Theocracy: Book 1.

by Doug Dandridge

  “Thank God for small favors,” she said under her breath as she opened the small tank and gently put the cat in it. Shadow was shaking now, going into convulsions, and she touched his fur for a moment before closing the animal in the tank. A bunch of red lights illuminated the panel as the diagnostic sensors probed the cat. Several turned yellow within a moment, some going to green, while a few stayed angry red. “Please help him,” she prayed, glancing one more time at the other occupied tank. Then it was on to other business if she didn’t want two deaths on her conscience, including her own.

  The magnetic gurney moved easily as she pushed it back up to the bridge. The slant in the floor had lessened, meaning they had leveled out, probably near the bottom. The floor tilted a bit to the left as the ship banked, then straightened out. The gurney took it all in stride. While not the antigravity that the ancients were rumored to control, it was the next best thing, and she thanked God that she had it.

  Derrick was completely still as she entered the bridge. She lowered the gurney to the floor near him, relieved to see that his chest was still rising, though concerned at the noticeable flail. She lifted him from the seat, her augmented strength and the low gravity allowing her to easily shift his weight onto the gurney. She made sure that he was securely on the device, then raised it to waist height and started Derrick on his journey to the tank. He coughed a few times on the way there, but seemed to be doing OK until she actually got him into the med bay. That was when he decided to go into cardiac arrest, and Alyssa almost panicked for a moment, caught between the decision to work on him herself or put him in the tank and let the nanotech go to work. She coughed up a gob of blood and that decided her.

  I can either tank him and get myself in the tank, she thought, looking at the blood on the floor. Or I can risk passing out while trying to treat him and we both die. Without another thought she pushed Derrick from the gurney into the tank and closed it to the world. She then climbed into the last available tank, undergoing a fearful moment when she thought she was going to fall back and out. But she made it in and positioned herself with the last of her strength.

  “Heal me,” she said to the tank, then tried to relax as the lid lowered over her. Many tubes came out of slots and plunged into her arms, legs and body, while a breathing mask fitted itself to her face. A feeling of total relaxation came over her as the tubes fed medications and nanites into her system, and soon she had faded into blackness.

  Outside the tank the maintenance robots cleaned up, leaving no trace of bodily fluids or damage.

  Chapter Six

  Sean O’Hara felt like he was again going to vomit as the demon masters pushed him into the dark tunnel under the monastery. The day had been Hell on Earth as far as he was concerned. It was a day of battle, and so some Hell was to be expected. But not the surprising Hell that had happened this day.

  First to see fire come from the sky and destroy both armies, followed by the sky ships that flew back and forth over the survivors, slaughtering thousands more. Then to see his brother killed by one of the demon beasts that obeyed the commands of these human looking but incredibly strong demons. Then to be captured by the demons and carried to their sky ships. Sean had reckoned himself a strong man, but everyone of these demons, even the ones that didn’t have the fancy and bulky armor, made him seem a child.

  Then they had landed at the Monastery, and over a hundred monks, the greatest fighting men on the planet, had been slaughtered along with their retainers. The weapons the demons carried had fired a bullet much smaller than that of any pistol or rifle the warrior had ever seen. And so much faster it seemed to be magical. What didn’t seem magical was the effect those bullets had on living targets. Heads, bodies and limbs seemed to explode when hit. The courtyard above was covered with gore, the remains of the monks and their retainers. And some of the weapons fired true explosive shells, and their results were so much worse.

  “In here,” said the large man with the stubble hair, his cold blue eyes looking back at Sean.

  Sean knew his life was in this man’s hands, that if he didn’t do as told he would join those monks and so many others who had died this day. For some reason the man thought he was useful. That could be the only reason he was still alive. He didn’t know what that use was, but walking into the vault gave him a heart sinking suspicion of what the man thought. It’s not me, he thought, looking around the empty room that had once contained the treasures of the ancients. You killed the one you wanted. And it’s not me.

