by Tony Healey
BOOK II
PLANET OF ICE
David K. Hulegaard
Tony Healey
Copyright, David K. Hulegaard & Tony Healey
Planet of Ice (The Broken Stars – Book 2)
Copyright David K. Hulegaard & Tony Healey 2016
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this work may be reproduced in any form without the express permission of the author(s).
Edited by Tony Healey
The Broken Stars
Set in the same fictional universe as the best-selling series Far From Home, prepare for the ride of your life. Follow the adventures of Max Carter and friends as they fight Silas Doum in an epic battle between good and evil. The ragtag band of reluctant heroes may be the galaxy's only hope!
http://tonyhealey.com/books/the-broken-stars/
Also by David K. Hulegaard
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Strangers
Dark Beyond The Blue
Dollhouse
The Darby Forest
Also by Tony Healey
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Far From Home: Series 1
Far From Home: Series 2
Far From Home: Series 3
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The Bloody North (The Fallen Crown, Book 1)
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Past Dark
Contents
Also by David K. Hulegaard
Also by Tony Healey
1
2
3
4
5
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
About the Authors
For my wife, Jennie – DH
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For the readers: you know who you are – TH
He felt their stares the second he walked through the doors; having an appearance akin to that of a badger always garnered the same reaction from humans. Not that it bothered him. He'd grown used to it over the years. Moreover, he could hardly blame them. If he stopped to think about it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen another Alpor among humans. He brushed a bit of lint off his silver, three-piece suit.
A digital pendulum clock on the wall read 14:48.
Humans and their obsession with using a twenty-four hour clock, he thought.
He approached a young, dark-haired woman working behind the reception desk. She smiled before looking up to greet him – a basic customer service tactic taught during orientation – but appeared startled after making eye contact.
"Oh. May I . . . help you?"
Oh, sure, he thought. Humans find dogs cute; cats adorable; even stuffed critters with ultra-realistic fur are apparently irresistible, but I'm bizarre-looking? Go figure.
Chip on his shoulder aside, he had work to do. "I have' a three o'clock meeting with Admiral Klesko."
The receptionist swiped her hand across her console screen and confirmed his appointment in her calendar application. "You're Juke?"
"In the fur." Juke smiled. He loved busting out that tired joke. Not only did he personally find it hilarious, but he'd discovered it had a calming effect on humans – a way to break the ice. Having a good laugh typically loosened things up, allowing humans to get past his unusual characteristics. Well, unusual within the context of humans, perhaps.
Juke found their bare skin equally as perplexing.
The receptionist spoke into a small mouthpiece in a hushed voice and looked up. "I've let the Admiral know you're here," she said. "Should only be a few minutes if you'll just have a seat in the lobby. I freshened up that kettle of Chamomile tea about fifteen minutes ago if you want to pour yourself a cup while you wait."
"Much obliged."
Juke waddled across the lobby to a pie-shaped wooden table in the far corner. A kettle, disposable cups, container of milk, and packets of sweeteners all sat on a white, lace doily. He filled a cup with tea and stirred in half a packet of sweetener. The pleasing aroma carried a hint of honey to his nostrils.
Cup in paw, he found an empty seat beside an end table, squeezing his ample backside between the armrests. A lamp illuminated a selection of data pads with digital reading material. He sifted through the options in search of something that might catch his eye.
Sports? No! Politics? Boring. Cake decorating? Hmm . . . nope. Helicar speed racing? Oh, come on. All they do is turn left at 650 kilometres per hour. Why do humans love this? Juke gave up the hunt and leaned his elbow on the armrest. A young mother sat across from him with a child no more than eight years old. The boy stared at him, finger firmly jammed up his nose and a vacant look in his eyes. Juke grinned at the lad in an effort to be polite, thinking the mother would soon realize her child's lack of etiquette.
Just because you're a kid doesn't mean you can't have some manners.
Juke did his best to ignore the child, until the boy began making faces at him.
Preposterous! he thought. At least pretend to acknowledge your child's misbehavior. Damn humans!
Juke became agitated. He mimicked the child's goofy face, pulling down his bottom eyelids. The boy laughed and tried a new face, tugging at the corners of his eyes to make slits. Again, Juke returned the insult, and the child laughed. The mother paid no attention, never once looking up from her data pad.
Unbelievable. Front-runner for Parent of the Year.
The boy pulled at his ears, puffed his cheeks out with air. Juke did the same. The child laughed harder, then hooked the corners of his mouth with curled fingers and stuck out his tongue. Juke repeated the face, revealing rows of sharp canine teeth.
The boy's face paled. His bottom lip trembled and he burst into tears, burrowing his face into his mother's bosom. When she looked up, Juke still had his fingers in his mouth; tongue draped over his bottom teeth. She gasped, and clutched her child close to her.
"Juke?" The receptionist said with furrowed brow. "The . . . uh . . . Admiral will see you now."
