by L H Whitlock
Matched:
A Galactic Battle Series
L. H. Whitlock
Pint Sized Press LLC
Copyright © 2016 by Lyndsay Whitlock
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
First Printing: 2016
Thank you to my friends and family who have been with me on this journey. Thank you to all my beta readers, editors and critique partners. You helped make my dream come true. I can’t thank you enough.
A special thanks to:
Cover Design 2016 by Lori Jackson with Jaxon pics
Cover Model: Greg Bobby
Makeup artist: Miriam Dondrae Andoli
1
Lily sat on an aging sofa, its patterned fabric worn and frayed, in the common area of her team’s Home Ship, number nine, or something close to that, but who could keep count anymore? The furniture in the room had, once again, been rearranged so the couches and chairs overlooked the glass walls.
Sara lay across the sofa, her head on Lily’s lap. She stroked her fingers through Sara’s hair, her best friend, and the team’s healer. The blue-haired woman’s slight body shook, her tears dampening Lily’s lap. Each of her friend’s sobs tore another hole in Lily’s heart; broke another piece of her off where there wasn’t much left to begin with. Lily wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of the words. What does one say to someone when their home is being destroyed in front of their very eyes?
Lily brought her attention back to the window, and the picture it tortured her with. Alvernon, Sara’s home world, was in the beginning stages of the Harvest, a stage the Renegade called the Collection. Dozens of Golan’s ships surrounded the tan, hazy world, blotting out the surrounding stars.
Lily couldn’t recall how many times she had seen a Harvest, but it never seemed to get easier. To see the amber glow of the planet’s life force being sucked away until the planet became unstable and tore itself apart, was enough to demolish the will of even the strongest of fighters. Golan could convert the Synthnic into a usable energy source but Lily didn’t think a lack of energy was why he destroyed so many worlds. She believed it was simply his thirst for power, one that couldn’t be sated.
It wasn’t all for nothing, Lily assured herself. Alvernon was another planet lost, among hundreds of others, but a civilization that was salvaged by the efforts of the Renegade. Still, not everyone was saved. No matter how hard the Renegade tried, they couldn’t save everyone. But, those they did warn or relocate before Golan arrived would survive and the culture would live on. It was a small victory in the grand scheme of things, but a victory nonetheless.
Gustavo shifted on the floor, his head brushing briefly against Lily’s knee. He glanced up at her with sad, blue eyes. They shone against his tanned skin and dyed, golden hair. Lily managed a smile before Gustavo turned back to the window. Is he thinking the same thing?
Lily wished the Renegade could do more, but she couldn’t be too critical. They were the only force standing in Golan’s way. Without them there would be no warning before the destruction, and no colonies of survivors.
The Renegade continued to grow. It was a slow growth, but as Golan’s tarnish spread, more refugees joined the fight. At one time, Lily’s cell was one of but a few teams. Now, there were many more and the Renegade was able to help many more civilizations.
The door slid open as Brock entered the room. Lily stole a glance in his direction and he waved her over. She motioned with her head for him to come and sit down; she would not abandon Sara. Brock walked across the room, his boots clanging with each step, his muscles rippling under the standard issue black cargo pants and tee-shirt.
His black hair was frizzy, slightly longer then he usually desired and matched his beard in its unruliness. His cyborg arm gleamed in the light, contrasting his dark brown skin. Beautiful. She had always thought so, even if he did not.
“Hey El, ya got a call.” Brock’s brown eyes softened, creating wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.
“Just patch it through to my RAB,” Lily said, her body dipping from Brock’s weight as he sat next to her on the sofa.
Her shoulder brushed against his arm, relieving the chill in her skin. Brock punched at his RAB armband, a technology given to the Renegade by the Developers, and transferred the call to Lily’s personal device.
The bangle of metal flashed with the incoming call. She stared at the screen for a moment, wishing it would be silent. She really just wanted some silence.
“El, we have a problem.” A technician’s voice filtered through the RAB.
Lily’s heart leapt into her throat and her fingers twitched. “What kind of problem?”
“We just intercepted a distress signal. It came from Alvernon.”
Lily stared at the hazy brown planet, watching as ships disappeared into the atmosphere. “Alvernon?” she mumbled. The planet was too close to the Harvest, going back would be too dangerous.
Cold air washed over Lily’s thigh as Sara lifted her head. Her blue eyes were puffy and her usually pale cheeks stained pink from relentlessly wiping away tears.
“Lily,” the technician continued, “it came from the Council.” The voice on the other end sagged with remorse.
“The Council?” Sara shot out of Lily’s lap. “My father’s on the Council. Are you sure they didn’t make it off the planet?”
“We scanned the tunnels and got no signal,” Gustavo confirmed.
The technician sighed. “I understand. I’m only telling you what I know. It’s your choice if you want to go back or not. I just thought you should know.”
Lily brushed her fingers through her blonde hair, snagging on knots and debris left over from their mission. They had barely gotten back on board the Home Ship after helping transport the Alvernonian people, or at least the ones who had not flipped sides and joined Golan, off the planet. She hadn’t even had time to shower.
