Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2)

by Terry W. Ervin II

  Relic Hunted

  By Terry W. Ervin II

  Relic Hunted

  Never underestimate a Relic!

  Intelligence picks up Security Specialist Keesay’s contract, hoping to direct the Relic’s tenacity and skills against his nemesis, the Capital Galactic Investment Group. But the rogue corporation has its own plans concerning Keesay: a bounty on the security specialist’s head.

  Time is running out for mankind, with the Crax striking deep into human territory, targeting colonies on Pluto and Io. Keesay knows whatever plans others might have, fighting the Crax is more important than blending in, or looking over his shoulder.

  Stepping forward, Keesay accompanies Special Agents Guymin and Vingee on their mission to rescue key prisoners taken by Capital Galactic, before they’re handed over to the Crax. In doing so, Keesay pits his shotgun and brass knuckles, his daring and mysterious connection to the rat-like Chicher, against anyone that gets in his way.

  Praise for Terry w. Ervin II and the Crax War Chronicles!

  “Full of non-stop action and space battles combined with characters you'll grow to love. This is classic style space opera at its best.” –Angie Lofthouse, author of Defenders of the Covenant

  “You won’t be able to put this book down as you wade through battles, intrigue, and relationships brought together in a fast-paced sci-fi story.” -Dean Sault, author of The Last Human War

  “The tech level premise is fascinating, but what really makes the novel special is the spirit of Krakista Keesay. Kra is a hero to root for—often underestimated, adept with brass knuckles, bayonet, shotgun, and all sorts of old style weaponry. He proves that, while technology matters, so do courage, intelligence, and daring.”—Tony Daniel, Hugo-finalist, author of Metaplanetary and Guardian of Night

  “One of the most inventive and compelling fantasy sagas I have read in years!”-Stephen Zimmer, author of the Fires in Eden Series and The Rising Dawn Saga.

  “A unique and detailed post-apocalyptic world where magic works but ancient technologies from the First Civilization--our world--still exist. You'll cheer as they face off against griffins, fallen angels, gargoyles, and worse, in a fun, engaging adventure filled with wall to wall action.” -David Forbes, author of the Osserian Saga

  “A worthy successor to the original novel, packed with action and entertainment.” -Jim Bernheimer, author of the Dead Eye series and Confessions of a D-List Supervillain

  “Grab hold! Ervin’s got the magic!” -C. Dean Andersson, author of the Bloodsong Trilogy

  “A curious blend of epic fantasy, modern techno-thriller and non-stop action-adventure.” -Erica Hayes, author of the Shadowfae Chronicles

  “Buy it or chalk it up on that long list of things you regret not doing!”

  -Stephen Hines, author of Hocus Focus

  RELIC HUNTED

  Copyright 2016 by Terry W. Ervin II.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American copyright

  conventions.

  Published by Gryphonwood Press

  www.gryphonwoodpress.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art by Drazenka Kimpel

  Dedication

  This novel is dedicated to my father, Terry W. Ervin, Sr. He saw my first short story in print, but cancer took him before he was able to see my first novel published. Residing in Heaven, however, doesn’t preclude Dad from such observations.

  Acknowledgements

  First, I would also like to thank Kathy, my wife, and Genevieve and Mira, my daughters, for their patience and understanding in allowing me the countless hours to imagine, plot, research, write, revise and edit—all things necessary to complete a novel.

  Second, I would like to thanks my co-workers, family, friends, and the members of Flankers, all of whom encouraged, questioned, and prodded me along to finish Relic Hunted (the final title after a number of working titles).

  As for the character Gerard, the readers can thank Alan C, a fellow Roger Zelazny fan. He was selected from the hundreds who signed up for the chance to name a character in the second installment of the Crax War Chronicles. It was a pleasure to work with him on that creative endeavor.

  I can’t forget mentioning Drazenka Kimpel, for providing her skills and talent in creating the outstanding art that graces this novel’s cover.