Juke wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He wouldn't soon forget the mortified look on the young mother's face, and there was little he could do to explain himself. Still, he felt as though he couldn't leave it lying as-is. He pointed toward the end table. "There's a great article in there about how to make seven-layer cakes using a sonic mixer."
The woman kissed the top of the boy's head and stroked the back of his neck. Fearing that any additional action would only further his embarrassment, Juke got up from his chair and proceeded to a security stop at the corridor entrance.
Although the Union had gone to great lengths to instill a warm and traditional human environment, the numerous civilian checkpoints stated with emphatic clarity: this is a Terran Defence Force dreadnought.
Even with earth-tone painted drywall covering its nuts and bolts, Juke understood all too well he stood within the belly of a cold, steel beast.
___***___
An armed officer squared her shoulders outside the Admiral's office. "The Admiral will be with you shortly. Please wait inside."
Juke entered the office and parked himself in a cushy, leather seat – much better quality than those in the lobby. He sank into the interior, which supported his rotund frame as though tailor-made for Alpors. If given a chance, he'd have had no trouble catching some shut-eye.
Here's hoping the Admiral gets here soon, he thought. I don't
want to drool all over this fine leather.
Juke's feet didn't touch the floor. Being only four feet tall, he looked akin to a child in most human-designed furniture. He kicked his legs under the chair while taking inventory of the Admiral's collection of trophies on the wall.
Fifth Place: Twelfth Annual Leeni Classic Pro Bass Fishing Tournament
Third Place: Thirteenth Annual Leeni Classic Pro Bass Fishing Tournament
Second Place: Fourteenth Annual Leeni Classic Pro Bass Fishing Tournament
Second Place: Sixteenth Annual Leeni Classic Pro Bass Fishing Tournament
Second Place: Twentieth Annual Leeni Classic Pro Bass Fishing Tournament
Hmm . . . maybe this is your year Admiral?
Instrumental New Age music played from overhead speakers. Although Juke was unfamiliar with the song, the repetitive verse-chorus-verse arrangement made it easy to hum along to, which he suspected was the point. Before he knew it, the beat had enraptured him. He slapped his knees along to the rhythm. Soon after that, he graduated from gentle humming to singing along with made-up lyrics.
A male cleared his throat.
Oh, man . . . please don't be the Admiral.
A man dressed in a clean, white uniform entered the office. Juke sprang up to shake his hand.
"I'm Admiral Klesko. You must be Juke."
Ah, crap.
"Yes, sir," he said. "Pleasure to finally meet you in person. Sorry about all that . . . with the music . . . and, well . . ."
The Admiral smiled as he sat behind his desk. "No harm done. Now, you're here because you have new information regarding the incident on Hantor. Correct?"
"Yes sir." Juke scratched his snout. "I assume you're familiar with the original report?"
"Quite." Klesko crossed his legs and pressed his palms together under his chin. "But before we proceed, I'd like to run through a few of the more important details."
"Of course," Juke said. "Where shall we begin?"
Klesko leaned back in his chair and opened a desk drawer. He laid a data pad in front of him and unclipped a stylus from the side. "In your own words, what happened on Hantor?"
Juke slicked back some cow-licked fur between his ears. "Uh . . . wasn't all that in the report?"
"It was, but I want to hear it from you," Klesko said. "From the horse's mouth, so to speak."
"Okay, well, I guess it all began when my old friend Kort paid me a visit out of the blue," Juke remembered. "Hadn't seen him in ages, but he showed up at my doorstep with his nephew, Max. Tells me he needs a favor, and that I owe him. Bugger even had the gall to blackmail me, threatening to reveal the location of my hideout to the Brotherhood of the Falling Fist!"
Klesko arched an eyebrow. "And he's a friend of yours?"
"Well, in hindsight, he was under a bit of duress. Guess I can't hold it against him."
Klesko wrote something down. "Their arrival followed the destruction of their home world, Aquine?"
"Yes, but that news hadn't yet reached Hantor, so I had no clue. I assume that was by design, am I right?" Juke winked.
Klesko's stoic expression never wavered. "Tell me about this so-called favor."
"Oh, that," Juke grumbled. "So, Kort hands me an old memory cube – practically an antique – and says he needs it decrypted, which of course was no problem for me."
"And what was on this memory cube?"
"Well that's the thing," Juke said. "Kort kicked me out so they could view it in private. Whatever it was, it sure seemed important to them."
"I see. Please continue."
"Next thing I know, we're under attack by some Sjan lass." Juke shivered. "Dead look in her eye, that one."
Klesko jotted down more notes. "You stated in the report that she seemed fixated on Kort and the boy. You think the attack was planned?"
"An old friend asks for a secret favor, and minutes later we're under attack by the Sjan?" Juke crossed his arms. "Hell of a coincidence, wouldn't you say?"
Klesko agreed with a closed mouth, nasal hum. "So, the Sjan take Kort hostage, and you board their ship for a rescue mission?"
"Not exactly," Juke corrected. "I boarded their ship to save my life. The rescue mission took form while I was . . . well . . . sort of . . . on the toilet." He grinned and surrendered a nervous chuckle.
