The Sirens of Space

by Caminsky, Jeffrey

  The Sirens of Space: A Novel

  by Jeffrey Caminsky

  The Guardians of Peace, Book One

  Published by New Alexandria Press

  PO Box 530516

  Livonia, Michigan 48153

  www.newalexandriapress.com

  Smashwords Edition

  March 2012

  License Notes

  This ebook edition is licensed for your personal enjoyment only, and may not be sold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book, please respect the author’s hard work and effort, and purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and events portrayed in this book are entirely fictitious, and are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any actual person–living, dead, or otherwise—is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright ©2009 by Jeffrey Caminsky

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author. For information on obtaining permission for excerpts and reprints, contact permissions@newalexandriapress.com.

  The quote attributed to Friedrich Nietzsche first appeared in 1885, in the book Beyond Good and Evil.

  ISBN: 978-0-9790106-6-8 (Hardcover Edition)

  ISBN: 978-0-9790106-3-7 (Softcover Edition)

  ISBN: 978-1-60915-010-5 (Smashwords Edition)

  LCCN: 2008934583

  Quantity discounts are available on bulk purchases of print editions this book Special books or book excerpts can also be made available to fit specific needs. For information, please contact sales@newalexandriapress.com or send written inquiries to New Alexandria Press, PO Box 530516, Livonia, Michigan 48153.

  To Mom and Dad, with love and gratitude....

  Contents

  Copyright

  The Sirens of Space

  CosGuard Oath of Allegience

  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

  Author’s Note

  The Players

  A Select Gazetteer of Obscure Heavenly Bodies

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Jeffrey Caminsky

  What the Critics Have to Say

  The Guardians of Peace, Book One:

  The Sirens of Space

  I swear upon my sacred oath to renounce all bigotry, racial and religious; to forswear for my term of service all planetary allegiance; and to serve Humanity as a guardian of peace, dedicated to preserving human life wherever it wanders. I swear to uphold the laws of the Terran League and all its member planets, and to conduct myself at all times in a manner consistent with integrity and justice. I pledge to serve my superiors faithfully and obey their lawful orders, and to treat any discretion that befalls me as a sacred trust not be abused, nor perverted for personal gain or aggrandizement. And I pledge full devotion to all of my appointed tasks, no matter what the cost to myself.

  To fulfill my duties to Humanity, and to the Cosmic Guard, I pledge my name, my life, and my honor.

  CosGuard Oath of Allegiance

  He who fights with monsters must take care not to become a monster. For if you stare long enough into the abyss, the abyss will stare back at you.

  Friedrich Nietzsche

  Old Earth Philosopher

  1844-1900

  Peace comes from self-discipline and self-awareness, from enlightenment, and not from power. In much the same way, Science can give us numbers and books can give us words, but we must each must supply our own thoughts.

  P. J. Hollander

  Isitian Poet and Sage

  2295-2393

  Prologue

  “WHAT’S THAT, GRANDPA?”

  Tom Cook looked at the screen and felt his heart freeze in mid-beat. Instantly, he knew what it was. He’d seen the anomaly once before and it scared the wits out of him that time, too. He didn’t like the thought of facing it again, especially not with his grandson on board.

  “Grandpa?”

  Tom wasn’t paying attention. All he could think about was staying out of the way. He trimmed the engines, veered hard to port, and prayed to God that the object would miss the small sloop. All the while, he couldn’t keep from watching. Frightened as he was—and as terrifying as it must be for the youngster—his eyes were drawn to the eerie light stream bearing down upon them, dead to starboard. Some pleasure outing, he mused. Even if it didn’t kill them both, it might be enough to make the boy’s parents forbid him from taking the lad sailing again. And that, the old man thought, might be worse than dying for both of them.

  He peered through the observation window. The approaching object was bright blue, streaked with white, trailing a wispy tail like a comet. It streaked toward them like an ion storm, at speeds that would leave a star cruiser foundering in its wake. Passing the sloop off the starboard beam, the object swerved suddenly, passing in front of them—then behind them, in a tight spiral of light, swirling around them like a spiraling eddy, inching closer and closer, until it was so close that it seemed Tom could reach outside and touch it.

  Then, suddenly as it came, it sliced past the ship’s stern and off into the blackness, leaving the small craft shuddering in the energy waves it left behind. Though never prone to space sickness, Tom felt his stomach weaken under the strain, and he entertained the passing notion of making a dash to the head before it was too late. But first, he wanted to reassure his grandson. He turned, only to find young Roscoe giggling and grinning from ear to ear.

  “Grandpa!” The boy ran to the stern porthole and rested his chin on the ledge, gazing out into the space beyond the fragile hull of the ship. Putting the controls on automatic, Tom walked over to the boy and knelt beside him.

  “Roscoe,” Tom began.

  “It was the Ancients!” Roscoe exclaimed, his eyes bright with wonder. “We saw them! It was the Ancients, wasn’t it Grandpa?”

