Zero Hour (Starmen (Space Opera Series) Book 3)

by J. M. Hagan

  As a race, the ishar were interesting to observe, even the ugly ones. This one was bald, and the ridged bones that travelled up his cranium were laced with thick, strong veins. Their skin had a dim cerulean-grey pigmentation.

  A million years or so ago, the ishar had been aquatic. However, when a meteor struck their home planet, changing the entire world from within, the oceans were lost in the mountains that formed.

  Amazingly, the ishar adapted to life on the surface. They lived in small pockets of water, lakes, and rivers that came after the calamity. Starvation brought them further and further away from the waters, and they fed on land animals for the first time several generations later.

  Now, their eyes appeared human, as did their teeth. While the neck gills of their ancestors had shrunk to a fraction of the size. Still enough to allow them to survive submerged for hours, days even, before the oxygen in their blood became too thin to sustain their bodily functions.

  The ishar waved him, and Vorjool got out of his comfortable chair to follow. He led him down the corridor and into the open office of Aria Garret.

  The museums, the archaeologists, they would have shunned him, labelled him a hack. What he was after, the truth about the race that had built the gateways, would shake the foundations of the historical community at large.

  People stopped asking who built the gateways a long time ago. It seemed the Federation were happy to keep the populace in a state of ignorance about the whole thing. Nobody felt the need to question it anymore. And the few who did were often labelled as hacks when they offered theories.

  He knew he would be greeted with open hostility when he made his claims, so he hadn’t approached real academics who might have funded his journey.

  Aria, however, was interested in one thing. And she would get a lot of it in return for her investment.

  “Been a long, long time,” she said, as he walked in. Aria slumped in her high leather chair with twelve fingers locked together on her chest. “Where you been, Vorjool?”

  “Working for Bright-Star.”

  “You haven’t aged a day.”

  “Spent a lot of time in hypersleep,” he said.

  She motioned with her head at the chair in front of her. “Sit,” she said.

  Unlike the guard, her face looked as though it may have once been beautiful. Forty years, give or take a few, since they last saw one another, and she hadn’t aged a day either. As an ishar, her lifespan was enormous compared to most other races. He found himself wondering how long his body would endure the stresses of time.

  Her sternness had caused deep wrinkles on her forehead, and her eyes were large with warning. He sat on the edge of his seat, checking the guard’s position; he waited in the corner with his bulky, muscular arms folded.

  “You took off,” she said. “For a while…I was worried you’d run to the cops.”

  Vorjool’s eyes widened sharply. “That would never happen.”

  “Well, it hasn’t happened yet. Or has it?”

  The guard approached, giving him a dangerous look. “He’s clean,” he told her. “No bugs.”

  Aria’s gaze slid back to Vorjool. “Riven – he’s an old friend. Don’t worry. I was just joking. Wasn’t I, Vorjool?”

  He nodded, not daring to blink. “The past is buried. Like it has been for years.”

  “Good,” she said. And he knew, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he had too much to lose in going to the authorities that she wouldn’t have been willing to take the chance. “So, why are you here? You look a little nervous…”

  “I don’t get nervous,” he told her, maintaining a steely glare. “I’m here to tell you about something that will be very profitable. I made a significant discovery on an uncharted world.”

  Her eyes thinned. A little smile grew on her lips. “What do you mean significant?” she asked.

  Vorjool went on to tell her about the beacon which linked to his mind. He told her it had been created by his ancestors. In doing so, he knew she would want him to go along. For all they knew, his genetic code could become vital when exploring the facility. Otherwise, she might have taken this information and buried him.

  When he explained the corporation had wiped him clean, his motives were sufficiently clear to her. That helped him sway her further.

  “What did the beacon show you?” Aria asked, enraptured. “Tell me everything.”

  Vorjool, who was sharing a drink with the notorious criminal, said, “It showed me the location of a base. What kind of base? I’m not sure. But I brought along a little something to peak your interest.”

  He reached into his pocket and extracted his PDP. Vorjool opened the scans of the transport ship’s TDS. Without its incredible reach, his return journey would have taken him years. Aria sat forward, greed gleaming in her eyes as she studied the hologram.

  “The discovery of this ship is proof enough – there was another race out there, in a time long lost. What I found was merely an outpost,” he told her, his voice rising with excitement. “The scans showed a much larger complex.”

  Aria grinned, examining him keenly. “Let me ask you something…what do you expect to get out of all this?”

  “I just want to learn something about my past…and earn some credits.”

  Aria sat back, her suspicion wavered. “Fair enough. Seventy, thirty. I’ll be supplying you with him, after all. His cut is ten percent.”

  Vorjool’s eyes thinned. “Who are you talking about?”

  “A Starman,” she replied, and at once he knew this Starman was being sent along to keep tabs on them and protect her investment. “His name is Kal Lojac. He deals with this kind of thing regularly.”

  “Very well.” She expects me to haggle. “But let’s make it sixty-forty.” Vorjool raised a hand before she could protest. “And I let you examine the TDS on my ship when I get back. Research like that is bound to be worth something.”

  “Who’s to say we won’t find more ships there?” she said, grinning. “You let my guys take a look at it right now, today, and I’ll have your team ready to go by the end of the week.”

