Blood of the Scarecrow
by Martin Wilsey
This is a work of Fiction. All Characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental.
Blood of the Scarecrow
Copyright © 2016 by Martin Wilsey
All rights reserved, including rights to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Cover Art by Jessica E.
Edited by: Helen Burroughs of HKelleyB’s Editorial Services -
[email protected]
ISBN-13: 978-1511482615
ISBN-10: 1511482613
For more information:
Blog: http://wilseymc.blogspot.com/
Web: http://www.baytirus.com/
Email: [email protected]
The Solstice 31 Saga:
Still Falling (2015)
The Broken Cage (2015)
Blood of the Scarecrow (2016)
For Kevin Peck
Kevin was a friend when friends were a real thing. He died before he could read this. He will live on as the owner of Peck’s Halfway.
Blood of the Scarecrow
CHAPTER ONE: The Ventura is Falling
“It all happened so fast. One moment it was just another day doing our mundane work. The next moment we were fighting for our lives.”
--Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: Captain James Worthington, senior surviving member of the Ventura's command crew.
<<<>>>
Chief Engineer Wes Hagan lived.
Everyone else in the engineering section on the Memphis died.
When the Memphis was hit, so many things could have killed him. The debris that tore through the main engines cut Granger in half. The huge hull breach sucked Holcomb and McHale out into space. The rest died of vacuum, strapped into their seats.
The visor on Hagan's pressure suit auto-closed when the hull breached. The now mostly civilian crew had become lax in the boredom of the long survey mission.
“How did Captain Everett know?” Wes said, out loud and to himself, as he unbuckled his five-point harness and hammered his fist on the emergency lifeboat access control only an arm’s reach away.
As soon as he was through the hatch, it slammed shut behind him, and he felt the explosive bolts blast the lifeboat away from the Memphis. The lights came on full bright.
The prerecorded voice spoke directly to his HUD, in his mind.
“This is an emergency. Please strap yourself in.”
Wes wore his light pressure suit and helmet. It was all that had saved him from the vacuum. It was slightly bulky as he began to float toward the pilot’s seat. The sudden impact to the hull drove him toward the front, ramming his ribs into the headrest of the pilot’s seat. He heard, more than felt, his ribs break.
Alarms sounded. Proximity alarms he recognized.
Fuck.
“Activate emergency AI. Navigation display. Do not crash this boat, you stupid computer!” Wes screamed, on the edge of panic, as he strapped in.
The pilot’s display dome activated, showing the exterior view. The lifeboat was in a backward tumble. A display window showed the status of the AI, initiating slowly.
“Goddammit.” He hit the manual override and grabbed the grav-foil controls and started to slow the roll, as he watched the moon's surface loom closer on every rotation.
The roll was under control when the AI initialization completed. Hagan hit the decelerators, hard, and the lifeboat leveled off. This close to the surface, his forward velocity was incredibly fast.
He saw hull chunks of various sizes impacting the moon all around him.
“Emergency Module, this is Chief Engineer Wes Hagan. We are in deep shit. Plot a direct vector to a safe landing site. If we are hit by a big piece of the Ventura, we are dead.”
As if to punctuate the statement, a giant recognizable piece of the outer ring impacted the moon's surface directly in front of them, forcing them to fly directly through the resulting cloud of dust and stones.
“Chief Hagan, allow me.” The female AI took control of the lifeboat, without waiting for an answer.
Hagan let go of the controls and hugged his ribs. He realized that it was difficult to breathe. He scanned the display windows as the moon’s surface rolled by, all too close, in a blur of speed.
His eyes finally landed on the AI status display. ECHO systems active. Emergency mode. Survival situation.
“Echo, status? What the hell?” Wes demanded.
“The Ventura has been destroyed by multiple nuclear missiles. The planet has an automated defense grid that was activated when the ship entered orbit. The Memphis was also destroyed by multiple severe impacts of large pieces of the Ventura. This lifeboat was the only one activated.”
“I have just detected a core detonation.”
Wes strained to turn around to look at this lifeboat. It had been heavily modified. Besides the pilot and copilot seats, it had only twelve seats. Only three rows of four seats with an aisle down the middle, like a commercial shuttle but less comfortable. Then, there was a wall with a center door.
“Is the compartment pressurized?” The computer didn't reply, but an additional display showed cabin pressure at almost zero.
A huge impact on the hull drove Hagan against his harness. There was pain and then darkness.
***
Barcus was unconscious, secured inside his maintenance suit, docked on the bridge of the Shuttle Transport Unit 1138. His face smashed into the inside of his helmet. The STU was falling to the planet, like debris.
Another larger personnel shuttle that was missing thirty percent of the upper aft section, also fell toward the planet, like debris. Master Chief Nancy Randal was trapped inside, in the dark, with all systems off-line, desperately trying to get some kind of control.