  Finally, I’d like to thank the folks at Gryphonwood Press, especially K.S. Brooks for editing Relic Hunted, and David Wood for not only believing enough in my first novel to publish it, but for his advice and insight, and continuing to provide an avenue for me to share my tales, including Security Specialist Keesay’s second adventure.

  That leaves you, the reader. You’re the reason I wrote Relic Hunted. Thank you for choosing my SF novel from the hundreds of thousands available. I truly hope you enjoy the story. With that in mind, don’t hesitate to send an email or post a review to let me know your thoughts.

  .

  Chapter 1

  There are experiences worse than enduring a series of neural function scans. Taking several Crax caustic rounds in the gut is one of them. I’m one of the few who actually survived such an ordeal and can attest to the fact.

  I sat on a stool in the sterile examination room and watched the med tech prepare injections for my scan. It’d been five weeks since I regained consciousness. Five weeks since completing a memory transcription procedure in a bid to prove my innocence, having been accused of a litany of horrific crimes. Against all odds, I’d survived the experimental Cranaltar IV’s memory probes—survived with my mind intact.

  Scratching my neck while taking a deep breath, I didn’t realize how anxious I was to learn if the minor seizure I’d suffered three weeks ago would be my last. Sporadic seizures, diminishing in frequency and intensity since disconnection from the Cranaltar, proved to be the only detrimental side effect. At least that I or Dr. Goldsen and her medical team had noticed.

  “You’re pretty quiet today,” I said to Medical Technician Marshner, standing with his back to me. He’d rolled the medical dispensary cart into the examination room, seemingly unaware that I was sitting next to the aesthetically sterile examination bed. When the tech didn’t respond to my comment, I added, “Must be even deeper in thought than me, Tech Marshner.”

  He continued working with his back to me, manipulating equipment and observing data on the cart’s flat screen. He pulled something from a pocket inside his white lab coat, sat it on the tray and, from what I could see, put it back in his pocket.

  Wasn’t I supposed to be the nervous one? After a short laugh, I pressed on. “Although many might mock the notion of an R-Tech deep in thought.”

  Med Tech Marshner’s curly brown hair bounced as he nodded and forced a laugh.

  I remembered seeing the dark circles under his eyes when he came in. “Trouble sleeping last night?” I asked.

  “No, Security Specialist Keesay.” He hesitated before entering data into the computer clip next to the cart’s tray holding the syringes. Errant taps forced him to reset the screen twice.

  I stepped over to the examination bed and sat on its edge before unbuttoning my cuff and rolling up the sleeve of my gray-green coveralls. He’d performed test procedures on me before, and we’d dispensed with the fu
ll titles. I thought back on previous small talk between us. “Any word from home? Still planning to visit your daughter, Regina?”

  “Yes,” he snapped. Some equipment clattered on the tray. “Sorry, Security Specialist. Just having a bad morning.” He shook his head, still keeping his back to me. “Yes, the trip is still on. Actually, I’m packed and scheduled to board a direct Io—to—Earth transport shuttle in less than an hour.”

  The first three times he prepped me, Tech Marshner had been quite talkative, and prepared the injections while facing me, grinning and razzing me about being a Relic. The last time he’d been quiet and avoided eye contact—just like this time. Except this time he did everything possible to avoid facing me.

  “Contract renewal coming up?” I asked, my right hand drifting across my belt to where my duty revolver should’ve been. Dr. Goldsen frowned upon—actually forbid me—to carry a firearm in her research lab, despite the fact that I was a 4th Class Security Specialist. The last time I brought it up, she glared at me over her wire-rimmed glasses and reminded me of the Colonial Marine posted just down the hall.

  It was difficult for me to argue. With Negral Corp in disarray, the fact that I’d divested myself of all corporate sponsors prior to being connected to the Cranaltar, and that I was still waiting for Intelligence to pick up my contract as I’d been led to believe they would, I lacked legal standing to carry a firearm. Despite the fact that I was near the top of Capital Galactic Investment’s termination list.

