The Expanding Universe 4: Space Adventure, Alien Contact, & Military Science Fiction (Science Fiction Anthology)

by Craig Martelle

  The asteroid was nearly on them by the time he turned back. Even with the delayed response, Cyrus almost avoided it, but it was too close. The asteroid tore through the ship’s shields and smashed into the port-side wing, destroying the warp field generator on that side. The ship nearly tore itself apart before Cyrus could shut down the starboard engine.

  Cyrus regained control of the ship and quickly began diagnosing the ship’s condition. The port-side wing was gone, but the ship was otherwise in tact. With engines on only one side of the vessel, travel would be difficult, but not impossible. He was already formulating a plan when he was interrupted by a cry of terror.

  He looked up just in time to see a large asteroid smash into the ship. The bridge exploded around him.

  Everything went black.

  Chapter 5

  There were bright lights and people rushing everywhere as Cyrus was pushed down the hallway on a stretcher. Things were happening too fast for him to comprehend. The nurse walking at his side was saying something, but he couldn’t make out the words. Based on the look of pity in her eyes—or was that disgust—she might have been trying to comfort him.

  Cyrus tried to move, but all he got for the effort was shooting pain from head to toe. He felt like he had been crushed by a ten-ton boulder. As he tried to recall what had happened to him, he realized that wasn’t far from the truth. The last thing he remembered was smashing into a huge asteroid. He had no idea how he had gotten here. Was this Earth? That was hundreds of lightyears from where he had crashed.

  The medical team pushed the stretcher though stainless-steel double-doors into a huge operating room. Equipment of every kind was arrayed around the room. Above the room, behind a large glass window, a gallery full of people looked down on him. Cyrus saw one woman cover her face and turn away. He also saw several men wearing military uniforms. Was that Vice Admiral Spiraculi?

  A face suddenly appeared in front of Cyrus. A doctor by the looks of it. He was asking him something, but Cyrus couldn’t make out any words. All he heard was a jumble of sounds. The doctor finally relayed everything he wanted to or just gave up. A moment later, a mask was placed over his face.

  Again, Cyrus slipped into unconsciousness.

  ***

  Cyrus woke in a hospital bed. He was propped up and had tubes and wires connected to his arms, head, and chest. He lay still for a moment, afraid to move. He wasn’t sure what he feared most: the possibility of being unable to move or the possibility of extreme pain when he tried. Before he could muster the courage to try, a doctor walked into the room carrying a shiny metal clipboard.

  “Ah, Mister Jones,” the doctor said. “I am so glad you are finally awake.”

  “Where am I?” His throat was dry and his voice was very weak, but he was thankful he could at least form words. Not to mention being able to hear and understand what the doctor had said.

  “New York,” the doctor said. “You’re in the ITC Hospital of Bio-Robotic Medicine.”

  “Bio-Robotic?”

  “Yes,” the doctor replied. “We specialize in using robotic technology to save—and extend—human life.”

  “Why…”

  Cyrus never finished his question. He saw his reflection in the doctor’s shiny metal clipboard. He knew he shouldn’t be able to see his reflection clearly, but it was like looking in a mirror.

  He screamed in agony—and despair.

  “I will give you some time to yourself,” the doctor said sympathetically. “I will come back in a while to answer your questions.”

  Cyrus didn’t even notice the doctor leave.

  Why couldn’t they just let me die?

  ***

  For eight days, Cyrus didn’t let anyone into the room other than the floating robots that brought him medicine and food. He had regained some strength and could now walk around the room with the aid of a walker.

  As he looked out the window, he could see a faint reflection of himself. What he saw both disgusted and intrigued him. He moved his now-robotic right arm. Other than being metal, it was almost no different than his left arm. Cyrus could actually feel with his fingertips. He had even tried stabbing himself with a needle he found in one of the drawers. The needle had bent, but he felt a sharp pain when he had done it. He had no idea bio-robotic technology had advanced so far.

  During his days of isolation, Cyrus had come to terms with his robotic arm. If he wore long sleeves and a glove, no one would even know it wasn’t real, and there were definitely going to be advantages. His robotic arm was infinitely stronger than any organic limb. On top of that, it was faster and more precise—he had literally plucked the wings off a fly as it buzzed around his head.

  What he hadn’t come to terms with—and probably never would—was his face. Or what was left of it. His right eye and nearly a quarter of his face and skull were gone. In its place was a metal skull and robotic eye. There would be no way to hide that.

  As amazing as the robotic technology in his arm was, Cyrus knew the technology in his head was far superior. When he could push the self-loathing aside, he had explored some of the capabilities of his robotic eye. He could see perfectly at virtually infinite distance, almost like looking through a telescope. It had taken some time to get used to focusing, but now he could instantly change his focus from right in front of his face to a hundred kilometers away. He had also learned how to see heat patterns, which allowed him to see in the dark better than any night-vision goggles.

  Cyrus knew it was crazy, but he almost felt smarter. His focus was sharper than it had ever been, and he seemed to be able to think through problems virtually instantly. He could recall things he didn’t remember knowing. Unfortunately, he still didn’t know how he had gotten to Earth or what had happened since he crashed into the asteroid.