Commander James Worthington, with the help of what remained of his crew, managed to set the Memphis down on the surface of the moon before crashing. It was only because they all looked like falling debris that they lived.
A young, nearly starving woman was tending a kitchen hearth at an inn when she saw the flashes, like silent lightning, momentarily fill the room she was in.
A man, alone in the darkness of his lonely cell in the darkest reaches of the Citadel, said out loud, “The end begins.”
***
Hagan was awakened, again, by pain.
He tried to clear his head, rapidly, to no avail. He was strapped into the pilot’s seat of lifeboat number 4, moving at a high rate of speed along the moon’s surface.
He activated the ship’s log and began recording, “My name is Wes Hagan, and I don't know if this log will ever be recovered. I will transmit anyway...when I tell you. In case...”
He had a coughing fit, spitting blood into his helmet. The recording continued, “I'm injured. There is no autoDoc on this lifeboat. I did find the first aid kit. It is more complete than I expected. I have injected nanites. I now have medical monitors on. Data is being conveyed to my personal Heads-Up Display.”
More coughing forced him to stop.
“I think my ribs are broken, and I may have damaged a lung. My left wrist is probably fractured as well. I'm not bleeding anywhere, externally, as far as I can tell. My pressure suit has not lost integrity. I'm not going to remove my suit to find out, just yet. I don't know if I have a hull breach. I'm getting pounded by debris.
“I managed to get to this specific lifeboat as ordered by Captain Alice Everett. She must have known this might happen.”
A few loud impacts on the hull interrupted him.
“The Ventura has been destroye
d. Utterly. The initial salvo had missiles, nukes. No warning. They just entered orbit. I saw it all on my console. The Ventura was almost ten kilometers long, and it was gone in seconds. Two thousand people…”
He could not control the coughing.
“There were more hits after that. The Ventura broke up. The entire huge ship. They're all dead. I think the largest pieces were also targeted in the second wave of missiles.”
The recording stopped until he controlled the coughing.
“I am bleeding, internally. I just coughed up blood.”
He had to pause, again.
“I'm back. I added more nanites. This is going to really suck. This many medical nanites is going to hurt. Where was I? I think Captain Everett knew something might happen to the Ventura. Wait. Let me go back. Before I transmit. For whoever gets this, if anyone.
“I was on the galactic survey ship, the Ventura. It was a deep space meta-class ship. The largest in Earth’s survey fleet. There were 2,072 crewmates. We just dropped out of FTL to have a look at a planet that our probes found to be habitable.
“At the time, for reasons I didn’t understand, Captain Everett gave me this assignment on the Memphis. The Memphis was the captain’s pinnace. The largest shuttle on the Ventura. Capable of FTL, and staffed with a crew of thirty-two, including me. Even though I was the Ventura's senior multi-discipline engineer, she had me manning the sensor console in the secondary comms center on the Memphis.
“Now, I think it was because it was directly next to the starboard hatch for this specific lifeboat. Because this thing isn't really just an escape pod...or a lifeboat.”
He had to stop and calm himself, again.
“As a standard practice, when the Ventura dropped out of FTL, the Memphis launched and ran escort. We were headed for high orbit near the planet's single moon.
“I don't even know the name of this fucking planet.
“I saw it happen. Missiles were detected during the first wave. The Ventura never had a chance.”
As the recording continued, Hagan groaned in pain, made worse by his evident sobbing. All was captured on the recording.
“Debris struck the Memphis, bad. And we lost power. I was strapped in, thank God. Commander Worthington was strict about procedures. Pressure suit on, and stay strapped in while at the station. Bless him. Still, I broke my left wrist from the crash on initial impact.
“I got into the lifeboat.. My orders were very specific; the captain drilled them into me. She said, 'If ANYTHING unusual happens to the Ventura, get into the lifeboat and wait.' I don't know why it automatically launched after I entered. I wish it had given me a few seconds to strap in properly. The Memphis was tumbling.
“By the time I got to the pilot’s seat, I was already headed to the moon’s surface, on AI control, at a very high velocity. We barely controlled the descent. The computer’s Artificial Intelligence system picked the descent vectors, the thruster burn, and a landing site. If I had been flying, I'd be dead.”
The recording paused, again.
“I'm back. We have a good seal, and we are maintaining pressure on the lifeboat. Debris continues to impact the outer hull.
“This is really fucked up. This thing is not a standard escape pod lifeboat. It's supposed to hold sixteen people, with emergency air, food, and water for more than a month. This one only holds twelve. It's supposed to be one large compartment with bunks and storage in the rear. On this one, there is a wall, less than halfway back, with a heavy closed hatch. When I tried to open it, it said, ‘access denied’ even when I used my command staff codes.
“This day just fucking gets better and better. The AI won’t talk to me, either. It shut almost everything down, for some reason; and it's getting cold in here. I think it is running silent, as a precaution. It won't talk to me. I've been too busy to fuck with it. I activated a comms console. I wanted to get in this log entry before debris kills me...faster.”
