Star Streaker Boxed Set 1 (Star Streaker Series)
Page 1
Star Streaker
Boxed Set 1
T.M. Catron
Contents
Wizard’s Flight
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Prometheus Rescue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
A Conversation
Fugitives’ Gamble
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Persephone Evasion
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Author Note
Acknowledgments
Works by T.M. Catron
About the Author
Wizard’s Flight, Prometheus Rescue, Fugitives’ Gamble, and Persephone Evasion are works of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2019 T.M. Catron
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
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Wizard’s Flight
Star Streaker Book 1
For Eric & Jeremy
Chapter One
The Outer Colonies had always been prosperous. Ill-treated, oppressed, and exploited, but always prosperous.
The mining colony on Xanthes was no exception. The purple-hued planet orbited a yellow star, alone in the dark vacuum of space. Its nearest neighboring planet was two days of hyperspace away. Beyond Xanthes, whole realms of alien civilizations watched the human empire grow. Occasionally they mingled with the young civilization, but more often they waited for the day the humans would go to war.
Despite its relative isolation from the Core worlds, Xanthes’ spaceports hummed with activity. Large shipments of diamonds, mined by a peasant population, left its orbit every day for wealthier worlds like the glass cities and lush green plains of Barton, or the intimidating seat of power on Triton. Even though violent dust storms plagued Xanthes, a prestigious Flight Academy took advantage of the wide-open spaces and trained the best pilots in the Empire.
Xanthes was also a haven for smugglers seeking a life that didn’t involve mining. Many of them made enough money to buy fancy ships, and their pilots were every bit as good as those the Academy produced, albeit with less honorable credentials. Often their illegal trading lined the pockets of Xanthes’ nobility, ensuring continued and mutual success. So the smugglers got rich, the nobles got richer, and life on Xanthes continued in a complicated swirl of dust and politics.
The crew of the Star Streaker had a different reaction to landing on Xanthes—none of them wanted to set foot on the foul, backward planet. But the small space cruiser exited hyperspace anyway in a blinding flash of blue and on a direct trajectory for the largest spaceport.
The Star Streaker was beautifully built, with clean lines and a bronze hull that flashed golden as it exited hyperspace. Originally commissioned as a small luxury space cruiser, the ship held a crew of six in tight quarters, ten in a pinch. The hold was compact, but the space was well-used and allowed the captain to smuggle small items and contraband.
The Streaker flew unarmed and equipped with the latest hyperdrive civilian money could buy. Although the drive implied money, the Star Streaker wasn’t out of place among the other sleek ships jockeying for position around Xanthes.
Before the Streaker could radio for entry clearance, three dark fighters zipped by, passing so close over the ship that pilot James Fletcher ducked. Since Captain Rance Cooper was situated behind and above the pilot’s chair, all she saw was James’ sandy brown hair and broad shoulders hunched over the controls. The pilot’s practiced hands remained steady, keeping the ship on course.
“That was a bit close for comfort,” James said dryly.
“Hard to miss, weren’t they?” Rance said. She leaned forward in her harness, wishing she could stand and stretch her legs. Her loose brown hair fell in her eyes, and she quickly braided it over her shoulder while examining the screen before her. Three blinking dots sped away toward the planet. They joined with two more, flying over Xanthes in a V formation as if on patrol.
Using her Neural Net Robotics chip, or NNR, Rance commanded the ship to pull up footage of the fly-by. The expensive chip implanted in her C1 vertebra connected with the Streaker and the artificial lens in her right eye—the Zeus Corporation Optical Display, or ZOD. Rance controlled the lens with her thoughts, and it rivaled any heads-up display found inside armor.
Footage of the fly-by overlaid her view of the cockpit, giving her a view of both the ships outside and James’ head. But Rance wanted to watch on the larger screen near her chair, so she turned off the ZOD and sat back.
She saw what she expected: fast-maneuvering Unity Dark Fighters armed with EMP cannons, hull-piercing blasters, and enough missile power to take out a ship ten times their size.
James glanced back at Rance. She already knew what he was thinking.
“Those aren’t my father’s,” she said. “See the signatures? They’re directly from Triton.”
