Horizon Down (Galaxy Mavericks Book 9)

by Michael La Ronn

  “How about the Crystalith?” Michiko asked.

  Everyone looked out the window at the wave of Crystalith passing by.

  “They’re clearly headed somewhere in a hurry,” Keltie said.

  “They’re mortal enemies,” Michiko said. “A long time ago, their homes were destroyed, and they were displaced.”

  “They were attacked by the Planet Eaters, right?” Keltie asked.

  “The Purged,” Michiko said. “Somehow, the Crystalith banished them. Maybe they could do it again?”

  “I like the way you think,” Will said, hitting the control panel intercom. “Beauregard, call the navy. I’ve got an idea.”

  Eddie took off his spacesuit and hung it on the wall. His body ached.

  He had just been through the biggest battle in his life.

  And it wasn’t over yet.

  He glanced at the Crystalith outside. He hoped the plan would work, whatever it was.

  His eyes burned. He hadn’t slept in who knew how long.

  He wished for his wife, for her arms around him. He wished for his son, to hear his laughter and his sweet, innocent voice.

  He wished he were back home.

  But there was no home anymore. And there was no going back.

  The rest of the team headed for the bridge.

  He mustered up the strength to keep fighting and followed.

  Then a pair of hands slipped under his arms and embraced him. They were soft and light, and familiar.

  He glanced down at the nails and his eyes widened.

  A voice whispered in his ear. “I knew you’d find us, mi amor.”

  “No,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m hallucinating.”

  Two tears welled up in his eyes, and he blinked them down.

  Then he pushed against the arms, and tried to trudge toward the bridge.

  But the arms wouldn’t let him go. They hugged him tighter.

  “I’m hallucinating!” he cried.

  “You’re not hallucinating. I promise.”

  Then Eddie turned around and saw the smiling face of his wife, Alma. Delfino, Xiomara, Dylan and Mama Tonia stood, waving.

  Eddie wiped away his tears and gave a joyful cry. He hugged his wife, then dipped her and kissed her long.

  Everyone watched as a giant disk-shaped, naval warship opened its bay doors and ushered the Crystalith inside. The shining obelisks piled into the airlock, and the doors shut.

  The ship’s engines warmed up, and it barreled into hyperspace.

  “That ship is our only hope,” Beauregard said.

  The naval ship cruised through hyperspace at max speed. The ship, several hundred feet long, was one of the largest in the galaxy. It fit all of the Crystalith comfortably, with plenty of room.

  The lights on the massive bridge were dim, but the lights on the instrument panels were bright, blinking as the ship’s autopilot controlled them.

  Crystalith drifted across the bridge, shimmering. Their ink blots swirled inside their hard bodies. They turned to orient themselves toward Regina VII.

  The ship’s intercom beeped.

  “Massive radiation levels detected. Please turn back.”

  The navigational panel beeped.

  “Please say ‘accept’ to restore autopilot and set course for the most recent location,” the computer said.

  The pilot’s chair swiveled slightly. Had there been someone sitting in it, they might have accepted the offer. But silence settled across the entire ship—no one to speak up, no one to change directions.

  “Per autopilot settings, continuing course,” the computer said.

  In a single wave of emerald light, the Crystalith all aboard the ship turned green as the ship entered the danger zone of the star.

  Hours passed.

  More hours.

  The ship fell out of hyperspace. Regina VII was in the distance, a massive red giant.

  Behind it, the ethereal gash with the netherscape inside, a giant black star pulsing inside, with a crumbling moon and an Earth-like planet bulging their way out of the gash.

  A cluster of Planet Eaters had spread across a quarter of the star’s surface, feeding on it ravenously.

  “Fatal heat levels detected,” the ship said. “Damage sustained to the hull.”

  The ship’s engine bucked and hummed as it continued its cruise through the bright purple tunnel. The shell of the disk-shaped warship sheared away, revealing an inner hull that was thinner, and weaker. The exterior broke and burned.

