Table of Contents
Title Page
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Acknowledgments
Other Books
Copyright
Lone Star Renegades
By
Mark Wayne McGinnis
Preface
Relatively close, at least in terms of distance from Earth … there are two highly unique dual galaxies. Actual satellites of the Milky Way galaxy, they’re called the Magellanic Clouds.
With a fundamentally different structure and lower mass form, life differs in this region of space … again, compared to life found on Earth and within the confines of the Milky Way galaxy. The two dwarf galaxies are gas-rich and a higher fraction of their mass is both hydrogen- and helium-based. They are also deficient in even the most common metals found within the Milky Way.
The smaller of the two galaxies, dubbed the Mini Magellanic, is teeming with planets sporting a wide variety of advanced life forms. One particular world, Corpus 956, is the most technologically advanced civilization in the entire sector. Thousands, if not tens of thousands, of years ahead of Earth in virtually all aspects pertaining to technology and the sciences, the Notares, inhabitants of Corpus 956, are feverously hungry for metals such as aluminum, iron, magnesium, and titanium—to name just a few—all necessary to support their ever-expanding presence in outer space. But metals that are already processed hold the highest interest to the Notares. For thousands of years, magnificent transport vessels called sim-rovers have been traversing the dual Magellanic galaxies to meet the Notares’ ever-growing dependence on metal. Only now, to obtain more of the metals their society requires, they have been forced to explore worlds outside their own dual galaxies.
With the exception of a handful of Notares technicians, along with a small command crew, a highly automated sim-rover has crossed into the nearest regions of the Milky Way. The vessel has two directives—first, to explore all the planets within the region and those that maintain civilizations advanced enough to have adequate quantities of processed metal. Second … to extricate and return with those processed metals.
Now, venturing well into the Milky Way, sim-rover ship 1229, detecting vast quantities of processed metal, slowly moves into a high orbit above Earth.
Chapter 1
Collin Frost sat in silence as John Bubba Washington repeatedly punched his upper left arm. Apparently, this was the price Collin would have to pay for taking the only remaining open seat on the Middleton High School Athletic Association’s bus back to school.
To say Bubba was a bully was a ridiculous understatement. Collin wasn’t alone with his opinion that Bubba was a raging psychopath in the making—he liked to hurt people, got off on it. With that said, the degenerate would still be allowed to finish up his senior year. He was too important. At two hundred and sixty-five pounds, nineteen and a half years old, the starting defensive tackle was not only the baddest son of a bitch on the bus that evening, he was a college athletic recruiter’s dream come true. Easily the most sought after high school senior in the entire great state of Texas.
Collin continued to stare straight ahead, looking at his teammate’s Lone Stars jersey: white with blue numbers. He kept his expression neutral—as neutral as possible, considering his arm was being socked over and over by a fist nearly the size of Collin’s own head.
“I told you, Sticks, don’t fucking sit here.”
Collin braced for the inevitable, thunderous, jaw-wrenching next punch to the exact same location on his fairly unsubstantial upper right arm. When it came, Collin was physically transported up and out of his seat into the narrow aisle. As he sat on the mud-crusted linoleum, between grass-stained football pants and bloodied knees, a cleated foot, from God knew where, kicked into Collin’s middle back.
Sticks was a nickname Collin had picked up three years before, as a freshman. Where Bubba was two hundred and sixty-five pounds of hardened muscle and brawn, Collin was a tall, lanky, skinny kid who barely tipped the scales at one hundred and sixty pounds.
“Stay down, fuckface,” Bubba spat. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
“Yeah, stay down, Sticks,” came the annoying voice from the seat directly behind Bubba’s. Collin glanced back at the smaller, white version of Bubba, Mike Humphrey. Humphrey was Bubba’s best friend. His hair typically looked unwashed and always seemed to hang in his face. When not playing football he exclusively wore his father’s old army jacket. Bubba and Humphrey had always hung together—an obnoxious duo, they cut a swath of misery wherever they went, and toward anyone who crossed their path. Unfortunately for Collin, today was his turn. “Hey, Sticks … tell me how you could miss a field goal from fifteen yards out. That must be some kind of high school record, don’t you think?”
Collin didn’t answer. Truth was, he wasn’t completely sure how he’d missed it.
The fact that Collin was considered an egghead, smart, only increased the level of torment he’d endured since he’d first tried out for the football team. But what had amazed more than a few coaches that early fall afternoon when he’d tried out for the team was that he had a pretty good kicking leg on him. Collin suspected he’d have a fair chance as a kicker; he’d played soccer as a little kid and knew for a fact he wasn’t all that bad.
Still on the floor, Collin debated the perils of sharing a seat with Bubba again. He could see the bus driver was already looking back at him from the overhead mirror. Scowling, the driver yelled over the loud chattering of the other kids, “Back on your seat, now!”
