Doom Star: Book 06 - Star Fortress

by Vaughn Heppner

“There are no warp drives or wormholes,” Kursk said.

  “Not until now,” Hawthorne said. The pain in his chest was less than before, but it hurt every time his heart beat. Had they just fought the greatest war ever, only to have the enemy slip away to start everything over again from a different base? If that was a starship, with the Prime Web-Mind aboard…it meant the next cyborg attack might possibly come from another star system. He massaged his chest. This was more than he wanted to think about now. Sunbeams and starships…he wanted to go home to Earth.

  Sunk in gloom, Hawthorne fell silent as Triton broke into sections, cut apart by the terrible ray.

  ***

  The Prime knew a moment of rarified glee as its vessel winked out of existence above Triton and away from the annihilating ray.

  In the huge ship, cyborgs stood at their stations, awaiting orders. The cargo-holds held massive amounts of equipment, all that was needed to begin again.

  It was a risk I might never have taken. Now I own an experimental starship, a vessel to span the galaxy.

  The glee turned to anger as the Prime realized it would have to start over.

  I will rebuild elsewhere. Then I will return and cruelly subjugate those who thought to destroy my magnificence.

  Quick calculations showed the Prime its strongholds in Uranus, Saturn, Jupiter and Mars could not survive the terrible Sunbeam. Perhaps if it gathered every surviving Lurker and used the starship—

  No, I cannot risk losing this wonderful vessel. I own the only known starship. I will—

  The Prime’s gloating was cut short as a lurch and alarms throughout the starship told of a reentry into normal space. It ran an accelerated analysis. Neptune’s nearness had upset the starship’s gravitational fields, which needed a precision bordering on the Sunbeam’s targeting systems.

  Where am I? Have I reached another star system?

  Cyborgs on the bridge poured their findings to the Prime. With a shock, the Prime realized it had only hopped a short distance. Then a louder alarm rang through the experimental starship.

  ***

  Sub-Strategist Circe contemplated the meaning of the third Dictate. She sat in the Force-Leader’s chair in the control chamber. Unconsciously, she rubbed the black gem embedded in her forehead. With half-lidded eyes, she let her gaze rove over a statute of an ancient, naked Roman boxer with a broken nose. He—

  Sirens blared, making her twist in her chair.

  “Sub-Strategist!” the Erasmus’s weapons officer said. “An-an intruder has just appeared.”

  “Explain your statement,” Circe said sharply.

  “Look up at the screen,” the officer said.

  She did. Long-range teleoptics showed a big ship. “Is that an SU battleship?” she asked.

  “No. It’s bigger.”

  “Where did it come from?” Circe asked.

  “There was a flash, Sub-Strategist, and then it just appeared.”

  “Attention!” Circe said, as she slapped an intercom button on her chair’s armrest. “Warm the lasers and target the enemy ship. It is a cyborg vessel, the most dangerous one in existence. We must attack it with extreme prejudice.”

  “Are you sure it’s a cyborg vessel?” the weapons officer asked.

  “Destroy it,” Circe said, “or we’re all doomed.” She had studied Chief Strategist Tan’s information about a Fuhl Event. The cyborgs must have finally ironed out the flaws and now used this ship to attack each fleet piecemeal. It was a brilliant strategy. The thought she had endured so much to fall prey to yet another secret cyborg project—

  “Annihilate it!” Circe hissed. “Annihilate it before its beam or missiles destroy us.”

  ***

  “Engage the Fuhl Mechanism!” the Prime messaged the cyborg crew. “We must leave this place.”

  “We need time to adjust and recalibrate the black-hole pods, Prime,” a cyborg radioed its master.

  “Then accelerate the ship away from those vessels!”

  Several seconds later, the Prime experienced the building Gs as thrusters roared with life.

  The Prime focused its sensors on the three meteor-ships. They were battered-looking.

  Yes, they fought the Uranus cyborgs. By the ALL, I must survive.

  Even as the Prime thought this, the three meteor-ships fired their primary lasers.

