ALSO BY CRAIG A. ROBERTSON
OTHER SERIES IN THE RYANVERSE:
THE GALAXY ON FIRE SERIES:
EMBERS, BOOK 1
THE FOREVER SERIES:
THE FOREVER LIFE, BOOK 1
THE FOREVER ENEMY, BOOK 2
THE FOREVER FIGHT, BOOK 3
THE FOREVER QUEST, BOOK 4
THE FOREVER ALLIANCE, BOOK 5
THE FOREVER PEACE, BOOK 6
STAND ALONE NOVELS:
THE CORPORATE VIRUS (2016)
TIME DIVING (2013)
THE INNERgLOW EFFECT (2010)
ANON TIME (2009)
WRITE NOW! The Prisoner of NaNoWriMo (2009)
FLAMES
BOOK TWO OF THE GALAXY ON FIRE SERIES
by Craig Robertson
IF YOU CAN'T BE DEAD, MAKE SURE THEY NOTICE YOU
Imagine-It Publishing
El Dorado Hills, CA
Copyright 2018 Craig Robertson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without written permission from the author.
ISBN: 978-0-9989253-4-9 (Paperback)
978-0-9989253-3-2 (E-Book)
Cover design by Jessica Bell
Editing and Formatting services by Polgarus Studio
Available at http://www.polgarusstudio.com
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my magical, loving, beautiful wife Karen. Thanks for being my best friend. Love you always.
I want to specifically thank my fastest, best, and most loyal beta readers. Here's to you Charles Pitts, Tony Hall, and Jeff Worthen. Seriously, dudes, I couldn't have done it without you!
Table of Contents
ALSO BY CRAIG A. ROBERTSON
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
GLOSSARY OF TERMS
And Now A Word From Your Author
Note: Glossary of Terms Is Located at the End of the Book
ONE
Two Adamant walked into a dark open room located far underground. The lead one was obese by Adamant standards, which were extremely strict. He wore a dingy enlisted’s uniform covered by a thick black plastic apron that tied over his back. The apron glistened with blood and other less-identifiable specks. The officer, following at a noticeable distance, had the very picture of disgust and disdain on his pinched face.
“Why is it necessary for me to be in this revolting place, Packlet Minor Feltopia?” Grand Inquisitor Heldogra asked as he covered his muzzle.
“Like I said, Governor, this one’s not likely to survives the trip to you.” He giggled incongruously to himself. “Plus he’d make a champion mess a’your clean office, if I do says so meself.”
The inquisitor’s claws came out involuntarily. “I am no longer Governor Heldogra, thank you for reminding me. Governor Maliborel is now in charge of the Gore Sector, not I. If you chance to see Maliborel down here, you may address him as governor.”
The packlet minor stopped and half turned to his superior. “Do you think he might actually be down here, go … sir? By my mother’s teats, I ain’t seen him and I been here all day.”
Don’t engage the vermin, Kerof Heldogra chided himself. You’ll end up having him executed, and personnel with his talent and dedication are hard to come by. “Can we cut the chatter and hurry to our objective?” asked Kerof rhetorically.
“Ah,” muttered the packlet minor. He began walking again. “He’s just right over there, sir,” he said, pointing into the hazy darkness.
Finally, the pair arrived at a stainless-steel table. The remains of a Kaljaxian soldier were on top. Three of his four eyes were missing, one arm was mostly gone, and his abdomen was draped with a filthy sheet.
“Please show me what it is you think you couldn’t put in a report and forward to me.”
“I think ya need to hear this from the horse’s mouth.”
You think? Kerof reflected to himself. I’d wager that is impossible. Again, he felt it was best for all to let that remark pass.
Feltopia leaned over the face on the table, slapped the victim’s chest soundly, and spoke. “Tells the governor here what you told me. Ya know ya ain’t got long ta live, so makes this easy on yaself and tell him straight. I promise if ya do, I’ll return da favor.”
The Kaljaxian squirmed, and bloody spittle dripped from the corner of his mouth. His head started to rise off the table, then collapsed back with a thud.
“Okay, if’n ya want to do it da hard way, da hard way it is.”
Feltopia pulled back the sheet to expose the soldier’s open abdomen. He pointed to an organ and said to Kerof, “If ya twist doze bits and bobs firmly, he’ll sing like a happy little bird.”
Kerof made a stunned look at the back of Feltopia’s head. “Ah, Packlet Minor, why don’t you turn those disgusting things and I’ll ask the questions.”
He shrugged. “Suits me fine, Gov.”
The poor soldier let out a scream sounding like fingernails on a chalk board amplified through stadium speakers.
Kerof bent nearer to the face of anguish. “What is it you want to tell me, infidel? The person with his hand on your … whatever … says you wish to illuminate me.”
“He … he’s … here. And th … they’re t … too.”
“What’s he babbling about?” demanded Kerof, gesturing to the prisoner. “Who’s here and there?”
“No, Governor, he’s saying he’s here and they are also.”
