by Tom Dublin
Gravity Storm
Shadow Vanguard, Book One
Tom Dublin
Michael Anderle
GRAVITY STORM (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2018 Tom Dublin, Michael Anderle & Craig Martelle
Cover by Andrew Dobell
Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
LMBPN Publishing
PMB 196, 2540 South Maryland Pkwy
Las Vegas, NV 89109
First US edition, February 2018
The Kurtherian Gambit (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2015-2018 by Michael T. Anderle.
Contents
Kurthurian Gambit Universe
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
Author Notes - Tom Dublin
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
Books by Tom Dublin
Books by Michael Anderle
A part of
The Kurtherian Gambit Universe
Written and Created
by Michael Anderle
Gravity Storm Team
JIT Beta Readers -
From all of us, our deepest gratitude!
Kelly O’Donnell
Kimberly Boyer
Larry Omans
Peter Manis
Joshua Ahles
Sarah Weir
Paul Westman
Tim Bischoff
John Findlay
James Caplan
Larry Omans
Kelly Bowerman
John Ashmore
Erick Cushman
Daniel Weigert
If we missed anyone, please let us know!
To Kirsty, the brightest star in my universe.
— Tom
To Family, Friends and
Those Who Love
To Read.
May We All Enjoy Grace
To Live The Life We Are
Called.
— Michael
1
ICS Fortitude, Bridge - Yoll Space
Captain Jack Marber's chair screeched as he spun to face his two colleagues.
"Fucking chair," he grumbled. "Remind me to-"
An alarm sounded, cutting him off mid-sentence.
The bridge crew turned toward the view screen. Jack reached across to activate the feed, his chair crying out again. He'd tried repairing the battered old seat on many occasions yet, no matter how much oil he slathered over the mechanism, it continued to object noisily to any movement.
At the moment, however, he had more than mere comfort on his mind.
"This is it," he said grimly, gesturing to the radar display. "Those Skaine bastards are pulling alongside."
In the co-pilot's seat, Tc'aarlat rubbed his mandibles together in anger. "I thought the Etheric Empire was supposed to be ridding Yoll space of pirates," he growled.
"At least, that's what their precious Empress promised when she took control of my planet. All this time and we're still fighting off the thieving scum."
The blood red feathered bird of prey perched on the hard exoskeleton of his shoulder shrieked angrily.
"See, even Mist hates pirates."
"I don’t think they’ll ever eliminate the Skaine," said Dollen Stonebrand from the navigation console, banging one of his claws against the desk in a vain attempt to stop the radar screens from flickering. “The Empire is too nice about it. They refuse to conduct a proper universal cleansing of the bastards.”
"They're like fleas. Once they get through a gate and infect your system, they're almost impossible to eradicate."
"Well, one of those fleas is hailing us," said Jack, gesturing to a flashing light on the console. "Opening the channel." He flicked the necessary switches.
The view screen before them hissed with static for a moment, then a leathery blue face emerged into view.
"Interstellar Cargo Ship Fortitude, this is Captain Bamston of the Skaine Patrol Vessel, Narvalt. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"
Jack's upper lip curled into a snarl. "My name is Captain Jack Marber," he growled, his British accent causing him to hit the 't' sound in 'Captain' hard. "And you can cut the crap about being a patrol vessel. You're pirates, plain and simple."
Bamston pulled a face Jack supposed was attempting to approximate the human expression of offense. "Pirates?" the alien spat. "And what brings you to that uncharitable conclusion, Captain?"
“It’s obvious,” Jack replied. "You're Skaine, and that's all your kind ever does."
The face on the screen glowered. "My kind, Captain? I shall ignore the vile speciesist slur, if you would be good enough to please tell us the type of freight you are currently transporting..."
"No chance," barked Tc'aarlat. "Go stick your head up a dead Bistok’s ass!"
Captain Bamston's image turned to glare down at the co-pilot, giving the impression that he was able to look around the entire bridge instead of just where the Fortitude's fixed, low resolution camera was pointing.
"You really should keep a tighter rein on your staff, Captain Marber," he hissed. "Such a foul mouth could easily hamper diplomatic relations between my kind and the Etheric Empire."
"We don't work for anyone, least of all the Etheric Empire," Tc'aarlat responded, "so I can say what I damn well want, especially to the likes of you."
"And I'm not staff," he added, gesturing towards the figure in the Captain's chair. "We're partners."
"It's true," Dollen put in from behind them. "I'm the staff."