Klesko's face remained slack. "Let's skip to the part where you used a droid to hack into the Sjan database on board their warship, the Oppressor, shall we?"
"Ah, yes!" Juke clapped. "My friends had a droid with them on their ship, capable of communicating with a Z-Class positronic ser – " He noticed the Admiral's eyes glazing over. "Er . . . rather, I configured the droid to ‘talk' to the Oppressor's network."
Klesko swiped forward several pages in the report. "Yes, you managed to hack into the network and redirect all power away from the Oppressor's shield emitters, leaving it vulnerable to our attack. Impressive."
"Oh, it was nothing," Juke said. "Figured you boys could use some extra help."
"Let's talk about what else you found in the Sjan database," Klesko said. "You tapped into their network and extracted years' worth of secrets – secrets later purchased by the Terran Union. We've dealt a significant blow to the Sjan Empire thanks to you."
Juke sat up in his chair, straightening the lapels on his designer, three-piece suit. "Yes. Once I'd finished with the shield emitters, I discovered that I had access to so much more. In the confusion, the Sjan were too busy to notice little ol' me taking copies of everything in their archives."
Klesko tapped his stylus against the glass. "Which brings us to today."
"Yes," Juke said. "The reason I asked for this meeting is because I've completed decrypting the last of the files I salvaged."
"I see." Klesko smirked. "And for the right price, you'll turn them over to the Union. Is that it?"
Juke nearly fell out of his chair. "Oh, no! Not at all! I assure you, I'm not here for any more credits."
"No?" Klesko scratched his temple. "Then why are you here?"
"I . . ." Juke's ears twitched. "I want you to do me a favor. Help my friends with whatever craziness they’re into. I owe 'em."
Klesko set his stylus down. "Do you even know what it is they intend to do?"
"If I'm being honest, no." Juke clasped his hands. "But I know it's important, and if their mission can bring down the Sjan Empire once and for all, I'll do everything in my power to aid their cause."
"Admirable." Klesko pressed a button under his desk, which locked the office door. "What I'm about to tell you is classified information, but in light of your recent contributions and service to the Union, I'm willing to bring you on board as a Spec Ops Executive Consultant. We could use someone with your skills. If you'll accept, that is."
Once again, Juke gripped the chair's armrests to prevent himself from falling off. "Me? Yes, yes, of course I accept! You realize I don't work for free, though, right? I'm not a saint."
"Believe me, I'm under no misconception about that,” Klesko said. “Some seventeen years ago, the Terran Union employed two scientists to develop secret technology. Dr. Samuel and Elena Carter were top of their class, and while I can't tell you what their research entailed, I can tell you they were on to something big."
The fur raised on the back of Juke's neck. He knew he was hearing something never discussed outside of Union quarters, and it excited him. Mere weeks ago, he'd made his living as a tech specialist for hire, working out of a seedy club on Hantor. Now, he had a contract with the Terran Union, something he would've never believed possible even if future Juke himself had traveled back in time to come tell him.
"Unfortunately, Silas Doum caught wind of their research," Klesko continued. "He led an assault on Research Station 41, claiming the lives of many good men and women, including the Carters."
Juke crossed his legs. "What happened to their research?"
"Lost, I'm afraid." Klesko sighed. "Before they perished, the Carters wiped all traces of it from their databanks
to prevent the Sjan getting their hands on it. Though if they were subjected to torture, it's anyone's guess what they might have told them about their research. But, without the data whatever they revealed would have been useless anyway."
"I'm confused," Juke said. "What's that got to do with what I'm asking you for?"
"'Silas Doum has clearly painted a target on your friends’ backs. There's a connection there and we want to understand precisely what that connection entails. To that end, I extend our support and resources to your friends in return for whatever additional data you have at your disposal."
A sudden realization hit Juke. He produced a personal data device from inside his jacket. After entering a sequence on the touch screen keypad, he returned the device to his pocket. "I've just sent you the last of the decrypted files, and if I were you, I'd read them sooner rather than later."
"Oh?" Klesko logged into the Union intranet. "Why the urgency, may I ask?"
"There's something in there you need to see. That connection you're talking about? I think I know exactly what that is. It concerns young Max, you see . . ."
PLANET OF ICE
1
The Fair Maiden coasted through an endless sea of black, populated by twinkling stars. Silence filled the Maiden's cockpit as Kort studied his readouts. He glanced over at the sensor on the console and tapped the screen. A thin, bright green line swept the perimeter in clockwise motion, highlighting asteroids and celestial bodies within proximity to the ship.
K1R-B slumped to the side of a chair, set to sleep mode to preserve power. Max chuckled, breaking the quiet as he noticed a dozen colorful magnets stuck to various places on K1R-B's inert, grey-plated frame.
Delta.
Max turned back to the infinitesimal expanse before them. He pressed his nose against the glass and gazed out into the abyss. "Do you think it stretches on forever, Uncle Kort?"
