TABLE OF CONTENTS
Acknowledgements
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
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
About the Author
Contact Mike:
Coming Next
Other Books by This Author
Future Discovered
The Host Saga Book 1
Copyright © 2017 by Michael J. Farlow All rights reserved.
Second Edition: April 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, redistributed, or transmitted in any form by any means, including photocopying, recording, digital scanning, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher or author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial used permitted by copyright law.
For permissions requests, please address Wolf Press, LLC, 8000 IH-10 West, Suite 600, San Antonio, TX 78230.
ISBN : 978-0-9973121-0-2 – Trade Paperback
ISBN : 978-0-9973121-1-9 – eBook (ePub)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017900121
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by Wolf Press, LLC
San Antonio, Texas
Cover and Interior design by: Streetlight Graphics
For new books, blog updates and to sign up for the newsletter, please go to
www.michaeljfarlow.com
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
In my many efforts, including this one, my thanks go to my wife Lynne for her patience and support. Traveling this road was made much easier by the advice and ideas from authors Bob Mayer, Deb Cavanaugh and L.G. (Liz) O’Conner. For helping me put things in order and to groom my art, my editor Tammy Salyer has been a godsend. And for a third set of eyes, many thanks to my readers Kevin Wolff, and Kristie and James Woodward. Writing is not a thing to be done alone.
CHAPTER 1
Earth year 2015. Sol System, Earth
Van Childs climbed the hill for what seemed like hours, but in reality had only been thirty minutes. Most people thought of Arizona as a desert, not knowing that the Flagstaff area in the north was richly forested in tall pines. Sweat soaked his forehead and dripped in a steady stream down his nose as his heart thudded in his chest. His backpack, overloaded with provisions and an old Ruger SP 101 revolver, cut deeply into his shoulder as he struggled to make ground.
Damn, I’m out of shape. Time to start running again, he thought, huffing in breaths. He’d make the time.
Stopping to reposition his pack, he glanced up the hill looking for the remains of the old cabin that was supposed to be at the top. He shielded his eyes from the sun streaming through the trees and squinted through the glare. Nothing. He couldn’t see squat. Not from here. It must be higher up. The realtor had no idea if it was habitable but it would be nice if there was a foundation that he could build on.
Taking a break, he trudged over to a fallen tree and sat on its fat trunk. Beautiful wood that must’ve been on the wrong side of a lightning strike. He reached for his canteen and drank down enough water to slake his parched throat and thought again about why he was here.
Van spent all his adult life in service to his country in one form or another. First as a naval officer and pilot and then as a defense aerospace contractor. It was his way of being able to do something about the problems that faced his country and the world. Lately, however, he wondered if it had all been worth it. The world’s countries were just as much at each other’s throats as they were when he graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy nearly 25 years ago. Political infighting had reached new levels and political correctness ruled the day. It was hard even to have a casual conversation without somebody getting upset. And lately, it seemed the only thing on the news were reports of domestic violence or international terrorism. The world had become a depressing place.
On top of all that, San Diego was growing fast. It was no longer the comfortable city with a small-town atmosphere that he once knew and loved. It was time for a change of scenery. After years of sailing on Navy ships over blue-gray seas, he welcomed the Arizona mountain landscape. The rich smell of the tall ponderosa pines and twittering of birds filled his senses. A place full of life yet tranquil. Just what he needed to provide a balm for the crowds in the city and the problems of the world. It’s what he wanted and needed… peace and quiet. A place to relax and be alone. If the climb didn’t kill him first.
Of all the places he’d looked at, this one called to him. He couldn’t explain it. It drew him here—to this mountain.
Van sighed deeply, stood and continued upwards. Gabriela Montero’s piano music filtered through the earbuds connected to his iPhone as he resumed his climb. A little music would go a long way to make the rest of his journey bareable.
Van reflected on his family’s natural talent for music as he listened to the notes on the piano. Too bad he never had the patience to apply himself to the tedious fundamental lessons needed to be really good.
As he climbed, the density of the foliage thinned and opened onto a large ledge indented into the last few hundred feet of the mountain top. The remainder of the mountain rose at the rear of the clearing in a shear, vertical, flat wall.
If there was an old cabin here, it was gone now. All that remained was an old foundation abutting the rock face of the remaining mountain top. Van surveyed what remained of the foundation as he recovered his breath. Standing in the center of the clearing, he looked around and wiped his brow. The climb made him hot but the cool temperature at this altitude along with a slight breeze gave him quick relief.
Disappointment filled him as he stared at the tall pines circling the spot and obscuring the horizon. Well, damn. I was hoping for a view.
