The Bad Company™ Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Martelle, Craig

  On October 12th, 2017, one year after Michael’s email, we published Gateway to the Universe, the thirteenth book that Michael and I collaborated on, putting us just under 800,000 total words about Terry, Char, and humanity’s return to civilization. With this book, we are where I wanted to finally get to – military science fiction and space opera. I love this stuff. I enjoyed writing Terry & Char on a post-apocalyptic Earth, but in space? There are so many more story lines.

  Is Terry a good-ish guy? You can judge for yourself.

  Michael contacted me because I’d written a best-selling post-apocalyptic series with the End Times Alaska, I spent twenty years in the Marine Corps, and I’m married to a professor. Seems like Michael wrote Terry Henry Walton just for me. He didn’t, but that’s the story I’ll tell my grandchildren.

  And then there are the other spin-offs.

  My writing partner in this endeavor is a dynamo when it comes to the self-publishing universe. He has created something wonderful to feed a loyal readership the highest quality stories in a universe that they’re comfortable with. Michael makes magic happen.

  We say that we write pulp, but it’s better than that. These aren’t hollow words. We strive to make each sentence better than the last. And we have the best beta readers in the world. I run short bits by a subset of the Just In Time team and people that I trust to give me feedback that validates my approach while making recommendations to make the story better. I still have to write the story, but they hold me to a high standard.

  Shout out to Micky Cocker (I named the captain of the War Axe in her honor – he will be prominent in all the Bad Company books), James Caplan (the mech driver Capples), Kelly O’Donnell (the mech driver Kelly), Diane Velasquez, and Dorene Johnson. If nothing else, pleasing these five with my stories means success – they provide a great cross-section of experience and perspective. Di & Do, the Double Ds as they are known, are my developmental editors. They tolerate getting odd chapters at odd times with questions like, “Does this work for a transition to a more mature character?” or “How is the pace so far?”

  I needed more names for The Bad Company, so I trolled a few feeds, and found on my future collaborator Tommy Dublin’s site a cousin from Ireland, so we have adopted Clodagh Shortall as an engineering assistant who has been found to be secretly harboring the good king Wenceslaus, our favorite orange cat and arch-enemy of our favorite dog.

  I also borrowed from J (Jim) Clifton Slater, an old Marine veteran who was incredibly helpful with the 20Books Vegas authors conference that I run. I could not have done it without him, so Clifton gets to fly the War Axe.

  And I still live in the Sub-Arctic.

  As winter approaches, I’ve had to get all kinds of things ready – the snow blower on the front of my tractor, the walk behind snow blower, clean up the outside stuff, and brace for impact. When winter hits, it can get pretty intense this close to the Arctic Circle. I live outside Fairbanks, Alaska which means the darkness is coming. We have about 3 ½ hours of daylight on the winter solstice.

  That means prime writing time. It’s cold and dark, but not in my office. Phyllis the Arctic Dog, our pit bull prefers temperatures from 20F to 40F. Warmer than that and she pants like it is mid-summer. Colder than that and we have to wrestle her boots on. At -20F she gets very efficient, spending about 30 seconds to a minute outside to take care of business. In the summer, she’ll take 30 to 45 minutes to go. I don’t blame her – we have nice property and a healthy-sized forest behind our house where we hang out.

  I bought a truck (2015 Nissan Titan) since last winter. I have high hopes that this will make a great winter truck. It is heavy enough that I should maintain traction. I’m going with the Toyo winter tires as opposed to Blizzak for it. The place that sells the Blizzaks rubbed me the wrong way so they won’t be getting my business. Easy enough – I’ll let my money do the talking. And now that I have the Toyo tires on, the truck drives like a tank in the snow and ice. I am quite pleased.

  That’s it – break’s over, back to writing the next book. Peace, fellow humans.

  * * *

  Please join my Newsletter (www.craigmartelle.com – please, please, please sign up!), or you can follow me on Facebook since you’ll get the same opportunity to pick up the books for only 99 cents on that first day they are published.

  If you liked this story, you might like some of my other books. You can join my mailing list by dropping by my website www.craigmartelle.com or if you have any comments, shoot me a note at craig@craigmartelle.com. I am always happy to hear from people who’ve read my work. I try to answer every email I receive.

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  Thank you for reading the The Bad Company, the first book in an entire new series!

  Author Notes - Michael Anderle

  November 8th, 2017

  You know, how can I thank you for reading this story, and reading through the author notes if Craig has already beat me to it?

 

  One thing I will say I’m better at than I was a few decades before (I’m 50 as I write this.) I am aware of what I’m not good at, and what I don’t think I will ever become good at doing.

  Like writing post-apocalyptic fiction.

  The challenge with that genre, is knowing how to actually survive and my idea of surviving is having to warm up a Totino’s pizza in the microwave oven. Or worse, make fried cheese in the microwave oven…Ughhh.

  So, you bet I reached out to speak with Craig. He was someone I was familiar with in the group and I just reached out and said ‘can I talk with you?’

  And there a friendship was made.

  This last weekend (Nov 3-5th, 2017) here in Las Vegas, Craig hosted the 20BooksTo50k Vegas conference. He was the show runner, the main speaker and THE GUY that put it on.

