by James Palmer
Contents
Other Books by James Palmer
Main Title Page
Copyright Info
Acknowledgements
One-Extraction
Two-Escape
Three-Takeoff
Four-Change of Plans
Five-Hephaestus
Six-The Fence
Seven-The Raid
Eight-In Transit
Nine-Dr. Argent
Ten-Assault on Riveras B
Eleven-Framed
Star Swarm
About
Other Books by James Palmer
Slow Djinn
Into the Weird
Archer of Venus
The Chaos Wave
Star Swarm
As Contributor:
Gideon Cain: Demon Hunter
Blackthorn: Thunder on Mars
Mars McCoy: Space Ranger vol. 2
Tales of the Rook vol. 2
The Amazing Harry Houdini volume 1
Legends of New Pulp Fiction
As Editor:
Monster Earth
Betrayal on Monster Earth
Strange Trails
Chaos Conspiracy
A Star Swarm Prequel
James Palmer
A Mechanoid Press Book
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously.
CHAOS CONSPIRACY: A CHAOS WAVE PREQUEL
Copyright © 2016 James Palmer
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form, save for brief passages to be quoted in reviews.
A Mechanoid Press Book
This one, as always, is for K and G.
One: Extraction
Lt. Commander Noah Hamilton straightened the front of his tunic and wondered what in the worlds he was getting himself into this time. What had sounded at the outset like a simple enough assignment was growing ever more complex, and he was starting to think he was in over his head. Not that he would ever admit that to his commanding officer, Colonel Straker.
He looked around the crowded bar, hoping the face he was looking for was there. Field agent Lieutenant Leda Niles had proved very difficult to track down. He’d been to dozens of seedy bars on six worlds without any luck.
Hamilton’s eyes scanned the crowd while keeping one hand on the comm attached to his belt. Valuables had a habit of walking off in places like this. He moved among the crowd of drunken miners, jump pilots and claim jumpers, feeling as out of place as he would be if he were still wearing his uniform. He would attract too much attention in his official capacity, and it would be nearly impossible to complete his mission. “Out on the Fringe,” Colonel Straker had warned him sternly, “people don’t take too kindly to law and order.”
There. Just when he had been about to give up and try another hole in the wall bar on yet another seedy moon or comet fort, Hamilton spotted her, heading right for him. He had never meet Lt. Niles, but he had spent hours while in transit studying her file, and this person coming toward him now was definitely her. He could tell by the set of her strong jaw, and her long brown hair pulled into a hasty ponytail. She was out of uniform, wearing instead a gray t-shirt, brown jacket, pants and clunky work boots. Hamilton couldn’t believe his luck. Maybe this extraction would be easier than he thought.
“Lt. Niles,” he said, stepping in front of her and waving his hand to get her attention as she pushed through the crowd.
She glanced up at him and scowled, then snapped her head around to look behind her.
“I’m Lt. Hamilton. Straker sent me to get you. We have to—”
Lt. Niles ran up and put her arms around him, pushing him backward onto a small yet crowded dance floor.
“Lieutenant,” Hamilton began, but the woman put a finger to his lips.
“Shut up and listen,” she said. “See those two trolls following me?”
“Trolls?” said Hamilton, scanning the crowd behind her.
“Don’t be so obvious about it!” she said in a stage whisper. “Do you see them?”
Hamilton gave the crowd another quick glance, and saw two short, beastly-looking men striding purposefully toward them. “Yes, I see them.”
Niles spun him around so his back was facing them. “Dance with me. And try to pretend you’re having a good time.”
Hamilton swayed to the off-kilter rhythm blaring from a hidden sound system.
“OK, they’re gone.”
Hamilton pulled away from her. “What was all that about?”
“Just a tiny misunderstanding,” said Niles, glancing after them. “Who are you again?”
“Lt. Edmund Noah Hamilton, Special Operations. Straker sent me to extract you.”
“You’re a terrible dancer,” she said.
Hamilton shrugged. “I guess I slept through the class at the Academy. Now let’s go.”
Hamilton led her toward the entrance of the establishment. They were almost through the door when the trolls pursuing Lt. Niles stepped back inside.
“Mariska,” a gruff voice said. “There you are. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Niles took Hamilton’s hand and squeezed it. He knew what that meant. He’d have to step into a role here and follow her lead if he had any hope of either of them surviving the next few minutes.
“Yes, yes,” said his friend, stretching his face into a gap-toothed smile. “Come. Let’s find a table and complete our transaction.”
Hamilton eyed the hardware the two men had clipped to their belts, and sought a way out. Unfortunately, there wasn’t one. They had no choice but to go along with them. At least they were in a crowded bar, but he doubted anyone would come to their aid if things went pear-shaped.
They found an unoccupied table and sat down, Hamilton and Niles facing the two trolls. That is how Hamilton thought of them now, for they were both short and squat, with large ears covered in multiple piercings. They were definitely from the same low grav world, and possibly related. Hamilton couldn’t place their accents, though they spoke perfect Standard, with no more language drift than you would expect to find in this quadrant of League occupied space.