Bamston laughed unpleasantly. "Well, well... A human, a Yollin and a Baroleon putting aside their many cultural differences in the pursuit of capitalism. It does a soul good to see such harmony at work. Now, back to the subject of your cargo..."
Suddenly, the elongated ears on top of Dollen's bald head angled themselves to the left, and his tail began to twitch at the back of his seat. He hit the button that would cut the line of communication. The view screen flashed with static again for a moment, then fell dark.
"I hear something," the Baroleon hissed.
Jack turned in his chair, causing it to squeak again. He strained his own ears but couldn't pick up any abnormal sounds. However, despite only having known the Baroleon for a few months, he'd already come to trust his keen hearing. "What kind of something?"
Dollen raised a claw to hush his colleagues for a few seconds, allowing him to c
oncentrate. "Tools," he said, his expression darkening. "Someone's forcing open one of the port side hatches.
Tc'aarlat sneered up at the view screen. "That Skaine bastard kept us talking so we wouldn't spot his boarding party. Can we get a look at them, see how many of the shit-suckers are out there?"
Jack's fingers darted across the controls for the ship's external cameras but was rewarded with little more than screen after screen of white noise and dancing pixels. "Gott Verdammt!" he cursed. "The CCTV system's on the fritz again."
"Can we run?" inquired Dollen. "Their ship is a lot smaller than ours. The engines won't be as powerful."
"Not while we're fully loaded," said Jack. "They'd be crawling all over us before we could pick up enough speed. Our only hope is to dump the cargo..." He reached out towards the control panel that would allow him to open the freighter's loading doors and eject their consignment.
Tc'aarlat shot out an arm and grabbed his partner's wrist. "No way!" he barked. "Do you know how much that would cost us?"
"We can't collect payment if we're dead!" Jack retorted.
"So, your solution is to just give them what they want and run away like a frightened schoolchild?"
Mist cried out again, ruffling her feathers.
"They're going to get the cargo one way or another," said Jack, flicking a disgusted glance up at the Raal hawk. "This way, we get to keep our lives. All we lose is our money."
"Wrong!" snarled the Yollin, his mandibles wide and angry. "All we lose is my money. You still owe me your half for the cost of this ship, remember?"
Jack fixed his partner with a hard stare. "You're bringing this up? Now?"
"If you're about to ditch any chance of me recouping my investment into deep space, then yes. I'm bringing this up now."
"Investment my arse!" Jack said with a cold laugh. "You paid for this freighter with stolen cash."
Tc'aarlat didn't look away from Jack's furious stare. "Which I stole fair and square," he spewed. "We are not handing this consignment over to pirates and bolting with our tails between our legs."
"Too late for that, anyway," said Dollen. He slid open a drawer beneath his console, retrieved an old-style kinetic pistol and tossed it over to Jack, who checked that the ammunition magazine was fully loaded. "The Skaine are already on board."
ICS Fortitude, Upper Deck, Port Side Access Hatch
Fonk heaved open the metal door, the broken locking mechanism clattering to the floor of the dimly lit corridor. The pirate pulled his breather from between his mottled lips and ushered the small boarding party inside.
This was the first time he had been charged with leading an attack on another ship, and he was determined to get it right.
Not to earn Captain Bamston's approval in any way - he despised his superior more than any other officer he'd had the displeasure to serve under - but more because of the extremely violent way his predecessor had been executed for failing to secure the crew's last target vessel.
He could still taste the seared Skaine flesh Bamston had ordered the rest of the defeated boarding party to dissect, cook, and devour.
It was delicious.
And, as much as he'd love to give Captain Bamston crippling indigestion, he wasn't prepared to give his life to do so.
"Artok, Tuss - head to the cargo hold and find out what these dregs are hauling. Shizz, you're coming to the bridge with me."
Shizz scowled. "Just the two of us?" he grunted. "There are three of them up there. And..." he paused, his pockmarked face crumpling with the obvious pain of thinking, "three is more than two."
"What's wrong?" glowered Fonk. "Afraid of a little brawl?"
"No!" Shizz insisted, his pride stinging. "It's just that Orkov used to take more of us to seize command before plundering the rest of the ship."
"Orkov's dead," spat Fonk. "I'm in charge now, and we do things my way."
Artok looked from Fonk to Shizz and back again, half hoping the argument between the two would escalate and prove entertaining. Then a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
"Come on," snarled Tuss. "We've got a job to do."
Reluctantly, Artok unholstered his weapon, and followed his older brother in search of the cargo bay.
Signaling for Shizz to remain silent, Fonk led the way towards the freighter's deck, following the faded signage fixed to the corridor walls. The two pirates paused outside the door to the command area, readying themselves for attack.
