Etude to War (Earth Song Cycle Book 4)
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Etude to War
Book Four of the Earth Song Cycle
(Second Edition)
By
Mark Wandrey
PUBLISHED BY: Theogony Books
Copyright © 2018 Mark Wandrey
All Rights Reserved
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Get the free prelude story “Gateway to Union”
and discover other titles by Mark Wandrey at:
http://worldmaker.us/
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Cover Design by Brenda Mihalko
Original Art by Ricky Ryan
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License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
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Dedication
I am now four books into an epic saga, and I find myself in awe of this journey. I could never have gotten this far without the unflagging help of my close friends and family, especially my beloved wife, Joy (thanks for the art and support), my son, Patrick (yeah, he edits on paper still), and my good friend, Robert Boyer, my volunteer editor who removed a thousand apostrophes, then put half that many back in.
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Contents
Prologue
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Interlude
Part II
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Interlude
Part III
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part IV
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
About the Author
Titles by Mark Wandrey
Excerpt from Book Five of the Earth Song Cycle:
Excerpt from Book One of In Revolution Born:
Excerpt from Book One of the Kin Wars Saga:
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Prologue
By whatever name you call them, the Creators, The Lost, the Original Concordia, they were powerful and technologically advanced beyond our ability to understand. Legend says they were ruthless and ruled with an iron fist. And yet there is no hint as to why they disappeared from the galaxy’s stage. One is forced to draw the conclusion they didn’t leave willingly.
- Professor Ted Hurt, University of Tranquility
Julast 13th, 527 AE
Undesignated World, Galactic Frontier
The Portal snapped to life, and a solitary figure emerged. Few in the galaxy would recognize a human by sight, and fewer still would realize how well equipped this particular human was. The armor integrated stealth mirage technology as well as capacitance recycling, linked with a defensive shield. Such a thing had not been seen for untold eons and wouldn’t have been recognized by the most knowledgeable researcher.
The figure loosely carried a shock rifle, more unknown tech, and wore a miniature beamcaster pistol in a holster locked on a belt clogged with equipment. The instant the figure cleared the event horizon of the Portal, it swept the area with the instruments inside its helmet. The multi-spectral scanners would pick up even the slightest hint of an enemy, even if one had been there hours ago. It was only after the readings confirmed the perimeter was clear that the visor retracted seamlessly into the helmet.
Chosen Christian Forsythe, scout, moved to the side, away from the Portal, behind a partially-collapsed structure. He kneeled as he removed a case from his belt. Inside was a precious dragonfly-bot which he tasked and released into the air. It raced off with an almost inaudible buzz as he took out his tablet to watch it do its magic.
He wrinkled his nose; there was a trace of ammonia in the planet’s atmosphere. He wouldn’t be keeping his helmet open long. Luckily, the Type IV field armor he wore was self-contained and wouldn’t need recycling for thirty days. The techs promised a version in the future that would not only operate in space, but it would also keep the occupant alive for nearly a year.
Three hours earlier he’d left the rest of his team to finish examining a battle scene. It was months old but offered enough work to keep them occupied and not wondering where their commander had gone. He wore three darkened gold stars on his sleeves, as he had for years. He didn’t lust for promotion as much as some; he found a certain contentment in the somewhat reduced role of the scouts these days. They weren’t the devil-may-care adventurers they were in the early days, but they were the first in. The Rangers couldn’t do their jobs nearly as well if not for the scouts.
The crumbling city around him moaned and creaked in the stiff breeze. The sun, a bluish-tinted sphere high in the sky, barely seemed to penetrate the drifting clouds above. Here and there a desultory blade of orange-tinted grass tried to grow between cobblestones most likely placed before his species learned to walk upright. Humans were the babies of the Concordia, a fact they all grew up knowing. He shifted his gun on his shoulder and stretched a little. His armor fit him like a second skin. Kids they might well be, but they were growing up fast.
Thanks to his old girlfriend, humanity had access to rich troves of data they didn’t generally share with other species. Already, they’d gained powerful allies by judiciously trading that technology, and they had used it to upgrade their equipment so they would be more than a match for any enemies they might have to face in the future, even those from higher-order species.
He shivered at that thought. Humans might be well armed, but there were only a few million of them on one backwater world. Even the Tog, their benefactors and the smallest of the higher orders, were a hundred million strong and lived on six worlds.