  “Use the mechanism! Jump us out of here!”

  “We need time, Prime.”

  “Do it now or I will die!”

  The lasers burned into the starship’s hull. Then the four nodes swirled with power. The Fuhl Mechanism started up, and the vessel began to crumple in upon itself. Its own gravitational forces destroyed the Solar System’s first experimental starship.

  ***

  As the Prime Web-Mind of Neptune perished, torn apart by black-hole gravitational forces, Commissar Kursk tapped her communications screen. A face appeared on the module.

  “It’s Marten Kluge,” Hawthorne said.

  “Greetings,” Marten said. “I have just taken control of the Sun Station. I realize my time here may be short, so I have made some hard decisions. The first was the destruction of the Sun-Works Factory. I gave the Commandant the option to leave and head for Luna. He could not agree, so I destroyed the Factory before he could use it against me. I have just demolished Triton and I am about to target Luna and destroy the Highborn base there. In the days to come, I will target all cyborg concentrations of strength in each planetary system.”

  Marten Kluge took a deep breath. “I have lived under many political systems, and I have found them all repugnant. Therefore, the Solar System is going to try a new way for a time—my way. Those who cannot agree to try it, I will target. My way is called freedom, giving people a choice.”

  Marten’s taut features broke into a grim smile. “I’m going to build a bigger station, a bigger defensive bulwark around the Sunbeam. And I’m calling it a Star Fortress. It gives me veto power over anything I find repugnant. Remember that as you begin instituting freedom throughout the Solar System. That is all for now. Marten Kluge out.”

  The End

  From the author: Thanks Reader! I hope you enjoyed Star Fortress. If you enjoyed the Doom Star Series and want to see more books like it, please put up a review. Let me know how you feel and let other readers know what to expect.

  --Vaughn Heppner

  If you enjoyed Star Fortress, you might also enjoy Accelerated. Read on for an exciting excerpt.

  Novels by Vaughn Heppner

  The Ark Chronicles:

  People of the Ark

  People of the Flood

  People of Babel

  People of the Tower

  Lost Civilizations:

  Giants

  Leviathan

  The Tree of Life

  Gog

  Behemoth

  The Lod Saga

  The Oracle of Gog

  The Doom Star Series:

  Star Soldier

  Bio-Weapon

  Battle Pod

  Cyborg Assault

  Planet Wrecker

  Star Fortress

  Alternate Europe:

  The Dragon Horn

  Dark Crusade

  Assassin of the Damned

  Historical Novels:

  The Great Pagan Army

  The Sword of Carthage

  The Rogue Knight

  Other Novels:

  Invasion: Alaska

  Strontium-90

  The Dragon of Carthage

  Accelerated

  Accelerated

  -1-

  I was having the nightmare again.

  Iron bands shackled me to a gurney. Fluorescent lights passed above as grim-faced men wheeled me down a corridor. Their shoes scuffled on the tiles and their garlic breath fogged over my face. Straining, I tried to arch my head to see how near I was to the laboratory. There was a loud buzzing noise. I wanted to shout, but the orderlies had stuffed a wadded cloth in my mouth.

  Then a cold, hard feeli
ng built in my gut. No, I told myself. This isn’t going to happen again.

  I struggled so hard I broke out of the dream. A moment of disorientation followed. It was dark where I lay, and the gurney’s dream-wheels had stopped squeaking, although the buzzing continued. I frowned, wondering what had happened to the orderlies. Then I realized I was on my boat, my cabin cruiser, lying on my bunk with a pillow jammed over my head. My bedspread was damp with sweat, the blanket shoved to one side. The one constant was the buzzing. In the nightmare, it had come from the laboratory. Here—

  I sat up. The buzzing came from my security system. Someone was on my boat.

  My heart sped up with adrenalin. Had they found me? After four years of running, of hiding—I’d escaped the terrible facility, the one from my dream that had been a grim reality of inhuman tests.

  The red-glowing numerals of my clock showed it was 12:16 PM, about noon. That couldn’t be a coincidence. They came at me during the height of daylight.