  “No,” Tech Marshner said, filling the first syringe. “Any changes or concerns I should note for Dr. Goldsen?”

  “None. I spoke with her earlier this morning. She predicted this should be my last scan.”

  “Final scan…I am aware of that, Specialist,” he said, pointing to what must’ve been text on the clip’s screen. His left hand shook before clenching into a fist. “Just following protocol…Specialist.” After a breath he turned to face me with one of the three hypodermic needles in his right hand and a sterilizing swab in his left. “Actually, the company found room for me on the next shuttle to Earth. Leaves in an hour.” Again, his eyes avoided mine, gazing beyond me and then at the floor.

  “Really?” I asked. Something was definitely wrong—and troubling Marshner. “Med Tech, that needle.” He halted, tensing up as I pointed at the syringe in his right hand. “What would happen if you accidentally stuck yourself?”

  “What?” His right hand trembled for a second. He shook his head and forced a smile. “What kind of question is that?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and watched sweat form above his brow. Whatever he was preparing to do made him nervous. Administering routine pre-scan injections shouldn’t concern any competent med tech.

  “Left arm, ahhh…please? Just like last time.”

  I extended my left arm. When he began to swab my forearm, hand shaking again, I reached across and clamped my right hand onto his right wrist. Surprised, he met my gaze and tried to yank his hand free.

  I punched him in the gut. He must’ve sensed it coming and tightened up so I didn’t knock the wind out of him.

  After a brief struggle, I managed to twist the arm holding the syringe behind his back. “Drop it, Marshner!”

  Instead of complying or struggling to get away, he rotated his wrist and stuck himself in the lower back.

  I yanked his arm down. Liquid shot from the needle. Not knowing what the syringe contained, I let go and jumped back to avoid the spray. When he turned to face me, I picked up my stool and smashed its aluminum seat across his jaw.

  A security specialist ran into the room as Tech Marshner hit the floor. Dr. Goldsen arrived a fraction of a second later. How did they know there was trouble? Cameras monitoring the room? If so, where was the Marine guard?

  The security specialist trained his magnetic pulse pistol on me instead of the unconscious Marshner. “Freeze!” He glanced from me, down to Marshner, and back. “Why did you assault the med tech?”

  “Have Dr. Goldsen check that syringe,” I answered, raising my hands. “Then ask me that question again.”

  Two hours later, I strode into the same examination room. A petite, graying woman wearing wire-rimmed bifocals and a white lab coat sat on a padded stool, waiting. “Eventful morning, Mr. Keesay. How are we doing this afternoon?”

  “Dr. Goldsen,” I said, “you’re the only one who refers to me as Mister. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.” She was one of the few Intermediate Techs, or I-Techs, I didn’t have to look up to, physically. “This will be the last scan?”

  “As I indicated previously,” she said, looking at my holstered .22 caliber pistol, “it will be the final scan if all goes well.”

  I ignored Dr. Goldsen’s stare. She’d requested I, as all of her patients, should arrive to my examinations unarmed. The small caliber firearm was all I had access too. After the confrontation with Tech Marshner, courtesy was out of the question, including her request. I was in the unfortunate predicament of having enemies and lacking a corporate or governmental sponsor. I rolled up the left sleeve of my gray-green duty coveralls. Their color identified me as a security specialist. The buttons, collar, and loose cut, as a Relic.

  Rumor had it that once Dr. Goldsen reported me fit for duty, Intelligence would pick up my contract. If so, I figured they’d issue me a quasi-military gray uniform.

  After the three injections, Dr. Goldsen directed me to the examination table. “While we are waiting, I believe obtaining an ultrasound scan of your chest and abdominal region would be advantageous.”

  I removed my equipment belt, coveralls and undershirt before lying down.

  Dr. Goldsen maneuvered a scanner over the pink and white scar tissue. “Your injuries have healed far better than I expected,” she said while comparing the results to a computer clip’s display. “You report no difficulty breathing. No unusual pain or discomfort?”

