Derelict: Marines (Derelict Saga Book 1)

by Paul E. Cooley

  “Black,” Dunn said, “if we stabilize her, will that give us enough wiggle room?”

  “Unknown, sir. I’ve already run more than a thousand simulations. Once she’s stabilized, her speed will reduce, but not enough to clear her from the impact zone. There’s a 15% probability she’ll still be hit.”

  “So we have to tow her,” Taulbee said.

  “Yes, Lieutenant.”

  We have to tow her, Dunn repeated the words to himself. They had enough marines to install the harness, but it would take at least two hours and they would have to be perfect. And, more importantly, the ship would have to hold together long enough for S&R Black’s velocity to move Mira out of harm’s way. Even then, the tow might rip away parts of the giant ship’s hull creating a hazardous debris field.

  Every damned possible solution was a risk, every argument for or against had consequences, and no matter how many simulations Black ran, it was impossible to know what would actually happen. Dunn’s stomach felt as though someone had poured hot lead down his mouth. The bio-nannies would start working on the discomfort momentarily, but the sensation at least helped remove the clutter from his mind.

  “Gunny?” The sergeant locked eyes with him. “I want a new plan for installing the tow harness with our remaining personnel. Include Wendt in that list.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Taulbee? I want a flight plan from you. You and Black work up the most efficient way to look for our people. That includes looking for them outside the ship as well as finding an ingress point.”

  “Aye, sir,” Taulbee said. “I’ll start working on that immediately.”

  “Good,” Dunn said. “I want a general briefing for all personnel in thirty minutes. Get it done.” He stood from the table. The two men stood immediately at attention. They saluted and he returned it. “Dismissed.”

  They left him alone in the galley. He stared down at the mug of coffee with disgust. The mag-mug gleamed beneath the lights, reflecting his face back at him.

  Dunn established a private connection to the AI. Black? What are our chances?

  The AI paused. He imagined its neural network crunching numbers, consolidating simulation results, and performing inhuman math to come up with an answer.

  I calculate less than a 20% chance of mission completion without further loss of life, and a less than 40% chance of completing the mission given known parameters.

  The next few hours were going to be hell. He glared at his coffee cup again before wrapping his hands around it. He clutched his fingers as tight as he could, daring the mag-mug to break. It didn’t. Dunn activated his comms. “Lieutenant Nobel.”

  “Aye, sir?” Nobel’s voice said over the speakers.

  “I need you to look into this communications interference, ASAP.”

  “Aye, sir,” Nobel said.

  “Dunn, out.” The Captain stared morosely at his coffee cup. Black? I need a full ship diagnostic immediately.

  Of course, Captain.

  He turned over the events of the last hour in his mind. They had discovered some new toxic substance, witnessed damage to Mira that should have destroyed her, and found multiple unexplained “objects,” for lack of a better term. Now they’d lost communications with Kalimura’s squad due to “interference.” Which didn’t make sense. If Black was receiving a ping from her block, the AI should be able to communicate with her.

  Something didn’t add up. He flung the coffee mug to the sink across the room. It flew through the air and clunked into the wall before falling to the floor. Not a drop of the liquid spilled. He wanted, no, needed, to break something. He knew it was a childish impulse, but damn, it would feel good.

  He hoped Nobel could quickly find the reason for the interference. Or he might never get his marines back.

  Epilogue

  Beyond Mira’s spin, an object tumbled through space, crimson ice droplets trailing behind it. Without light, it was impossible to see the mag-glove, still clenched into a fist, and the torn runners of muscle and tendon dangling from the glove’s end.

  S&R Black’s lights continued to shine on Mira, illuminating the abused hull. Several objects spun lazily through the haze of light until they impacted S&R Black’s hull in utter silence. Pinecones. Five of them. The bulbous debris attached themselves near the stern.

  In the wan reflection of S&R Black’s running lights, one of the objects began to stir. A fissure appeared down its middle, slowly widening. A single, bright, metallic-looking claw hesitantly reached out from inside it, and clicked against the hull.