He walked the clearing and found a small stream of water coming up from an underground spring. He knelt down and dipped his hand into the cool water, enjoying the chill on his skin. Splashing his face, he rubbed some on his neck, reveling in the welcome relief. He scooped up another handful, this time drinking from a cupped palm. The clean, crisp water hit his throat and he drank his fill. Water rolled down his arms and dripped onto his shirt, soaking through to his overheated chest.
He settled onto another fallen tree and removed a sandwich from his pack. Glancing at the foundation again Van noticed something odd. It seemed to disappear under the vertical rock face of the mountain. Setting down his food, he took out his knife and strode over to the rock face
. He probed the seam between the foundation and the rock wall. Sure enough, the foundation appeared to run under the rock face.
Van lowered himself onto his knees to get a closer look. What he’d initially thought was an old foundation wasn’t one at all. There were none of the holes and weathering that you might see in an old, exposed foundation. It was incredibly smooth. In fact, it might have been a slab poured yesterday. There had been nothing in the real estate documents indicating the property had been used for either commercial or government purposes.
What the hell is this? Van thought as he continued to search the seam between the foundation and the wall.
He was about to give up and call the whole thing a trick of an overactive imagination when he noticed something else odd to the far right of the foundation near a fallen slab of rock. There was some debris around the slab that seemed to fill the space between the slab and the rock wall… and a glint of what looked like metal. Van walked over to the slab, kneeled, and began clearing out the debris by hand.
He saw that it was some sort of metal bar. But there’s no rust.
Working up another sweat, he cleaned out the last of the debris around the bar and then tapped on it with the flat side of his knife. No sparks. It didn’t appear to be steel or iron.
In frustration, Van grabbed it with one hand and gave a hard yank, hoping to pull it free.
The bar didn’t move, but he was thrown back from the wall several feet with a bright flash like an electrical spark and a shock. He landed on his butt, feet out toward the wall. Dazed at first, his senses slowly returned, and when he looked at his hand, there was some sort of design burned into it. Faint but visible, it looked for all the world like a set of spread-eagle wings… only without the eagle. He felt no pain, and the image faded as the redness in his hand went away.
He next felt, then heard a low rumbling, slight at first, but gradually growing louder and shaking more and more violently. This time, metal scraped on metal. He jumped back on rubbery legs as the rock face moved upward.
What the hell? he grabbed his half-empty pack and ran toward the shelter of the tall trees. He watched and waited until there was silence. Much of the rock wall had disappeared and, in its place, an opening the size of an airplane hangar loomed dark and ominous. A tremor shook Van’s hand as he slowly approached the center of the foundation to get a closer look.
“Holy shit,” he muttered. “This must’ve been activated when I touched the metal bar.”
The engineer in him kicked in, and despite his better judgment, Van approached the entrance. He looked for something he could use to prevent the door from shutting behind him and trapping him inside. Even as dread tapped out a tattoo in his gut, by God, he was going inside. Spotting a few large moveable rocks, he rolled them into place under the door, leaving enough room for him to roll out on his belly if he had to escape.
Pulling a flashlight from his packed, he flipped it on and went inside to meet the even cooler air of the mountain.
CHAPTER 2
Van’s flashlight illuminated the cave’s interior. As his beam swept around the smooth walls, his racing mind reached a surprising conclusion. This was not a cave, but an underground bunker of some kind with a forty-foot ceiling and smooth metallic walls.
His curiosity temporarily overrode his fear and he walked to the wall opposite the entrance and tapped on it with his knife. It was the same metal he’d touched—painfully—earlier. A vertical seam traveled down the middle, suggesting another door the same hangar size as the exterior door.
He studied his surroundings and again mentally filed through everthing he knew about the area from his research or his real estate agent. Anything government or industry related still came up empty. Suddenly, his beam stopped on a control pad on the far right of the entrance, As he approached it, he saw that the pad glowed a faint green. Tentatively reaching his free hand toward the pad, he froze in mid motion. Apprehension gripped him for a moment as he flexed and clenched his fingers above the pad, hesitating to make contact. With a deep breath, he slapped his palm on the panel. A faint vibration traveled over his fingertips and he jerked his hand away. For just a moment, he saw the same symbol of wings that was burned onto his hand earlier, then the pad turned bright green.
Van jumped back as a loud rumble began. The earth trembled beneath his feet. A metallic screech echoed off the walls and the door behind him dropped with a shuddering clang, crushing the rocks he had placed there as a failsafe.
He fought down panic at the thought of being trapped, but before it could overtake him, the inner door split in two. Bright lights snapped on, revealing a sight that stole his breath.
