Fallen Empire: A Military Science Fiction Epic Adventure (Born of Ash Book 1)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Absolutely remarkable.” Scaretti’s gaze flicked to Keira with an expression that bordered on disbelief. “She woke you?”

  “Indeed,” MK said. “I was also blessed to witness her make a direct connection. That was even more remarkable. You should have seen it, Captain. I wonder what it was like for her, a human melding with a machine. It must been a fascinating experience.”

  “I would have liked to have seen that as well,” Scaretti said.

  “Will he be all right?” Keira asked Scaretti. She just wanted Vex and MK to live.

  “Now that his power source has been stabilized, we will be able to fix him right up. The techs will have him up and around”—he gazed sourly at MK—“and into everyone’s business before you know it.”

  “Sir.” A marine stepped up to them. His rank marked him as a lieutenant.

  Scaretti looked up.

  “Captain Campbell reports the Protectorate destroyer is preparing to undock, sir. Intercepted message traffic from them and the UPG indicates they are alarmed by our presence down here.”

  “I think that’s likely an understatement,” Scaretti said. “They’re probably going apeshit topside.”

  “There’s a Captain Crecee from the regulators screaming for help and reinforcement,” the lieutenant said. “He’s pretty wound up, sir.”

  “He got a lesson in what happens when you mess with the marines,” Scaretti said. “Still, it’s good to know we put the fear of god into him. It’s bound to make an impression on the UPG and Protectorate.”

  “About that, sir. Captain Campbell feels there is a good probability the Protectorate may try to bombard the planet and our current position. Their message traffic indicates that may be their intention. She suggested we pick up the pace here.”

  “Did she put it that way?” Scaretti asked.

  “No, sir. Captain Campbell said to get your ass moving, sir.”

  Keira understood this was something she had no control over. She was weak, tired, exhausted, and the pain in her shoulder was almost unbearable. She wanted to lie down and sleep.

  “That sounds more like our good captain. Any idea how long we have?” Scaretti’s expression was grim.

  “No more than forty-five minutes, likely less.”

  The wind took that moment to gust strongly. Keira closed her eyes as the sand pelted her and stung her exposed flesh.

  “That storm can’t get here soon enough,” the lieutenant said.

  “Alright, Norman,” Scaretti said to the lieutenant. “Time to pack up and go home. Sound the recall. The second drop ship can haul the tank back to base.” Scaretti pointed at Vex and then Keira. “I want to get these two medical treatment as soon as possible. They’ll go in the first ship.”

  “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant hesitated a fraction of a second, glancing at Keira with something like awe before moving away.

  “Princess,” Scaretti said, “we need to get you back to the ship and safety. I’d like to move you to the drop ship now.”

  “The ship?” Keira asked. “What ship?”

  “The Seringapatam of course,” Scaretti said. “Where did you think you were going?”

  “A safe house,” Keira said. “Chris called it the Seri.”

  Scaretti gave a chuckle. “That’s her nickname. I guess an imperial light cruiser’s as good a safe house as any these days. The sooner we get you there, the better. We really need to get your wounds tended to, and honestly, we need your help.”

  “My help?” Keira had no idea how she could help him.

  “Yes, we need you to wake up the Seringapatam’s construct,” Scaretti said. He gestured at the damaged mech. “Just like you did with MK. That way we can escape this rock, princess, and complete our mission.”

  Keira wiped the last of the tears away. Could she do what he wanted her to? She had been able to do it with MK, but there was no guarantee she could do it again. Then something occurred to her.

  “Why do you keep calling me that?”

  “Princess?” Scaretti seemed confused.

  Keira gave a nod and then grimaced. The movement hurt her shoulder terribly.

  “Because you are of royal blood, a princess of the empire,” Scaretti said, “and with your ability to connect with the machine, I daresay by the constitution, a direct heir to the throne. That is, if we can manage to escape this planet and get back to the empire.”

