Renegade Patriot
Page 1
Contents
Dedication
Legal
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
Keep in Touch with Oscar
Social Links
DEDICATION
To those who dream about life beyond the stars…
— Oscar
RENEGADE PATRIOT
Empire Rising - Volume 1
Beta and JIT Readers
Robert Gould
Raine Ward
Diane L. Smith
Robert Brooks
Kimberley Beaulieu
Jackey Hankard-Brodie
Mary Morris
Kris Prendergast
If I missed anyone, please let me know!
Renegade Patriot (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
This book Copyright © 2019 Oscar Andrews
Cover copyright © Oscar Andrews
Oscar Andrews supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact oscar@oscarandrewsauthor.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
First US edition, 2019
Version 1.01.01
Empire Rising (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2019 by Oscar Andrews.
CHAPTER ONE
Flight Sergeant Zahra Hidalgo gazed out onto the operations deck of the New Atlantia Federation building. The huge windows in the background flooded the enormous hub of activity with natural light, tinting everything with shades of red. Even though the color was perfectly normal to a native like Zahra, it still accentuated the tension on the faces of her colleagues. New Atlantia might soon be at war.
Kepler-186 burned much cooler than Sol, giving the light its red color. The brightest day on New Atlantia was only ever as bright as an hour before sunset on T3. Or so she was told. She’d never actually visited T3, being a third generation New Atlantian. T3, the cradle of human life, the birthplace of civilization, was everything a colony like New Atlantia hoped someday to become. Or at least that’s how a lot of people seemed to think. To Zahra, it all just seemed so far removed from the reality she dealt with daily.
She’d also never been on a planet that wasn’t tidally locked with its star. New Atlantia wasn’t unique in its lack of day and night. The same side always facing the sun made up for the lack of luminosity needed to grow crops. This was how they were able to survive here. It also meant that sleeping was routine, and shift work straightforward, since everyone only existed in the daylight. The white lamps they used indoors more than compensated for the lack of stimulation that the natural light on T3 would have given their retinas for hormonal balance, and sleep-wake cycles.
A tassel of hair fell in front of Zahra’s face. She pulled it back behind her ear and refocused her attention on the report she was about to give. Her stomach tightened On any other day, the Federation building on New Atlantia would have buzzed with quiet and purposeful activity, just like any other Federation building in the galaxy.
Not today.
Today, they faced the unimaginable prospect of attack, and despite their warrior society and extensive training, there wasn’t a soul on the deck that wasn’t terrified. The tribal skirmishes they were familiar with had not prepared them for the prospect of attack from space.
Hidalgo had other reasons for being afraid, too. Reasons she didn’t dare admit to Captain Eryn O’Shea.
She checked the holo report on her personal device. The Drewdonian ship was on its way. After months of transmissions and arguments, months of discord, long hours and sleepless nights assisting the captain, trying to broker an agreement with the High Consulate at Drewdonia that would avoid a war, the inevitable couldn’t be delayed any longer.
Now the Drewdonians were heading for New Atlantia… and it wasn’t going to be good.
“Sir, the reports are confirmed,” Zahra announced, striding into the captain’s private office, just off the main operations room. ‘Sir’ was a standard method of address, regardless of gender.
Captain O’Shea was working at her desk. The office, which was relatively peaceful, was sealed off from the rest of the observation deck.. Hidalgo knew that as soon as she stepped back outside that door she would be surrounded by the tension, the subliminal hum of nerves teetering on the edge of panic. She could smell the fear amongst her comrades, and nothing she could do or say at this stage would help them come to terms with the reality they faced.
“How long?” O’Shea asked.
“Days,” Hidalgo answered, “Our intel on their ships is sketchy. By rights, they shouldn’t have weaponized ships, but…” Her voice trailed off, uncertain how much to say at this stage.
O’Shea looked up at her, expecting a full report.
Hidalgo continued, “Well, it seems that they petitioned to have blasters fitted on their ships not long after the colony was populated. Something about having the rights to defend against meteorites and space garbage. Guess that wasn’t all they wanted to defend themselves against.” She shifted her weight awkwardly. “No one expected them to mount an assault so soon in their development. These are essentially just farmers,” she qualified.
It was true. Drewdonia was still only a first-generation colony, and with virtually all available resources devoted to farming or terraforming their society could only be relatively primitive by Federation standards. By contrast, New Atlantia had had 300 years to develop, and should never have had anything to fear from an upstart colony like Drewdonia.