One of them propped his elbows on the dirty, molded plastic of the table and grinned. “Mariska. You and I have known each other for a long span. I know you weren’t trying to skip out on our little deal.”
Niles uttered fake laughter. “Skip out on you, Tibault? Never! You know me better than that. I was looking for you when I got a call.” She leaned against Hamilton lovingly, and he smiled, placing his arm around her.
“This is Max. My new beau.” She kissed Hamilton on the cheek.
Tibault and his associate exchanged knowing glances and chuckled, as if sharing some private joke at Hamilton’s expense. He glared at the two men until they stopped smiling.
“Let’s get down to business,” said Tibault’s associate. “We know you have the Icon, and we represent a certain faction that will pay dearly for it.”
“Yes,” said Tibault. “We are authorized to negotiate on their behalf.”
“Well,” said Niles, glancing at Hamilton. “I don’t exactly have it…yet.”
Tibault looked angry. “That is not what you told us.”
“I told you I was looking for it,” said Niles. “And that I had a line on it. I never said I actually had the thing.”
“We gave you some rare Progenitor gems in exchange for information leading to the Icon’s whereabouts,” said Tibault’s associate. “In good faith I might add. Your reputation is hardly first order.” He ey
ed her appraisingly.
“Just so we’re clear,” said Niles. “None of us at this table are exactly above board here. That being said, I gave you what you wanted, information. What you and your client does with that is none of my concern.”
“The information you gave us was bogus,” said Tibault. “Frix and I were fired, and lost a considerable consulting fee in the process.”
Niles curved her mouth into an exaggerated frown. “I’m so sorry, boys. Tough break, huh?” She squeezed Hamilton’s arm. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Max and I have another commitment.”
She got up to leave, and Hamilton did the same, his eyes never leaving the two seedy traders.
“Hold on,” said Tibault. “We were fired because of you.”
Frix nodded. “We seek recompense.”
Niles shrugged. “I’m sorry, boys. The info I gave you was solid. If your employers don’t agree, that’s their problem.” Hamilton watched as her right hand slowly went to the flechette pistol on her hip.
“Lying bitch!” Tibault shouted. He started to stand, reaching for a hidden sidearm, and Niles gripped the edge of the table, toppling it onto Tibault and Frix. They both fell onto the floor.
“Meeting’s over,” said Niles, grabbing Hamilton’s hand. “Let’s go!”
Hamilton let himself be pulled through the crowded bar toward the entrance. Behind them, Frix and Tibault had recovered themselves and were in pursuit.
Two: Escape
Niles pushed through the door of the bar, slamming into a tall, reed-thin man trying to enter as they fled into the early evening. The patron cursed them in heavily accented Standard as they ran through a maze of parked vehicles and onto a plastic service road that stretched east to west.
“Hold on,” said Hamilton, yanking his hand from her grasp.
“We can’t,” said Niles. “Those two idiots will be on us in a second. Come on.”
“Let’s get to my ship,” Hamilton said, breathing heavy.
“Lead the way.”
They walked the half a kilometer to the spaceport, checking over their shoulders at intervals. Hamilton wished an autocab would come along, but none did. Apparently, this backwater planet was too rural even for that basic level of service. He suddenly realized he couldn’t even remember the name of the planet. Officially it was still a long string of letters and numbers on a survey map. No doubt its denizens had gifted it with some eloquent sobriquet, but he couldn’t care less what it was. He supposed it didn’t matter what it was called.
There were a few buildings on either side of the road, mostly clusters of plastic transport containers that had been turned into storefronts and domiciles. Wan light glowed from the interiors of a few, and vehicles of various makes and functionality dotted the weed-choked lots in front of them.
““What was your mission anyway?” Hamilton asked when he’d caught his breath. “Straker was a little sketchy on the details.”
“I was undercover as an artifacts dealer,” said Niles, “specializing in Draconi artifacts, but with a nice sideline in Progenitor pieces.”
Hamilton said, “No wonder you were in so deep.”
“And while we’re on the subject, how do I know you are who you say you are?”
Hamilton scowled, pulled out his comm and flashed his credentials at her. She glanced at them for a long moment before nodding. “All right, then. I suppose if you were someone the Wanderers sent to kill me you’d have done it by now.”
“Wanderers? What the hell have you been doing out here?” The Wanderers were a terrorist group and a constant thorn in the Solar Navy’s side. Not everyone in the League of Worlds approved of how it operated.
“Tibault and Frix worked for them. Straker sent me out here to try and find a way into their organization. We’ve known for years that they’ve been partially financed through the trading of Progenitor and Draconi artifacts.”
Hamilton nodded. “I hear there’s quite a black market for that stuff.”