  Vorjool smirked. “Very well. I accept.”

  4

  When Vorjool first met Kal, the Starman who would be coming along with them on their journey, he was glad to find out that he wouldn’t be travelling on the same ship as he and Gwen.

  Dark Fang – Kal’s ship – was sufficiently armed to protect them against any pirates they might encounter in the vast expanse of Fringe-Space, far away from Rovian protection.

  Along the way, they heard about the Battle for Maji-Onda station. Vorjool had been just as shocked as anyone else to hear the Overseers had survived the Great War. But they were truly gone now, it seemed. He read an article about the massacre at Starmen HQ that took place just before the arrival of the dreadnought. The reporter had interviewed a Plysarian woman named Siena Jin-Cora who gave a detailed account. It made for some fascinating reading and alleviated his boredom for a time.

  The journey had taken several weeks. When they finally arrived in the system where the planet was located, Vorjool felt pinpricks all over. He looked to Gwen when they dropped out of sub-space with a blinding light.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  Vorjool nodded with an eager grin. “I think so.”

  A transmission was received from Kal when he dropped out alongside them. “There it is,” he sighed. “This damn trip better be worth it.”

  “It will be,” he assured him, believing it.

  The Starman had moaned often throughout their trip. Vorjool would’ve ignored his hails at times, were it not for his better judgement. He didn’t come across as the friendliest chap, and he was carrying all the guns.

  He had voiced his concerns regarding the Starman several times since they set out. Gwen told him not to worry. But he knew better than to trust Aria, or anyone who worked for her.

  *

  They landed at the exact coordinates he had received from the beacon.
However, when they scanned the surface of the sandy planet the results came up empty.

  Right away, he saw Gwen’s face drop. “Scan again,” she pleaded.

  Vorjool, with evident worry, restarted the scanning process.

  “I’m not seeing anything,” moaned Kal, over the com.

  “Neither are we,” replied Gwen. “We’re scanning again.”

  As he waited on the scans, Vorjool decided to try and find it himself. He checked the topography of the area on the map the computer had charted while they had been approaching. It was a mountainous region, although he discovered something that stood out – a cave opening.

  “Scan came up empty again,” Gwen relayed to him, as he studied the screen.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I think I’ve found something. See this cave?”

  Gwen had a look. “It could be underground?”

  “Yes. If the facility still has power, perhaps, it is shielded against external scans.”

  “Seems reasonable. It is a hidden base, after all,” said Gwen, with hope.

  They informed Kal. Then they got suited up and went out to the harsh surface to explore. Kal, who had landed fifty feet away, came over with his suit on, wearing a backpack and carrying a short barrelled shotgun. He was much taller than Vorjool. Roughly forty, with a gruff beard, long blonde hair and a deep scar etched in his chin.

  They proceeded to the cave entrance with the wind blasting dust at their visors. Kal, a few feet ahead of them, was hard to make out. Vorjool kept Gwen right at his shoulder, checked on her every few steps to make sure she was safe until they made it to the cave.

  There was a long winding tunnel ahead with sharp crags. But they immediately realised that the clear line in the centre could have served as a road for land vehicles.

  Torch light from their visors brightened the way through the dark cavern that went down deep into the world. They followed the winding path down until they saw a large metal doorway big enough to fit a truck through. Outside, there were three land vehicles parked.

  “This is definitely a good sign,” said Gwen.

  Kal approached the vehicles and examined them. “Definitely,” he muttered. “Never seen cars like this. You notice something about them?”

  Vorjool examined the design, the angles of the doors and windows – they were similar to the style of their ship. “Style is familiar,” said Vorjool.

  “I hope we’ve hit the jackpot,” said Kal. “Let’s get this door open.”

  There was a touchscreen next to it covered by a dusty plastic lid. Vorjool flipped it away. Then he pressed the screen and waited. A few seconds later, it lit up with symbols and he smiled. “Still has power.” He knew one of the symbols from his ship. It was the same symbol used to open the hatch. Vorjool pressed it and a heavy sound of release followed. Vapours sprayed and air hissed from the opening slit in the centre. When the doors opened all the way, dim lighting came on inside.

  He advanced, wordless, hearing their feet behind him. There were more vehicles parked inside. There were boxes and crates and machinery lining the back wall of the wide open floor. Up above was what looked to be a control tower that overlooked the entrance.

  “I wonder what this place was,” said Gwen.

  “Could be anything in those crates,” Kal offered.

  Vorjool was much more interested in what lay ahead, though. “We’ll check them later. Let’s keep going,” he said, approaching a normal sized door. He pressed the panel next to it and it opened revealing a small elevator.

  There were many buttons to press, but when he stepped in first, Vorjool saw their lights blink out. All but one. The last button.

  “They went out,” he told the others, when they were in. He tried pressing a few dark buttons. They were unresponsive. Then he pressed the last button and the doors closed.

  “It looks like we can only go to one place,” he said, when they started travelling down.

  “Maybe we can get the power up and running from down there,” said Kal, behind them. “Might be where the generator is located.”