  I slid from my bunk, shoving my legs through a pair of shorts. Then I turned off the alarm. Were Kevlar-armored commandos signaling to one another as they inched toward the door? Were they ready to rush down here, using flash-bang grenades to blind me?

  “Never again,” I whispered.

  I crouched by my bunk, shoving my hand under the mattress. My fingers wrapped around a loaded Browning .45. I yanked it out and flicked off the safety. A round was already in the chamber.

  The Alamo, my cabin cruiser, was docked in San Francisco harbor south of Fisherman’s Wharf. My idea this time had been to hide in the open. That might have been a mistake. I examined my gun. There was a city ordinance against firearms. But that was the least of my concerns as no ordinary prison could hold me for long. Letting them find me was the danger. Letting them take me back to the lab—

  My grip tightened around the gun.

  I exited my cabin, moved silently through a cramped corridor and started up a stairway. I was bare-footed and bare-chested, and I listened, striving to hear any telltale sound that would let me know who had invaded my sanctuary. It was possible tourists had boarded my boat, or kids from another vessel docked at the same pier. I had a Stay Off sign posted in three languages: English, Spanish and Chinese. I could imagine the commandos sneering at the sign, quietly making a quip about it or even tearing it down.

  As my stomach tightened, I slipped through the narrow galley and into the carpeted lounge. There were several portholes with dark curtains in front of them. I had a wet bar, some chairs and a couch. It was comfortable, the most comfortable I’d been in four years. I’d “liberated” a hefty sum of cash to buy the boat outright. Each of my actions toward getting the money and buying the boat had no doubt collectively added up to a mistake.

  I crouched by a chair, aiming my Browning at the door. Shop commandos could wear all the armor they wanted, but it wouldn’t help if I shot them in the face. I’d cover my eyes if the door crashed open. They’d toss in flash-bang grenades first, hoping to disorient me. They would be highly trained, at least as good as the Green Berets of my former A-team in Afghanistan. I’d always known this day would come. I was going to take down as many of those bastards as I could. If I could take them all down, I could run again and find a better place to hide. It was a wild hope. Shop commandos were the best and I’d be going against them at noon.

  A creak sounded by the door that led to the sheltered aft deck outside. My muscles tensed. Then I saw a blot of darkness under the door. It was nearly impossible keeping myself from emptying the magazine through the heavy plastic. I needed aimed shots, however, aimed shots at faces.

  “Don’t let them take you alive,” I whispered to myself.

  Someone tentatively tapped the outside of the door. Was that a trick? It had to be a trick.

  “Gavin,” a woman called. “Gavin Kiel?”

  My chest tightened. The person out there knew my name. They knew I lived here. I’d taken every precaution this time—

  No excuses, I told myself.

  “Gavin,” the woman said, with a hint of desperation.

  I scowled. The voice sounded familiar. How had this woman found me? I wasn’t going to find out crouched here. As I stood, I shook my head. They were playing me. The minute I opened the door, grenades would land at my feet, or they’d fire shock rounds into my chest, trying to knock me down so they could rush in and capture me.

  I could send them a signal by firing a bullet through the door. I raised the gun, but hesitated. I thought I knew the voice from somewhere.

  I crept to a porthole. Slowly, I pulled back a tiny portion of the heavy curtain. It was noon and the sunlight was nearly blinding. I vaguely made out the shape of a woman who looked as if she held something heavy. I mentally berated myself for leaving my sunglasses in my shirt down in the sleeping quarters.

  She tapped at the door again, “Gavin. I need your help.”

  I withdrew my finger from the curtain and ran a forearm across my lips. Was it possible she was alone? I hardly dared believe it. Was I going to have a chance to fix my mistake? Dear God, but I hoped that was true.

  I cleared my throat, then took a combat-shooting stance before the door. “Who is it?” I said.

  “Kay Durant,” she said. “Will you let me in?”

  If commandos waited out there behind her, now was the moment for them to blast down the door. But if she was alone—this didn’t make sense. Kay had worked with them, helping in the experiments on us. Luckily for me, four years ago her conscience had driven her to powering down my cell and unlocking the door.