  Keira just stared at him. Surely he was not serious. Her, of royal blood? An heir to the throne? Certainly not. Only, from his look, he was deadly serious. She could see it in his eyes. The world swam as a wave of dizziness threatened her. Keira shook her head to clear it. The resulting pain caused her to groan.

  “Come on,” Scaretti said and stood, then helped her gently up. “It’s time to leave.”

  “Go, Keira,” MK said as he released her hand. “I will see you shortly. Captain, you will look after her, until I am able?”

  “Of course,” Scaretti said.

  “Thank you.” MK’s head turned to the marine feeding him power through the line. “Oh, hello there, Merik. I did not see you. We used to play cards together. Would you like to play a card game with me?”

  “What you do with cards is not called playing,” Merik said, rather grumpily.

  “Whatever do you mean?” MK seemed perplexed.

  “You cheat.”

  “I certainly do not,” MK said, sounding offended. “Poker is a game of probability, the art of bluffing and of tells. One of your tells is a rapid blinking of the eyes, and an increased heart rate when you are dealt a good hand. You also become somewhat fidgety. I would suggest you work on that.”

  “I’m still not playing with you,” Merik said, with a sour note.

  Scaretti walked Keira toward the drop ship. Keira glanced back at Vex and MK. The wind gusted strongly again. The storm was close.

  “They’re in good hands,” Scaretti assured her. “Soon as the medic has Vex stabilized and gets her into the drop ship, he will see to you next, Princess.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Keira asked.

  “My medic tending to you or you being a princess of the blood?” Scaretti seemed amused. “Yes, I am certain you’re a princess. Your mother was granddaughter to the emperor, a duchess in fact. Your father was a duke and in command of our mission.”

  “I’m just a tech,” Keira breathed as he continued to help her toward the drop ship. A fighter roared overhead, doing a roll as it shot by. Several of the marines gave a cheer. The second fighter followed the first. “Are those marine fighters?”

  Scaretti glanced up and gave a disgusted grunt. “Naw, those are navy pukes. They’re not good enough to be marine aviators.”

  A group of marines, along with the unarmored personnel from the drop ship, passed by them in a clustered group, carrying Vex on a stretcher. The medic was with them, still hovering over her and working as they moved. Keira stopped and watched.

  “Will she live?”

  “Vex is too mean to die,” Scaretti said. “She’s a tough girl. I have a feeling she will pull through. The Seri also has a top-notch surgical unit. If she gets there alive, her chances of surviving go up dramatically.”

  Keira nodded and started hobbling forward again. The captain remained at her side each step of the way. Around them, marines were moving back toward the drop ship. Another drop ship, its gravity drive thrumming with power, appeared over the resort. It moved across the park, toward the tank, which was rolling back toward them. Keira watched it for a moment, then focused on the drop ship before them and placing one foot in front of another. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the ramp. Two women in shipsuit coveralls met them.

  “They will see you settled, Princess,” Scaretti said as he handed Keira off.

  “I’m Crew Chief Donavan,” one of the two said. “We’ll get you situated, ma’am.”

  Keira suddenly did not want to see him go.

  Scaretti seemed to understand.

  “Oh, and I’
m certain you are no mere tech, especially after what I saw you do today.” The trace of a smile was back. “I will see you on the ship. Now, if you will excuse me, your royal highness, duty calls. This is far from over and I need to see my people get extracted safely.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Keira said. “Thank you for everything.”

  Scaretti gave a nod and turned away, moving off. Keira looked up the ramp. The drop ship was massive and towered over them. The UPG had drop ships, but nothing like this machine, which had clearly been made for war. There were gun turrets on the sides and underneath. It also looked to be armored.

  Keira had thought her world had changed beyond reason, but as she was helped up the ramp, she understood that change was only just beginning. Keira recalled Chris’s words that the empire was an idea and all it took was a little belief. All those around her believed.

  And now, so too did Keira.

  The End

  Keira’s journey will continue in Infinity Control, Book 2 of Born of Ash: Out Fall 2021. Enjoy the following sample of Marc’s award winning and bestselling series, Stiger’s Tigers.