“Thank you. I appreciate you telling me,” Lily said, her voice softer then intended.
Silence filled the room as the four team members stared out the window at the haze of Alvernon.
Sara broke the silence first. “Lily, we don’t have to go back,” her voice waivered, “I know how dangerous it is.”
“It’s your father,” Brock defended, scratching the side of his bearded face.
“I agree, we go back,” Gustavo confirmed. His squared jaw and dimpled chin held the façade of beauty.
Lily smiled and rubbed Sara’s back. “All right, let’s go.”
2
As Brock made his way down the hallway to the meeting room, his thoughts ran rampant. How the hell had this happened? The mission was flawless, they were on and off of Alvernon with little trouble, and the remaining Alvernonian people were on their way to a colony where they would await the discovery of a planet they could inhabit.
Brock didn’t believe for a minute that the Council had been left behind. The team had been relocating civilizations and helping with classified highly sensitive missions, for years. They didn’t make mistakes like this and they didn’t leave people behind. He supposed if the circumstances were different they wouldn’t be going back, but Sara’s father was on the Council, and they wouldn’t take that risk.
His boot sloshed
in a sticky spot on the grimy, metal floor. “Shit,” Brock muttered, lifting his shoe to see what had stuck to the bottom. There was nothing, but each step made a tacky squish.
Someone probably spilled something, and the Rebi-maid—the robotic housekeeper—hadn’t gotten to it yet. A little dirt and grime was the least of the ships worries though, they were lucky the ship didn’t have severe issues. Because the Renegade was a group of loose knit refugees, mercenaries, pirates, and a few lost souls, all their weaponry, ships, and supplies were donated, usually by species that the Renegade had saved, or planets who supported their efforts. The Home Ship was an old model, and had the telltale signs of aging. The panels making up the hallway floors were off-center, with some edges peeling up. Water pooled on the floor from leaky pipes and lights flickered from failing connections.
Brock couldn’t complain. Home Ship Number Nine was better than the last few they were given. The best one though, Brock maintained, was the one they stole several years ago from a group of pirates. Karma, or some other divine intervention, had prevented them from getting one as nice ever since.
The last thing Brock wanted to do was to go back to Alvernon, he was sure it was some type of set up. He was tired; the team didn’t often get any rest as they were always a few steps behind Golan’s destruction.
He tilted his head from side to side and flexed his back, each accompanied by small pops and groans. His back was in need of another adjustment; the weight of his mechanical arm constantly twisted his body out of alignment.
He hadn’t had a chance to buff his metal arm yet and black smudges coated its usually shiny surface. Just for fun he transformed the appendage from its humanoid form into a machine gun. The gears twisted and panels split apart and slid. A barrel shot out from his hand and another rotated around his forearm. He would need some oil; the panels were beginning to stick. He hated the added weight and the coldness of the metal, but he didn’t regret the decision to have it put on after he lost his arm. Not only was it completely functional, but was also a kick-ass machine gun. The weapon helped him harness his bio-energy so he could lace his bullets with explosive power. A man couldn’t ask for more.
Stepping into the meeting room, Brock frowned at the flickering lights and the mismatched chairs and stools surrounding the oblong metal table. The room was tight with everyone in it, but seemed even more so with the dark lighting and lack of windows. A holographic map of Alvernon floated in the middle of the table.
Gustavo sat in his chair, his legs crossed and a bored look making his handsome face complacent. Gustavo was the team’s engineer and responsible for maintaining the navigational and electrical systems. His gold hair, tanned skin, high hair line, and dimpled chin made the girls go crazy.
Sara sat at the end of the table, her face looking paler than normal. Her navy hair haloed her face in frizzy waves, and her blue eyes were rimmed with red. She looked up for a brief moment and gave a halfhearted smile before returning her gaze to the cup of tea in her hands.
Gustavo nodded at Brock, motioning for him to sit down. Brock sat on the stool and leaned his elbows on the table, causing it to wobble off balance with the new weight.
“So, what’s you boys ups to? We go exciting mission?” Alberta, the team’s pilot, entered into the meeting room. Her translation implant didn’t accurately translate her native language into the galactic accepted language of Ooyi, and it was often difficult to understand what she was saying. Some days were better than others, today was a good day.
“Hey, Alberta, how are ya?” Brock asked.
Alberta crossed the room dragging a chair behind her. She stopped once she got to Sara’s side and sat. Her jet black hair was shaved on both sides with a mohawk in the center. She was thin, with colorful tattoos running up the length of her thin arms and over her collarbone. Piercings lined her eyebrows and accented her lip and nose. Her ears were almost lost under a mixture of hoops, bars, and colorful studs. Her eyes were a deep brown, which seemed even darker with her heavy black makeup.
Alberta leaned over and squeezed Sara’s shoulder. “Fines. Don’t worry, Sara, we finds Council if left behind.”