  —To be continued in Derelict: Tomb, Part 2 of The Derelict Saga—

  Read on for a free sample of Siege

  Acknowledgements

  As this is my first foray into space-based science fiction, I solicited and received a ton of assistance in making this story as scientifically accurate as possible. Any remaining inaccuracies or outright violations of physical laws in zero-g are either intentional or ignorance on my part. I hope I may be forgiven for either.

  My uncle, Ron Williams, helped brainstorm many of the technological ideas in this book, whether he knew it or not. For his interest in my work since my teens, I can’t thank him enough for having faith in me even when I didn’t.

  Shout-outs to my beta readers for all their hard work, careful attention to detail, and suggestions to make the story better:

  Arioch Morningstar

  Terry Mixon

  Tom Cooley

  David Sobkowiak

  Wolf Roark

  Scott Roche

  Scott Pond

  Tori Duke

  The Harvey Family

  Ron Williams

  Also, a big thanks to all my Patreon supporters for helping me keep the lights on while I continue to write, create, and produce content. And to the Fiendling nation, thank you for your unflagging support, patronage, and enthusiasm for my journey into this new genre.

  To any folks I’ve forgotten to mention, my apologies. I’ll do my best to put you in the credits for the second book in The Derelict Saga.

  Paul E Cooley

  December 1st, 2016

  Spring, Texas.

  About The Author

  A writer and Parsec Award winning podcaster from Houston, Texas, Paul E Cooley produces free psychological thriller, suspense, science-fiction, historical urban fantasy, horror podcasts, essays, and reviews available from Shadowpublications.com and iTunes.

  His stories have been listened to by thousands and he has been a guest on such notable podcasts as Podioracket, John Mierau’s “Podcast Teardown,” Geek Out with Mainframe, Shadowcast Audio, and Vertigo Radio Live. In 2010, his short story “Canvas” and novella “Tattoo” were nominated for Parsec Awards. “Tattoo” became a Parsec Award finalist. He has collaborated with New York Times Bestselling author Scott Sigler on the series “The Crypt” and co-wrote the novel The Rider. In addition to his writing, Paul has contributed his voice talents to a number of podiofiction productions.

  His best-selling novel, The Black, was released in 2014 and won the 2015 Parsec Award for best novel. The next book in the series, The Black: Arrival, was released on May 22nd, 2015. The third novel in the series, The Black: Outbreak, was released in May 2016.

  He is a co-host on the renowned Dead Robots’ Society writing podcast and enjoys interacting with readers and other writers.

  To contact Paul:

  Twitter: paul_e_cooley

  Facebook: paul.e.cooley

  <<<<>>>>

  Chapter 1

  Maybe, just maybe, we’d have been better off not knowing.

  Kan looked through the scout craft’s visor. The heavily tinted and shielded crystal revealed a sky out of the worst nightmares of a hyperactive stak addict. Purple dust clouds warred and lost with the dark edges of the accretion disk, with only a few stars dimly visible through the murk. But these were the only skies available to humanity now.

  She tore her eyes away from the view. She’d seen it before, more times
than she could count, and from all the angles available. Her instruments were showing her something much more interesting, and much more portentous. Something that might signify the end of human civilization in that sector of the galaxy, and, unless there were remnants the high command on Crystallia was unaware of, probably everywhere else as well.

  There was nothing for her to do but watch. Even tightly focused laser communication was forbidden – a lesson that had been painfully learned. So she watched.

  It seemed innocent enough: just some random piece of space debris, about a cubic meter in size, radiating nothing, just moving through space on a trajectory that it had followed since the early days of the galaxy.

  But there was nothing innocent about it. The very fact that it was drifting along in this part of space was a dead giveaway. There was no way a random piece of debris would have been able to navigate the maze between the accretion disk and multiple black holes that would soon join the supermassive one at the center of the Milky Way. But even if this had, against all odds, been overlooked by earlier surveying missions, there was no way to account for the fact that it had, within the past four hours, corrected its flight path twice – neither change due to any natural phenomenon.