“Who the Flaming Pit is he referring to? If this is your version of a joke, I promise you’ll regret it, Feltopia.”
“I don’t jokes about me work, Gov. I takes it seriously. Look,” he hovered over the Kaljaxian’s face again. “Did you see Jon Ryan yesterday?” he shouted pointblank.
Feltopia then gave the organs a moderate turn.
“Yessss,” the prisoner hissed in anguish.
“And did he have not one but two shapeshifters with him?”
Not waiting for another prompt, the prisoner howled, “Yessss. Two of them. A boy and a gir…gir…llll.”
“There, ya see? Ya can talk nice. I knews ya could,” said Feltopia with genuine glee. “And what else did ya see when ya saw them three?”
The Kaljaxian’s lone eye opened wide in horror. “Another J … Jonnnn Ryannn.”
“So, are ya tellin’ us there are not one but two identical Jon Ryans present on this here planet just yesterday?”
“Yessss.”
“And were they all enjoying each other’s company? Come on, I think ya have one more breath in ya.”
There was, it turned out, not another breath in Draldon’s body. He had just departed to inhabit Tralmore and be with his ancestors living anew and in bliss forever.
“Ah poo,” said Feltopia when the reality of it
hit him. “Oh well, what he told me a’for I came to get you was these two Jon Ryans was arguing and fighting and one ran off after whacking da other with a table. The one at’s hit with da table got not one scratch. He bolts out da door and chaises to one’a hit him with da table and da shifties, but day was drivin’ away like da dragons a’da Pit were a’hind em.”
“So, this prisoner …”
“Late prisoner, Gov. In me business, we insists on accuracy. As he’s dead, he ain’t a prisoner a mine n’more,” corrected Feltopia with a serious face.
“So, this ex-prisoner claims there were two Ryans and two Deft. He said the Ryans fought each other openly. One flew away in a car and the other ran after them. What happened next?”
“He didn’t say. The four’a them left the area he could see’em in.”
“None of that makes sense. How can there be two robots? Why are we just learning of them now, and why would they hate each other?” responded Kerof mostly to himself.
“Sense making ain’t my job, Governor. Information acquisition is my end a’da stick. Yours is the sense making part.” He harrumphed quietly at his perception and wit.
“Truer words were never spoken.”
“Who said that?”
“I did, just now.”
“Oh, I thought ya was referring to some wise sayin’ from posterity.”
“I suppose it … Packlet Minor, you try the patience of your superior. That is a dangerous path to follow.”
“I do?” he replied with wonder. “Which one, if ya don’t mind a’tellin’ me. Da way I can be on my double-good guard if I should see’em, Governor.”
With no further discussion or repartee, Kerof spun and stormed from the chamber. It was unlikely he heard Feltopia’s cheery goodbye.
TWO
In a clearing where the once-heavy forest had been blasted clear, a dingery huddled. It nibbled at the lush grass taking advantage of the rare bounty of light able to reach all the way to the ground. A dingery was one of several rabbit equivalents on Azsuram. They ate rapidly, bred even faster, and had no real defenses. As a result, everything that wandered the planet ate them. In fact, the only animal that didn’t wolf down dingery with gusto were the dingery themselves. They were too mild, too preoccupied eating grass and breeding to bother with cannibalism.
A pair of torchclefts eyed it from upwind, behind a fallen tree. Torchclefts were not indigenous to Azsuram. They were small dragons. Like all dragons, they were voracious consumers of flesh and were skilled hunters. This pair was on the thin side, unusual for such prodigious predators. One torchcleft looked to the other, then spread its wing and launched itself toward the dingery in a flash. Before the prey had a chance to look up and see doom approaching, the talons of the torchcleft seized it. The dingery was fortunate that those razor spikes ended its life before it could even begin to suffer. That was small consolation, but it was some consolation nonetheless.
The triumphant torchcleft landed immediately and trumpeted robustly its victory. The second dragon hopped over quickly. It pecked the noisemaker soundly on its head, silencing it. Then both dragons melted into humanoid teens of opposite sexes. Both were naked. The dingery holder ended up on his back, Slapgren, and the pecker, Mirraya, lorded over him.
“I don’t care how proud of yourself you are, you may not betray our location with your antics.”
“Torchcleft always announce their success. Everyone knows that. It’s normal behavior.”
“On Hamalter yes. On Azsuram, not so much. Have you seen any other torchclefts here? Hm?”
“They can be hard to spot, you know?”
“Not in your case.”
“So, do you want to cook him,” he lifted the dingery, “or switch back to dragons and eat him like they would?” Slapgren clearly favored the latter option.
“You are lucky. Starting a fire would be a mistake.”
“Woo hoo!” howled Slapgren as he changed back into a dragon.
Mirraya crossed her arms. “Boys. Always so immature.” Then she transformed too.
When the last scrap of dingery was accounted for, the kids slipped back into their Deft forms. Both were still hungry, but at least not painfully still. Hunting for a pair of torchcleft would have been easy on old Azsuram. But since the ravages of war, especially where the scars were the worst, the pickings were slim to none. What wasn’t blasted by the armies was consumed by them, leaving the land all but barren.