Alberta’s gaze shifted to look over at Vincent’s empty seat and she sighed. Brock patted her on the back, but didn’t say anything. Alberta and Vincent were close, and, other than Gloria, she took him being captured the hardest. Brock tried not to think about what Vincent might be going through, it would only drive him mad. It was common for those captured on the battlefield to be tortured until they gave the information that Golan desired. Brock’s stomach lurched at the thought of his friend being beaten, but the Renegade was looking for him, and that was all they could do until he was located. Then, he would personally make sure whoever had Vincent would get their asses kicked.
Lily marched into the room, instantly gaining the full attention of the team.
Lily was pint-sized, but her looks were deceiving. She was not only the commander of their unit, but also a skilled warrior who excelled in bio-energy conversion and combat. One of the things Brock admired most was her ability to convert her bio-energy into a weapon. He had to use his bionic arm to utilize his natural energy. Lily, and most Hilians, did not. She wore the standard-issue black cargo pants, tucked into lace-up combat boots and a black tee. Strapped to her belt was an E-Gun, barrel extensions, tube style flash grenades, and a few other common accessories.
With a wave of her hand, Lily zoomed in on the image of Alvernon until the underground tunnel systems were visible. Studying the maps, she crossed her toned arms over her chest. The simple motion made her tribal markings bulge, showing off the intricate brown designs that covered her right arm. They were a biological feature of her native race and changed color and expanded with age and power. Unlike full-blooded Hilians, whose markings were black, hers were a deep, chocolate brown.
Lily turned to glance at the group, a slight frown pulling at her pink lips. “Where’s Gloria?”
Brock shrugged lazily. “Hell if I know.”
“Says on way,” Alberta provided.
Lily gave a sideways smile and then, with a spin of her hand, rotated the hologram in the center of the table until it displayed a blinking red dot to the group. “This is the location of the distress signal. It is positioned on the surface of the planet.” She paused for a moment as the group leaned forward to get a closer look. “As you can see, there is an area of elaborate underground tunnel intersections right below it.”
“You worried about that?” Gustavo asked.
Lily opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Gloria, a cultural and linguistic specialist, burst through the door.
The tall, golden-haired woman hunched in the doorway, her breath coming out in wheezy gasps. “Sorry, El. I didn’t mean to be so late.”
Lily arched an eyebrow. “It is all right, Gloria, just take a seat.”
Gloria briskly walked to the table, the heels of her boots clicking on the metal ground. She sat next to Vincent’s empty chair and looked at it for an extended moment, her cheery facial expression dropping. She wiped a finger at the corner of her eye, smudging her hot pink eye shadow, sighed heavily, and brushed her long, blonde hair over her shoulder.
Gustavo leaned back in his chair and rolled his eyes. Lily gave the blond-haired man a hard look. Brock couldn’t blame him for being irritated. Gloria was Vincent’s significant other and was only on the team for that reason. Usually, a team member had to be put through rigorous exams and testing to prove their eligibility. But, Vincent begged Lily to allow her to travel with them and she eventually gave in.
Lily cleared her throat, then started where she left off. “No, I’m not concerned. The tunnels are about twenty feet deep, too far down for an enemy to use them for an advantage.” Lily crossed her arms once more over her chest.
Brock’s gaze caught on the exposed V of the battle vest and followed its slopped lines into a valley of delicious, creamy curves…damn I love that vest. His mind fogged with images of
him undoing the zipper and burying his face in her chest. His body stiffened at the thought.
“Brock, are you listening to me?” Lily’s words quickly eroded the building fantasy.
Brock’s head snapped up. “Uh, yeah, that sounds like a great plan.” He leaned back in his chair to cross one thick leg over the other. Snickers from the other members of the team told him his comment was off the mark.
“We haven’t discussed it yet. Though it seems you thought the plan would be located in Lily’s tits,” Gustavo teased.
Brock felt his face flush. “I was dazed thinkin’ ‘bout the next mission. Sorry El. You have my full attention.”
Gustavo snorted. “That seems to be the problem.”
Brock’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms.
“All right, let’s get back to work.” Lily rolled her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching as she tried to hide a grin.
Brock would have sworn she was teasing him, but she considered herself one of the ‘guys’ and didn’t seem to know the difference between a dazed look and an ‘I want to strip you naked and take you up against the wall’ look.
Gustavo smirked at him from across the table. His thick lips stretched over his face, making his squared chin look out of place.
Brock answered with the finger.
Alberta threw her head back laughing. Her black mohawk, which was gelled into place, didn’t make a single movement.
Lily continued as though nothing was going on. “We have less than forty hours before the Harvest begins. Alberta will fly the heli-shuttle. Brock, Sara, and I will rescue the Council. Gustavo will stay here, on the Home Ship, and track the activity from above.” Motioning to Gustavo, Lily continued. “Meet us at rally point Gamma.”
“Only three people on the ground? This is ridiculous. If Vincent hadn’t been captured we wouldn’t be in this situation.” Gustavo sneered as he scrolled through the maps on his armband, or RAB as the engineers called it, though Brock couldn’t remember what it stood for.