  “Here it is, Colonel Chung,” said one of the unarmored men, holding some kind of device that shined a light on a blank portion of wall.

  “Here,” said the colonel, grabbing Sean’s wrist and pulling him toward the wall. “Firmly, against this place.”

  He shoved Sean’s hand against the wall and the soldier’s palm flattened against something that warmed to his touch. It glowed a moment, then went out, and nothing else happened.

  “Why doesn’t it open?” said the big man, glaring at Sean with eyes as cold as death. “By the Fathers, why doesn’t it open?”

  “Maybe this trigger opens a door somewhere else,” said the man holding the device.

  “Search this entire area,” yelled the Colonel to his men and demons. They all fanned out and started searching the entire subbasement area. “For your sake, I hope you are the right one,” said the Colonel, looking down on Sean and glowering.

  “The right one for what?” asked Sean, his heart beating fast. He had a suspicion of what the Colonel talked about, and he knew he wasn’t the one the man talked about. That was his younger brother. The one the demons ripped the guts out of, who lay dead on the battlefield.

  “To open this door to the ship of the ancients,” said the man with a scowl. “For your sake, I hope you can do it.”

  Other men started streaming into the room, with negative head shakes or words stating that they found nothing. Chung looked hard at his prisoner, and his hand squeezed down on Sean’s wrist until the warrior thought it was going to be crushed in the big man’s hand. He chewed on his lip to keep from screaming out, refusing to give the man that satisfaction.

  Chung pushed Sean’s hand against the glowing portion of the wall again, then pulled the hand back and slammed it into the wall. Sean could feel something snap as great pain radiated from his hand. Chung released the member and grabbed at the left hand, pushing it palm first against the wall.

  “It was your brother, wasn’t it?” asked Chung, dropping Sean’s arm with a disgusted look.

  “Yes,” said Sean, closing his eyes and waiting for the killing blow or shot. When nothing happened for a moment he opened his eyes. “Yes, it was. And your minions killed him.”

  Chung looked into the air for a moment, then returned his gaze to Sean. The Colonel touched his hand to his ear and started talking. “I want contact with the team that was supposed to bring me that sword and shield,” he said into the air, in the manner that Sean knew was him communicating with his man. “What do you mean they never returned?” The Colonel listened for a moment and then broke in. “There was a Republic Manta that the ships tried to shoot down? It went into the ocean? We need that damned ship. It has the one we seek. Seems like my operatives were not as efficient as they should have been, and they will regret that lack of attention to detail.”

  Sean listened to the conversation that he wasn’t sure he completely understood. If he understood the gist of it, then the aliens had gotten the wrong man, him, and his brother had been taken by other aliens. He wondered for a moment if that would mean anything for his brother, who looked to be dying the last time he had seen him. Judging from what he had seen from these people that might not have meant anything. And he could hope that whomever was opposing them had at least equal technology.

  “So your brother is the one,” said the Colonel in a statement, his cold eyes glaring at Sean.

  “What should we do with him?” hissed one of the dog like demons.

  “We will k
eep him alive for now,” said Chung, and Sean felt the strength leaving his body at that pronouncement, though he kept himself on wobbly feet. “He may become a bargaining chip when we are face to face with the brother. Now, everyone continue to search this place, and we will take any artifacts we find. Move the shuttle to a safe place,” said the Colonel, touching his ear as he did when he communicated with someone from afar. “There are more Republic ships on the way, not more than five hours from insertion. We should beat them, but there is no use in leaving our shuttle out as a target.”

  A heavy hand, an armored hand, landed on Sean’s shoulder, and he was roughly pushed from the room and back into the corridor, where he was led back to the surface. He could hear Chung yelling at his men all the way up to the surface, though he couldn’t make out many of the words, as Chung had switched to his native language. But the anger was clear in whatever the words were, and Sean feared for himself and his people as he was brought back to the shuttle.