  “Correct,” I said, shuddering as I recalled the caustic Crax rounds eating through my combat coveralls and body armor. And the memory of V’Gun surgeons, an alien species that reminded me of a cross between a Chihuahua-sized spider topped by a squid, working on the wounds. Not to heal me. Just to stabilize me so that Capital Galactic lawyers could interrogate me.

  After I took a deep breath, she asked, “No episodes since we last spoke?”

  “That is correct, Doctor. No seizures.”

  She tapped the screen. “The last recorded seizure was minor, with a three-second duration.” She reached behind my right ear to place a thumbnail-sized neural transmitting device.

  I shifted position and turned my head.

  Dr. Goldsen lifted six more neural devices from a sterile tray and placed them on my forehead, scalp, and the base of my skull. “It appears that anti-seizure medication will not be necessary. That is positive news, Mr. Keesay.”

  “Agreed,” I said. When the doctor wasn’t performing as my physician, she sometimes called me Kra, but I always referred to her as Dr. Goldsen. It just seemed proper.

  She continued manipulating the diagnostic equipment. “You are not very talkative today.”

  “Simply waiting for release to duty. Sitting and thinking has put me in a sour mood.”

  She shook her head. “The incident with Medical Technician Marshner?”

  Out of habit I looked up at the surveillance cameras. Dr. Goldsen had witnessed the entire Documentary, as viewers called the downloaded presentation of my memories. With Umbelgarri support, she’d largely reengineered the alien device for experimental use on humans. Without the Cranaltar device’s scan and downloading of my memories, I’d have been convicted of aiding and abetting a non-human enemy, desertion, intragalactic espionage, abduction, planetary quarantine violation, sabotage of corporate property, insurrection and first degree treason, among a number of other crimes. Normally, the Cranaltar device scrambles all cognitive functions. In my case Bahklacks, the Umbelgarri’s crab-like thralls, directly assisted Dr. Goldsen, so I came out okay, with a few minor modi
fications.

  I’d been stewing for most of my recovery and decided it might help to tell someone. “I’m a little angry, Dr. Goldsen.”

  She looked over the rims of her glasses. “Oh? Why is that?”

  I sat up. “You’ve seen the Documentary. I was recruited by Dr. Maximar Drizdon to ensure the safety of his son. A dangerous assignment and I wasn’t informed of the situation.”

  “That is accurate,” she said.

  “I don’t put much stock in precognition, but that’s irrelevant. Dr. Drizdon selected me, and put me in the line of fire. Then, after I accomplished the mission, I was left to pay the price.”

  “You blame your injuries on Dr. Drizdon?”

  “No. We’re at war. When the elite Crax took me down, that was legitimate. But Capital Galactic’s interrogation and the short circuiting of my memory? The trial that followed?” I shook my head. “I survived saboteurs, an enemy boarding action, a quarantined planet, and the Crax invasion of Tallavaster.” I finished by pointing at my head. “You know better than anyone else, I’m very lucky to have survived, let alone mentally intact.”

  Dr. Goldsen sat on the nearby stool. “Is it possible that he knew you would survive and turn the tables on the Capital Galactic Investment Group?”

  “No,” I said. “No measure was taken on my behalf after his family reached safety.”

  She smiled. “You think that Dr. Drizdon, renowned military strategist, randomly picked you, Specialist Keesay?” She adjusted her glasses. “A Relic Tech Security Specialist to watch over his wife and son as they traveled on the civil transport Kalavar? You simply happened to be newly assigned even as they sought refuge from the enemy aliens and their human agents?”

  “Incorrect, Doctor. I believe that they were traveling as R-Tech colonists. They recruited me because I’m one of the rare space-faring R-Techs specializing in security. I had a history due to my actions in the Colonization Riots, so I was competent and deemed reliable. Reliable, but expendable.”