It was because of that ex-girlfriend that he was on this world, one claimed by the deadly species known as the T’Chillen. He wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d come back to him, not after marrying, but he did hope if he found what he was looking for, she’d find it in her heart to forgive him for being such a jerk. This might be a way to make amends for his actions.
The bot reported it had located what he was looking for and awaited orders. Christian broke into an easy jog and arrived where it hovered in a minute. Underneath the buzzing bot was a metallic hatch, partially covered by a collapsed wall.
“Bingo,” he said and snapped his fingers. The bot waited until he took out its case and held it open. A second later, the marvelous machine folded itself inside, safe and sound.
It took Christian two backbreaking hours to clear enough debris to reach the hatch. The collapse had destroyed the locking mechanism. Normally that would be a problem,
but not now. He attached an ultra-miniaturized hoverfield generator, a piece of equipment each scout carried, to the hatch, triggered it, and stood back. The device quickly pried open the hatch, the dualloy giving and folding back with a horrendous screech.
During his brief, but passionate, relationship with Minu, he’d seen the logs left behind by her father. Those logs contained thousands of pages describing worlds he had visited, what he’d seen, and what he thought it meant. Minu read every page, trying to gain insights into her father’s skill as a leader and a Concordia technologist. Christian had searched his memory of those logs, looking for something else.
And after months of quiet probing on the frontier and reviewing innumerable mission logs, here he was, outside a seemingly innocuous hatch on a rusting, junkpile world in the middle of the frontier. But the data pointed to Chriso and his team of 12 disappearing here years ago.
Christian climbed down the ladder inside the hatch, rung after rung, what felt like a thousand steps. He reached up and slid his helmet into place; the multiple vision enhancements showed him descending inside a tube carved from the living rock of the planet.
Eventually, the tube gave way to a galley of sorts, with dozens of passages leading off in all directions. He didn’t go any further. As soon as he set foot on the stone floor, his sensors told him he’d tripped an alarm. It was a Chosen design, in use for decades; he carried a trio of them in his own pack.
Christian leaned against a wall, one hand resting casually on the grip of his miniature beamcaster, and waited. It wasn’t long before the distant sound of running feet reached his ears. He wasn’t worried; the pounding feet were decidedly human. But when they arrived, his welcome was less than wonderful.
“On the ground!” screamed the first man to arrive, a scout wearing armor more than a decade old. Though worn in places, it showed careful tending.
“I’m human. Chosen scout Christian Forsythe, three-star.”
“Do as I said human, or I’ll kill you where you stand.” Two more scouts arrived from different directions. They came in quietly, and he barely noticed them. He realized if he didn’t do what they told him to, he was dead.
With a sigh he fell to his knees, following orders. They disarmed him, cuffed his hands behind his back, and gave him a push to start him walking.
Christian smiled and asked, “Is Chriso nearby?”
“Shut up,” said one of the scouts. Christian wished he’d taken the time to memorize the team members’ names. The one who’d spoken seemed familiar. He was older, with brown hair, a sharp face, and five black stars on his worn uniform sleeve.
“Eric, isn’t it?”
“What if it is?”
“You guys have been out here a long time. What have you been doing?”
“Save it for the boss.”
Christian tried asking more questions, but the man wouldn’t budge. He’d been a young man, newly activated from the Chosen reserves, when Chriso picked him for this mission. The man now escorting Christian was a much-aged, battle-hardened, Chosen scout.
The walk finally ended when they ushered him into a surprisingly clean room. Inside were a pair of chairs, a small table, and a pitcher of water. Eric cut the cuffs as he gently pushed Christian inside and closed the door behind him.
Christian looked around for a minute before helping himself to water. He could hear the distinct sounds of machinery reverberating through the structure. What was this place? Nothing in the elder First’s logs had provided any real clues about what he’d been looking for out here. The orderly facilities below the ground contrasted sharply with the decay far above. He was considering taking a seat when the opposite door slid open, and Chriso came in. For a man thought dead for almost eight years, he looked well.
Chriso was tall and lean, though his shoulders and arms spoke of well-trained power under the black jumpsuit. He still wore the solitary golden stars on his cuffs, symbols only a few other humans had ever worn. Christian noticed a few new lines on his face, as Chriso carefully examined him, his eyes shining with intense thought. His striking green eyes were so like Minu’s, the effect was deeply shocking. But unlike his daughter, his hair was straight and jet black, only containing a smattering of gray. He immediately walked over and offered his hand.
“Christian Forsythe, isn’t it? I believe we met once.”