  Tom smiled and placed an arm on Roscoe’s shoulder, wondering how to explain it. People had been seeing these same anomalies since interstellar travel began. Four hundred years had passed since then, and still nobody knew what they were.

  “Well, maybe you’re right at that,” he said at last. Leaving the boy aft, Tom returned to the controls and set course for home. He’d had enough excitement for one outing, he laughed to himself. And he counted himself lucky that a six-year old didn’t know enough to realize how frightened he should be.

  The old man looked to see his grandson still gazing out into the darkness astern. An hour later, the boy would still be there, curled on the window ledge and fast asleep, dreaming of myths and magical adventures.

  * * *

  From the UMN Trans-Terran Dispatch, 28January2547:

  ALIENS ESCAPE SITE OF MASSACRE

  by S.L. Yang

  COVINGTON, New Babylon

  January 28, 2547

  With shock waves resounding across Terra from news that humanity’s first encounter with an alien race has led to a bloody massacre, the government of President Mikos Sarkisian is reeling from allegations that the actions of the Cosmic Guard permitted the aliens to escape responsibility for the slaughter.

  Initial reports released yesterday by Central Command portrayed efforts by a squadron of frigates near the Hawkins Star system as instrumental in saving a large number of ci
vilian craft from attack by alien warships. Interviews with the spacers themselves, however, suggest that the frigates actually interfered with pursuit of the aliens by those who had witnessed the encounter, allowing the aliens—whom CosGuard now calls “Crutchtans”—to flee the region and escape to the east.

  “We are going to get to the bottom of this,” promised Admiral Winthrop W. Weatherlee, commanding officer at Demeter Command and a member of the hastily convened board of inquiry that will be investigating the incident. “CosGuard exists to protect people, and heads will roll if we discover that any officer of the Cosmic Guard willingly allowed the perpetrators of the massacre at Hawkins Star to escape justice.”

  Citing military protocol, Weatherlee declined to release the names of anyone involved in the preliminary inquiry. Senior military sources speaking off the record identified the squadron leader as Lt. Commander Roscoe Cook, who is serving his second tour of duty in the Hodges Sector. Cook, a native of Planet Isis, was unavailable for comment

  Meanwhile, in the Senate, leaders of the opposition Tory Party demanded that the President appoint an independent special prosecutor to conduct a thorough inquiry into the circumstances of the Hawkins Massacre....

  Chapter 1

  THE CROWD WAS BOISTEROUS AND ROWDY. Clinking glasses and bawdy laughter mixed with scuffles and shoves, and the air reeked of lager and sweat. At the bar, the patrons jostled to fill their steins with the chilled, intoxicating brew that warmed their nights and made life on the cold, arid planet bearable. Men from a dozen worlds drank and sang, churning the room with their stories and songs. Lights glowed warmly through the frosted windows, and laughter and music floated beyond the walls to be scattered by the wind.

  For it’s Springtime on Ishtar, me darlin

  It’s payday, come lager an’ carolin

  An’ me dusty, dry glass needs a-fillin

  By a lusty young lass who’s a-willin.

  A tall, muscular man broke through the cluster at the bar, carrying four steins of lager. Swarthy and bearded, he wore maroon thermoflax coveralls and black leather boots. He ambled tenuously to a round wooden table in the center of the room, with most of his cargo intact. At the table, three others sat by candlelight, two in native attire and a Cosmic Guard yeoman. They were engaged in heated conversation lost in the din of the crowd.

  Now the girlies o’Ishtar ain’t pretty

  Nor graceful, nor charmin, nor witty

  But it scarce matters me, as I dally

  While the icy winds roll through the valley

  An’ it’s Springtime on Ishtar, me darlin....

  “Laddy,” said a native with a heavy Ishtari accent. Scraggly patches of beard covered his craggy face, and he wore a blue knit cap. “Ain’t no slimy lizard can tell me, pack up an’leave. A scant six month gimme bare time to ’coup me costs o’gittin there, an’ they have the bloody gall to swoop down from the sky an’ farce me off, an’ escort me half-back here.”

  The bearded native distributed his catch from the bar. “Well, Cyrus,” he said. “Ye did after all let them carry ye off, wi’out liftin s’much as a hand-laser agin them. Ye know, we seen how they scattered when the laddies came after’em proper at Hawkins. If ye’d just stood your ground—”

  “Pssh.” The second native made room for the bearded one at the table and cast a side glance at the green-shirted yeoman sitting across the table. “Ain’t no blamin Cyrus, now. Ye know bloody well it’s these limp-wristed Cozzies what’s too bloody sissified to be protectin decent folk agin them stinkin sallymanders. If it showed us anything, Hawkins taught us that, it did.”

  Cyrus sipped his lager. Bloodshot eyes flashing, he turned to face the yeoman. His mouth twisted into a sly grin, as if welcoming the fight he hoped to provoke. “Spacer,” he hissed, “ye say ye’re not lackin sympathy. But them lizards is gittin bolder by the day, makin it so’s honest merchants like us can’t survive. ’Twixt them an’ the pirates, we risk our hides ev’ry time we sail, an’ all we git from yer kind is preachin and promises. Well, laddie, where’s our help?” The others at the table gently pounded the table, indicating their agreement.