And that's when Fonk's right shoulder was torn apart by a bullet.
The Skaine twisted in agony, quickly switching his weapon to his left hand and firing at the tall figure emerging from the shadows beside the door. His blaster was set to project a wide beam for maximum destruction but the combination of his left hand being less accurate than his right, and the sickening pain in his shoulder caused his aim to go wide.
The deadly beam missed its target, instead hitting and destroying the pilot's chair in the bridge beyond.
Jack glanced over at what remained of his smoldering seat. "I know I need a new one," he snarled, "but don't expect me to take that sitting down."
Spinning on the spot, he struck out a leg and kicked the Skaine's blaster from his hand, then darted forward to head-butt the pirate, shattering the bones inside the creature's nose with a sickening crunch.
"Glark!" yelled Fonk, clutching at his face with his now free left hand, blood pouring between his fingers.
The sudden counter-attack finally registered with Shizz, and he reached for his own weapon, ready to spring to Fonk's defense. But, before he could pull the gun from its holster, a second figure appeared from the darkness.
This one was brandishing a long, black rod with a pair of razor sharp prongs protruding from one end. Sparks of blue electricity spat and danced from one metal point to the other.
"The great thing about only having one gun on board this ship, is that the rest of us are forced to improvise," rumbled Dollen as he thrust the electrified end of the rod towards Shizz's terrified face.
"Say hello to Mr Sparky!"
The pointed prongs sank deep into the Skaine's eyes, causing his eyeballs to burst, trails of off-white viscous liquid dribbling down Shizz's cheeks. Dollen hit the button at his end of the weapon and held it down, sending 50,000 volts of sheer hell coursing through Shizz's brain.
"Amazing what you can do with a modified Bistok prod that doesn’t like pirates!" Dollen yelled over the convulsing Skaine's screams. Pungent, black smoke streamed from every orifice as the inside of the pirate's skull was instantly brought to the boil, and his thick, grimy hair burst into flames.
Tugging the prod free, Dollen allowed his victim's still jerking body to crumple to the floor, where he proceeded to stamp out the fire engulfing Shizz's head with his heavy-soled army surplus boots.
"Safety first," he quipped, spinning the still-spitting prod.
Across the corridor, Jack advanced on Fonk who began to back away in horror as he realized that, even if he were to somehow get out of this fuck-up alive, he was almost certainly destined to be the main course at Bamston's dinner table that evening.
His eyes widened as Jack raised his pistol and took aim.
"Wait!" Fonk cried, holding up his bloodied hand. "I- I surrender. I'll join your crew, work for you. Do whatever you tell me to. For nothing. Less than that. You can have everything I own. Just let me live, and get me out of here. Please!"
Jack paused to consider the offer for a brief moment, then he closed one eye and squeezed the trigger.
"No deal, wank-stain!"
ICS Fortitude, Cargo Bay 4, Level 3
Tc'aarlat pressed his body into a shallow alcove in the wall and watched as the two remaining Skaine invaders wandered among the cargo bay's loaded pallets. Mist gripped his shoulder pad tightly, the bird's piercing yellow eyes fixed on the unsuspecting raiders.
The larger of the pirate pair paused beside a tall stack of wooden crates and sliced through the thick plastic wrapping with his fingernails,
tearing it away to examine the delivery label pasted to the side of the box beneath.
"Com-poo-ter sar... sarv...," said Tuss, attempting to translate the unfamiliar words as he spoke.
The second pirate glanced over at the label. "Server," he said, correcting his brother. "Well, well... These mugs are carrying computer servers."
The taller Skaine blinked, his expression blank. "Great!" he announced in as confident a voice as he could muster. "They're really good, those computer servers, aren't they?"
Artok sighed. "A computer is like the screen thing we use for navigation on the ship. A server is a really powerful version."
Tuss grinned, revealing two rows of blackened and broken teeth as he stepped back to view the hundreds of identical pallets filling the hold. "And they've got loads of them," he announced. "We're gonna be rich!"
Not if I've got anything to do with it, thought Tc'aarlat twitching his shoulder to signal Mist to take flight. The hawk's powerful wings lifted her silently into the air, the deep red feathers fading to black as her natural camouflage ability took hold.
Once Mist was airborne, Tc'aarlat took a small step forward, his foot nudging against something. He looked down to discover a large, rusted metal toolbox on the floor beside him, and he smiled.
Tuss rubbed his hands together greedily. "The Captain will be able to flog this lot for a tasty profi-aaarrrgghhh!"
