- Cerulean Rising -
Beginnings
Part I
By
Justin Sewall
A Diadem Studios Novella
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2013, Diadem Studios
www.diademstudios.com
Table of Contents
Prologue
Technical File
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
Acknowledgements
Cerulean Rising – Part II: Evolutions
Prologue
The dragon
let out a mighty roar,
louder than thunder, and spat
venom from its mouth;
its wings were burning flames
and its eyes empty and cold.
From shoulder to tail it was forty foot long,
its body covered in scales harder than brass
with a great golden belly.
Its size and appearance would
have made any other man tremble,
but St. George steeled himself
and prepared to fight.
- Ancient Earth Legend -
Technical File: 1834BM723A.0089
Status: Classified
ALPHA: “Regular” programming within the base control personality; characterized by heightened memory retention, substantially increased physical strength and visual acuity. While not the most physically or psychically powerful, an ALPHA MONARCH is a well rounded blend of both aspects. ALPHA programming is a purposeful honing of the mind and body for leadership in any environment, for any challenge. ALPHAs are confident in their decision-making and subsequent actions to accomplish the mission.
BETA:
GAMMA:
DELTA:
THETA:
OMEGA Code:
1
Emerson Avery lay on his back with his eyes shut.
He was a solitary figure floating alone on an ocean of gently waving green. He lazily twisted strands of soft grass between his fingers and enjoyed the warmth of Entropia’s sun on his face. With the gentle sloping hill between him and the spaceport, he could almost imagine himself in the middle of nowhere. Almost.
The muted rumble of landing thrusters and accompanying blasts of wind roiling over the hill reminded him of how close he really was, and how far away he really wanted to be. It had been only a short ten months since, for no reason he could understand, his father had been transferred to this outpost at the edge of human-controlled space. “It’s important war work, son. That’s all I can tell you,” his father had explained. Now his father was sequestered in an underground lab every day, making Emerson feel extremely and severely alone.
The only saving grace was that their lifelong family friends, the Reeds, had been transferred at the same time. Dr. John Reed and his wife, Claire, were almost his surrogate parents. He ate with them often, occasionally played sports with their eldest son, Branden, but found himself spending most of his time with their daughter. With the lack of other boys his own age at their previous posting, sixteen-year-old Emerson Avery had grown up playing with, and now “hanging out” with, a very assertive and decidedly un-girlie Ashley Reed. Ash seemed different than other girls, not that he really knew that many, and was always willing to lend a sympathetic ear. Frankly, he could never remember a time in his life without her.
“Ave, are you going to lie out here all afternoon?” a familiar female voice interrupted his reverie.
“I might,” he mumbled.
“Well, would you like some company?” replied the young woman as she plopped down on the hillside next to Emerson.
“Do I have a choice?” Emerson teased.
“Ha, ha. Well aren’t you Mr. Funny Man today?”
Emerson gave her a non-committal look and studied his fingernails.
“Can I help it if I’m bored out of my skull?”
“You didn’t used to think I was boring,” Ashley gently jabbed, giving her short blond hair a little flick.
“I didn’t say you were boring. Besides, we were little kids then ...” Emerson said defensively while digging a datapad out of his backpack.
“Fine, fine, I know when I’m not wanted.”
Emerson rolled his eyes while his hands danced over the datapad’s glossy black interface.
“I was just coming to tell you my dad invited you over for his colony-famous burgers. Again. Maybe you’ll find him interesting.” That managed to elicit a slight grin from Emerson.
Ashley pressed her mock attack: “See you later then, grumpy. Be there at 1700 or you’ll miss out.”
She turned to go when Emerson called out, “Hey wait!”
“What?”
“Come here and watch this.” He motioned for her to lie down in the grass.
Edging up to the top of the hill, they peered over and could see the spaceport and research labs radiating out in concentric circles. Defense automates scanned the sky, gun barrels pirouetting in a complex preprogrammed search pattern.
“Watch what?” said Ashley, her curiosity piqued.
“This,” replied Emerson, thumbing a spot on his datapad.
Almost immediately, klaxons and alarms could be heard across the spaceport coming from the research labs. Scores of confused, agitated scientists and support personnel streamed from the doorways and began milling around outside.
“You are so bad,” said Ashley, dissolving into infectious laughter. She slapped him on the back playfully.
Emerson laughed too, and realized how much better he felt laughing with this girl he had known for what seemed like his entire life.
“I know,” he said, as Ashley scooted back down the hill. She hopped on the aeroped that was hovering just above the grass and snapped her helmet on.