  Within moments he was strapped into a seat and on his way to wherever they were hiding the shuttle. No one talked with him, so he didn’t talk back. He merely sat strapped in the seat and worried, not sure what he could do to change the situation.

  * * *

  Colonel Nathan Chung wondered for not the first time during this mission what he had done to offend the Gods. He was a devout man, as should be the son of a Theocrat. He wasn’t devout enough to have become a priest. He had left that to his two older brothers to follow in their father’s footsteps, while he emulated his Uncle Bradford, who was a general in the Marines.

  But to take the wrong brother, he thought, his face heating in anger. What incompetence could have led the agents to make that mistake? He would have to make sure that the agents didn’t make that mistake again, or any other mistakes. The Gods were righteous deities. They were not forgiving ones.

  “This is Admiral Gruber,” came back the call on the com.

  “Admiral,” said Chung to his titular superior who was also charged with helping to accomplish the Colonel’s mission. “I need for you to impose a blockade on this moon.” As he said the word the ground shook under his feet, reminding him that this body had at most a decade to live, and probably less. “The Manta your force lost has the one I need, and he must be captured before he can get away.”

  “I thought you had the one you needed?” said the Admiral with a tone of surprise.

  “I did too,” agreed Chung, feeling his face heat again. “But I was wrong. So the planet must be blockaded. I cannot afford to have the true target escape. Or to be destroyed.”

  “I have a Republic Task Force headed toward me at this moment,” said the Admiral Bishop Jon Gruber, his tone stern. “My first duty is to this fleet. If we are defeated, or destroyed, then your mission will not be successful as well.”

  “I know, Admiral,” said the Colonel, bowing before the logic of the equation. If the fleet were defeated then the Republic would control this space. “How likely is it that they will defeat you?”

  “Not very,” said the Admiral, confidence in his voice. “However, there is another force twenty-six hours behind them. They are still weaker than we are, now. If they will be after the next battle remains to be seen. And we will be low on missiles after this next fight, unless we can destroy them with a single salvo, which is doubtful.”

  Chung cursed under his breath. He was unwilling to compromise this mission. But the fleet commander was in charge of the fleet, and only an order from the Theocracy Council would change that. And they were fifty-one hours one way communications time away.

  “When is our next force due?” he asked the Admiral, trying to figure out a way to ensure the completion of his goal.

  “Thirty-seven hours,” said the admiral. “And they have repair ships and missile carriers with them. Ships we will need.”

  Chung thought that over for a moment. If they left orbit and rendezvoused with that force they could come back much stronger than the Republic force. But if the Manta linked with the enemy fleet before then, they could be out of this system and headed for their own space before the Theocracy fleet could catch them. And they would have the ultimate prize, the human who could link with ancient tech and bring it to life.

  “If I may make a request,” said Chung to the Admiral over the link, both knowing that his polite language was actually a mission critical demand.

  “Of course,” said the Admiral, his tone suspicious.

  “Please deploy all the shuttles you have at your disposal,” said the Colonel, keeping his tone polite. “Have them search the planet, paying particular attention to the coastal regions and underwater around this Monastery.”

  There was silence for a moment. Chung knew the Admiral wouldn’t want all of his shuttles manned and away from the ship with a battle looming. He also knew that the man couldn’t refuse the request, since it didn’t weaken his battle force to any degree.

  “Of course,” said the Admiral in a tone that said he didn’t like it. “We will launch as soon as the shuttles are prepped and manned.”

  “Thank you,” said Chung, walking out of the room and through the corridor so he could use his own shuttle. “It might be wise to put some marines on each shuttle as well. In case they have to conduct a ground search.” Chung looked ahead to see the light of day while he thought of anything else he might need. Coming up with nothing, he said the final words of the communication. “I appreciate it Admiral. And that appreciation will go into my report.”