  “Outer hull separated,” the computer said. “Abandon ship.”

  Minutes passed.

  One by one, cracks appeared in the weaker hull, and it too sheared apart. The entire ship exploded in a bloom of fire. The Crystalith turned orange, reflecting the flames. The fire passed over them but did not burn them.

  The Crystalith flew out of the burning rubble of the ship and toward the star. They flashed red.

  The Planet Eaters saw the Crystalith coming and stopped feeding. Their eyes blinked and they separated from the star’s surface, forming an attack line.

  The Crystalith formed a similar attack line, and the two races crashed into each other, creating a light brighter than a supernova.

  The Crystalith pushed the Planet Eaters into the gash, and with an explosion, the gash sewed itself shut.

  Regina VII burned, a quarter of it missing, a crescent eaten into its surface.

  Everyone covered their eyes as a bright light washed across the galaxy for a moment, then disappeared.

  “What just happened?” Beauregard asked.

  “Whatever it was, it happened a few minutes ago, given the way light travels,” Will said.

  He wired to the navy. A commander responded.

  “The alien force has been eliminated and Regina VII has been saved.”

  Everyone cheered.

  53

  Several months later…

  ASIAZIL

  Michiko sat cross-legged on a cliff overlooking a pure blue sea. She strummed her acoustic guitar, her fingers working their way up and down the fretboard in a bossa nova rhythm.

  She loved to sing with her eyes closed, but this time she kept her eyes wide open, singing quietly, watching the gulls flapping, the white pelicans scooping fish out of the water, the waves washing up on the tourist filled beaches where vendors pushed meat carts up and down the sand, the teams playing volleyball on the sand, the shimmering glasses of caipirinhas, the bedazzled fishing boats drifting on the shore and the fishermen in wide straw hats, and the giant red torii gate standing in the sea, watch over it all—this awesome clash of culture and society.

  “This is the song I sing,

  Of the love that saved my heart,

  We ran in fields of white,

  With our freedom in our hands—

  Save me…

  But the shadows drove us apart,

  And I had to guard my heart,

  From the death of innocence,

  With you gone to the beyond,

  Save me…

  Tonight I feel you near,

  And I remember not to cry,

  I walk with your spirit round me,

  Cloaked around me like a guardian.

  I'll never forget you,

  I'll never back down,

  And until we meet again,

  Good luck to you, my friend.

  Good luck, and God keep you…”

  She sang, thinking of Rudy, Ashley, Hassan. She sang with their smiles in mind.

  As she strummed the final chord, she let the sound ring out, imagined the sound waves zooming out over the beach into the blue horizon.

  Her new song. For her friends.

  The only way to honor them, and release the pain and sadness from her heart.

  She stuck her guitar in her leather case, stood, stretched, took off her t-shirt and shorts, revealing a bikini.

  She jumped off the cliff, diving down, down, down into the ocean.

  The water was warm, and she dr
ifted down to the ocean floor, filled with bright red coral.

  She smiled, looking across the ocean floor, then she swam up to the surface, gasped when she broke into the air, and ran her fingers through her hair.

  Her mother and father were waiting for her on the shore.

  Arthur Lins had an envelope in his hand and a surfboard in the other. He was shirtless, and wore floral trunks. He waved the envelope at her.

  “Notice came today!” he said, grinning.

  Reiko Lins wore her hair up, and she wore a t-shirt and jean shorts. She carried a tray with rice balls and tea, set it gingerly on a piece of driftwood.

  Michiko wrung her hair on the sand as they approached.

  “Did you open the letter?” Michiko asked.

  “That pleasure is yours,” Arthur said, handing her the letter.

  She stared at it, knowing that her fate was truly in the palm of her hands.

  “I don't know if I can open it,” she said. “I'm…scared.”

  “There’s always nursing school,” Reiko said.

  Michiko frowned.