Toward the front of the bus Collin heard the distinctive higher-pitched voices of the female cheerleaders. They were singing—actually, they were rapping along to a song Collin was somewhat familiar with … Club goin’ up, on a Tuesday
Got your girl in the cut and she choosay …
Club goin’ up, on a Tuesday
Got your girl in the cut and she choosay.
That’s when Collin saw Lydia casually glance back at him over her shoulder while she pulled her long dark hair away from her face—their eyes momentarily locked. Was that a smile on her lips as she sang along? … “Club goin’ up, on a Tuesday
Got your girl in the cut and she choosay …”
There was a lot Collin could put up with at that moment: a detention slip from the bus driver, whatever … fine; more pummeling from Bubba, okay, sure … But Lydia seeing him looking like an ass wipe, wedged down in the aisle? No flippin’ way.
Collin pulled himself back up onto the bench seat and looked over to a surprised Bubba. “Hey Bubba, I heard Humph talking about you in the locker room.”
Collin continued: “He was telling Clifford Bosh you’ve got the tiniest baloney pony he’d ever seen. That must be like … really embarrassing, Bubba. But hey, forget it. Why’s Humph watching you in the shower anyway? I guess that’s a whole other issue.”
Collin saw and heard Lydia laugh out loud. But whatever redemption Collin hoped to earn was short-lived. She’d turned around in her seat in time to see both Bubba and Humphrey’s fists make solid connections—one to the side of Collin’s head and the next to the back.
Collin was back down in the aisle again and seeing stars. He was barely conscious of the fact the bus was coming to a stop. His head throbbed and he felt like he might throw up. The ding ding ding of a railroad crossing put them at Mills Country Road. Shit, they were only halfway home. As the train drew closer, Collin heard its whistle scream in three long bursts and then the ticketty clack ticketty clack ticketty clack of metal wheels rolling by on metal rails.
While debating if he should move back to his seat, Collin was aware of another sound. Actually, it was the lack of sound. Had the two punches affected his hearing? Collin rubbed at his ears and heard his fingers moving back and forth in stereo … hearing’s okay. Collin looked to his right and saw Bubba looking out the window. Hell, everyone was looking out the windows. Next came voices of trepidation—of fear.
“Do you see that?”
“Oh my God!”
“Help them!”
“I need to get off … God … let me off!”
Then the screams started. Boys and girls and, in Bubba’s case, a full-grown man, screamed out with terrified voices.
A green light had replaced the darkness outside. “What is it?” Collin asked, frustrated, still trying to get his feet underneath him. “What do you see?”
No one paid any attention to his questions.
The former swish of the passing train was replaced by the wrenching-twisting sounds of metal … and now, other distant screams. As Collin finally made it to his knees and was able to peer out the left side of the bus, he saw firsthand what had everyone in such a frenzy.
Collin blinked three times in rapid succession, hoping to clear his vision from what must be, he figured, an illusion. But it wasn’t an illusion. It was a horrific scene that had no place in his logical, highly intelligent brain. Before them was the train’s engine, still attached to six railroad cars, which dangled beneath it, at an elevation of one hundred feet above the ground. People had started to jump from passenger car windows to what would surely be an inevitable death onto the flat farmland far below. Several autos and a pickup truck, on the far side of the track, were suddenly lifted into the air simultaneously. Slowly at first, then picking up speed, the cars, the pickup truck, and the train—engine and dangling passenger cars—moved higher and higher up into the air.
But Collin’s eyes were no longer on any of those things. What grabbed his attention, as well as everyone else’s on the bus, was the gargantuan, egg-shaped space ship. Bigger than anything Collin had ever seen—bigger than the Sears Tower he’d visited two years ago in Chicago or AT&T Stadium, where he and his dad watched the Dallas Cowboys defeat the Bengals. For a brief moment, Collin saw the cars and pickup truck lowering back down to the street. But that wasn’t really what was happening. No … the bus, too—their bus—was now also rising into the air. Students were scrambling to open up windows, only to find they were already too far off the ground to jump out. Shrieks and screams filled the cramped space.
Collin was on his feet and, like the other kids, looking for a way out. Bubba, still crouched on his seat, had been reduced to a blubbering child—his eyes wide and frantic. Toward the front of the bus, Collin saw Lydia standing and staring out the window, both hands covering her mouth. It was then Collin felt the pull—like the G-forces he recalled feeling on a Six Flags roller-coaster—only this force was pulling him, and everything else, straight up toward an open orifice at the bottom of the ship.
Chapter 2
Collin watched as the mayhem around him continued to elevate. He sat back down next to Bubba. Was Collin scared shitless? Of course, but the logic-deducing part of Collin’s brain had already come to terms with the simple fact there was zero he could do about any of it … things did not look promising for a long and healthy life. On the other hand, the experience was beyond amazing.