  Stiger’s Tigers

  Chronicles of an Imperial Legionary Officer

  Book 1

  by

  Marc Alan Edelheit

  Chapter One

  Two road-weary riders, both legionary officers, crested the bald hill and pulled to a halt. A vast military encampment surrounded by entrenchments and fortifications took up much of the valley below them in a shocking display. Smoke from thousands of campfires drifted upward and hung over the valley like a veil. After months of travel, the two riders were now finally able to set their eyes upon their destination—the main encampment of General Kromen’s Imperial Army, comprising the Fifteenth, Eighteenth, Twenty-Ninth, and Thirtieth Legions. These four legions had been dispatched by the emperor to put down the rebellion burning through what the empire considered her southern provinces.

  The awful stench of the encampment had been on the wind for hours. This close, the smell of decay mixed with human waste and a thousand other smells was nearly overpowering. What should have been relief at finally reaching their destination had turned to incredulous horror. Neither of them had ever seen anything like it. Imperial encampments were typically highly organized, with priority placed on sanitation to reduce the chance of sickness and disease. The jumble of tents and ramshackle buildings laid out before them, surrounded by the fortifications, spoke of something much different. It told of an almost wanton criminal neglect for the men who served the empire, or perhaps even incompetence in command.

  An empty wagon, the first of a sad-looking supply train, rumbled around past the two riders, who refused to give way. The driver, a hired teamster, cursed at them for hogging the road. He took his frustration out on a group of dirty and ragged slaves sitting along the edge of the road. The slaves, part of a work gang to maintain the imperial highway, were forced to scramble out of the way, lest the wagon roll over them as it rumbled around the two travelers.

  An overseer resting on a large fieldstone several feet away barked out a harsh laugh before shouting at the slaves to be more careful. One of the slaves collapsed, and yet both riders hardly spared him a glance. Slaves were simply beneath notice.

  The supply train’s nominal escort, a small troop of cavalry riding in a line alongside the wagons, was working its way slowly up the hill toward the two officers and away from the encampment. Much like every other legionary the two travelers had come upon for the last hundred miles, the cavalry troop was less than impressive, though somewhat better looking in appearance. Their armor wasn’t as rusted and had been recently maintained.

  Several empty wagons rumbled by the two, which saw additional invectives hurled their way. They ignored the cursing, just as they had disregarded the wagons and the plight of the slaves. Where they had come from, it would have been unthinkable for someone to hurl invectives at an officer, who was almost assuredly a nobleman. At the very least, a commoner would invite a severe beating with such behavior. Here in the South, such lack of basic respect seemed commonplace.

  One of the travelers had the hood of his red imperial cloak pulled up as far as it would go and tilted his head forward to protect against a light drizzling rain, which had been falling for some time.

  The other had the hood of his cloak pulled back, revealing close-cropped brown hair and a fair but weather-hardened face, marred only by a slight scar running down the left cheek. The scar pulled the man’s mouth up into a slight sneer. He looked no older than twenty-five, but his eyes, which seemed to miss nothing, made him look wise beyond his years. The slaves, having settled down in a new spot, watched the two warily.

  As the first of the cavalry troop crested the hill, which was much steeper on the encampment’s side, the lieutenant in command pulled his mount up.

  “Well met, Captain,” the lieutenant said. The lieutenant’s lead sergeant also stopped his horse.

  The cavalry troop continued to ride by, the men wearing their helmets to avoid the drizzling rain but miserably wet just the same. The lieutenant offered a salute, to which the captain simply nodded in reply, saying nothing. The captain’s gaze—along with that of his companion, whose face was concealed by the hood of his cloak—remained focused on the encampment below.

  After several uncomfortable moments, the lieutenant once again attempted to strike up a conversation. “I assume you came by way of Aeda? A miserable city, if you ask me. Can you tell me the condition of the road? Did you encounter any rebels?”

  The lieutenant shivered slightly as the captain turned a cold gray-eyed gaze upon him.

  “We saw no evidence of rebels,” the captain replied in a low, gravelly voice filled with steel and confidence. “The road passed peacefully.”