  “I'm kidding,” she said. “It's not every day my daughter changes the galaxy.”

  “I haven't even started yet,” she said. “What if the government rejected my application?”

  “I highly doubt it,” Arthur said. “Will you just open it already?”

  Michiko stared at the letter again. She shook out her arms and legs. Jumped up and down, and screamed quietly.

  “Okay, I'm opening it. I'm going to do it. Okay? Okay? Okay. Count to three. One, two, three. God! I can't. I just can't. Okay—count to five. But backwards: five, four, three, two point five, two, one, HERE GOES!”

  She ripped open the letter.

  On the top was the official seal of the Rah Galaxy. What followed was a typed letter.

  Dear Miss Lins,

  Your application to create a nonprofit organization, The Clark Foundation, has been accepted.

  We are appreciative of your goodwill and spirit in providing assistance to displaced survivors of the Kepler and Refugio conflicts. We found your essay to be moving and inspirational, and while we were initially skeptical about naming a foundation after a life-threatening alien life form, you convinced us of Clark’s sacrifice and his contribution in helping humanity survive.

  We are also pleased to announce that you are the recipient of the Home Planet Hero Fund Award. To help you establish your impact in the galaxy, the award will pay for all of your expenses plus a modest salary for you and three key staff members for the first year of operation…

  Michiko couldn't believe it.

  She reread the letter again and again. She handed it to Reiko.

  Reiko read the letter out loud, and she and Arthur cheered and gave Michiko a group hug.

  “We’re so proud of you,” Reiko said. “I can't believe what a passionate young woman you've become. It sure took you a while to find your way, but now that you have, you're unstoppable.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” she said, nesting her head into her mother’s arms.

  To have her mother’s approval was everything, and the fact that she approved made Michiko feel warm.

  “You've got a lot to do now, Miss Founder,” Reiko said.

  Michiko smiled.

  “There's just one last thing,” she said.

  She ran up a sandy hill to her guitar. Her laptop rested on a rock. A loading bar crawled across the screen at ninety-eight percent. Then it disappeared and a message appeared.

  Your content has been uploaded.

  She pumped her fist.

  Arthur glanced over her shoulder.

  “Ah, so that's why you were spending so much time in the Provenance missing person archives.”

  Michiko laughed. “I couldn't help it. I had to follow through.”

  Then she typed an email, entered Devika’s email address, and sent it.

  Then she shut her laptop lid, took her parents by the arm, and walked down the beach back to her house on a hill, thinking about the good she was going to do in the world.

  GARGANTUA

  “Raymond LaBreck, you're under arrest for child trafficking.”

  Devika felt immense satisfaction as she pushed a middle aged man against a bedroom wall. She clapped handcuffs around the man’s wrist.

  The windows were covered with bedsheets. And all around, computers with children’s faces on them.

  “Damn it,” LaBreck said.

  She had chased him halfway around the galaxy, found a bunch of misleading clues that this pervert had left for her intentionally. It was getting to the point where it pissed her off.

  God, did this feel good.

  She read him his rights.

  Forcefully, she pushed him out of the bedroom, through a house in shambles that smelled like vomit.

  They walked through a kitchen, and into a sun room.

  Miller was there with several other officers. They pried a board in the floor open, revealing a group of small children below. The kids covered their dirt-smudged faces to block out the officers’ flashlights.

  “Jesus,” Miller said. “Kids, you're gonna be all right.”

  Devika’s heart broke when she saw the children climb out with muzzles over their mouths. She tightened her grip on LaBreck.

  “Open the door,” she said coldly.

  Miller opened the wooden porch door.

  Devika threw LaBreck out of the house, and he landed face first in the grass. The Gargantua night was cool and dewy. The purple sky had a tinge of sadness.

  “Ahhh!” LaBreck cried.

  “Taste the grass and smell the air,” Devika said. “It'll be the last time you ever do it.”

