Do No Harm

by Chris Kennedy

  Ray gestured weakly with an arm that showed evidence of severe burns. “Tanks over there, artillery, vehicles. That long tube is the biggest damn gun ever made, Schwerer Gustav. The shell diameter was eighty centimeters. Using the measurements of the time, it was over thirty inches, nearly twice the diameter of the big naval guns the Americans used on their aquatic battleships.

  “You see those tracks?” Ray gestured again to the thin lines underneath the enormous carriage of the long gun. “They go deeper into the cavern and out the other side of the mountain. The Gustav could only be moved by pre-maglev trains. Wheels on rails. It looks like this whole complex was hollowed out two hundred years ago and stored until such time as the forces that fought over this ground needed them again. Mengele was planning on turning his berserkers loose with it. Sure, it is old, but a little carbon nanotube hardening, fusion power, and updated propellants—not to mention operators filled with rage and insensitive to pain—they would have devastated central Europe, civilian and merc alike.”

  “Not that there’s many mercs left in Europe. Damn Peepo and spineless politicians.” Jackson spat to emphasize his words. They’d received word that a MinSha force led by a Veetanho, and accompanied by a single Human, had raided the known locations of several merc headquarters, including the Rächers’ HQ in Wiesbaden. The only thing left of most were smoking holes in the ground.

  “So, what did you want me to see?” the pilot asked.

  “It’s in another cavern.” Ray gestured toward the clearly artificial tunnel that led away from their current viewpoint over the natural cavern.

  Mama brought up Ray’s mobile tank, and he gratefully slipped into the soothing water. Lucky and Jackson limped along as Sergeant Coonradt led the way down the smooth, well-lit passage into a cavern even larger than the previous.

  This one, however, held only one object: a long ovoid that would have dwarfed everything in the previous cavern—combined.

  “What do you think, Mama? Can you fly that?”

  That, was a frigate sized spaceship.

  “What the hell? How did they get that in here?”

  “Look up.”

  Up, was another massive tunnel. At its far end, she could see blue sky.

  “Now, I know there’s no damned humongous launch tubes sticking out of these mountains!”

  “Well, in the first place, these are the Alps, and there are tunnels everywhere…” began Jackson, but he was cut off by a crackle from the translator.

  “It’s a Wrogul ship,” said Ray. “One of the things I was able to download from Mengele before the end was his escape plan.” There was a pause as the cephalopod shifted in his tank. His chromophores flashed weakly, and even the synthesized translator voice sounded pained. “He planned to unleash his berserkers and then leave Peepo holding the bag, as we Humans say, while he escaped.”

  “Wow, I mean, well…shit, I can fly anything, but a frigate is a damned big boat!” Mama said, still staring up at the exit.

  “I can provide a pinplant download with the essentials. Galactic tech is pretty standard, and while there appear to be some unusual bioelectric and organic systems involved, it still has Gal-standard control systems.” Ray paused. “To be honest, both my nephew Verne and my own grandfather Todd would probably find it fascinating.”

  “We still need a crew. I can’t fly something that size on my own. Even if it’s just helm, nav, and engineering!”

  “I have contacted the Lyon, and he is putting out the word. He thinks the Horsemen left quite a few observers behind, not to mention scattered mercs like me.” Jackson said the last with a grimace.

  “And your cruise ship crew.” It was the first Lucky had spoken since Andalusia had joined the survivors. “What?” she said to their shocked faces. “You didn’t think civilians would have risked transporting known criminals across open ocean within full view of Peepo’s ships, did you?”

  “It will take some time for them to arrive. We have a few of our own to pick up while we’re at it. I want to get my grandson off this world. It may be home for some of us, but as long as the Merc Guild has its way, it is too dangerous.” There were nods all around.

  “Okay then, ship, crew, and people we need to get off Earth.” Andalusia looked at the others. “Destination?”

  “Not Karma,” said Jackson.