  There was no doubt that it was an artificial artifact. And that meant that it was an enemy artifact. All that remained now was to see what it would do next, and to keep hiding. It seemed almost impossible that the artifact was there by chance.

  Kan waited and watched, and waited and watched. Her tiny reconnaissance ship might be nearly invisible among the rocklets that made up the rings, but it wasn’t completely invisible. She would only be allowed to move when the planet came between her craft and the anomaly, four days hence.

  Being a Recon Leader was lonely work.

  ***

  As she neared Crystallia, Kan felt her heart in her throat. Had she been seen? Was some unseen, unimaginably advanced enemy following her at that very moment? Would she be the one to bring death to the colony? She’d taken every possible precaution, of course, but it would be impossible to know for certain before it was much too late.

  There was still one last trick she could use, however. The world on which Crystallia was located had not been chosen at random. It was a medium-sized rocky planet with an atmosphere consisting mainly of carbon dioxide, with perhaps five percent oxygen. The beauty of the world was that it was still extremely active geologically, and dust from the constant eruptions made the sky opaque enough that all flying had to be done by instruments. To any outside observer, the evasive path programmed into her Recon craft would be impossible to follow under normal conditions.

  Crystallia base itself was also well concealed, lying under a kilometer of rock in one of the few geographically inert areas of the planet. A perfect forward base for humanity’s colonies at the center of the galaxy.

  Kan concentrated on her breathing, trying to get her heart rate under control. There would be no time to relax, not even time to shower, before her presentation before the Council. Even before she landed, the ground crew would ask her whether all was well. Her answer would see her whisked straight to the conference room, where the colony’s leaders – many pulled unceremoniously from other activities – would be waiting to hear her report. She consoled herself with the thought that the military leaders of Crystallia were accustomed to encountering disheveled military pilots.

  What they weren’t used to was the kind of dire, desperate news she brought with her.

  After what seemed like an endless series of evasive maneuvers in the atmosphere, her ship finally darted straight down. The ground came up to meet her, and then she was through the camouflaged blast doors. Once they closed behind her, radio silence could be broken.

  “Welcome back, Recon Tau Osella. Is all well?”

  “No,” she replied grimly. “Not at all.” It was all she was allowed to say, all they would expect.

  “I see.” The voice on the other end of the communication had changed, the tone going from welcoming to flat. “Engaging debrief protocol.”

  “Thank you.”

  She sat in silence as the ship negotiated the winding tunnel, designed with defensibility in mind more than with ease of entry and exit. Eventually, her little Recon ship entered a huge hangar, and parked beside a cluster of enormous, heavily armored evacuation shuttles – long tubes built for speed that would barely clear the tunnel with a meter to each side in the curves.

  As she landed, a group of black-clad techs swarmed over her ship like ants. The crew leader, a Recon lieutenant himself, opened the hatch and helped her out of the cockpit.

  “Did you bring a bag?” he asked.

  “In the lounge,” she replied, pointing towards the back of the ship, where a tiny cot and shielded entertainment system allowed a crewman to stretch out after a long day’s scouting. The space was so small that some unnamed Recon wag had taken one look and immediately christened it the lounge – a name which had stuck.

  He nodded. “I’ve left orders for everything to be taken to your rooms. Please come with me.” Only then did she notice his eyes, cold and hard, with none of the ‘welcome back’ warmth usually reserved for pilots returning from the unfriendly depths of space. He knew where she was going.

  She motioned for him to wait a moment, and pulled the recording memory chip from the control panel. He noticed the movement, and his eyes fell, but he said nothing.

  They walked through a long white corridor. It was well-lit, and the walls were smooth stone, offering no concealment in case of an invasion. A shiver ran through her, thinking that, pretty soon, all the arguments about the absolute invulnerability of the Crystallia stronghold would be put to the test.