  LaBreck cursed her out. She picked him up and shoved him into the back of a squad car, slamming the door on him.

  The officers led the children into a van, where a paramedic checked their vitals.

  The night was flush with the swirling of siren lights. Officers swarmed into the house.

  “Nice work,” Miller said, leaning against the squad car.

  “It's not over until the children are okay,” Devika said.

  “They'll be just fine,” he said. “All thanks to you.”

  Miller laughed. “Funny thing is, I didn't believe you when you said the Arguses were involved.”

  “They operate in many ways,” Devika said. “I know them better than anyone.”

  “Your instinct is second-to-none,” Miller said. “You don't think like the other agents. I can't teach that. Hell, the academy can't teach that.”

  Devika glanced at LaBreck, and then at the house.

  “I'm going back in,” she said.

  Miller jogged in front of her.

  “Devika, listen to me,” he said. “I'm paying you a compliment.”

  Devika smiled faintly. “Ryan, I appreciate it. But I'm in the moment. I don't—”

  “No one is a machine,” Miller said. “You need to take a break. You'll work yourself into a burnout. Trust me, I've been there.”

  “I'll be fine,” Devika said.

  “Age thirty-nine,” Miller said, “I investigated a child murder case. Got so worked up over it that I couldn't report to work. Drank myself stupid. If it hadn't been for a mentor who picked me up off the asphalt one night and told me I was at my rock bottom, I would have been waffles. Don't know why, but he got through to me. I see the same streak in you, Devika. You're not at your bottom yet, but give it a couple months and I guarantee I'll be picking you up off the sidewalk. You're like a loaded spring. You're gonna snap.”

  Devika put her hands on Miller’s shoulders.

  “All right, I promise I'll take a vacation after we’re done here. One week minimum, no working. I might even dip my toes in the sand and go to a soccer game if that will make you happy.”

  “That would make me a very happy man,” Miller said. “And I'm flattered that all my yapping inspired you to action. Bet your mom’ll be happy about this. How is she?”

  “W
orried as ever,” Devika said, “but glad I'm not off saving the galaxy.”

  “She's a good woman,” Miller said. “Take care of her and hold her dear. You owe her that in this profession. I miss my mother. Would do anything to get her back.”

  “You just can't help yourself in giving advice, can you?” Devika asked.

  “When you shrivel up like me,” Miller said, “you want to make sure you don't waste all this life experience you've gathered. Besides, Devi, this is my last mission. I'm calling it quits, lady.”

  Devika’s eyes widened. “You're kidding.”

  “Soak up my knowledge while it lasts,” Miller said, “because I'm headed for a life of newspaper reading and golf.”

  “I just found a buddy that I can work with,” Devika said. “And then you run out on me.”

  “I'll always be in your heart,” Miller said, patting Devika on the shoulder. “Let's finish this up, shall we?”

  Devika didn't know what to say. Her phone buzzed.

  It was a message from Michiko that said URGENT—I PROMISE.

  She excused herself.

  She read Michiko’s email.

  So…don't get mad at me, but I couldn't stop digging into your past. If this brings you closure, it will make me so happy. I may have broken a rule or two to get this—nothing you wouldn't have done yourself…

  The email had several attachments. Devika opened one.

  It was a photograph portrait of a middle-aged Indian woman. She glanced out a window wistfully. A caption below read Prachi Sharma.

  The next attachment was a transcript.

  Missing Persons Archived Interview

  Prachi Sharma

  Age 42

  Bartholomew IV

  Lost her daughter to Arguses. Has spent the better part of two years looking for her. Daughter Devika Sharma, photo enclosed.

  No clues or leads to Sharma’s location. Case closed due to passage of time. Mother enraged.

  And that was it.

  There was nothing else.

  Devika scanned the rest of the email.

  Nothing.

  She studied the photo of her mother—the woman she thought abandoned her. She had the same nose, and those same piercing eyes.