“Don’t be late,” she reminded him.
“Okay already, I won’t!” he replied, waving as she accelerated quietly away over the sea of rippling grass.
Emerson retrieved his own aeroped that had floated a short distance away, stowed his datapad in the small cargo box mounted on the back, and with a quick flick of his wrist, was soon following in Ashley’s wake.
From a concealed position on the spaceport roof, a large shadow adjusted the range finder in his tactical helmet and keyed his comm piece.
“This is COBALT ONE. Cancel the alert. I repeat, everyone stand down.” He paused. “It was just him again.” He could almost hear the collective groan from the personnel still standing around outside their buildings. COBALT ONE allowed himself a tight smirk.
The kid’s good, he thought to himself.
2
Dr. John Reed stood in his backyard and smiled at the irony of it all. Light years from Earth and armed with an arsenal of sophisticated culinary devices, he was flipping hamburgers with a simple metal spatula over a bed of coals on his old-style barbecue. It almost felt primeval, and it gave him the same satisfaction burning meat over a fire has given men through the centuries.
He brushed on some of his special spices, sipped his iced tea, and arched his back. Too many hours at the lab had caused the muscles between his shoulder blades to wind into an extremely painful knot. The research was important, yes; he did not have to rationalize the reasons to himself. But it was taking its toll on him and he knew it. Even more so on his good fr
iend, Richard Avery.
The patio door hissed open and his daughter meandered towards him. Ashley—Ash, as she wanted to be called now—was certainly growing up fast. Reed wondered if her friend Emerson was noticing that, too.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“How’s my baby girl today?” asked Reed.
“Okay, I guess. Ave is still ‘whatever,’ so he hasn’t been the most fun lately.”
Reed did not know if that was good or bad. Emerson Avery was almost a second son, but if his daughter’s feelings were involved, his fatherly defenses went on high alert. He probed further.
“I, um, heard there was a little commotion over at the labs today.” He tapped his wrist comm at her.
“I wouldn’t know anything about that, Daddy,” came the thinly veiled fiction.
“Mmm-hmm. I’ll bet.”
Reed flipped another burger and stared out at the horizon, past the rippling fields of waist-high grass. He could see the tree line start where the ground met the sky. Beyond that he knew, though he could not see it, was where some of humanity’s deepest secrets were hidden. Just the brief image in his mind’s eye caused an involuntary shudder to race through him.
The colony was a strange juxtaposition of high technology deposited in the middle of a vast, grassy expanse on Entropia’s central continental mass. The physical isolation was intentional, a necessary security precaution considering the sensitivity of their work. And in an architectural déjà vu, the living quarters of the colony scientists, staff, and support personnel were laid out in an almost stereotypical North American neighborhood from the late 1950s. Smooth white and glass modular houses set at uniform intervals along a gently curving road completed the retro feel to this part of the colony.
All I need is a plastic pink flamingo in my front yard and a car with fins parked in the street, Reed thought, and laughed at the mental image of it.
“Hey Dad, try not to burn mine this time, okay? And I want two!” said a voice that was beginning to deepen into manhood.
“How about ‘two, please,’ Branden?” Reed rejoined, standing up straighter to see eye-to-eye with his eighteen-year-old eating machine.
“Um, sure Dad, uh, I mean, may I have two burgers, please?” stammered Branden, his bravado slightly dented.
“You bet, son. Two charred discs coming right up,” Reed joked.
“Thanks!” Branden turned to taunting his sister. “Hey Ash, is your boyfriend coming over for dinner again? He better leave me some food this time.”
“Ave’s not my boyfriend, Branden, but he is coming over to eat. And I seriously doubt you’ll have any room for food on top of all that hot air!” said Ashley, giving her brother’s beefy right arm a hard smack.
In a well-worn ritual, Branden nursed an imaginary injury and tattled on his sister.
“Dad, Ashley hit me!”
“Whatever, dorkface!”
“A little more civility, you two,” said Reed.
“Claire, are you almost ready?” Reed called to his wife. “At this rate, I think these two are going to eat each other.”
“Yes, yes, John!” a harried Mrs. Reed responded through the kitchen window. “Here, would you please come grab the salad while I get the rest off the stove? The kitchen automate ruined the corn again so I’ve had to start all over.”
“Isn’t technology great?” said Reed to no one in particular.
As if to answer, the house automate spoke to him in a bland male voice through his wrist comm.
“There is a visitor at the front door. Identity verified as Avery, Emerson R.”