“What’re they doing all the way out here?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
They weren’t her father’s ships, but the presence of Unity, the military arm of Triton, was troubling. She was already anxious about landing back on her home planet, and didn’t need added eyes on her. Eyes that would report straight to her father, Davos.
Soon after, they received clearance to land. At the first glimpse of the bustling port, Rance forced aside her misgivings. The Star Streaker had been absent from Xanthes a long time, but the planet was exactly as it had been when they left eighteen months earlier—purple, dusty, and probably still smelly.
They wouldn’t be here long; she didn’t have anything to worry about.
Rance propped her magnetic boots on the metal console while James set the ship down on the landing platform. Her legs ached from the two ho
urs spent tucked in their crash chairs.
“Captain, please,” James said, shooting her an exasperated look. He hated when someone didn’t treat his cockpit with the reverence and worship he thought it deserved. But whatever, it was her ship. And her boots weren’t touching anything other than a bare surface.
“James, I don’t mind telling you that I don’t want to go out there.”
After staring pointedly at Rance’s boots another moment, James unbuckled his harness and shut down the engines. “No one does,” he said. “But if you want a new CO, you’re going to have to.”
“And this is the best place to get one,” she said, restating what they already knew. Rance sighed and removed her boots from the console.
They’d gone back and forth about it for a week. Ever since her last CO, Rex, had left, she’d been flip-flopping on whether to promote a member of the crew or go to Xanthes to hire someone.
Both options had their merits—and their drawbacks. Promoting a member of her crew would show good faith in them. Rance liked the idea mostly because it wouldn’t upset the delicate working balance on the small cruiser. Except for the occasional “family squabble,” as James liked to call them, they all got along. In that way, losing Rex had been a blow.
But none of the crew was particularly interested in the responsibility of being the CO, which meant Rance needed to hire an outsider. Xanthes may have been a dust-pit full of rats and refuse, but if she wanted a good CO, that’s where she’d find one.
She shook off the uneasy feeling swirling in her stomach. They were already here, and now that she’d decided to come, she didn’t want to abandon the chance of finding a capable officer.
With a long, ear-splitting beep, a bulletin pushed through to Rance’s ZOD, their individual handsets, and the ship-wide comm. Three different faces scrolled across the screen in the cockpit, each with the same name beneath: Solaris, Galaxy Wizard.
A fugitive that Unity had been looking for. This was the third time in a week Rance had seen the bulletin, along with a warning that the man was extremely dangerous and could hide by changing his face.
She raised an eyebrow in amusement. Galaxy Wizard—she’d heard tales of them since she was a child, most too far-fetched to be true. Apparently Unity wanted this one badly, though. It meant Rance would need to be extra careful. Unity might be looking for Solaris, but end up finding her.
“I put out the usual job posting,” James said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Good,” she answered. “And don’t be too dramatic with the candidates—I don’t want someone to expect theatrics on board this ship. We just need a nice, sensible person who can think for herself.”
“Or himself.”
“Or himself.”
“And take orders from you.”
“And take orders from me. It’s not that hard.”
“Whatever you say, Captain.”
The small spaceport beyond the window was as colorful as ever, with red, blue, and green buildings haphazardly stacked atop one another like toy blocks. Layers of purple-gray dust coated all of them—on the Northern side in particular.
There, beyond the city, a wall of purple sand rose up from the desert, so tall it stretched to the sky, mingling with the clouds until the two were indistinguishable from one another.
James nodded at the sand. “Should we be worried about that storm?”
“Nah, they won’t even sound the sirens for that one. But the air won’t be good. Tell everyone to wear their masks when they go out.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Rance frowned at him.
“You see,” he said good-naturedly, “it’s ironic because I’m twenty-nine, three years older than you.”
James stood aside as Rance extricated herself from her chair.
“And yet,” she said, “you asked me just the other day if I wanted to play pirates and space marines.”
“I asked if you wanted to play the video of Unity Marines catching those scumbag pirates near Ares.”
Rance’s legs felt like they’d been clamped between the magnets they used to dock at space stations. She winced at the pain, then smiled. Winding James up was one of her favorite pastimes. It probably wasn’t appropriate for a Captain to banter with her pilot, but again, whatever, it was her ship. And after all the crazy schemes they’d come up with, James was like the brother she’d never had.