  “You must run,” she’d told me. She’d given me five thousand euros and a Gerber combat knife. The laboratory had been in Italy outside of Milan.

  I’d been running ever since. Now Kay was outside my door here in San Francisco, pleading for help. If she knew my whereabouts, others surely knew it, too.

  I clicked open the lock, even knowing this could be a trap. I opened the door quickly. Sunlight poured around me, blinding my eyes, but I grabbed for where her wrist should be if she’d raised her hand for another knock. My fingers squeezed flesh, and I heard her say, “oh,” in surprise. It reminded me that I was too strong now. I eased pressure. I didn’t want to break any of her bones. I felt horribly exposed, and I expected shock rounds to thump against my chest.

  I pulled, and Kay shot past me into the lounge, with her feet drumming on the carpet. Then I glided outside onto the sheltered aft section, with my Browning thrust before me like a spear. I squinted, trying to scan the deck. I’d pump rounds into anything dark, into anything that might indicate black uniforms. Blinding sunlight hammered my eyes. It put purple splotches of pain there and it made my frontal lobe throb as if steel needles stabbed brain tissue. There had been experiments done to me that had felt like this.

  Throwing a forearm across my eyes, I stumbled back into the lounge, slamming the door shut.

  With my head bent, I mastered the pain. Looking around in full sunlight without my sunglasses had been foolish. I knew better. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. I did it again and sought for calm.

  Something bumped against a chair, a knee maybe. I raised the Browning, aiming at the noise.

  “Please don’t shoot me,” Kay said.

  “Sit down,” I said.

  I heard the rustle of fabric and remembered how Kay used to brush her hands behind her dress, behind her thighs, as she sat in a chair.

  I opened my eyes. The purple color had drained from the spots in my vision. Those were blank areas now. The lounge—my sight filled in everything else around the spots. I tilted my head. Kay sat in a chair, with a small microwave-sized box beside her feet. She kept her feet pressed together and she wore dark slip-on shoes. I noticed they were heelless.

  “Why are you here?” I asked, with my Browning aimed at her.

  Her features were tight as she rubbed her left shoulder. She had long red hair and freckles across the bridge of her nose. Mascara tried to hide the darkness under her e
yes. She was unable to conceal their puffiness.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Why aren’t you talking?”

  She tested her left wrist, gingerly moving the fingers. “You nearly tore my arm out,” she said. “You shouldn’t have been able to do that.”

  I stepped away from the door so if anyone blew it down she would be in the line of fire. I had to start thinking.

  Kay was five-five and still slender as a model in her yellow sundress. She had to be in her upper thirties by now. Despite the wear of years, she was still pretty. Her legs were the best part, tanned, trim and smooth. The rest was too bony, highlighted by sharp cheekbones.

  It didn’t look as if she carried any concealed weapons. Maybe she had a gun in the red purse on the box. Maybe she had a detonator in the purse and the box was a bomb, but I doubted it. As far as I knew, they wanted me alive. Besides, Kay didn’t seem hypnotized, drugged or nervous in a suicidal way. I’d dealt with suicide bombers in Afghanistan. If you knew what to look for, a bomber was easy to spot.

  “Do I pass inspection?” Kay asked.

  “Did the Chief send you?”

  “What?” she asked. “No.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Do you have to keep pointing that gun at me? I’m unarmed. I came here because I need your help.”

  The box could contain tracking gear, unerringly guiding commandos to me. It was the size of a small microwave, with folded brown cardboard sides and loops of tape wrapping it. The tape was the clear type people used in a Post Office. It looked like it had been taped in a hurry, but that might have been done to give Kay a story.

  She crossed her legs and sat back in the chair, watching me, with her gaze darting now and again to the Browning. Those were nice legs. My best friend Dave used to run his hands over them when we went to the beaches of Monte Carlo together. In those days, I’d been in Security. Well, I had been in Security after a fashion. That had all been before the accident that had changed me into what I am now.