  “Weqq?” asked Lucky.

  “Azure,” said Ray. More nods.

  “Good, that’s settled.” She turned to Ray. “We need a name for this Wrogul ship of yours.”

  “Nautilus.”

  * * * * *

  Epilogue: Nautilus

  “No. Not staying. Look, you want to go haring off into the galaxy to track down our home world? I’m going, too.”

  “Mari, you can’t go. You are a chef, not a fighter.” Ray flashed frustration.

  “That’s what I have Guido and Nunzio for…and Little Tony, and Armida, and Stefan and Andrew, and Mickey and…”

  “Okay, okay. You still have not told me why you brought half of the Gamboa Family with you.”

  “Well, Big Tony said we’re family, and family fights for family. He also said you were all right and needed help. He sent help.” Mari flashed sooltory—amusement. “Besides, someone needs to cook for all of you!”

  Ray sighed.

  “You know you can’t argue with him.” Meryll stood with her fiancé—no, husband. They had gotten married on Azure once they’d learned returning to Earth was out of the question.

  “So why are you going?” asked Captain Andalusia.

  “Because he’s my brother. Besides, he’s right, you’ve got a boat full of mercs and no one thinking about berthing, mess management, provisioning, cargo…”

  “…not to mention the legal issues,” interjected Michael Caparelli. “No offense to you Peacemakers, but you still need someone to consider the legal ramifications if you do find Mengele’s home world.”

  Ray knew this was a battle he would not win. It had been hard enough getting away from Earth. Fortunately, Nautilus was obviously not an Earth ship, and an angry Besquith was sufficient to distract the Maki highguard. Mostly. He shuddered at the memory. Yet another battle. Now this.

  Fortunately for their medical needs, Ray’s “son” Ridley was as skilled as Molina, if not quite so…infamous. Ray had seen an older man in the sickbay as well. He looked rather like Roeder, the old biochemist from Styx Town, but the last he had heard the man had moved to the orbital Cerulean Clinic permanently because he could not handle gravity anymore. This could not be the same man—Roeder had to be well over ninety. On the other hand, there was a strange blue crate in the cargo hold marked Avander Pharmaceuticals, Earth. He had seen a Guild report about the man who had survived prison and slavery and turned up on Earth nearly one hundred years after having been reported dead in the Alpha Contracts. There were reports he was behind the recent uptick in lifespan among certain sectors on Earth.

  Roeder—if it was indeed him—was accompanied by a young woman he introduced as his granddaughter. She was also a biochemist and pharmacist, and would likewise be accompanying them on the ship, so medically, they were well-staffed.

  The thing was, Amy looked remarkably like Meryll. The resemblance was uncanny. His grandson’s adoptive sister had never known her father, but it was well known that Roeder had many wives, mistresses, and girlfriends. Could it be—? No. Not his business.

  “If my grandson won’t listen to me, I expected you at least would do so, Grandfather,” Ray said to Todd as his old-model, tracked transfer tank came into view.

  “I am the person who most needs to go,” Todd said. “I am the progenitor of the entire Wrogul colony on Azure. There are more of our kind out there, and if they are as evil as Mengele, we owe it to our adoptive family—our bipedal brothers and sisters—to find out.”

  “And when we find them, Grandfather?”

  “We stop them.”

  # # # # #

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  * * * * *

  Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Shattered Crucible”

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  * * * * *

  About Robert E. Hampson

  Robert E. Hampson, Ph.D., turns Science Fiction into Science in his day job, and puts the Science into Science Fiction in his spare time. He has consulted for more than a dozen SF writers; writes informative articles ranging from the fictional depiction of real science to living in space; and has written short fiction published by the US Army Small Wars Journal, Springer, Baen Books, and Seventh Seal Press (Chris Kennedy Publishing).