  All I had to do was show up.

  I’ve heard a lot of authors comment how well the conference went, how smoothly, how efficiently, and how nice everyone was to each other. Don’t get me wrong, there were some complaints (too cold – Craig admitted he wanted it colder because warm rooms put people to sleep. I was never cold so I didn’t notice.)

  The conference was a non-profit effort Craig did to help other authors. That is just the kind of guy he is. Which, in a way, is why he writes Terry Henry Walton so well. Both are military guys who will kick your ass to get you moving, but help you get where you want to go and not ask for something in return.

  Now, I have him chained in his office to write another 4,000 books (not really) and I expect him to come out of his office sometime in 2027 (this is mostly true.) I LOVE what is going on in the Space Opera field, so let me talk about THAT.

  AGE OF EXPANSION

  We (LMBPN Authors / Collaborators / Artists / Narrators) are a loose collective of creatives that enjoy working for and with each other. As these series progresses, the ability of us to provide YOU the fan with cool thoughts, stories, art, and other items depends on you sharing with US.

  Meaning…

  Love a character? Write us and tell us!

  Love a ship and want to see it? Ask!

  Want a short story on Audio? Share your thoughts!

  We hope to help change a lot in Entertainment, and the way we keep creating cool and fun stuff is our fans encourage us (tell us on Facebook, mention it in reviews, tell friends etc. etc.) and just mention things that make you curious. What are those itches you want scratched?

  How can we make something cool for you?

  Hell if I know sometimes, but we HAVE taken suggestions, turned to an arti
st and said “I need XZY done because a fan wants to see it… When can we give it to them?”

  Then, we meet in a seedy, smoke-filled bar where tennis shoes squeak while walking over the sticky alcohol splashed floor to exchange money for art under the table. The artist slips out the back under the light of a dirty incandescent lamp while we wait ten minutes, then throw a ten-dollar bill on the table and walk out the front.

  Well, something like that. Perhaps it was a bit smokier than I’m letting on.

  Either way, we LOVE to try and provide cool stuff and we will continue this effort.

  We hope you enjoyed this story, and all of the stories coming at you in the next few months as we try to do something most companies wouldn’t consider.

  We want to produce one of the largest book shared Universes of Stories EVER done. I think we might be the biggest of all Indie groups, I don’t know.

  Anyone know the answer to this question?

  I’ve read Warhammer has about 190 books (not including gaming modules) … Star Wars is how many books?

  I’m not including comic books at all for this discussion.

  By summer, I think we should be at about 150 books in TKGU (The Kurtherian Gambit Universe.)

  I wonder if Netflix would want to chat?

  Oh well, if not no worries – we keep typing and hope you keep reading!

  Ad Aeternitatem,

  Michael

  Blockade

  The Podder

  The Crenellian

  Chapter One

  Aboard the heavily modified Defender-series destroyer War Axe

  “I’m a big fan of free trade, Nathan,” Colonel Terry Henry Walton said, pacing the captain’s briefing room.

  The holographic projection of the space around Alchon Prime troubled Captain Micky San Marino. Too many ships of unknown capability stood between the second planet and the third.

  A blockade.

  The War Axe was capable, but it was only one ship. The potential client represented the second planet and his request required the removal of the foreign ships.

  “And we have no idea where these ships came from or what they can do?” Terry asked, even though he already knew the answer.

  “Aliens from Planet X,” Charumati intoned from beside her husband, purple eyes sparkling. Terry looked fondly at his wife of nearly one hundred and thirty years.

  Nathan Lowell looked at the group from a two-dimensional screen to the side of the projection. “Alchon Prime is a human colony, growing, integrated with an alien population. It’s the melting pot model that shows such a thing can work. I’d hate to see some outsider screw everything up,” Nathan said in measured tones.

  He wouldn’t plead or try to influence Terry Henry Walton beyond giving him the facts.

  “What other fleet support can we count on?” Terry asked.

  Nathan held up his hand, giving the ‘zero’ sign.

  “What kind of timeframe do we have to work with here?”

  “Alchon Prime is moving toward self-sufficiency, but they still need repair parts for their atmosphere generators. The planet’s air supply isn’t stable, yet,” Nathan replied. “But I think they can manage for a month or two.”

  “I think we’ll give it a shot, Nathan. I’m a big fan of free trade.”

  “So I’ve heard, TH. Send your requisition through appropriate channels. I can’t wait to see what that looks like. Lowell out.”

  Micky frowned as he stared at the projection floating above the table.

  “Don’t sweat it, Micky. Tell me what you want, and we’ll put it on requisition and charge it back to the client,” Terry said flippantly, before looking concerned. “We’ll do what we have to do. Sure, Alchon represents paying clients, but this is the right thing to do. Could it be the first step of an alien invasion? Maybe, and you know we can’t let that happen. We’re expanding the Federation outward, not collapsing it. If it is an invasion, then the Federation will ride to the rescue with a billion tons of dreadnoughts and these ass-monkeys will wish they never existed.”

