The Key of Astrea

by Nicholas Marson

  The Key of Astrea

  Nicholas Marson

  Published by Maple and Pine

  Visit our Web Site: www.mapleandpine.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Nicholas Marson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  First Edition

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7334642-1-5

  Printed in the United States of America

  To my wife Natalie Perrin for being my partner in everything, and my daughter River for keeping the child inside me alive.

  Contents

  1. Unity

  2. Cursed

  3. Job Offer

  4. The Wedding

  5. The Fortuna Niche

  6. Locked Terminals

  7. Black Rabbit

  8. Ruins

  9. Astrea

  10. A Disguise in a Friend

  11. Treehouse

  12. Marching Orders

  13. Moonlighter and Tinman

  14. Key Ceremony

  15. Penwales

  16. Waypoint Instruction

  17. Flight of the Pepper

  18. Endeavor

  19. Anchors Aweigh

  20. The White Uniforms

  21. Expedition

  22. First Test

  23. Kata

  24. Locator

  25. Possession

  26. Moon Pool

  27. Second Test

  28. The Pulse

  29. Spelunking

  30. Final Test

  31. Banished

  32. Rescue Mission

  33. Selkan Preparation

  34. Virosuit

  35. Tricaster

  36. Gravity Well

  37. Celestial Strider

  38. Sol Terminal

  39. Doppelgänger

  40. The Cabin

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  Unity

  In the depths of outer space, there was a flash of light as hundreds of ships appeared out of nowhere. Day by day, hour by hour, thousands of people and goods entered the ring-shaped Terminal and traveled across the galaxy in an instant. As the newly arrived spaceships exited the Terminal new ones quickly took their place, huddling together in a ball like a school of fish. Once the ships were all in place, the Terminal glowed an ominous blue, and a thick black mist enveloped them. Then, a mote of perfect black expanded from the center of the Terminal and swallowed the spaceships in an instant. For a moment, nothing existed inside the ring, not even light.

  The Lan system Terminal flashed again, and a new school of ships filled the ring. One of these new arrivals bristled with antennas that broadcast the galactic daily news to the entire system while simultaneously accepting additional information. Among those receiving their dose of gossip and entertainment were over a hundred thousand citizens living aboard the space station that orbited Lan Terminal.

  Lan station was composed of a primary and secondary ring, plus 240 pods mounted on spokes. It was in pod L-137 that a thin man named Hocco glanced nervously at the Terminal through the skylight in. He sat on a couch in a large common room, and two dozen armed members of the rebel group Unity milled about the open space. Some wore old fatigues and sat cleaning their rifles and counting their ammunition. Others were eating breakfast. A pile of pans and dishes sat unwashed on the kitchen counter. At the far end of the common room, more Unity members whooped and cheered as they watched spaceship racing on the vidscreen. They were all here for a common purpose, to protect Hocco—or, more accurately, the secret he carried.

  “You look nervous, Hocco,” said a man with a thick black beard and long gray hair that hung in front of his creased face. “You’re starting to make me nervous, and when I’m nervous, I lose my appetite,” he said before taking another bite of synthetic meat covered in gravy.

  “Sorry, Boros,” Hocco said as he tore his gaze away from the Terminal and wrung his hands. “I’ve got a bad feeling today.”

  “Have something to eat.” Boros pushed a plate across the table toward him. “You’ll feel better, and you need it.”

  Hocco was whip-thin. A result of genetics and a constant state of nervousness due to living in fear over the last few months. His guts clenched at the sight of the synthetic meat. Stop it, Hocco thought. We’ve been here for weeks. If Tyr knew where we were, then they’d have attacked by now. He pulled the plate closer.

  “You know,” Boros said as he sipped from a yellow mug, “you do make a damn fine cup of coffee.”

  When you lived on a space station millions of kilometers from the nearest plantation, your coffee-brewing technique was invaluable. Hocco was the best brewer on Lan station, and had often been called an artisan of the craft.

  “I know how good my coffee is.” Hocco didn’t mean to sound flippant, but his nerves didn’t allow for a sweeter tone. He brushed his long black hair behind one ear and took a sip from his own mug. The warmth settled his stomach but failed to calm him down.

  Boros laughed. “I suppose you do.” He nudged the plate closer. “Eat.”

  Hocco didn’t move.

  A boy who was no more than twenty spoke up. “Is it true what they say about him? About the admiral?”

  “Vae Victus?” Boros chewed the simulated meat. “Depends. What did you hear?”

  “That he has an eye as black as space. That he can take over your body with just a look—”

  Boros interrupted. “That he’s assassinated world leaders by possessing their bodyguards, closest friends, and even their lovers.” He waved his fork at the boy. “I don’t think any of it is true. It’s all a bunch of propaganda meant to keep us in line. All I know for sure is that we’re safe here, and my breakfast is getting cold.”