  Dr. Hampson is a Professor of Physiology / Pharmacology and Neurology with over 35 years’ experience in animal neuroscience and human neurology. His professional work includes more than 100 peer-reviewed research articles ranging from the pharmacology of memory to the effects of radiation on the brain—and most recently, the first report of a “neural prosthetic” to restore human memory using the brain’s own neural codes.

  He is a member of the SIGMA Forum and the Science and Entertainment Exchange—a service of the National Academy of Sciences. Find out more at his website: http://www.REHampson.com.

  * * *

  About Chris Kennedy

  A bestselling Science Fiction/Fantasy author, speaker, and publisher, Chris Kennedy is a former naval aviator and elementary school principal. Chris’ stories include the Theogony and Codex Regius science fiction trilogies, and stories in the Four Horsemen military sci-fi series. Get his free book, Shattered Crucible, at his website, http://chriskennedypublishing.com.

  Chris is the author of the award-winning #1 bestseller, Self-Publishing for Profit: How to Get Your Book Out of Your Head and Into the Stores. Called “fantastic” and “a great speaker,” he has coached hundreds of beginning authors and budding novelists on how to self-publish their stories at a variety of conferences, conventions, and writing guild presentations, and he is publishing fifteen authors under various imprints of his Chris Kennedy Publishing small press.

  Chris lives in Virginia Beach, Virginia, and is the holder of a doctorate in educational leadership. Follow Chris on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/chriskennedypublishing.biz.

  * * *

  About Sandra L. Medlock

  Sandra Medlock moved to Texas at 15 and has never left. Her first mission was to quickly learn to say “y’all” instead of “youz.”

  Since those early days she has had a career that has included writing procedural manuals, corporate and non-profit newsletters, and software and computer training manuals. As a freelance journalist, she wrote weekly and monthly columns for three regional papers and articles for regional magazines.

  Sandra founded and directed two computer training companies and then transitioned to managing a computer training department for a global manufacturer. She left the training business to raise her daughter, now a young adult, but the desire to help educate adults and young people has never left her. She teaches and tutors creative and essay writing, English, higher-level math classes, and music instruction.

  Sandra is developing novels for publication, and offers editorial services in creative fiction and nonfiction. She and her husband reside in South Central Texas, where their lives are now ruled by two dogs and a cat.

  * * * * *

  The following is an

  Excerpt from Book Ten of The Omega War:

  Alabaster Noon

  ___________________

  Chris Kennedy & Mark Wandrey

  Available Soon from Seventh Seal Press

  eBook, Paperback, and Audio Book

  Excerpt from Alabaster Noon:

  Prologue

  São Paulo, Brazil, Earth

  The sounds of misery were nonstop as the Besquith specialist team reached their objective, the roof of a five-story building which once housed several hundred Humans. Once in position they verified none of the occupants remained, alive or otherwise, and began setting up monitoring equipment.

  “Filthy Humans,” one of the sensor operators said, tossing a severed arm over the side of the building “Team leader Kreth, why didn’t they just nuke the entire area; that would have destroyed the Raknar.”

  “General Peepo wanted the machines intact, and their operators alive,” his squad leader reminded him for the dozenth time. Grawts wasn’t the quickest on the uptake, but he did have a mastery with the finicky elSha-manufactured gear. Several others in the team growled their support of Grawts. “Just shut up and finish deploying the sensor drones. We have nine more to place before dark.” The five-Besquith team, including himself, all went about their tasks, but Grawts wasn’t satisfied.

  “Okay, I understand preserving the war machines and operators. Peepo has them prisoner now. Why are we looking for these little creatures that accompanied them?”

  “Do I look like a general?” Kreth snarled and snapped at the back of Grawts’ neck. The hapless sensor tech rolled over and whined, so Kreth didn’t rip his rotten throat out. Satisfied, Kreth turned back to look out over the remains of São Paulo.