“Do you dream of being a dragon someday?” Slapgren opened his arms as widely as he could. “Soaring the skies afraid of nothing and feared by all?” He bobbed and dipped his arms, lost in his fantasy.
“I was a dragon, today in fact.” She raised her nose and looked away.
“No, I mean for real, for permanent.”
“You know the rules as well as I do. If you stay a creature too long, you become that creature. You can’t go back. So, in answer to your question, no. I change, but I always change back. I’m Deft, not a dragon or a whale or whatever it is you want to be today or what you fancied yourself yesterday.”
“Mirri, lighten up. We’re stuck on this alien planet, fending for ourselves, and surrounded by warring armies. Death is not likely, it’s guaranteed. Can’t we have a little fun, Madam Grouchy?”
“Madam Grouchy?” she protested. “I’ll show you Madam Grouchy.” She picked up a stick and threw it at him.
Slapgren caught it easily and began to laugh. Despite herself, Mirraya joined in.
“So, Mr. Dragon, do you suppose you could rustle us up another meal? I’ve heard it said that dragons are excellent hunters.”
“That we are, ma’am. Anything edible within my vision is in dire peril.”
“I’ll be right here when you return. Ah, and Slapgren? Remember: two are better than one, while three are better than two.”
After he’s flapped away low in the canopy, Mirraya stretched out on a warm rock. It had been seven weeks since they were forced to split up from Jon. It had been a tense period, but not without its pleasantries. Slapgren and Mirraya had come to be close friends and knew they could rely on one another absolutely. Mirri was often miffed with his immaturity, but she figured it might have as much to do with him being a boy. They’d checked their secret spot for a message from Jon, but there was no message yet.
The war still raged on around them, but they’d managed to stay clear of the battles. Patrols were a problem for both sides. Each combatant was looking for weaknesses in the other and foraging for food. Since the kids couldn’t trust either side, they always had to be on alert. They pretty much solved that problem by changing into unpalatable creatures with excellent senses of hearing and smell. Mostly they passed the days as slofgrozels, a beast as disgusting as its name suggested. It came from a world teaming with predators, so it was well equipped to detect threats. And it didn’t seem edible with its thin appendages, tiny body, and thick scaly horns covering its entire body. A rock would appear more appetizing to a starving individual.
The only times they needed to change to something else was to hunt, like with the dragons. But she knew the risks they were taking were minimal. With no stores available to purchase food, it was a necessary evil. Lately, Mirraya had begun to wonder if they would be stuck on Azsuram permanently. Uncle Jon might be dead. She had to face that possibility. Slapgren needed her leadership.
If they were marooned here, she figured it wouldn’t be that awful. There was ample water, enough food, and things would likely get better. Wars didn’t last forever. Eventually one side won, then everybody moved the battles elsewhere. The ecosystem of the planet would rebuild itself easily enough once the fighting was over.
But Uncle Jon just couldn’t be dead. She wasn’t being sentimental, not anymore, but she knew he wouldn’t abandon them.
But her family had died. She was a witness. It was possible to be abandoned by those she trusted and looked to for protection.
But enough already. Worrying wouldn’t help at all. She sat up to see S
lapgren coming toward her at full speed. Then the tree truck he’d just passed exploded in flames. In rapid succession, plasma bolts tore through the remaining trees. She stood and changed into a torchcleft. and took flight. Slapgren whizzed past her, and she struggled to match his speed. Pulling alongside him, she swung her neck side to side to indicate they had to weave to be tougher targets.
They each banked in opposite directions, which was good. A massive volley of plasma bolts singed the air where they’d just been. She rejoined his side and nudged him toward a rocky outcropping half a kilometer away. Mirraya also bobbed her head up and down, suggesting a different evasion pattern. Between luck and their mixing dodges, they made the rocks alive. Mirraya clung to the far side of a bolder to see what was chasing them. Three Adamant sky-scooters. The teens were in a world of hurt.
The options were run or to hide. They were good at hiding, but the enemy knew their approximate location. With persistence, a very Adamant-like quality, they’d be found. Flight was the only real option. The torchclefts were formidable, combining wings and ferocity. But they weren’t all that speedy in the air. Mirraya released her hold on the rock and dropped to the ground. The moment she did she began switching into the fastest bird she knew of, a Reglan falcon. Slapgren followed her lead and changed quickly.
Beating their wings, they exploded into the air. Plasma bolts slammed into the rock formation, showering fragments everywhere. They barely escaped. Flying low, they picked up speed. They surged away from the sky-scooter. The Adamant must have realized they would quickly lose their prey and began bombarding them with abandon. Mirraya felt like she was flying in flames. Fire surrounded her. To her great surprise, she wasn’t afraid. The fire was an old familiar friend. She wished she could cruise in it all day. Then the tree canopy she past vaporized concussively and she was brought back to her present peril.
Flames: Galaxy On Fire, Book 2 Page 1