  At the thought of Admiral Victus, Hocco’s stomach twisted, and he pushed his food away.

  The warship Tamarack arrived at Lan Station in a flash of light. It was a huge ship that stretched across the entire two-kilometer diameter of the Terminal. Accompanying it was a strike group—mostly corvettes and cruisers—that immediately joined in the organized chaos around the station’s docks.

  With so much traffic, nobody noticed a single transport launching from one of the Tamarack’s many hangars as it drifted silently, in the shadow of a cruiser. Admiral Vae Victus sat in the copilot’s seat of the transport.

  A direct message arrived from the Tamarack: “Sir, we’ve located the rebel’s vessel. It is docked outside pod L-145.”

  At once, the transport peeled off from its host and approached the ring-shaped Lan Station. After matching the space station’s orbit, it docked at a maintenance airlock near pod L-145.

  Victus rose from the copilot’s seat. The confined space forced him to bend his two-meter frame in half. He patted the pilot on the back. “Good flying.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Victus brushed his white-blond hair back and pulled on his helmet, trading the recycled air of the ship for the stale air of his suit. He drifted back toward the crew compartment. The ship bucked as docking clamps fastened to the transport, and Victus bumped against the hull. Inside his armored black suit, he barely noticed, and his magnetic boots held him to the ship’s floor in the absence of gravity.r />
  Four armored marines occupied the crew compartment. They stood nearly three meters tall in their hypersuits. Red skulls adorned their black face masks and grinned evilly down at Victus.

  One of the marines stepped forward. “Admiral Victus,” a woman’s voice broadcasted into his helmet. “Sergeant Alberta of Fireteam Draco.”

  “Sergeant.” Victus stood before the fireteam. “We have located the terrorist group. They call themselves Unity,” he said, growling the word. “It is Tyr who put an end to the First Galactic War. We secured peace, and now the galaxy puts its faith in us to keep it.”

  The marines raised their right fists.

  “These terrorists want to undermine that trust and unseat us from our rightful place as Terminal defenders. Will we let them?”

  “No, sir!” The four marines spoke in unison.

  “What are your orders?” Alberta asked.

  “Set your guns to stun. You must capture the rebels alive for me to interrogate. We must discover the location of the escaped Selkans.”

  Alberta turned to her marines. “Draco!”

  “Oorah!” they responded as one and slammed their heavy fists against their broad, armored chests.

  “Lead the way, Sergeant,” Victus said.

  “Yes, sir.” Alberta turned and led them into the airlock.

  Victus shut the airlock door and stood face-to-face with the marines. After the airlock’s red light switched to green, Alberta pressed a button, and the hatch opened with a hiss. The marines rushed out and took up defensive positions in the hallway. Red lights in the ceiling illuminated the metallic alloy of the walls. The system’s star, Lan, was visible as a large, bright dot through a bank of windows. The corridor, which ran the circumference of the station, provided access to the 120 pods on this side. An identical passage on the opposite side of the station connected another 120 pods.

  “Remain on alert,” Alberta said. “With the arrival of the Tamarack, the rebels will be prepared for us.” She pointed to the door on her right. Stenciled numbers indicated pods 140 through 149. “This way.”

  The marines followed the sergeant.

  “Wait.” Victus closed his eyes and held his hand up to his face mask. “We go this way.” He pointed left to pods 130 through 139.

  “Sir, the rebels docked their ship at L-145,” Alberta said.

  “That is a diversion.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can feel it,” Victus said.

  “Based on your Æon senses?”

  “Yes, sergeant.” Victus turned and walked down the left corridor toward pods 130 through 139.

  Alberta paused for a beat before turning to the left. “You heard the admiral. This way,” she commanded.

  The marines followed her without question. Inside their enormous suit, they were forced to duck through the hatch leading to the interior corridor.

  Victus stopped outside pod L-137. “Here.”

  Alberta raised a fist and the team halted. “Sir, if you’re wrong…” she started.

  “I am not wrong.”

  Alberta pointed at one of the marines and gave a hand signal. The marine withdrew a canister from a satchel and traced the seams of the heavy pod door with gel. Within moments, the gel spread into the seams, eating away the hinges and locks that kept it secure. Victus was thankful for his helmet as a heavy cloud of caustic smoke billowed into the hallway.

  Next, Alberta approached the door and dug her fingers into the seams. With a whir of her suit’s motors, she ripped the door off the pod. All at once, the squad activated their shields and formed a wall in front of Victus. One of the marines made a throwing motion, and a flash grenade exploded inside the pod. Then, the marines moved like a serpent through the door, with Alberta as the head.

  Victus watched the chaos from the doorway. The infrared sensors in his face mask marked cool objects in blue, and warm objects—like people—in red. Guns flashed and shields pulsed, all highlighted by the smoke of the grenade. Men and women screamed as suppression rounds shocked their nervous systems. Victus tilted his head to the side, and a ceramic bullet screamed past his helmet and shattered against the wall.

