Call of Courage: 7 Novels of the Galactic Frontier

by C. Gockel

  “Yes,” she said, unsnapping her thermal boot.

  “And yet you offered me a place with you. On your ship. In your home. When I expressed a desire to leave the planet, to obtain more data, you were very generous, even after the others had become frightened. You persuaded them over their own misgivings.”

  “It had little to do with me. They convinced themselves you would have crashed the Wolfinger if we did not follow your wishes.”

  “Then your trust and friendship mean even more. You could have convinced me to release my hold on the tether or the ship outside. You could have used my departure to bargain for reentry into the ship. But you did not. And again, you might have left me outside when you found a way in. Or trapped in the wall. The radiation levels would have corrupted my systems in a very short time. But you aided me again. You are not like Oxwell and I would mourn the dispersement of your data. Having access to it has been most intriguing. I would— miss you.”

  Rebecca smiled. “I like you too,” she said.

  “Emery are you there?” Liu’s voice was rapid and uneven.

  “I’m here. What’s wrong?”

  “Get your suit back on.”

  “But it’s still recharging—”

  “Then get another one on. Or just an environmental. You don’t need the thermal. Just get something with air in it. And go get the filtration masks from the lab—”

  A shout from Blick made him cut off.

  “Scratch that. Don’t go in the lab. You hear me Emery? Don’t go in the lab and don’t come to the bridge.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Lean her forward Martham, she’s going to— Blick?”

  Issk’ath reached past her and pulled a suit from the rack. “Protect your casing, Emery,” it said.

  She slid it on, still listening.

  “Is that robot with you, Emery?” asked Martham.

  “I am here,” answered Issk’ath.

  “That seedpod, that neurotoxin pod you warned Blick about— what is the antidote?”

  Issk’ath was still, the lights in its chassis winking and darting. “I apologize, Martham,” said Issk’ath, “the antidote may exist, but the colony does not know of one. We did not spend sufficient time above ground to warrant research. I only discovered the seedpod’s properties long after my people were gone.”

  “Soil and Rain! This can’t be it,” Martham’s voice broke and Rebecca suspected she was crying.

  “You were exposed?” she asked, twisting the helmet on.

  “We all were. Oxwell had a pod. She pierced it— I let her pierce it. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. ”

  “It’s okay, Beatrice,” Liu’s voice was barely a whisper over the feed.

  “Help them,” said Rebecca, turning to Issk’ath.

  “There is nothing to be done, Emery. Their casings will break. I cannot stop it.”

  “Then— then gather their data. Help!” She pushed out of the doorway. It pulled her back.

  “You should not enter. I will try to help.” Issk’ath flew down the hall and the bridge door slid open. Rebecca waited. Again, the sound of her own breath was the only sound she could hear.

  “Liu?” she asked. “Martham? Blick?”

  There was no answer. She waited a few long moments and they seemed to stretch, unspool until the shape of time was lost.

  “Issk’ath?”

  Silence was the only response. She glided tentatively forward. “Anybody?” She pushed against the wall, floating toward the bridge door. When it opened, Issk’ath hovered just above the floor, Martham’s skull still impaled by its tarsus. Liu hung nearby, his shoulder brushing the wall and his chin on his chest. There was blood trickling through his hair. Blick and Alice were unmarked.

  “Issk’ath?” she asked. She touched her glove to its chassis.

  “Apologies, Emery,” it said, “Processing.” It fell silent again. She lowered herself down into Liu’s pilot chair and strapped herself in. She took a long look at Alice. But it was Stratton’s voice that echoed in her head.

  “Mostly there’s nothing. Just dark and silence and your own tiny container of people. It’s boring. And sad. After a while, you start thinking, maybe that’s it. That maybe your whole life is just rock and ice and quiet.” She stared at the console. Twenty-five hours. If she could even find the Keseburg in all that emptiness. Her suit had eight. Maybe she could switch suits. Maybe she could purge the bridge, make the ship safe again.

  And then… what? She had no way to contact the Keseburg, no way to correct her flight path, even if she could figure out how. No way to even know if she was about to run into it. Liu had been flying by math and instinct and the tiny range of the Wolfinger’s local feed. There was no way. Unless— She would wait for Issk’ath. It turned to her after a few moments.

  “I am sorry,” it said.

  “You didn’t get them?”

  “I did. They are here.” It touched two new tiny lights that sat beside one another.

  “That is good. Tell them I will bring our people to the planet. I will bring their work home.”

  “You won’t, Emery. It is too late.”

  “What? No, I can figure it out. I’ll activate the radio beacon. Here—” She tapped through Liu’s console, sniffing and trying to concentrate. “There, the Keseburg will find us.”

  “They will. But you will not survive until then. I should have noticed. I am sorry. I turned my chemical sensors off during the fire so they would not overload. I was not scheduled for a process review until a few hours from now. They would not have reset until then unless I’d expressly turned them on again. It is an oversight I will iterate. Perhaps many times. If you had still been in your suit, the toxin would have dissipated within hours to non-lethal levels. But your casing is breaking. Liu showed me the Wolfinger’s air cycling system. Your filters were not fine enough. The neurotoxin entered your lungs approximately thirty seconds after Oxwell burst the pod.”