“Essentially just farmers?” O’Shea retorted, resting her elbows on the desk, and dropping her head into her hands, “You mean farmers with guns, and the means to cause a significant amount of damage to our civilization.”
“Yes, sir.” Hidalgo’s voice had softened, recognizing that O’Shea had been worn down just as much as she had at this point.
Hidalgo concluded that it was best to just deal in the facts right now. Her captain was one of the best: a blue flamer, as they were known at the Academy. And yet, something about this seemed to affect her. She couldn’t figure out if it was a result of the conflict itself or whether it was because this was for real now, and not a simulation. Either way, Hidalgo got the feeling she was missing something.
She hesitated, wondering if she should mention something, then quickly decided against it. Later, she decided.
>
As she turned to leave, O’Shea called after her.
“Zahra…”
Hidalgo stopped sharply and turned to look at her captain again.
“You’ve been on this all along. Do you think war could have been avoided?” O’Shea looked drained. Zahra guessed she was asking as a friend and not just as her commanding officer. It had been some time since they’d spoken that way with each other. Zahra missed that closeness, but she would have to use it to her advantage if she didn’t want the captain to find out the truth.
She moved toward the big oaklon desk, resting the tips of her fingers on it as if trying to pacify her friend through the wood.
“I think it was a possibility all along,” she began slowly, “But we couldn’t give them what they were asking for, and we didn’t think they had the resources to escalate the conflict. We made a judgment call. We involved the Federation. We did everything by the book…and that’s all we can do.”
O’Shea’s gaze seemed distant, as though she were looking right through Zahra. The Federation was investigating the situation now. If they found anything improper in the communications logs in the run up to this conflict both their careers would be terminated.
“No one is blaming you, Eryn,” continued Zahra, in her most soothing voice, “If anything, this is the fault of Commander-in-Chief Ashworth. If he’d allowed a female to lead his negotiations team instead of Haafiz, we would have had a resolution by now.”
“Would we?” she questioned, listlessly. “As you say, we couldn’t give them what they wanted.” Eryn O’Shea smiled the wry smile she used to reserve for their quiet meetings in her quarters after hours.
Zahra returned the expression. She thought about moving closer for a moment, but suddenly Eryn’s expression turned stone-like and formal. “We need to make sure we’re ready for this threat,” she instructed, indicating that she was back in captain mode. She’d done that a lot since they broke up. Zahra couldn’t help thinking it was intentional, an effort to create more distance between them. What she couldn’t work out was if Xena was rejecting her personally, or whether she eventually did this with everyone.
It wasn’t like she had given her any reason to suspect anything. Still… she couldn’t help wondering if, somehow, she’d found out the very thing she’d been working so hard to keep quiet all these months.
No, she couldn’t possibly…
“Bring on more warriors as needed,” O’Shea concluded, “but this building is going to be their main target. We don’t want to put any lives in danger if it’s not strictly necessary.”
“Yes, sir,” Zahra flicked back in official capacity again too, following Eryn’s lead.
Zahra was the only one who ever called her Eryn. Xena was her official call-sign, and her nickname. That’s what the other female warriors and comrades called her. The men-folk were expected to call her Captain. In a world like T3 where equality ruled, the culture on New Atlantia would seem almost barbaric. However, here on New Atlantia, women dominated, and were automatically bestowed with higher status, abilities and skills that men could never hope to compete with.
Xena was known as a leader in her own tribe, and everything about her was proud and warrior-like, feminine qualities here on New Atlantia. Out there on the plains, she had the reputation of being among the toughest. Here, in the little office off from the operations deck, faced with a diplomatic crisis of epic proportions, she looked more like a guilty teenager facing the prospect of being grounded.
Zahra was the more emotionally robust of the two. She hadn’t been as promising throughout their training at the local branch of the Federation Academy, but what she lacked in leadership skills she made up for in political savvy and persuasion. That was how she had landed this soft job as Xena’s personal assistant.
It's only natural to assume that when Eryn eventually becomes Commander-in-Chief of the Federation on New Atlantia, she will choose Zahra as her second-in-command.
Admittedly, being driven by power and ambition, Zahra did everything she could to make sure of it. Even if that meant pushing the boundaries of a normal friendship to ensure Eryn would always feel like she owed her something.
Eryn nodded, dismissing her ex-lover. Zahra turned once again and strode out through the automated sliding door. It slid closed behind her and she stood for a moment to gather her thoughts and plan her next move.
There were details that needed sorting out. The Federation had already been notified, but maybe she should go back through the transmissions and logs to make sure everything was going to be as they expected it to be… Yes, that was her next course of action.