While trying to maneuver out of the cockpit, her head accidentally hit a button on the ceiling. An alarm sounded. “Son of Triton,” she swore, mashing the button again and silencing the alarm.
At six foot two, Rance was the tallest member of the Star Streaker. The Streaker was a fast runner, capable of jumping into hyperspace on a two-second notice. Only the official Unity ships could jump faster—a source of pride for her. But though the ship itself was big enough for the cargo they carried, the Streaker’s major drawback was the size of its cockpit. It hadn’t been built on Xanthes, where people tended to be taller. It was a Triton ship, and Triton’s people were shorter and more nimble than Rance.
She turned back to look at James, who gazed at his reflection in the display console and attempted to make his sand-colored hair lay flat.
“We’re looking for a CO, not a date, James.”
“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”
Rance rolled her eyes. James had a girlfriend in every port, but she didn’t know what women saw in him. Sure, he was nice-looking, and charming when he wanted to be, but he was too fussy for Rance. Which was just as well—if she’d fallen in love with him, she would’ve had to fire him.
When James had finished smoothing his hair, he turned to give Rance a thumbs up. Irritated, she climbed down the cockpit ladder. She made her way through the top deck past her own quarters and down a steep flight of stairs to the hold.
Tally waited at the bottom of the stairs. With large, dark scales and bulbous green eyes that never blinked, the engineer—a Graeken—was the only alien aboard the Star Streaker. He stood on two legs, almost as tall as Rance. The ridge on his head looked like a lizard’s crest, and he had fangs instead of teeth. His crest was turning white—a sign of his advancing age. But he was just as spry as any of the younger crew.
He would stay behind to close up after they left. Except for androids, intelligent nonhumans weren’t welcome on Xanthes unless as servants. Another reason Rance didn’t like returning to her home planet.
“Twenty-four hours,” Rance reiterated as James left with the tiny science officer, Harper, through the cargo doors.
Abel’s hulking frame filled the open doorway as he waited for everyone to pass through. A full body of tattoos almost made his skin look purple, matching the sand blowing past him to settle on the floor of the small cargo bay.
“You going to find someone that quick, boss?” he asked. Despite being on a spaceship for a year, Abel hadn’t yet shaken the habit of calling her “boss.” Before taking to space he’d worked private security on Triton, and “Captain” didn’t seem to be in his vocabulary.
“The longer we wait, the more desperate we’ll seem,” Rance told him. “If I post the position for say, twelve hours only, we’ll get a better response than if I wait. I want someone who can make decisions on short notice.”
“Sounds more like you’re looking for an impulsive person rather than a decision-maker,” Tally said as Abel left.
“Not impulsive, just decisive,” she said.
Rance hopped off the ramp into the purple dirt. As her feet hit the ground, gritty sand accosted her from every angle, blowing into her nose, eyes, and mouth. Her single, tight braid whipped around and smacked her in the eye. She winced, grabbing for the mask on her belt. Behind her, the ramp was already rising, humming smoothly until it sealed shut.
The crew had scattered. Rance made her way alone across the expanse of the docks, out of the wind. When she reached the broad thoroughfare spanning the marketplace, she broke into a jog. The street looked the same as it always did, with metal stalls
facing the thoroughfare and enough food and goods to make the planet seem more like a Core world than a mining colony.
Her implant synced with the city’s network, and a map of the marketplace popped up on her ZOD, displaying grid lines over the streets and even the names of vendors. She turned on her heel, drinking in the still-familiar sight of Xanthes. The smells of warm, rich food and dry sand. The sounds of vendors bartering and bickering.
But Rance didn’t have time for misplaced nostalgia. She hunched over and hurried past the crowds, looking back occasionally to make sure she wasn’t being followed. The less time she spent here, the better. She didn’t want to run into—
“Rance Cooper! How are ya?”
Rance cringed and slowed to a walk. There he was, coming out of a tavern like he’d been waiting for her. Walking in a slightly crooked line. How did Harrison McConnell always know when she returned home? He must have a friend at the port office. Rance felt like she’d spent half her life in space and the other half avoiding Harrison.