  “But Blick, Martham— they all died within minutes. I don’t feel anything.”

  “They had a concentrated exposure. The toxin is doing its work in your body, it is just advancing more gradually.”

  Her breath felt painful and she panicked, thinking it had already come. “Is there anything that will relieve your distress? I do not wish to see you suffer,” said Issk’ath.

  She tried to calm herself. “How long?” she managed.

  “Several minutes. Perhaps less.”

  “Will it be painful?” Tears puddled in front of her eyes and made the bridge a kaleidoscope of refracting light. Issk’ath was a dazzling spark of gold.

  “It does not need to be. Share my casing, Emery.”

  “How can I? I convinced you to come with us, to leave your entire world behind. And now I’m leaving you alone, trapped in an endless emptiness. An entire species, the memory of an entire culture set adrift where no one can find it. How can I join you? I’m a traitor. To you, to my people, to my friends—”

  “You iterate because you believe we have lost something. You think space is empty. Dead. Without data. It is only because you cannot see it as I do. My colony was of no use on the planet. If it proves the same here, it is no worse. I have found more data in the past weeks because of you than in hundreds of mating cycles before. Your friendship does not need review. It was not a mistake. Share my casing, Emery. See the universe as I do. You are part of the colony now. Part of my nest. Come home.”

  Its tarsus waved toward her. She hesitated a moment, then slowly twisted off her helmet. Issk’ath pulled the filament feed gently from her neck port. The cool metal of its tarsus drew goosebumps from her skin as it slid by. There was a tingle that sizzled through her and then—

  Issk’ath drifted back to the equipment lock. It picked up a stray Trojan Relay token that had stuck to the door frame with its pincer and twisted it thoughtfully. Emery’s people was its new purpose. A brand new colony to protect. The beacon would draw her colleagues soon. Issk’ath needed to be read
y. It needed to study their customs more thoroughly. Emery would help. It strapped itself in and the lights in its eyes stuttered out. Its chassis was a galaxy of light, shooting and swirling. The Wolfinger was quiet.

  Continue the Series

  Cradle of the Deep, Ex Situ Book 2 is available at your favorite vendor. Click here .

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  Breakers of the Dawn

  Book 1 of the Dawn Saga

  Zachariah Wahrer

  Humanity has fallen from its once majestic place amongst the stars. Desperate for resources to prop up an aging galactic dynasty, humans seize every planet they find, exterminating their alien inhabitants.

  Across the empire, a group of dissidents come together through happenstance. As they learn more, however, they sense a strange force directing their lives. Can they discover the truth before the empire destroys them?Dispatched to subdue an uprising, a government operative unearths an ancient relic. It somehow knows everything about him, even his darkest secrets.

  The strange device promises extraordinary power, but can he trust it?

  The first book in a four part saga, Breakers of the Dawn is epic science fiction, featuring a diverse cast of characters. It’s easy to read, but hard to put down.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank all those that helped me with this book: Shanese Furlow, Megan and Lois Rahal, Frank Frey, Shreve Fellars, Patrick Wahrer, Walter Scott, Helen Brookman, Ron Davis, Ryan Collins, Björn Arnór Sveinbjörnsson, and Ignacio Tripodi. These individuals made great contributions and their help is immensely appreciated. I would like to give a special thanks to Sarah Wahrer: Without your help, love, motivation, and support, this wouldn't have been possible.

  May the fires of the black star be quenched in your life,

  Zachariah Wahrer

  For my dad.

  I only had 3793 standard days, but I appreciate everything you taught me. You live on in my memory.

  Prologue

  “Chase the sun as hard as you can, but remember it will always rise behind you.”

  - Dygar Proverb

  “Chaos, that need deep inside.

  The end is here, you can't hide.

  Ascension, where I'm going.

  Blood is coming, deep and flowing.”

  - Lyric excerpt from “Ascension” by The Black Fire

  “Violence is despicable, except when your enemy is despicably violent.”

  - Alnos Azak-so

  01 - Felar

  Felar loved the feeling of fitting a rail weapon stock snugly against her shoulder. It was unlike anything else in the world. The joy and elation was just as strong now as when she’d first picked up the weapon, even after weeks of monotonous training drills.

  “For as long as I can remember,” she told the group of Initiates, “I've wanted to wield this weapon as a Founder's Commando. While growing up on the underworld of Qi-3, I devoured the histories and legends of that elite group of warriors. My parents were poor, barely providing food for our large family. This made me tougher, and when we had to go hungry in Dog School, it was just like old times.” Felar scrutinized the Initiates carefully, noting their awestruck expressions.

  “When I was old enough and had studied FC training protocols, I tried to replicate them on my own, training my body to be strong and resilient. I fought the local toughs to gain combat experience. My defeats helped me learn more than my victories ever would, just as yours will. Then, on the day I turned 19, I joined the Ashamine Forces. I was exemplary in my Initiate class and was sent up to the FC qualification course. I passed and was given the option to continue to full FC training, known as Dog School.