  A thin man with an angular face and long black hair fled from the pod. Victus grabbed him by the neck and held him off the ground with one hand. A handgun clattered to the floor. The man tried to insert something into his mouth. A pill. Victus grabbed his arm and shook the pill loose. He carried the man over the broken door and into the pod.

  The station’s air scrubbers were already dissipating the smoke, revealing a communal living area with two tipped-over couches and a table covered in half-eaten meals. The marines confiscated all the weapons and then lined the men and women against a wall. A score of bodies lay immobile throughout the room.

  Victus ground his teeth. “What happened? Why are there only five left?” Victus stared up at the nearest marine. “I said stun only.”

  “We did, sir, but they took suicide pills before we could stop them.”

  Victus thought about the pill he’d shaken from the man’s hand, then shoved the rebel against the wall with the others. The man dropped to the ground, gasping for air. Victus stepped backward until all the prisoners were visible. Three wore the uniforms of the Balt System; the others were in civilian clothing. Their faces showed fear and panic. Some sobbed, while others bared their teeth.

  Victus needed answers. One by one, he approached each prisoner and asked for the location of the escaped Selkans. Of course, they would all deny knowing the Selkans’ location, but Victus could tell when people were lying.

  As Victus interrogated the prisoners he thought, What if I’m wrong? What if nobody here knows where the Selkans are? He leaned in close to the thin man. Like the others, he’d denied knowing where the escaped aliens were, but when he asked the question, the man’s aura flickered.

  A lie.

  Victus fought against smiling while a thrill shivered through his gut. He pulled the man away from the wall.

  “You are all enemies of Tyr,” he said to the rest of them. “Your cause is not just.” He looked at Alberta. “For the sake of the galaxy, we must protect the secret. Kill them.”

  “No,” the man gasped.

  With a nod, Alberta and the other marines aimed their arm cannons at the prisoners. The pod exploded with gunfire.

  The man shuddered as his comrades were torn to shreds. Tears traced paths down his dusty face. “We will never surrender.” He spat, and a streak of saliva slithered across Victus’s face mask.

  Alberta stepped forward and pressed her arm against the man’s head. A thin line of smoke still trailed from the cannon.

  Trembling, the man dropped to his knees, and wetness spread down his leg. “I will not talk.”

  Victus chuckled, a sound void of amusement. “There is no need.” He nodded to Alberta, who lowered her arm. Victus crouched in front of the prisoner. “You won’t need to tell me anything…Hocco.”

  “How?” Hocco recoiled. “How do you know my name?” He tried to stand up, but Alberta held him in place, like a cat with a mouse under its paw.

  Victus removed his helmet. The acrid smoke of the flash grenade joined with the smell of blood and human waste, and stung his nostrils.

  “It’s true,” Hocco looked up and shuddered. “What they say about you is true.”

  “Excellent, then you know that it is useless to resist me. Tell me where the Selkans are.”

  “Kill me, please.” He grabbed Alberta’s arm and aimed the barrel of her cannon at his head.

  Victus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You helped the Selkans escape, and now I’m going to find out where they are.” He sat down cross-legged in front of the rebel.

  With a deep breath, Victus closed his eyes, and his consciousness manifested into an ethereal form. Strange creatures of shadow teased the edge of his supernal vision. His spirit was as beautiful as the archetypal angel, but invisible to the ordinary human. His power radiated in waves of rainbow light
as he walked through the pool of blood that crept across the floor.

  Then, Victus was staring at his own face from Hocco’s eyes. He saw his own high cheekbones and aquiline nose that emphasized his angular features. Thick, dark eyebrows framed his strange eyes—one crystalline blue on white. The other black on black.

  Victus almost laughed aloud as Hocco’s consciousness attempted to fight back. The other man’s struggling quickly grew tiresome. Victus squashed him like a piece of ripe fruit forcing his spirit out of his body. The ghost appeared in the common room as a dim specter, barely holding human form. Confusion and fear warped the spirit’s face. Without a body, there was nothing to protect him from the dark shapes. They pounced, pulling him into their horde.

  One day, Victus thought, I, too, will sink into that darkness. Then my payment will come due. For now, I have a galaxy to protect. Right after I get a clean pair of pants. Victus tugged at the urine damped cloth.

  “What’s going on?” Alberta whispered as she looked down at Victus’s unresponsive body.

  In Hocco’s body, Victus felt the Sergeant’s restraining arm, like a docking clamp holding him in place. “You can let go now, Alberta.”

  “How—how do you know my name?”

  Victus felt a slight tremble as the sergeant released her grip and stepped back.

  “It’s true,” she said. “You really can possess people.”

  Victus ignored the Sergeant and browsed through Hocco’s memories as if he were reading the morning news. After a minute, he stood up and tugged at his wet pants away from his leg. “The Selkans have fled to Sol.”