Raven's Sphere

by Melissa Koberlein

  Raven’s Sphere

  Melissa Koberlein

  Copyright © 2019 Melissa Koberlein

  Cover design and art by Laercio Messias

  Edited by Jeni Chappelle

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher.

  Parker West Books

  www.parkerwestbooks.com

  December 2019

  For my dad, who must have passed on the geek gene to me.

  Contents

  1. Quick Escape

  2. Emery D’Grath

  3. First Encounter

  4. Teagan’s Hangar

  5. Repairs

  6. Hack

  7. A Plan

  8. Talent

  9. Dillandra’s

  10. Escape from Cadmar

  11. Space Bait

  12. Spherical Energy

  13. Verta Moon

  14. Cell Confessions

  15. Betrayal

  16. Princess of Cadmar

  17. Fortress

  18. Escape

  19. Despair Meets Hope

  20. Mythos

  21. Test Time

  22. The Dark Side

  23. A Traveler Returns

  24. Trust

  25. Rally the Troops

  26. Garren’s Ship

  27. Joining the Fight

  28. A Fresh Start

  About the Author

  Also by Melissa Koberlein

  1

  Quick Escape

  The year 2342, Deep Space in the Milky Way galaxy

  I’d have left without a fuss. No mess. But the guard’s eyes, trained on mine, say otherwise. There’s recognition there too—he knows who I am, and my capture could mean a large bonus in his future. Honestly, I prefer not to get into skirmishes when I’m stealing tech. There’s too much risk for damaged merchandise. But if he insists—

  As the guard triggers the alarm, I duck into a holding compartment close to some private ship docks, heart pounding. Swiping at a stray sapphire hair on my forehead, I contemplate my next move. I’m not going to reveal my hiding spot, at least not until I count how many guards are waiting for me. If it’s more than five, I’ll need a new plan.

  The massive trade freighter is an organized labyrinth of holding compartments, heavily guarded and coveted tech vaults, and spaceship docking bays, both commercial and private. Freighters, like this one, can be a thief’s dream come true. The tech vaults are my favorite to loot—tough to break into but the merchandise travels well.

  I flex my artificial-skinned arm, an excellent purchase from Arta-Limbs. Although a considerable hit to my credit account, having an arm is preferable for someone in my line of work.

  “Come out where we can see you, girl. Return what you’ve stolen, and we won’t hurt you,” a male voice echoes down the long passageway in the compartment. “I promise.”

  I stifle the urge to laugh. These thugs don’t stand a chance. With my academy training and cold heart, I made it to the top of the most wanted list in only two years, the youngest too. Quietly, I adjust my amplification earpiece and activate a reflecting hologram I’d mounted across the passage before I ducked behind some pallets. The hologram reveals three freighter guards chatting, no doubt discussing their plan of attack. I growl and bite down hard on my bottom lip when I hear their licentious ideas for after my capture.

  Disgusting assholes. I tighten my belt, making sure my newly acquired merchandise is secure. There’s no way I’m giving up even one of my expensive holograms. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, after all.

  A second guard bellows back to my hiding spot, “Maybe we can make a deal. How about you come out and we can—”

  Before he can finish, I rush them, my plasma pistol set to level two damage—it won’t kill, but it’ll leave a mark. I tag the first guard right between the eyes, dropping him like the sack of shit he is. I use the other two guards’ shock at their fallen comrade to my advantage. I speed toward them as fast as my legs will carry me. Before I reach guard number two, whose arms are outstretched to grab me, I slide feet first, flattening my back on the floor to glide through his open legs, and come to a halt under guard number three. The extra thousand credits spent for the glazing on my battle suit was well worth it. With a tap of the fingerprint sensor on my thigh, I expose the neurotoxic barb on my boot and aim up into his crotch.

  He yelps in pain as the toxins spread like a tidal wave through his body.

  Two down, one to go. I jump to my feet in one swift motion as he drops to the ground and turn to face the remaining guard, crouching low, all my senses focused, ready to pounce.

  He whips around to face me, and his bloodshot eyes tell me he’s on some type of Xodin. “You’re dead, girl.”

  I gag as his drug-laden breath reaches my nostrils. “Show me what you got.”

  He swings a clumsy, meaty fist at my face. I dodge left and spring on top of him like a wildcat, my feet landing on his back as my hands find his thick throat. My bionic grip closes off his airway as he struggles, prying clumsily at my hands. He falls to the floor, his lips emitting a final gurgle before he loses consciousness.

  I release him and stand.

  Not bad. I exhale and scan my handiwork. This lot won’t be coming after me for quite some time.

  I open the door and peek down both corridors. Coast is clear for now. There are launch bays on both sides of this part of the freighter. There should be plenty of options for my getaway ship. I choose the first one on my right and bypass the lock with a hacking device. Inside the hangar, I inhale sharply.