“We’re going to die … we’re going to die … we’re going to die …” said Bubba, the words coming out in a rapid, murmuring succession. Even taking up three quarters of the seat, Bubba somehow seemed smaller. His tough-guy bravado was replaced by a vulnerability Collin never guessed was there.
“You want to know something, big guy?” Collin asked, in a tone that betrayed none of his own fears.
Bubba, looking momentarily awed by Collin’s seeming nonchalance, stopped his blathering. “Wha … What?”
“If … and I’ll give you it’s a big if … but if we live through this, you might want to try to pull yourself together … some. You never know what’s going to happen.”
But Bubba’s attention was drawn back out the window and Collin spotted the yellow stain where he’d wet himself. The big defensive tackle held his two meaty hands tightly clenched in his lap.
The now frantic bus driver was still seated behind the wheel. Every so often he put his hands at ten and two and attempted to steer the bus away from their inevitable destination. It almost would have been funny, if their lives hadn’t been in such peril. Looking on the brighter side of their ongoing ordeal, Collin noticed there was another interesting aspect to their continuing ascent. While the train, cars, and pickup truck had changed their orientation, now rotating vertically as they rose, the school bus had stayed relatively horizontal, as if traveling on some invisible, unseen highway into the ever-nearing glowing green aperture above.
Collin realized he didn’t want to be alone when they entered that big ship. If he was going to die, which Bubba was all too sure of, he should go out with someone he cared about. He scanned the front of the bus for her long hair. She wasn’t where he’d last seen her. Collin stood up, fear gripping him tightly around the throat. He spun to his left and then looked behind him. How’d she get behind me? … Collin saw her, her head buried into the chest of Darren Mallon … varsity starting quarterback, almost as much in demand as Bubba, and rock-star handsome. Of course she’d find him. He’d been her boyfriend as long as Collin had known her.
The bus shifted backward and Collin momentarily lost his balance. Surprisingly, there was a voice yelling over the intercom: “Everyone back in your seats. Sit down!”
Apparently the bus driver still had the presence of mind to act and say something constructive. No one paid any attention, but Collin appreciated his effort to control the bus just the same.
“Hell if I’m going to stay here,” Collin said, moving forward in the aisle. He had to squirm past several colossal-sized teenagers before reaching the bus driver’s side.
“I told you to sit the hell down, kid!” the driver spewed, hands still gripped tightly on the wheel.
Shrugging, Collin said, “I don’t want to miss this,” gesturing to the rapidly approaching opening, easily the size of several city blocks. He could now partially see inside the ship. Everything in there was bathed in emerald green, and he could discern movement inside. The bus driver and Collin leaned more forward to get a better perspective of what they were seeing through the windshield.
Both suddenly leaned back and gasped. “Robotic arms … they’re sorting what’s coming into the ship,” Collin said flatly. What was even more apparent to him was that their relatively smooth travel into the ship so far was about to end. There was nothing gentle about the way the large, articulating arms were handling what was coming in. He watched as the red pickup truck rose into the aperture and was abruptly plucked out of the air by a three-fingered claw.
Without hesitation it tossed the truck hundreds of feet, like a discarded toy, onto a pile of like-sized objects.
Collin and the driver looked at each other. The driver yelled into the microphone: “Sit down and hold on … do it, now!”
This time everyone did as told. Collin moved into the seat behind the driver. He looked for something to grab on to, deciding the back of the driver’s seat was his only real option. The G-forces were increasing and Collin was having an extremely hard time staying in his seat. Arms and legs, and the flesh on his face, were being pulled forward. Abruptly, something brushed by Collin’s right shoulder. Before his brain could make sense of it—a short white skirt—a white and gold sweater with the school emblem—a cheerleader careened through the windshield backwards. Her face contorted in a perpetual, soundless scream. Instinctively, Collin reached for her—almost releasing his precarious hold on the driver’s seat back in the process.
The bus changed its angle again, becoming nearly straight up and down as it vertically ascended into the ship’s opening. With a quick glance behind him, Collin saw elevated feet—bodies held high, as if caught in a hurricane-force wind tunnel. Another body, a football player, flew past him and out through the now non-existent windshield.
Without warning the bus driver too was gone. Collin didn’t see him get yanked from the bus—one second he was there, the next he was gone. The bus entered the opening, into the ship itself. There were hundreds of large articulating arms at work around the periphery of the open expanse. Everything entering was forced to the side, into the constantly moving arms. Collin felt the G-forces on the bus change direction—they were being pulled sideways. Two arms rose in unison to catch the entering bus. The forward-most arm, with its outstretched claws, penetrated the bus. One of its claw fingers tore into the two seats behind Collin, one tore through the ceiling directly overhead, and another took hold of the engine section. Collin listened to the screams around him. Some were from fear—others from agonizing pain. The bus shuddered and was jerked about with tremendous force and then, as it left the clutches of the articulating arm, sailed through the air for several agonizingly long seconds. Upside down, and moving with way too much speed, the bus impacted something significantly larger than itself.
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