  The Admiral signed off, and Chung walked into the reeking courtyard. Birds of a primitive design had landed and were servicing the corpses and body parts. Chung looked at them and smiled, thinking that the natives might not have died in vain. As long as he could keep the Republican agents from getting away with the prize.

  Chapter Seven

  Patrick O’Hara’s eyes opened as he heard something moving. He looked up to see the lid of something moving off of the box that he lay in. The box reminded him of some kind of coffin, and he remembered dying on the battlefield after the cat had jabbed him with a claw. Tubes with sharp points were also withdrawing into the box, and he had no idea what their purpose was. He looked over at his arms and saw that there were small punctures in his skin, holes that were closing rapidly on their own.

  Am I dead? thought Patrick, watching as the lid continued to rise, then retract I’m in a coffin, aren’t I? But I am alive. Or is this the afterlife?

  He decided that laying there in the box really didn’t accomplish any purpose. After all, maybe God was waiting to see what he was going to do. Laying in a box afraid to move couldn’t be something that showed his faith in God. So he forced himself up and grabbed the edge of the box.

  He almost flew out of the box as he pushed off. He looked in surprise at his arms and saw that they were ridged with muscle. He had always had a hard body, and was considered muscular by his people. But now his arms looked like they belonged to a strongman that traveled with a carnival. He reached down and felt his thighs, which also looked much more muscular. And he felt so much energy that he couldn’t believe it.

  This has to be heaven, he thought as he pulled himself carefully up and climb out of the box. My body is perfect, is it not? He continued to climb out of the box, and his eyes widened as he saw what was in the room.

  The ancients were said to go to heaven, he thought, looking around the room, which seemed to be something that would have fit with the ancients. There were strange metals everywhere, and some surfaces that looked like not metal, but not wood or stone either. And there were things in the wall that gave off a steady light, and other smaller lights, some of which were steady, others which blinked on and off in seemingly random patterns.

  Patrick levered himself out of the box and got another surprise as his feet hit the hard looking floor. It turned out to be not so hard, and it was warm to the touch. He marveled at the floor for a moment, then walked to a counter that was of some unusual looking material that was also warm to th
e touch. He tried to think of the name. Plastic? he thought, running his hand over the smooth surface. It was the ancient material plastic, lost to his world except when some was discovered in ruins. But this was a whole counter and cabinet made of the wonderful material, enough to make him wealthy on his home world.

  But if I’m dead, I won’t be able to collect that wealth, he thought, looking down at his muscular body. He had been taught that Heaven was a spiritual place, with no need for a physical body. So either this wasn’t Heaven, or the teachings were wrong. It couldn’t be Hell, could it? he thought. It wasn’t any kind of torment, so far. It was a place of wonder, unless that was the setup for the torment.

  Patrick’s eyes widened as he noticed the other two large boxes like the one he had awoken in. He walked over to them with a sense of dread, wondering who could be in those boxes. Friends, relatives, or strangers? A light started to blink on one of the boxes as he touched it and the Monk jumped back.

  He jumped back too far, farther than he expected to. Pain lanced through his head and neck as he smashed his crown into the hard ceiling. He hit the floor, hand going to his head. He rubbed and pulled one hand down, but didn’t see any blood, which didn’t mean there wasn’t damage. A headache started coming on which he knew would grow worse.

  He thought it best to stay away from the other boxes at this time. Patrick decided that he should see more of this wonderful place before something came along and stopped him. He stepped up to the panel that looked like a door, noting that he felt very clumsy, like he wasn’t used to his body. That can be dangerous, he thought, remembering that his Fae control depended on his feeling one with his physical form.

  The door refused to open, even when he pushed on the panels or tried to slide them into the wall, which to his critical eye looked like their preferred method of motion. He saw a pair of large buttons, one glowing green, the other red, on the wall beside the door. He reached a tentative hand toward the buttons, ready to jump back, cautious that he might strike his head on the ceiling again with his greater jumping ability. He closed his eyes involuntarily, against all of his training and conditioning, and pushed the green button.