  One thing he did know was that this technology was far more advanced than anything he had ever heard of.

  “It’s time to get some answers,” he muttered to himself as he hobbled back to his hospital bed and pressed the call button.

  He only had to wait a few minutes before two men walked into his room.

  “Lieutenant Jones, good to see you walking around,” a man wearing an IMF uniform said.

  A doctor, the one who had visited Cyrus when he first woke, stepped in front. “There will be plenty of time for military questions later,” he said. “Our first concern needs to be taking care of Mister Jones’s medical needs.”

  The doctor was clearly not intimidated by the IMF officer. That was a rarity nowadays, and Cyrus was impressed. “Thanks for your concern, Doctor,” he said. “I am actually feeling fine and all I really need right now is some answers.”

  Cyrus turned toward the window and looked outside for a minute to compose himself. When he turned back, he was resolute, determined to learn the truth—even if the truth was hard to hear.

  “How did this happen?” Cyrus asked, gesturing at his robotic arm and skull. “And why?”

  “We don’t know,” the doctor said plainly.

  “We were actually hoping you could tell us,” the IMF officer added.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You wandered into the emergency room at New York General, babbling incoherently, barely conscious,” the doctor said. “They did their best to stabilize you, then called us.”

  “And you gave me the arm and put this thing in my head?”

  “No. You already had the robotic arm and brain implants.”

  “But how?” Cyrus asked, confused.

  “We don’t know,” the doctor told him. “It’s beyond any technology we have ever seen.”

  “You had this on you,” the IMF officer said, holding out a small circular object. “We have been trying to decode it, but there is nothing like it in any of our databases.”

  Cyrus took the disk, flipping it over in his hands. One side was smooth like glass, the other was covered in symbols that he had never seen before. It felt familiar somehow. He studied the disk, but nothing came back to him.


  “Sorry,” he said. “I can’t remember anything.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of this,” the IMF officer assured him.

  Cyrus knew the IMF officer was telling the truth, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be for his benefit.

  The doctor helped him back to the bed. “You get some rest now,” he said. “There will be plenty of time for more questions later.”

  The doctor half-pushed the IMF officer out of the room. As he left, the officer glanced back with a look that sent shivers down Cyrus’s spine. It was a look that said, I’m going to get to the bottom of this no matter how unpleasant it is for you.

  Chapter 6

  The following days were filled with interrogations, tests, neural scans, and more interrogations. In most circumstances, it would have been pure torture, but Cyrus was just as determined as the IMF officer to find out what had happened to him. Unfortunately for both, no revelations seemed to be coming.

  He had finally been informed that he was cleared to return to active duty and was waiting in a small conference room for details on his new assignment. He was studying a chart on the wall when he heard the door slide open. Before he could turn around, a booming voice called out, “You scoundrel.”

  Cyrus turned just in time to be enveloped by a large, red-skinned man with flowing black hair.

  “Belzaire!” Cyrus exclaimed. It was the first time he had seen someone he knew from before the accident. That wasn’t surprising since most of the people he had known were in the ship when it crashed. That sudden realization sucked all the life out of him, and he felt himself collapse into Belzaire’s embrace. He quickly gathered himself and disengaged. If the other man had noticed the collapse, he didn’t say anything.

  “How have you been, my old friend?” Cyrus asked.

  “Better than you, by the looks of things.” Coming from anyone else, that would have been cruel, but Belzaire had always been a true friend, maybe his only true friend. One who cut straight to the truth of things.

  “Time appears to have been rough on you as well,” Cyrus countered. Not to be cruel, but because his friend truly looked like he had aged many years since he’d last seen him.

  Belzaire exchanged looks with the other man in the room. Cyrus hadn’t even noticed him until that moment, but once he did, he recognized that man as well.

  Mitch Cooper had been in his graduating class at the academy. He had been middle of the class but had always carried himself with an air of authority. Cyrus had pegged him to be captain of a ship someday…or a career criminal. Based on his uniform, the former had happened, but there was no way that should have happened yet.

  “What’s going on here?” Cyrus asked, dreading the answer that he already knew, deep down.

  “This is Mitch Cooper, Captain of the Krim Sprinter,” Belzaire said. “I believe you attended the academy together.”

  “I remember him, but no one in our graduating class was even close to being a captain last time I checked. And certainly not Mitch Cooper. No offense.”

  “A lot has changed since your accident,” Mitch said with a smile, clearly not offended by Cyrus’s remark.

  “But how?”

  “With the rapid expansion of the fleet over the last five years, many who might not have been…captain material have been promoted out of sheer necessity,” Mitch explained.

  The man definitely wasn’t self-conscious, but that still didn’t explain what was going on. “Rapid expansion?”

  “With the development of niakrim scanning technology, the resources needed to build warp-enabled ships have become more plentiful,” Belzaire jumped in. “About the only limiting factor for warp travel now is the number of Jabuka warp engineers. That makes me quite the hot commodity,” he added with a grin.

  “Niakrim scanning technology?”

  Something was clearly wrong. Cyrus had never cared much about technological advances, unless they affected him, but surely he would have known about something that important.