  But Kan knew that she still had to do her duty, still had one last briefing before everyone was put on a war footing. The thought made her smile – the Recon team was always on a war footing, and the millions of civilians in the lower levels of the colony would, probably, be less than useless if they were discovered by hostile forces. Still, every effort would be made, every chink in the armor repaired.

  They came to a blast door set in the corridor wall, and the lieutenant stopped in front of it. “This is as far as I go,” he informed her. His eyes searched her face for any trace of the information she brought with her. If not the actual data, then at least some inkling about how serious it was. She returned his gaze, impassive. He swallowed and nodded towards the door. “Good luck in there.” What he really meant, Kan knew, was ‘try not to give us any news we can’t survive in there.’

  She returned the nod, and he moved off. The door slid towards her right, the foot thick layer of reinforced steel and concrete swishing silently, ending flush with the wall itself. Beyond the door was nothing but a large meeting room with no other exits, but an invading enemy wouldn’t know that, and would have to take the time to knock down the door and investigate. They couldn’t risk having the colony launch a counter-strike out of a hidden corridor. This far into the complex, many of the blast doors hid precisely that kind of corridor.

  “Well met, Recon Leader Tau Osella.”

  Since her eyes were unaccustomed to the sudden gloom of the meeting room, Kan couldn’t tell which of the men seated at the table had spoken. It seemed to her that the voice belonged to a white-haired Recon general near the end of the table opposite her, but it didn’t matter. She knew she was in a place no one wanted to be – hell, no one wanted anyone to be here.

  “Well met,” she replied, the formula serving to calm her down as well as allowing her to have a look at the other people seated around the table. Military uniforms mixed with civilian dress approximately evenly – it had been decided that the council would be a joint enterprise, ostensibly to keep the military from taking unnecessary risks with civilian lives. In reality, the Recon Force often spoke with the voice of caution, never forgetting that the first priority was to avoid detection, and that the soldiers would be the first to suffer if this wasn’t achieved.

  A wrinkled w
oman with steel-colored hair wearing a brown dress spoke next. Kan identified her as Rima Centauri Han, the elected spokesperson for the civilian contingent. Her voice showed that she was used to command – Kan could almost feel the centuries of Han family history in that imperious tone. “Sit down, Tau Osella,” the woman said. “Please report your findings.”

  Kan sat and, trying to keep all emotion from her voice, began her report. “On the second day of my patrol, my instruments picked up a small unidentified mass, approaching from above the ecliptic. Both its speed and its direction led my instruments to classify it as possibly artificial. A pair of course corrections confirmed that it was self-powered.”

  Many of the silent, elderly faces in the room turned pale when they heard this, but Rima nodded for her to continue, as if she’d heard nothing she wasn’t expecting.

  “I continued to observe its passage until my movement brought the planet between it and my sensors.”

  “Is there any chance you might have been observed?” The question came from a blocky man in uniform who should have known better. But she supposed it was understandable – everyone was on edge, and his days flying Recon ships were long gone. He probably didn’t remember the endless protocols, the determination to keep the colony safe, no matter what.

  “No, sir,” she replied. “I followed the manual to the letter. Passive observation only and my ship was powered down the whole time. The only thing I did was drift with the rocks in Crystallia’s rings. There was no way I could have been detected unless the object was using some kind of active surveillance we are unaware of. My sensors picked up nothing out of the ordinary on any of the quantum or electromagnetic bands.”

  A few heads nodded around the table, but everyone knew that the fact that her instruments hadn’t picked anything up was meaningless. The reason the colony was hidden there, in the most inhospitable wastelands of the galaxy and under a kilometer of rock, was precisely because they knew that their technology could never measure up against that employed by any of the enemies they knew about – and likely those they were unaware of as well. For all they knew, incredibly advanced scanners had located her ship, the hidden colony, and the colonies at Tonswell and Hammersmith 214. Hell, there was no reason that they wouldn’t have found the cloud colonies as well.