“First Alma, an honor,” Christian said and bowed over the offered hand.
“The honor is all mine. I must apologize for the poor reception you received. You must understand that our position here is tenuous. The snakes harass us constantly, and we’ve lost some good men over the years.”
“I understand. It was difficult getting here. How many have you lost?”
“Six, all to the snakes.”
“Why?” Christian asked. “What was worth disappearing for? They declared you dead years ago. Jacob is First now.”
“Who is Second?”
“Dram.”
“Good, good.” Chriso turned around and sat at the table, pouring two glasses of water, then gestured toward the other chair. “Please sit.”
Christian shrugged and sat opposite the legend.
“How long have you been looking for me?”
“Me? For about two years, on and off. Unofficially, of course. I left my team a while back when I became pretty sure I knew where you were. I have a ten-man Ranger combat team ready, sir; we can extract you in no time. The snakes would be no challenge.”
Chriso examined the gleaming cut and foreign lines of Christian’s armor, then shifted his gaze to the shock rifle and miniature beamcaster piled by the door. “What is a Ranger?”
Christian spent almost an hour bringing the older man up to date. He started with the Rasa vendetta, continued through the brief, but bloody, Tanam War on the Beezer world, and finished with Minu’s amazing and almost suicidal quest into the farthest corners of space where she’d found the human codex, which unlocked the full potential of Concordian medical technology. He was about to mention the spaceship when Chriso raised a hand to stop him. “My daughter is Chosen?”
“Yes, of course she is! They awarded her two stars after her return. The whole planet considers her a hero. She’s never forgotten you, but duty kept her from doing what I did. We were…together, for a brief time.” Christian looked down, his face blushing. “I made some mistakes, and she moved on. It’s Minu Groves now; she is married to Aaron Groves from the New Jerusalem tribe. Good guy, I think.”
Chriso smiled thinly and nodded. “My little Sapphire, married.” His eyes narrowed in thought, and he shook his head slightly. “You don’t think she could have found me?”
“No, probably not. She’s a brilliant woman, but not a scout at heart. The Rangers were her idea. She’s a military leader, a general, I guess. She’s Dean of the new War College at the University of Tranquility too, on extended assignment from the Chosen Council. I think her assignment is temporary until a branch opens up, or they decide to make the Rangers a sixth branch. There’s also some politics, but you know the Chosen.”
“Only too well.” Chriso had stopped paying serious attention after hearing his daughter couldn’t find him. He’d stood and paced back and forth by the door, obviously thinking. “I’m sorry you found me,” he told the younger man.
“Why? Didn’t you hear? We can rescue you, take you home! You’ll be as big a hero as your daughter. I mean, imagine it, the great Chriso Alma returning after eight years marooned on the frontier.”
“What makes you think I’m marooned?”
“But,” Christian’s eyebrows scrunched up as he tried to understand, “why would you stay here on purpose?”
“To do some work no one else can do, of course.”
“I’m sure your daughter can help. She has friends who are some of the greatest scientists on the planet, Pipson Leata, Bjorn Ganose, Ted Hurt.”
“I know the last two,” Chriso mumbled, most of his mind working hard on ever-present problems as he multitasked.
“That’s complicated. Will your men come looking for you?”
“They won’t. I didn’t tell them where I was going.” Chriso sighed and nodded. “Let me go back and bring my team in.” Christian stood and reached for the door, but he found it locked.
“That isn’t an option either.” Christian turned around to see Chriso pointing a gun at him. The old-style, chemical weapon was almost an antique, but still formidable. The Chosen who escorted him to the meeting had deftly removed his heavy combat armor and shield. The second generation uniform he still wore was designed to protect him from many energy weapons, but not a simple firearm.
“What are you doing? I’m here to help you. I used to be your daughter’s boyfriend, and I’ve spent years looking for you.”
“That is unfortunate.” The gun boomed in the small room. Once, twice, three times.
Christian felt a dull sensation of pain as he fell to his knees. He looked up at the elder Alma as he walked closer. His vision was swimming, and he struggled to understand as his mind began to drift away from consciousness. “I can’t interrupt my work here. The fate of humanity is at stake. I’m sorry.”
Chriso raised the gun again, this time aiming squarely between Christian’s eyes. Christian struggled to say something, anything. He never heard the gun’s report.
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Part I
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Chapter 1
Julast 13th, 533 AE
Dean’s Office, University of Plateau, Tranquility, Bellatrix