  “Becoming a Commando requires extreme determination, especially for a woman. The selection process is stringent and the number of Dogs passing each successive portion of the course dwindles rapidly. The washout rate is high. Of my starting class of 192, only 54 successfully graduated and earned the right to be called a Founder's Commando.” Felar eyed each Initiate in succession, wondering if any of them had what it took.

  “For now, focus on getting through Init training, but keep the Commandos in the back of your mind. Some of you might just be good enough to make it to FC Qualification.”

  Felar pushed all thoughts from consciousness and looked through the scope, centering on one of the downrange targets. She triggered the weapon and a tungsten alloy projectile blew a ragged hole through the target precisely where she’d aimed. Deftly moving the rifle to the left, Felar focused and fired on the next target instantly. The results were the same. She repeated the procedure until she’d hit every target.

  “Shooting like this requires dedication and focus. Practice is key. You will now break into squads and your instructors will demonstrate technique and safety. If you have any inclination towards joining the FCs, make sure you are in the top two percent of your class for marksmanship. Give up hope if you are anything less.”

  The Initiates saluted Felar, then their instructors started barking orders. Her demonstration was over. Hopefully some of these fresh-faced Inits will have what it takes to become a Commando. If not, we always need front liners.

  Felar left the shooting-range, moving towards one of the many indoor training facilities. It was a large, hangar-like structure that had been constructed many years ago during the beginning of the Ashamine expansion. She had a few more demos to give before combat maneuvers started in the afternoon.

  Entering through a small door, Felar breathed the reassuring smell of sweat and physical toil. Row upon row of new recruits were going through their daily conditioning. She reflected back on her own time in training, not long past. The commanders had pushed them to—and in some cases beyond—the breaking point. Remembering a few of her classmates that died in training saddened Felar, but the camaraderie between those that survived made her smile. All my hard work paid off in the end, she thought, and now I'm actually one of the Founder's Commandos. She could hardly believe it, even though her black camo fatigues and crimson beret proclaimed it to anyone. A burst of pride welled up as she observed several new recruits take note of her passage.

  “3rd Class Enlightened,” a voice hailed, “May we have a moment of your time?” She turned towards the voice and saw Initiate Trainer Harmoth and his flock of trainees. They stood by one of the facility's many combat rings, obviously in the middle of a sparring session. The rings were large circles drawn on the dull gray cement, their purpose solely for teaching unarmed combat.

  She could feel animosity radiating towards her as she approached the group. Harmoth had been in Felar’s class in Dog School. During their time together, he’d been antagonistic towards all the females in the group, reserving a particular hatred for Felar. He had been fond of saying the women in the class were good for only one thing, and it wasn't combat. When those same women scored higher than Harmoth, he’d raised allegations of them giving sexual favors in turn for high scores. The fact he had been cut from Dog School, while all those women graduated, had likely made him even more salty.

  She stopped in front of Harmoth, close enough to hear him over the racket, but far enough away to be respectful. She waited for a salute, his requirement as a junior officer, but all she received was a condescending smirk. None of his trainees saluted either.

  Their lack of respect disgusted and enraged her. It wasn't just a formality, but an honored tradition. She was an officer and a Commando. She deserved respect from this subordinate and his underlings. Felar felt her anger start to boil, just as it had every other time she’d been confronted with this situation. I will teach them respect and prove I earned this crimson beret.

  “Look at that rack!” she heard, followed by low laughter. More remarks about her appearance were announced, brazen and obvious.

  How dare they! she thought, anger metastasizing into fury. Stifled laughter and smirks made Felar realize she was showing her emotion. A
scream of rage resounded through her mind, then the declaration: I'll beat down every single one of them if that's what it takes. I'll rip off their arms and gouge out their eyes. I'll break every bone in their bodies. At this point, Harmoth broke into her thoughts.

  “Enlightened Haltro,” he jeered, “I was wondering if you could show these soldiers a thing or two, since you are a Founder's Commando. Your physical prowess is known to many,” he continued. “I thought you could demonstrate to these recruits how you do it.” He raised his eyebrows and licked his lips.

  “As you wish,” she growled, managing to cease grinding her teeth long enough to get the words out. Felar could feel the need to prove herself propelling her into a situation she should avoid. Taking off her tactical combat belt—a few whistles and lewd comments greeted this action—she moved to the center of the circle. As she moved, she emptied her mind, going into the trance-like state the FCs were trained to adopt before combat. She breathed deeply, embracing the uncertainty of battle.

  “You don't mind if I pick your partner, do you?” Harmoth's voice grated against Felar's void state, condescension infusing every word.

  Her response was almost inaudible, “Your choice, IT Harmoth.” Harmoth shouted to his group of trainees, ordering them to form up. Moving along the line of twenty men, he selected the largest and most imposing.

  “This is Initiate Alexhion, my top trainee. I've drilled him personally. He has sparred against, and beaten, every opponent in this group.” As Harmoth spoke, Alexhion moved to his side of the ring.