Reed answered in automate formal-speak, “House, access granted to Avery, Emerson R. Re-secure main entrance post ingress.”
The house automate complied, allowed Avery, Emerson R. access to the Reed residence, and locked the door behind him.
“Hello, Mrs. Reed!” Emerson called out.
“Oh hello, Emerson, do come in,” said Mrs. Reed, wiping her hands on her apron. She gave Emerson a hug, then shooed him out the back patio door.
“Go on out, they’re all expecting you, and I think we’re just about ready to eat.”
“The automate burn the corn again?” asked Emerson on his way out, noting the blackened cobs.
“Yes, again. We’ve conquered hyperspace, but not the kitchen it seems,” she lamented.
“Thanks Mrs. R., and thanks for having me over for dinner, again.”
“Of course, dear, and oh, would you carry out these utensils, please? Thank you.”
Emerson dutifully accepted the handful of cloth napkins and utensils and stepped out the back patio door. He looked out to the horizon past the rippling fields of waist-high grass. He could see the tree line start where the ground met the sky.
Dark clouds were gathering there.
3
On the horizon where the ground met the sky, the ancient forest began. Its lush canopy covered more than a third of Entropia’s central continental mass, yielding the rest to the ubiquitous tall grass surrounding the colony. Surprisingly devoid of all but the smallest fauna, the forest reached skyward unimpeded and uninhibited. A forested fjord, it was a remote location on an even more remote planet in a quiet corner of the galaxy.
A corner that was precariously near Triven-controlled space.
And this is what kept Colonel Adriene Thorsten awake at night and nursing a moderately painful stomach ulcer.
Responsible for protecting the BLUE MONARCH facility, aptly code-named Obsidian; the signals listening post, Citadel; and the civilian spaceport and its surrounding colony, Homestead, Thorsten faced the classic military problem of too much ground to cover with too few resources. Automated defense systems were good, but tended to be static and therefore easier to defeat. He needed more boots on the ground, which is exactly what command wanted to avoid. The smaller the operation, the less attention it would draw to itself. That was the theory anyway.
“It’s hiding in plain sight,” one of his superiors had condescended. But it was his ass out here near the front line and Thorsten felt extremely exposed. Yes, the BLUE MONARCHs were unparalleled at what they did. But if the Triven landed in full force, they would all be swept away like so much chaff in the wind, and Entropia would be left as vacant as it had been before humans had arrived.
However, orders were orders. This was his post now, to hell with the consequences.
Thorsten strode along the command center’s row of tracking monitors for Entropia’s satellite detection net with alert eyes. Advance warning of any Triven activity would be their only hope for mounting a defense and getting the civilians and sensitive data out safely. For decades, Obsidian had operated undetected and unmolested by the Triven. Thorsten emphatically did not want that to change on his watch.
“Hell of a way to run a railroad,” he muttered to himself and shook his head, mentally reviewing the day’s intelligence reports.
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t catch that,” one of the intel weenies at a monitor answered back. “Railroad?”
“Old figure of speech son, from an old soldier,” Thorsten replied, a touch embarrassed he had been overheard.
“Copy that, sir. No trains inbound to the system or in orbit at this time.”
“Thank you, Anderson,” said Thorsten, only slightly amused. “Give me a complete status report, please.”
“Aye, sir,” Anderson responded. “All status is nominal. Supply ship Tempest is inbound and due to exit hyperspace at 1800 hours local time.”
“Escort?” queried Thorsten. As if she needs one.
“Negative, sir, she’s coming in all hot and bothered but no escort. We’re predicting she’ll need repairs to her thraceium matrix after such a high-speed run. Maintenance crews are already standing by at the civilian spaceport.”
“Excellent, carry on.”
“Planetary sensor scans reveal no surface activity outside Homestead, Citadel, or Obsidian. Orbital scans also show no activity around Entropia and long-range system scans have not
detected any unidentified ships or movement of any kind.”
“But Triven shadow ships could still be out there and we wouldn’t know about it until they got within short-range scans,” Thorsten pointed out.
“Aye, sir, that is correct. If we’re lucky.”
Thorsten rubbed his temples, sighed, and sat down at his command console in the center of the room. He ran his hand through his closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair. There were so many possibilities and potentialities, and he was required to be ready for them all. It was simply too much for one man to deal with, yet here he was dealing with it. His ulcer began to bother him, but he forced his attention elsewhere.
Cerulean Rising - Part I: Beginnings Page 1