Xena didn’t need to know about it. It was Zahra’s job to handle these things.
CHAPTER TWO
Neffy awoke, finding it difficult to breathe. He gasped, trying to fill his lungs, confused as to where he was.
The last thing he remembered was going to bed. He looked down.
He was in a lifesuit. Okay, so he wasn’t in bed. He tried to draw breath again, fighting against air pressure that simply wasn’t there. His suit was pressurized, meaning he was in low pressure. Or no pressure. But then the suit should compensate. He tried again, his lungs heaving, feeling adrenaline release through his chest as his heart rate accelerated.
No air.
That’s why he couldn’t breathe. There was no air in the suit.
He tried to move, feeling disoriented, like he didn’t know which way was up. He tried to twist, to sit up, but then again, he wasn’t in bed. Waiting for his eyes to acclimate to the sheer darkness, he tried to figure out where he was. Everything was black. He tried again to sit up, but a few moments later he realized he was floating in nothingness. That meant there was nothing to push against. As he twisted around in panic, he caught a glimpse of some light, off to the right somewhere. At least he was wearing a helmet – which meant he was in space. But what was he doing there?
Fuck, he thought to himself, What a time for this to happen.
Neffy had a problem. A problem he mostly was able to hide – from his employers and from the people he would meet. His problem was time.
Ever since the age of four he had lived with these episodes, blackouts where he couldn’t remember what had just happened or what was going on. Sometimes he seemed to remember events out of sequence, destroying any sense of cause and effect. The cognitive specialists called it Jasmine Fever – or temporal lobe time-cognition disturbance, when they were speaking formally.
There was no way he could even function without keeping careful track of events in case he had a blackout. If it hadn’t been for his exceptional abilities in conflict negotiation and crisis management – and the support of someone very well-placed in the Federation – there was no way they would have let him out into the field. As it was, there were certain details which didn’t appear on his official records anywhere.
It was all irrelevant now. He must have suffered a blackout while on a mission, made a mistake of some kind, and been expelled out the airlock. Out in space, with only moments to live, he would never know what had gone wrong – nor would it matter.
And yet there was something else. Something more specific. A feeling of betrayal.
The only thing that he could associate with that feeling was the moment his mother had left him in the research facility when he was five. It was a moment he’d replayed over and over in his mind throughout the years, but that couldn’t explain what was happening now. He was about to die, and the only thing he could think about was that someone had done this to him. Someone he trusted. The anger was followed rapidly by utter blind panic, and he noticed himself flailing about but couldn’t seem to stop it.
Neffy woke up again, this time for real. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his body. The sheets were wet with sweat, and his heart felt like it wanted to beat its way out of his chest.
He tried to scream, but no sound came out.
He tried to breathe, but couldn’t draw in any air. His body was s
till mostly paralyzed, apart from his arms and legs, which had been thrashing around in panic as he suffocated. As soon as he became conscious, he focused on breathing, and gradually, he began taking in air again.
His body was still in panic mode though, and it took several more seconds to acclimate to the new, waking reality of air and safety. He slumped back on the drenched sheets, kicking off any remaining covers to try and regulate his temperature.
He felt sick and overheated – and something worse. The sense of betrayal stayed with him, even as the adrenaline dissipated.
Another nightmare.
His therapist would love this one, he thought, tapping his left arm with the index finger of his right hand to activate the implant, and bring up his personal holo. He started tapping notes into the holographic screen that appeared, scrambling to get the main details down before they evaporated from his awareness.
Floating in space – that was a new one. He dragged the notes over to the dream diary tag and continued to make notes of the key points: In space. Can’t breathe. Mother, betrayal.
Well, nothing new in those basic components, he mused.
He lay there for another few minutes, trying to get back to normal before he faced reality. Whatever that was.
Neffy spent his days never being quite sure of what was going on, whether it was the present or the past or even the future. If it hadn’t been for Dr. Pickman’s insistence that he keep a timestamped journal, he probably wouldn’t be able to function at all. At least not enough to get away with being an Independent for Federation conflict negotiations.
Living like this was a constant challenge – but he was up to it. It was simply a matter of routine and discipline.
He opened the log, read off the date and time, and then the last few entries. Based on what he read there, Neffy determined that he had just had several days off in order to get his head together. He’d probably be called for active duty in the next few days, and if he didn’t, then he’d head on into the Federation building across town and make his presence known. Someone would find him a case, they always did. Right now though, he had another free day, and it was already past 10 a.m.