  The doors opened and they were shocked by the room they were presented with. The marble floor was lined with gold. The walls were veined with silver that seemed to be moving and it gave off a white glow. There were podiums with huge vases in glass cases. The artwork was elegant and they were bound to be worth a fortune. To their left and right were doors.

  “How about we split up?” offered Kal, eager to explore. This wasn’t some basement; it was something grander. “You two take the door on the left. I’ll go right.”

  Vorjool found it most agreeable. He liked the idea of exploring with just Gwen. They went to the doorway on the left, and as he passed them Vorjool studied the vases. “This is strange,” said Gwen. “It’s like something in a museum.”

  “Let’s hope I can learn something about my history, then.”

  He approached the panel next to the door and pressed the familiar symbol. When the door opened revealing a dark room, Vorjool felt his chest float. There was a large computer in the back, and there was a body on the ground next to it that had been long dead. He would’ve examined it firstly, were it not for the fascinating object that caught his eyes.

  In the centre of the room, on another podium, was a brightly shinning orb set upon a golden tripod. The orb was still, but the light it gave off was rotating. The closer he got, he realised it contained what looked to be a universe of tiny galaxies.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Gwen fondly.

  He had never wanted to hold something in his hand more in all his life. Vorjool reached out. His finger touched it first. Then his hand formed around it and the orb fit his palm.

  Pain struck between his eyes. Vorjool gave a sharp howl.

  Images burned in his mind.

  “Vorjool!”

  He saw the galaxies. The Gateways. His people, the Rokari…war…death…

  “I have been waiting so long for your arrival.”

  He felt his head fill with knowledge in a blink. It was too much to understand immediately. Quick as it began, the rush ended. He blinked and he was back in the world. Gwen, shaken and alarmed, was holding his shoulders, watching his face contort.

  “I’m okay,” he said, breathless.

  “What happened?!”

  “I saw things,” he said, trying to piece it all together.

  He saw himself in a position of power beyond anything his dreams could hope to muster. Gwen by his side. Together, they would restore balance. They would weed out the corrupt, and give the cosmos back to the people. The Rokari had reigned supreme because they had been strong, but fair. He would restore order to the chaos...

  “I understand what this place is now…it’s the key…to unlocking the cosmos. This is the starstone. An ancient device that can manipulate the gateways. We could do anything, Gwen. We could reshape the galaxies.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Kal.

  Vorjool, with a terrible feeling in his gut, turned to see him with his gun aimed at them.

  “Something that can manipulate the gateways – that is priceless. Aria, will pay me a fortune. Hand it over.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, seeing Gwen pale from the corner of his eye.

  “Seizing an opportunity.” He cocked his weapon. Aimed with conviction. “Hand it over. Or I’ll kill you both and take it.”

  But Vorjool knew, from what he had seen in the beacon, that it would take more than a bullet to put him down. Vorjool made a sharp movement in his direction.

  Gwen, with a shriek, tried to pull him back. Kal – without hesitation – tried to gun him down. The bullet punched through her back and blood sprayed over his face.

  Vorjool looked down into her teary green eyes, wiping the blood off his cheek, crying out with wide eyes. He felt her clutch his arms. She took a pained breath. Her face contorted. She fell back and he swooped down to catch her, dropping the starstone.

  Vorjool was locked in pos
ition. His eyes looking into hers, seeing the life quickly fade away. He had to comfort her. It was the only option, as she trembled fiercely in his grasp.

  The starstone rolled to his feet. Kal bent down and picked it up.

  “Meant to shoot you,” said Kal, his tone verging on sincerity. Then he sighed. “Not that it matters.”

  He shut the vault from the outside. Darkness swallowed her teary eyes. Gwen took a sharp breath. He squeezed her hand. Weeping then himself. Then he heard Kal shoot-out the door panel on the other side. They were trapped.

  “Make it…” she gasped.

  Her hand reached for his cheek. Only a single finger managed to caress him before she choked on her last breath.

  “Gwen…”

  His head dropped. Felt like it could never rise again. And why should it? He was trapped in the dark. Destined to die alone knowing he had been responsible for the death of his own wife he had sworn to protect.

  A faint crackle sounded.

  He ran a hand into her hair and placed his forehead against hers, feeling her warmth one last time. “Gwen…”

  Another crackle. Louder.

  Vorjool rose his head, sniffling, and noticed a faint blue glow coming from the large computer station in the back of the vault.

  A voice spoke to him. The language unknown. The sounds seemed familiar, though. Lost in grief, he rose to his feet and approached, passing by the ancient corpse. He guessed at a glance that these were the bones of an ancestor. Whoever it was speaking, he hoped they might be able to get him out of this trap so that he could hunt down Kal and break his damn neck.

  The voice spoke again, urging him with its tone to come forth. When he stood in the central area, with computer screens lighting up either side of him, Vorjool was baffled. A screech of metal sounded behind him. The whirring that followed got him frosty. He turned in shock, feeling something approach. Too late. Metal hands attached to long metal tubes clasped his wrists. They lifted him into the air.

  “Get off me!” he roared, protesting fiercely.

  The more he struggled, the tighter they gripped. Despite his physical might, he was no match for something mechanised like this.