  “That is good to hear,” the cavalry officer replied. “I am Lieutenant Lan of the One Hundred Eighty-Seventh Imperial Horse Regiment. May … may I have your name, Captain?”

  “Stiger,” the captain growled, kicking his horse into motion and rapidly moving off the crest of the hill, down toward the encampment.

  The lieutenant’s eyes widened. Stiger’s companion, without a word or a sideways glance, followed at a touch to his horse, leaving the lieutenant behind.

  The door to the guardhouse opened and after a moment banged closed like it had undoubtedly done countless times before. Stiger and his companion stepped forward, their heavy bootfalls thunking across the coarse wooden floorboards that were covered in a layer of dirt made slick from the rain. The floor had not been swept in a good long time.

  “Name and purpose?” a bored ensign demanded, his back to the door. A counter separated the ensign from any newcomers. He was sitting at a table, attempting to look busy and important by writing in a logbook. After a few moments, when the ensign heard nothing in reply, he stood and turned with obvious irritation, prepared to give the new arrivals a piece of his mind. He was confronted with two wet officers, one a captain and the other a lieutenant.

  Stiger locked the ensign with a piercing gaze. The ensign was old for his rank, which was generally a sign that he was unfit for further promotion. Instead of forcing such a useless man out of the service, he was put in a position where he could do little harm and perhaps accomplish something useful. It had been Stiger’s experience that such men became bitter and would not hesitate to abuse what little power was available to them.

  Flustered, the ensign tried again. “Name and purp—”

  “Captain Stiger and companion,” Stiger interrupted, with something akin to an irritated growl. The captain slowly placed his hands on the dirty counter and leaned forward toward the man. The ensign—most likely accustomed to dealing with lowly teamsters, drovers, corporals, and sergeants—blinked. His jaw dropped. He stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, before remembering to salute a superior officer, fist to chest. Stiger said nothing in reply, but gestured impatiently for the ensign to move things along.

  “Forgive me, sir,” the ens
ign stammered. It was then, as the lieutenant who accompanied the captain pushed back the hood of his cloak, that he noticed Captain Stiger’s companion was not human. The ensign’s mouth dropped open even further, if that was possible.

  “Lieutenant Eli’Far,” the elf introduced himself in a pleasantly soft, singsong kind of voice that sounded human, but was tinged with something alien at the same time. Eli was tall, whipcord thin, and very fair. His perpetually youthful face, complete with blue almond-shaped eyes and sharply pointed ears, was perfect. Framed by sand-colored hair, perhaps it was even too perfect.

  “I have orders to report to General Kromen,” Stiger stated simply, impatient to be done with the fool before him.

  “Of course, sir,” the ensign stammered, remembering himself. He slid a book across the counter. “If you will sign in, I will have you escorted directly to General Kromen’s headquarters.”

  Stiger grabbed a quill, dipped it in the inkbottle sitting on the counter, and signed for both himself and Eli. He put down the quill and pushed the book back toward the ensign.

  “Corporal!” the ensign called in a near-panicked shout.

  The guard corporal poked his head into the guardhouse.

  “Captain Stiger requires an escort to the commanding general’s headquarters.”

  The corporal blinked as if he had not heard correctly. “Yes, sir,” he said, fully stepping into the guardhouse, eyes wide. “This way, gentlemen,” the corporal said in a respectful tone. It was never wise to upset an officer, and even more irresponsible to offend one from an important family, no matter how infamous. “I will escort you myself. It is a bit of a ride, sirs.”

  The two traveling companions followed the corporal out of the guardhouse. They stepped back into the rain, which had changed from a drizzle to a steady downpour. Eli pulled his hood back up, once again obscuring his features. Stiger left his down. They retrieved their horses from where they had secured them and mounted up. The corporal also mounted a horse that was waiting for such a purpose and led them through the massive wooden gate that served as the encampment’s main entrance. Stiger was disgusted to see the sentries huddled for cover under the gate’s overhang. Those men should have been on post despite the weather.