Larger and wider than the antechamber he had first entered, the new room’s walls shown white against the glossy gray floor. The stark interior was empty except for a device that looked like a large flat-screen TV with a control pad next to it, and a deep bucketed chair that reminded him of the dentist’s office. Now Van’s inherent curiosity took over and he entered the new room.
The sound of Van’s footsteps was absorbed by the shiny yet slightly spongy floor as he made the journey to the control pad. With less fear, he placed his palm on the panel face and waited. Nothing happened. He frowned at the pad, pressing his hand harder on the device and the control pad sprung to life with a bright green glow and the same winged insignia.
Removing his hand from the pad, Van stepped away as the large flat-screen came alive in a swirl of color. Then a man appeared and Van stumbled back, his hand catching on the arm of the chair behind him.
“Holy shit,” he mumbled and stared in disbelief at the screen.
The trim man staring back had dark brown hair with a wisp of gray at the temples, green eyes, and a handsome face. The head was slightly larger than normal, but still bore pleasant features and two days worth of stubble. Van recognized him immediately.
He should. It’s the same face that had stared back at him every time he’d looked into the mirror over the last forty plus years.
Swallowing, he said the only thing he could think of, “Hello.”
His mirror twin smiled but said nothing. Van tried again.
“What is this place, and… who are you?” Van asked, clenching his fists. He struggled to swallow the bile in his throat and control his growing discomfort. What surreal world had he stepped into?
The man still smiled and remained silent.
Before Van could ask a third time, the man spoke, “I am the Caretaker.”
Van eyed him warily, “Caretaker of what?”
“Caretaker of the Secrets of the Host.”
Endless questions filled his head. The Host? Who are they? How did they build this? Why did they build this? Where have they gone? Guessing that an endless series of questions might not be the easiest and fastest way to satisfy his curiosity, Van simply said, “Tell me about the Host and why you’re here.”
And the Caretaker began a brief and unbelievable story.
CHAPTER 3
“Thousands of years ago, the known galaxy was filled mostly with peaceful and cooperative people,” the Caretaker began. “As a group they called themselves the Galactic Host and were both inventive and thoughtful. Their lives spanned hundreds of years, and as the population grew, they expanded into colonial systems. Growth came naturally to them. Using advanced technologies, the Host honed their space flight capability to faster than light, or ‘FTL,’ as you call it.
“The Host colonized several systems but were careful not to expand too quickly. As they grew, however, the Host were confronted by a group that opposed their modest growth policies and way of life. In fact, this group, calling themselves the Arkon, was dedicated to even greater levels of expansion with no sense of cooperation or desire for peaceful coexistence. Inevitably the two groups clashed. Exploration ships sent out by the Host were destroyed by the Arkon, and the Host soon found their survival threatened—more so since the Host had not developed a space defense force capable of anything other than basic
galactic law enforcement.
“In short, over time the Host increasingly found themselves at odds with the Arkon. The technical expertise and inventiveness of the Host allowed them to develop many advanced capabilities and systems to assist them in the fight, but eventually the Arkon overcame the Host, mostly through greater numbers of ships and warriors. As a last effort to preserve their legacy and technology, the Host created facilities like this one for survivors or, failing that, in the hope that they might be of use to Earth. However, as far as I can tell, there were no Host survivors other than the depot fleet.”
“The depot fleet?” Van asked.
“Yes, Commander. As the Host made their final stand, they created a diversion. Admiral Jarvas drew away the Arkon battle fleet, allowing a fleet of refugees and Host artifacts to escape into this part of the galaxy. The fleet was referred to as the ‘depot fleet’ because it was designed to establish several supply depots to be used by any survivors of Admiral Jarvas’s last battle. In addition, the depot fleet was to seek out and establish a new home for the Host.”
“I take it this is one of those depots?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“And where did the surviving refugees go?”
“Unknown, Commander. I was left here as the Caretaker of this facility when the depot fleet chose to move on. My records do not contain a destination.”
“How many refugees were there?”
“Fifteen thousand.”
“Out of how many original inhabitants?”
“Over twenty billion.”
Twenty billion! And only a few survived! Van was having a hard time absorbing this fantastic story. Several hours ago, he’d been contemplating a peaceful, relaxed existence at a mountain retreat, and now he was being told that humans were not alone—on Earth or in the universe. Then, he’d stumbled onto a treasure of unknown proportions. And, finally, there were apparently some really bad beings out there ready to enslave every new solar system they found.
Future Discovered: Host Saga Book 1 Page 1