  “Oh my God,” Mitch exclaimed. “They never told you.”

  “Told me what?” Cyrus asked, a cold feeling spreading from the pit of his stomach.

  “How long ago do you think the accident was?”

  “I don’t know,” Cyrus admitted. “I never really thought about it. Clearly, I underwent a lot of medical procedures, so I’m sure it’s been quite a few months, maybe even a year, I suppose.”

  Mitch and Belzaire looked at each other before Belzaire spoke up. “It’s been nearly ten years, Cyrus. You were missing for over seven years, then two more years in a medically-induced coma while they tried to figure out how to help you.”

  He managed to direct his body into a chair as the world he thought he knew was pulled out from under him. Cyrus looked from Belzaire to Mitch, his mind filling with a thousand questions, yet each of them was instantly dismissed as unimportant. It was almost scary how fast he accepted what should have been life-shattering news. Maybe it was everything he had already been through. Maybe it was neural implants of unknown origin. Either way, Cyrus was filled with a feeling of cold practicality. It really didn’t matter what year it was. He was alive, the only friend he had ever cared about was standing in front of him, and he had been cleared to fly again.

  Cyrus stood up, to all outward appearances, completely recovered from his collapse. “So, when do we start?”

  Mitch and Belzaire exchanged glances again before the captain spoke up. “If you’re up for it, we leave in the morning. We have a few low-warp missions lined up to help you get back in the groove.”

  “No need to worry about me,” Cyrus said confidently. “I’m feeling better than ever.”

  “You don’t know how much I wanted to hear that,” Mitch said with a smile as he wrapped his arm around Cyrus’s shoulder. “It’s been a long time since anyone has hit warp three, and I am greatly looking forward to captaining the fastest ship in the galaxy.”

  ***

  Back in his room, Cyrus picked up the object he had been carrying when he showed up at the hospital, near death. It was the only link he had to what had apparently been ten years of his life. He knew this small disk was the key to unlocking at least some of what had happened to him.

  As he studied the symbols one more time, Cyrus suddenly blacked out.

  Images flashed in his mind. Hundreds…thousands of images. He couldn’t decipher any of them individually, but somehow, he understood them on a deeper level. He glimpsed images of himself, injured and dying. He glimpsed himself on a table being operated on robotically. And he glimpsed things he knew he had never seen before—or done—and knew he was now capable of incredible things. All in the time it took to fall to the floor.

  Cyrus half-expected to be back in the stainless-steel room when he opened his eyes, but he was still in his hospital room. He glanced at the disk still in his hand, afraid it would trigger another episode yet also longing for more information. The surface of the disk was burned black. All traces of the symbols that had triggered the event now obliterated.

  “I guess that’s all I will ever know,” he muttered.

  But there was one more thing, in addition to all the images. In the moment before Cyrus had opened his eyes, he had sensed an unmistakable message. A message he would never share with anyone; one that would likely haunt him for the rest of his life.

  You are in our debt.

  The End

  Author David J. VanBergen Jr

  Thanks so much for reading my story. If you would like to know more about Cyrus as well as Belzaire and the captain, be sure to check out the Niakrim War series. The first book is called Discovery and is available on Amazon at: amazon.com/dp/B071NJBNH4/

  In addition to publishing stories under my real name, I also publish co-authored science fiction stories under the pen name James David Victor. If you would like to hear about new releases and special offers for both pen names, be sure to sign up for my Science Fiction Newsletter. You will get a free sto
ry just for signing up.

  Sign up for my Science Fiction Newsletter here: fairfieldpublishing.com/sci-fi-newsletter/

  Thanks again for reading my story. I hope you enjoyed it as well as the other stories in this amazing collection.

  A Little Surprise

  By P.R Adams

  Military plans never survive first contact with the enemy, but sometimes those disastrous changes can come with a little surprise.

  “All right, everyone, listen up!”

  Staff Sergeant Gerhardt’s voice always made me cringe. Unfortunately, drop was imminent, and everyone was crowded around the entry to the Catapult drop bay, so there was no shutting off my earpiece to avoid him. Normally, when he gave his little preamble, I’d mute his ass and stare at an imaginary spot just behind him.

  Not today. With Travis—Sergeant Desai—still in the hospital thanks to me, I was the ranking private.

  “You’re Sergeant Wilson this mission.” Gerhardt had said that with all the enthusiasm of a recruit on latrine detail after the platoon overdosed on the Burrito Surprise buffet. “Don’t screw it up.”

  Yay, me.

  So there I was, running Travis’s squad, the squad I’d been in since we’d signed up. Hating life. Feeling guilty for laying him up. Feeling worse for how it happened.

  How else was I supposed to feel? We’d volunteered for the raid on Azure, our home world. And we’d seen what the Leviathans had done to it—the complete devastation and hopelessness. And we’d watched our comrades die by the dozens using weapons that Special Section 6 had assured us would turn the tide in the war.

  But there was no tide turning. Just retreating. And dying. Lots and lots of dying.

  We’d fallen back to one of the few standing buildings, somehow been skipped over by one of the Nightcrawler beasties the Leviathans used as stormtroopers, and then made a run for an exfiltration site.