  Like all servicemen in the region, the yeoman had become quite adept at deflecting questions like this. Locals accosted CosGuarders randomly on every planet and colony along the frontier, demanding answers to the alien threat. It never helped to remind them that if they stayed on Terra’s side of the Neutral Zone, the Crutchtans wouldn’t bother them.

  “Gentlemen, we have our own problems,” he began, reaching for his stein. “We can’t ignore Crutchtan abuse of our citizens, but it’s bad tactics to confront an enemy without knowing his capabilities. Besides, the human race doesn’t revolve around Ishtar.”

  “Bosh an’ bahanna!” bellowed Cyrus. “Them lizards has pushed us out o’too many systems already. If we don’t draw the line soon, they’ll be half-back to Earth herself afore the rest o’ye even blink. An’ besides, all we be hearin from ev’ry corner is not to worry, because our ships is so superior.

  “Well, the whores can all go lonely for the good it does us, if we still git ourselves pushed around. An’ if you Cozzies keep givin ground each time they hiss at ye, there’s naught akeepin us from the lizards’ stewpot.” His companions all agreed.

  The yeoman shook his head sadly. Reasoning with spacers was like teaching algebra to a mutluk, he though. And reminding them that the Crutchtans were vegetarians only made matters worse. “I’ve no love for them either, but they’re hardly savages. They’re advanced enough for space flight, after all.”

  “Cozzie,” rasped Cyrus, his eyes blazing in the candlelight. “Ye never met them creatures face to face, like I did. Never felt their slimy hands on your skin, nor looked in them slitty eyes to see the devil’s own soul.” He emptied his stein and wiped his mouth in his sleeve.

  “I tell ye, them monsters won’t be restin until they’ve destroyed us.”

  Fortunately, one of the spacer’s friends interceded. “Laddies,” said the one lately returned from the bar, “we’ve enough trouble these days, wi’out goin for each other’s throats. To spacers,” he said, lifting his stein. “The sorriest lot o’bastards in Terra.”

  “To spacers,” chorused the others.

  Around them, the clamor grew like a dust storm on the Ishtari plains. Old friends shouted greetings across the dimly lit room, and the talk became militant on subjects ranging from trade tariffs to the shortage of women on the frontier. Everyone drank as if dying of thirst, and hoarse voices raised hearty choruses about asteroid mining and Demetrian summers, pirate raids and outlaw heroes.

  For ten long years, they never found him.

  Ten long years, they’ll ever hound him.

  An’ the night he left New Dublin town

  A star rose in the sky,

  An’ the light that burns forever

  Is the gleam in Danny’s eye.

  The yeoman and two of his new friends joined in the singing, which shook the rafters and echoed in their groggy heads. It felt odd, celebrating one of CosGuard’s darkest moments; but he was a Demetrian, after all, and Danny O’Donovan was a legend in the folklore of his youth. Cyrus stared ahead, his jawbone twitching. At his table, he alone refused to join the merriment.

  A hundred howlin’ Cozzies couldn’t catch him.

  No outlaw band could make a stand to match him.

  An’ one day, for fun he stole a frigate

  From the Cosmic Guard

  An’ gave it to the settlement

  At Mullinberry’s Star.

  “They’ll destroy us,” muttered Cyrus, oblivious to the cheer resounding through the pub. Amid the chorus of voices, none could tell that his accent had changed. “Or we’ll be destroyin them.”

  Outside, five small figures, shivering in the cold, emerged from the shadows and walked tentatively toward the pub, looking about nervously with each step. They could feel the warm glow inside, and heard the laughter and singing. The voices sounded guttural, like animals at
play. Yet there was something familiar, almost friendly, about the sounds, as if beneath the snarling bluster beat hearts pulsing with kinship and kindness. Huddling together for warmth, they paused in front of the door.

  After more than a few moments of hesitation, they entered and walked down the steps to the inner door.

  A stunned silence fell over the bar. Ninety-five and one-half pairs of eyes followed the small creatures slowly walking from the door to the bar. The wind whipped against the outside wall; inside, hushed voices carried whispers of the carnage to come.

  There were five of them. The tallest stood almost five feet tall; the heaviest weighed about a hundred pounds. Even without the strangely colored outer cloaks and their eerie, floating manner of walking, their bald pates and translucent skin were unmistakable. Slowly, whispers crept across the room as lips mouthed the hated word: aliens.

  They were Veshnans, from the diplomatic mission negotiating on behalf of the reptilian race of Cruthtans who claimed the disputed region of space on the other side of the Neutral Zone. Tiny skin flaps on top of their heads hid their aural membranes, and two small slits squeezed between two large, pale pink eyes, served as nostrils. But a human-sized mouth, in an oddly familiar place at the conflux of cheek and chin bones, gave them an unexpectedly human appearance. Quilted gold tunics beneath their cloaks draped their bodies, and slate gray scarves dangled from their necks.