for this, don’t ask for that? When’s the only time a man can catch up on the z’s, eh? One and the same time! So I doze. Buzzer goes off, I wake, make a note, doze again till I can work, ya? Such wisdom!”

  Benno usually lectured him about complacency. He asked what would happen if they were hit, if the shot was hot enough, deep enough, destructive enough to burn through the backup of the backup of the backup. What if they did have to face the Great Test, to rise and work and save the Puller themselves?