  She’s a beaut. I’ve always had a fondness for foreign ships, and Geldak workmanship is top-notch. Geldakis are, by nature, a loud and obnoxious species with little to no social skills. But they sure as hell can slap together an exquisite ship. I run my fingers across the hull, feeling the smooth weight of her. Tingles, like from a lover’s touch, run up my human arm. She’s a personal traveler, probably an eight-passenger model, classic style, sleek, silver and white, with two plasma guns and torpedoes for protection. I didn’t think they made this model anymore. Glancing underneath her, she’s been retrofitted with a large energy core perfect for distance.

  The worlds have changed since my Earthling ancestors first discovered the ability to use space travel, jumping from system to system and using wormholes to travel to the far reaches of the galaxy. I hate wormholes. I use them when I have to. I don’t know what it is about those folded-up passages of space and time, but they make me puke my guts out every…single…time.

  My heart flutters at how beautiful the ship is. What I wouldn’t do to call her mine.

  Well, for now, at least, she will be. I approach the door and find the entry panel. Once I’ve subverted the system, I release the ramp, gaining access to the ship. I take one last look around the hangar and creep onboard.

  The cockpit is to the right. I slide into one of the pilot’s chairs to power her up. The sooner I get out of here, the better chance I have at being forgotten. I link up to the bay door controls and watch them slide open as I strap in.

  “Destination?” asks a distinctly female computer voice coming from the console.

  I tap the coordinates to the Alpha Centauri system into the input terminal.

  “Autopilot?” the computer asks.

  “No, I’ve got this.” I place my hands on the controls and guide the ship out. I relax into her, flying at a measured pace so as to not draw any more attention from the freighter. With one eye on the radar for pursuers, I make my way into deep space. Once I get a good dista
nce away from the freighter to make a jump, I’ll be in the clear.

  “Coming up on hyper-jump clearance,” the computer says.

  “Countdown on five,” I reply.

  “Five, four, three, two, one. You’re clear for hyperspace.”

  You don’t have to tell me twice. I thrust the lever forward as soon as the gauge turns from red to green. Stars flash before my eyes as the ship, with little hesitation, transitions to hyperspace. Wow, her energy core is sick—so smooth.

  I take a deep, cleansing breath as my skin prickles from the adrenaline-induced euphoria that always follows one of my risky yet successful freighter runs. “Computer, take control, I’m setting coordinates for Aquarius on Cadmar.”

  “Coordinates accepted. Speed?” she asks.

  “There’s no rush. After we exit hyperspace, let’s cruise at minimal velocity.”

  “Confirmed. Arrival time two hours, thirty-eight minutes, forty-five seconds.”

  “Computer, what are you called?”

  “I am the Spacecraft Navigation and Defense System for this ship.”

  “Sweet. I’ll call you SANDY. What are your captain requirements?” I ask, hoping there’s no security code assigned from the previous owner. Hacking a door is much easier than hacking a ship.

  “No current captain. Handprint identification required.” A screen with amber lights in the shape of a handprint illuminates on the panel.

  I press my hand to the screen.

  “Handprint identification searching… Handprint identification found. Raven Nevar, Planet Zeta. Handprint accepted.” The amber print turns green, and I remove my hand from the screen. “Captain Raven Nevar, would you like to enter a security code?”

  If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that security codes of all types are not my friend. It’s like leaving a fingerprint behind. Also not necessary since I won’t hang onto her longer than my first stop. I sigh with longing. She’s an incredible ship, and I can’t keep her. Just like everything else in my life, she’s got to go. “No. Is this ship equipped with a shower?”

  “Affirmative. The ship is fully furnished for all human grooming needs.”

  “Thanks, SANDY.”

  I unbuckle and head back to the living quarters. How strange, I think, as I make my way through the ship. The inside is plain, and evidence of a previous owner are all but non-existent. Seriously? Who wouldn’t take pride in a ship like this? Not a single adornment on the walls or anywhere else for that matter. She’s a blank slate, and I haven’t had a home in a long time. Knock it off. Keep moving. The living quarters consist of two bunks on either side of the ship, two adjacent metal chairs facing the front of the ship, and four smaller metal chairs arranged around a white table, simple in design with no cushions. Well, I guess comfortability is overrated. But why would the owner fit her with a high-power energy core?

  I dismiss the odd thought, needing a shower desperately. Besides, I’ll have her sold in less than six hours.

  There’s a door at the back of the ship. I step through into a small compartment, clearly the bathroom. Well, at least everything I need to get cleaned up seems to be in order. The ship also has a clothes cleaning compartment. Perfect. The first thing to come off is the pistol strapped to my left thigh, for easy access. Some say a lefty has a quicker draw. I tend to agree. Next, my battle boots, buckled up to my knees with titanium plates in front and back for protection. I used the poison barb on the right, so it’ll need to be cleaned and reset. Next, I take off my amplifying earpiece, which allows me to hear even the tiniest whisper a hundred feet away. Finally, I peel my sticky battle suit from my slick skin.

  Battlesuits are extremely personal purchases. I’ve been through three suits in the past year alone, but I think I’ve found the right combination of protection, mobility, and weaponry. It serves me well—skin tight for high agility, a modicum of armor, able to withstand extreme amounts of both heat and cold, the ability to slide on smooth surfaces, and black, my favorite color. But, starfire, it can be hot.