  The Human city, formerly one of the biggest if what he’d been told was true, was largely in ruins. Seven assaulting Raknar, along with hundreds of Humans in their entropy-cursed powered armor, tended to do that to a city. Massive defenses had been positioned to protect the seat of occupation, but the Raknar had plowed into, and ultimately, through them. The damage was horrendous. Kreth approved.

  He shielded his eyes from the setting sun to the west and could see the six surviving Raknar. Dozens of flyers were alight on them, or flying around as heavy equipment went about preparing to move them. Peepo’s prizes. He wondered what she intended for them. It didn’t matter.

  The faked cease fire worked perfectly, allowing forces to move in close to Human mercs all over the planet before springing their trap. One of the Raknar was vaporized by orbital fire. Kreth’s unit was just over a kilometer away, monitoring the mecha’s progress when it happened. They’d been flash-blinded by the orbital particle beam.

  The last six went berserk, destroying indiscriminately and totally. They’d even destroyed the orbiting station. From the ground! Kreth looked at a building a block away; half its height had been severed cleanly by a Raknar particle beam. Then, when heavy Zuul tanks attacked, the Raknar unleashed what appeared to be nuclear cannon, but they were much more compact and discrete in their damage.

  “Antimatter weapons,” an elSha tech in a weapons company said after the fight. Even Kreth sucked his breath in at the idea. Such unbelievable firepower, and now it was theirs! He desperately wanted to finish this mission so they could be assigned to the next stage.

  “Come on, come on,” he growled. “I want to go to the Human’s secret base. Oh, to see their end will be a glorious battle.” The others grunted in agreement as they affixed their sensors. It was no secret the fleet was preparing to go to the final assault. Sure, lots of Humans were still fighting in places, but they wouldn’t be fighting for long. What chance did they have? “Aren’t you done yet?” he snapped.

  “Yes, you’re done,” a tiny voice said in such perfect Besquith he thought it was a juvenile. Kreth turned, and his jaw fell open in surprise. A tiny furred creature just like he’d been told to look for was framed in the doorway pointing at him.

  “Hey—” he started to say, then something slammed into his throat, and he fell backward, unable to control his body.

  “Ambush!” one of his men cried.

  Good, Kreth thought, struggling to breath. My men will deal with them. Lying on his back on the rubble strewn roof, he heard his men moving, grabbing weapons, and yelling, then the sounds of falling bodies. It was all over in two, maybe three seconds. He exerted all his will and managed to turn his head. Five of the creat
ures were standing in the center of where his men had been working. None of the Besquith were alive, save himself. He tried to say something, and it came out as a gurgle.

  One of the creatures dropped into a partial crouch, its head spinning to face him. Kreth could see one of its eyes was covered in a patch, and it had a cybernetic arm on the same side. The creature grunted and marched over to Kreth.

  * * *

  “Be more thorough, Peanut,” Dante snapped as he stabbed the Besquith through the eye, driving hard with his cybernetic arm to be sure the blade penetrated into the alien’s brain.

  “Sorry, sir,” Peanut said.

  “Did any of them get a transmission off?” Ryft asked, cleaning her knife.

  “No.” They all glanced up at their leader. Splunk clung to the half-melted antenna above the roof where she’d been watching the clumsy Besquith setting up their instruments. She looked at her frequency scanner one more time to be sure. Nothing within a hundred meters. “They weren’t even staying in contact with their command staff.”

  “Stupid animals,” Shadow said, putting away his long blade. “Even the Kahraman would have not wasted time with their lot.”

  “They might be pathetic at tactics, but they are strong and numerous,” Ryft pointed out.

  “Peanut, take their comms gear,” Splunk ordered. “Break into their network and let’s get some intel.”

  Peanut waved, and they all started piling the dead Besquith’s equipment at his feet. Like every Dusman who’d come on the mission, they were all gifted in technology, although Peanut and Splunk were the most gifted. Since Splunk was in command, she’d delegated the job. As soon as the bodies were stripped, the other four moved toward the edges of the roof to assume overwatch.