  “Is there some reason why that isn’t the first plan?” Micky wondered with one raised eyebrow.

  Terry opened his mouth to speak, closed it, then opened it again. “I got nothing, but I’m sure Nathan has a good reason.”

  Char pointed to the comm station in the middle of the conference table.

  Terry rolled his head back and forth before deciding he had no choice. “Fine,” he declared. “Smedley, get Nathan back on the hook, please.”

  “What’d we forget, TH?” Nathan asked almost instantly.

  “How come the Federation doesn’t go in with a massive show of force? Let the aliens know who’s boss out here?”

  Nathan looked surprised, before saying matter-of-factly, “Alchon isn’t a member of the Federation. We’re prohibited from using Federation assets in support of non-Federation worlds. When you break the blockade, they’ll hopefully submit their application. And if you have issues with the blockade, they’ll hopefully submit their application. In either case, if there is a hostile alien fleet nearby, we need Alchon as a buffer. It’d be nice to station a dreadnought out there, don’t you think? Didn’t you see that in the brief?”

  Terry looked away from the screen and twisted his mouth sideways. “I hadn’t quite gotten that far in the packet, Nathan.” He locked his gaze on Char, giving her the stink-eye.

  She looked back with her sad face, purple eyes sparkling. TH shook his head and smiled. He mouthed the word “sex,” and she nodded with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

  When Terry turned back to the screen, he found that Nathan was still watching.

  “I don’t know what the bet was, TH, but it looks like you won. Any other questions?”

  “Sorry to bother you, Nathan,” Terry replied, his cheeks flushing red above his stubbly beard. “Walton out.”

  Smedley killed the link.

  “The Bad Company’s Direct Action Branch is a private conflict solution enterprise. The leaders of Alchon Prime are paying us to break the blockade. The Federation is paying us to bring Alchon Prime into the fold. It’s a win-win. All we have to do is take one ship against a fleet and convince them to leave. You’ve done this kind of stuff before, haven’t you, Micky? Pretty simple?” Terry asked hopefully.

  The captain looked at Terry Henry Walton as if he’d grown a second head.

  Keeg Station in the Dren Cluster

  Felicity and Ted looked out the window, admiring the War Axe as it sat stationary in space beside the Direct Action Branch’s home port.

  No casual visitors stopped by Keeg Station since there wasn’t a gate into the system. This area of the Dren Cluster was well off the beaten path, in the middle of a sector that bordered the frontier of Federation space. A vast area, in which it was easy to hide. A few light years here or there helped something as large as a multi-million metric-ton space station disappear.

  Felicity kept grabbing Ted’s arm to keep him from leaving.

  “Won’t you stay here with me while we wait for Terry and Char’s shuttle from their big ship?” she drawled softly. Ted shifted uneasily, his eyes darting from one thing to the next.

  “That drive isn’t going to design itself. I’m close! I can feel it.” He shook his head while looking at the hand on his arm, wondering why he didn’t pull away and go about his business. He pursed his lips as he contemplated his next move.

  Felicity waited. “If I let go, you’re going to bolt, like a mouse released from a trap.” She smiled at her husband. Over the decades, she’d learned how to deal with him. She had no intention of letting go of his arm. She moved to face him, wrapping her free arm around his waist. Gripping his butt playfully, she closed for a kiss.

  He studied how she’d attached herself to his front during the time he was contemplating his escape.

  She had outmaneuvered him again.

  Since Keeg Station didn't have an EI, Ted reached out to Smedley.

  Smedley, please help extricate me fro
m indigenous life form foxtrot sierra, Ted said using his implant to relay to the EI on the War Axe.

  >>You mean the station manager? You know I can’t do that,<< the EI replied.

  There has to be an emergency that requires her personal attention. There has to be, Smedley. Do I need to adjust your programming again? Ted asked.

  Felicity’s wrist device buzzed. Her eyes narrowed as she looked into Ted’s eyes. She glared at him as she raised her wrist close to her head. “Felicity here,” she drawled pleasantly, continuing the stare down with her husband.

  A blank expression was his only reply. He didn’t back down as he counted the seconds until he could return to his lab.

  “I do declare, that sounds like an emergency,” she said in mock exasperation. “Maintenance can take care of it, or you could do it yourself, Smedley, since you caused the failure.”

  Felicity glanced at the comm device to see that she was still connected despite the silence. She continued to hold Ted’s arm in her right hand. She felt a tug and looked down to see him leaning backwards.

  “Ted! If you think I’m falling for your fake death routine, you’re wrong. You are going to take it like a man. Come with me to the shuttle bay and let’s receive our guests like the dignified first couple we’re supposed to be. Don’t you dare make me out to be the bad guy. I will kick your ass so hard, your ears will be holding up your butt-cheeks!” Felicity snapped.

  Ted put a hand to his head and felt above his ears. “I don’t think that could happen,” he said matter-of-factly. “And maybe you are the bad guy. I have work to do, and you’re keeping me from it.”

  “You always have work to do. Now, come!” she ordered. With his head bowed, Ted bit the inside of his cheek and stumbled along behind his wife. She maintained a firm grip on his arm as if he were a petulant child.