Wes had to stop recording as a wave of small hull impacts made it too loud to continue. That debris storm lasted a long time.
“Debris has been impacting all around me for over an hour.
“I don't know what to do. We can’t move any faster because this thing only has grav-foils, no conventional engines.”
Alarms sounded, and Hagan began to get indications that the systems were reinitializing.
“Main systems are coming back up. I don't know what happened to cause the reset. Maybe the AI will reboot now. Directional long-range antenna has deployed. Time to get to work.
“Lieutenant Commander Wes Hagan, still alive, signing out.”
***
Hagan set the directional laser to transmit the message toward Earth, knowing it would not be received for decades. He fell unconscious as the recording continued.
AI~Echo terminated the recording and transmitted. But only after attaching the medical scans Hagan had performed. It showed his left wrist was broken, in two places. Four ribs were also fractured, the lung on the same side was punctured, slightly. A kidney and his spleen were damaged. It also contained additional evidence that the recordings were, in fact, genuine. His genetic print was included.
This was the first recording received, thirty-two years after the event.
CHAPTER TWO: ECHO of things to come
“An ECHO was a classified Extreme Combat Hellfire Operations system. A very specialized military Artificial Intelligence program designed to provide support to insertion teams. The use of ECHOs was stopped just after the Solstice 31 incident. This very ECHO was the reason the entire program was abandoned.”
--Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: General Patricia Chase, senior member of the Earth Defense Coalition.
<<<>>>
Two figures in black habits approached the Citadel Bridge in the darkness of the night. They shielded their eyes from the large braziers that burned high to illuminate the bridge and gate.
They knew the guards were blinded by these fires.
They reached the bridge and were over the side without making a sound. They carried a large hook in each hand that they used to readily move along to three-quarters of the way across. Ropes and webbing hidden in their habits allowed them to hang there, silently. One of the shadows produced a grappling hook, padded with black rags.
With a few practice swings, as preparation, the hook was tossed onto the nearest balcony. It was not completely silent. The talking guards paused, for a moment, and then continued.
The shadows waited.
One at a time, the shadows crossed the chasm on the rope. When the second one was over the railing, with a quick yank and a toss of the hook, rope and grapple all went into the chasm. The impact was so far below that the wind took the sound of it away.
The two tiny women entered a beautiful suite lit by a few night lamps. They exited the room, but were unable to lock the door behind them. The directions were perfect after that.
Wex welcomed Jude and Cine in with open arms.
***
It was a calm, sunny, autumn day as the three women took their tea on their balcony. Their heads and arms were bare in the sun, their habits left inside the suite. The High Keeper called it a ‘cruel view’ because this balcony was only four feet deep, and it had no railing—even though the drop was almost a thousand feet down on this side of the Citadel.
They were not afraid.
The view today was breathtaking. It overlooked the valley and all of the city of Exeter. They could identify all the sections of the great city: the great avenues, the massive estates, the markets, the slums, the warehouses and the river docks.
“Does he really lock you out here?” Jude asked. “At night, in the wind and rain?”
“Yes,” Wex replied, with a surprising smile. “He has no idea that out here is the only time I have any real privacy. The only time I can think clearly, to focus on what will come.”
She sipped some more tea. They sat on simple cushions. The elegant tea set rested on a tray th
at was the lid of the box below it.
There were vapor trails in the sky. Pieces of the Ventura were still falling. She knew that among the skyfall, he would come. And he would change everything.
The door opened and closed. A small man stepped out onto the balcony and went right up to the edge, so his toes flexed over the ledge. He was dressed in a simple white tunic and a cloth belt of the same material. His head and face were completely shaved, even his eyebrows. He had done this same thing, before.
He closed his eyes and spread his arms wide, palms to the sun. He took several deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth.
Finally, he turned his head to the ladies but didn’t step away from the edge.
“Tonight, he wants you to play for him, in the garden. He would like it to be light and cheerful. He doesn’t want you to make his guests cry again.”
“Will he punish you again, if I do?” Wex asked.
The usher said nothing, but turned his face away from her and back to the sun, back to the view. He closed his eyes; his lips trembled.
He did not know how long he stood there, or even why.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder, and a soft voice spoke in his ear.
“David, know this. He will never punish you again. He will never even notice you again. Do whatever is asked; and when the time is right, I will ask you a favor. On that day, we will all be free.”
“How did you know my name was David? That was taken from me long ago…forbidden…”
He choked on the little-used words as Wex turned him and held him. He was so small, and Wex was so tall. The top of his bald head brushed the bottom of her breasts. He was like a child, thin, all bones and sinew. But up close, Wex saw he was sixty or seventy years old.
Blood of the Scarecrow: Book 3: Solstice 31 Saga Page 1