“You don’t know the half of it. I was pretending to be a gem trader with valuable information on the whereabouts of the Progenitor Icon.”
“Never heard of it,” said Hamilton.
“It’s a myth,” said Niles. “Some kind of Progenitor treasure map that’s supposed to lead to some magical Progenitor weapon called the Light of Ages. Only it doesn’t exist. But those clowns certainly think so.”
“So you were using it to get what you wanted.”
She smiled. “Of course. I gave them some elaborate and convoluted intel, hoping they would set up a meeting with their client, a representative of the Wanderers.”
“Only the Wanderers didn’t take the bait.”
Niles kicked a rock and sent it skittering down the road. It was almost dark, the bioluminescent strips on each side of the roadway glowing a sickly green. “Six standard months I worked on this mission. Setting myself up as a black-market gem merchant. Getting chummy with the scum of several solar systems. All for nothing.”
“Sounds like I pulled you out just in time,” said Hamilton.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Why does Straker want me out?”
Hamilton shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him.”
“It’s weird. That data I fed Tibault and Frix was so convincing, I almost went off in search of the Icon myself. It’s almost as if they better intel.”
A red dot appeared on the Lieutenant’s left shoulder. Hamilton’s eyes widened.
“Get down!”
Hamilton slammed into Niles, knocking her to the ground just as the section of road where she had been standing exploded. Niles pushed Hamilton off of her, rolled into a crouch behind a parked vehicle, her weapon already drawn. She took quick aim at a clump of thorn bushes on the other side of the road and fired, sending a cloud of microscopic needles through the air at thousands of feet per second. A hole appeared in the bush as its thorny leaves were shredded into mulch.
Hamilton dived behind the vehicle and drew his own rail pistol, firing a titanium-jacketed bolt into the darkness. They heard a squeal, then the sound of two sets of running feet.
“Cowardly bastards,” said Niles, getting up and brushing herself off.
“You think we got one of them?” Hamilton asked.
“I doubt we’re that lucky,” she said. “But we certainly made them think twice about trying that again. Let’s get to the spaceport before they change their minds.”
“I thought you said they’d think twice,” said Hamilton.
“They will,” she said. “Then they’ll come back and try again anyway.”
Three: Takeoff
The lights of the spaceport were a welcoming beacon after the relative loneliness of the road. It was full dark now, a misshapen moon pockmarked with craters hung low in the sky, reflecting baleful starlight down on them like a deformed lantern. They entered through a service corridor and walked toward the main hall, passing by several dozen travelers on their way to their own vessels, or hanging around dirtside on business.
“My ship is down this way,” Hamilton said, turning left. When he got to his ship’s crèche, he paused.
“What are those guys doing? That’s my ship.”
Hamilton started forward, where three disagreeable looking men stood at the open hatch of his vessel. Niles grabbed his arm and hauled him back behind a stack of tall crates.
“That’s not your ship anymore,” she said, her voice low.
“What are you talking about?”
“I know those men. They’re friends of my associates back at the bar. They’re also very good friends with the port authority here. It’s all very corrupt. They basically have free run of any ship that lands here, stealing whatever they think they can fence, including parts of the ship. The port master is in on it. That’s him in the black cloak, here to get his cut.”
“Well, we’ll just see about that.” Hamilton started forward again, but Niles squeezed his arm harder.
“You’ll accuse them of stealing, and they’ll just have the port authority enforcers take you into custody, if they don’t crack your skull open instead. Flash that fancy Navy ID, and you’ll only make things ten times worse.”
“Then how do we get out of here?” asked Hamilton.
“I have a ship, too. Come on.”
Hamilton sighed and followed her through a maze of mechanics and repair bots toward a different section of the spaceport. “The extended stay crèches are down this way,” Niles said. Hamilton followed her out into the moonlight, down a path covered in pink gravel that led to the far end of the spaceport. Sitting there was a dark hunk of metal Hamilton scarcely recognized as a ship.
“That’s it?” he said.
Leda grinned. “It sure is.”
“Looks like it’s been stripped of anything valuable already.” It also looked as if it could barely fly, let alone escape the planet’s gravity well for the vacuum of space, but Hamilton kept that to himself.
“That’s the idea,” she said. “It also has some anti-theft protocols in place. If anyone but me so much as touches her they’ll lose a face.”
Hamilton nodded appraisingly. He looked the thing over from tip to stern. “I recognize this design. It looks like a refitted Warsprite. I haven’t seen one of these since I was a kid, and then only in a holo.”
“You know your ships,” said Leda. “Very good. It is a Warprite, at least on the outside.” She placed her right hand near where Hamilton guessed the door should be. There was a click and the dense hull separated and slid open, extruding a gangplank covered in yellow and black caution striping. The faint interior lighting flickered on.
“Welcome back, Lieutenant Niles,” said a soft, female voice.
“You have an AI?” said Hamilton.
“Yes. It has total control too. Proxima flies the ship and everything.”