  I glance in the mirror briefly to see what the damage is. I’ve been without a shower for some time. My neck and face are smudged with dust mixed with sweat. Out of the corner of my eye I see something move, bringing my thoughts back to the present in a ship that isn’t my own.

  Someone is in here with me.

  The noise is coming from the shower stall. I grab my pistol from its holster and press my back to the side of the shower. I reach for the door panel and press it, exposing the unwanted party, my gun trained on him.

  Inside is a young boy with silver hair, wearing a brown tunic and tan pants tucked into leather boots. He’s crouching down holding—no, hiding—something in his hands. He can’t be more than twelve human years to my eighteen. He’s about the same age as… I inhale sharply, pushing the thought from my mind.

  I lower my pistol. “Why don’t you come out from there and show me what you’re hiding?”

  The boy looks up to meet my gaze, revealing tear-filled, silver irises.

  Oh no. The boy reminds me of my brother, Bren. A memory creeps its way back to the present like a spider. I squash it. Not now. Instead, I recall a picture from my early years at school—an old man with silver eyes from a cultures and races textbook. That explains the simplicity of the ship. He’s from Mythos, one of the most secluded planets in the galaxy. The people are solitary and not known to ever leave their system. The red dwarf star that provides Mythos heat causes a strange reaction to its inhabitants—a dramatic pigment change in hair and eyes and some say blindness.

  Just great. I’ve stolen a Mythosian ship, and I’ve kidnapped one of their kids.

  “Are you going to hurt me?” the boy whispers, his shoulders trembling.

  I narrow my eyes at him, annoyed by the slight twinge in my chest. “That depends. What the hell are you doing on my ship?”

  “Your ship?” he asks.

  “Yeah, my ship.” I raise the gun again.

  “Please…” he stammers, lowering his gaze back to the floor and raising a hand in surrender.

  I sigh and put my gun down by the sink. So dramatic.

  “No, kid, I’m not going to hurt you.” It’s the truth too. I may be a lot of things, but I’m no monster.

  The young boy slowly rises. His silvery-white hair tufts up unnaturally as if cut recently. I purse my lips at him. He’s going to be a problem. His people are probably searching for him right now.

  “You’re…um,” he starts, eyebrows raised, “bare.” His silvery eyes dart from mine to the floor of the shower stall and then back up again.

  “You can see?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Huh. I guess the whole blindness thing is just a galactic legend. I glance down. Yep, I’m full on naked. Nips, bits, and all.

  “Do you stay naked all the time or do you wear clothes?” His expression is both curious and slightly hopeful.

  Not so fast, buddy. I grab a towel from a hook to cover myself, keeping my pistol still within reach. “Just so you know, in this part of the galaxy, no one cares who’s looking under whose hood. If you catch my drift,” I say with a wink.

  The boy beams up at me. It’s an honest, toothy grin. “Well, then, I like what’s under your hood.”

  My cheeks flush, and I can’t help but laugh, something I haven’t done in a long time. It takes me by surprise—an unusual reprieve from my normal rotten attitude. “Cool your jets, kid.”

  His shoulders relax as he bows, saying the last thing I’d expect, “You’re my savior.”

  Who? Me?

  2

  Emery D’Grath

  The last time I heard the word savior was in a cultural history book about Earth.

  “Isn’t that a little dramatic? Howzit I’m your savior?” I narrow my eyes and trash the warm fuzzies. This kid is trouble.

  The boy takes a step forward, a glimmer of excitement in his silvery eyes. “You’re Zetian.”

  My slang has given me away. “Yeah, so?
”

  The boy looks thoughtful and reveals a bright, glowing, silver sphere—what he was hiding behind his back. It’s about the size of a Zetian cordoball, can’t be more than eight or nine centimeters across, and rests comfortably in his tan, gloved hand. It seems to whirl excitedly.

  “Do you know what this is?” he asks.

  Um, no, but I bet it’s worth a shit ton of credits. My left hand twitches as I lick my lips. I could be set for life if I sold something like that. I could retire at the ripe old age of eighteen, the youngest retiree from Rourke, my industrial city in the western hemisphere on Zeta. I clench my fists, controlling the desire to knock the boy out and grab the glowing sphere.

  “No” is all I can manage to squeak out of my now-dry mouth.

  “It’s a rare artifact from my planet. My people’s purpose is to guard the sphere so it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.” He eyes my clenched fists. “No one knows where it came from, but some of the clerics believed it was forged when a sun exploded in another galaxy.” His eyes widen. “Amazing, right?”

  Whatever. Who cares where it’s from?

  “So you’re a Mythosian. What are you doing on a trade freighter in the Fornax system?” I’ll admit I’m curious. Fornax is a trading center, built up for large-scale commercial companies of weapons and high-tech commodities. Or for people like me, who steal said valuable high tech items and then sell them to the highest bidder.