Prophet
and the
Blood March
by
Marshall S Thomas
Copyright © 2013 Marshall S Thomas
KINDLE ISBN: 9781626462670
PRINT ISBN: 9781626464360
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
Published by BookLocker.com, Inc., Bradenton, Florida.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
BookLocker.com, Inc., 2013, First Edition
Layout design by Chris Thomas
Editing by Carol Woods
Starmaps by Hatton Slayden
Cover photo V838 Monocerotis – credit NASA, ESA and the Hubble Heritage Team - STSci/AURA
Dedication
To the Knights Templar
God's Army
CONTENTS
PART I TRIBAL VOICE
Prologue Land's End
Chapter 1 The Janitor who Rules the Galaxy
Chapter 2 Reloading
Chapter 3 Any Thinking Being
Chapter 4 Images from the Dark
PART II GOOD SOUL
Chapter 5 The Magic Road
Chapter 6 The Angel of Death
Chapter 7 God's Will
PART III INTO THE DARK
Chapter 8 Love Soup
Chapter 9 Changing the Future
Chapter 10 A Mission from God
PART IV SAINTS AND SOLDIERS
Chapter 11 Dispatches to Deadman
Chapter 12 Demonic Lovers
Chapter 13 Bond of Blood
Chapter 14 Dark Skies
PART V IN THE HANDS OF GOD
Chapter 15 The Ambassador from Satan
Chapter 16 Vulcan
Chapter 17 Rockpile One
Chapter 18 An Eternity of Dreams
Chapter 19 Zone Three
Chapter 20 Into the Future
Glossary
Also by Marshall S. Thomas
Crista Cluster, 1,400 light years from Sol
When the first Outworlder refugees approached the Outvac fleeing System oppression, the Crista Cluster beckoned them onwards with a view that appeared to form a starry cross in the vac. ConFree's ancestors settled those worlds as a free people and vowed in a constitution written in blood to uphold liberty, justice and freedom, no matter what the cost, and to remain eternally vigilant against all forms of tyranny and slavery. The ConFree Legion was formed to accomplish those objectives.
PART I
TRIBAL VOICE
Prologue
Land's End
"Oh Deadman, look at that, just look at that!" Honeyhair was clearly impressed. We stood with the Prof by the railing of the grand terrace of the Land's End Resort, looking out at the view. It was grey dark, late afternoon, icy cold and raining needles. We were bundled in coldcoats and had to lean into a howling wind to remain upright. The sky was a swirling mass of grey rainclouds hurtling close overhead; it was darkening rapidly and an uncertain sunset was visible only as a blurry pink scar on one horizon. Quaba's second sun was unseen. This was a fine end to a pretty typical Quaba day.
I held onto the metal railing and faced the wind. An endless churning cold grey ocean was coming at us from the misty horizon, gigantic super waves charging in from across the ocean, shedding foam and spray, torn by the wind but gathering tremendous momentum, heading right for those incredible black granite cliffs, gigantic bulwarks to meet the ocean, to announce the continent, to stop the waves after their incredible journey from the other side of the world, maybe thousands of K away.
Although the view was spectacular, the terrace was safely out of danger. It gave us a great wide-angle view of the immediate coastline but it was set well back of the cliffs. Now that giant wave was hurtling itself right at the coast, blasting over the jumble of shattered boulders far below, exploding violently against the granite cliff, shooting straight up and into the stormy sky. It was the ocean itself, crashing into the land. The boom sounded like artillery. In moments the sky doused us with the remnants of the wave, almost knocking us down. Honeyhair laughed in delight. I loved to see her happy, although she was so bundled up that at that moment I could only see the tip of her nose. Honeyhair, the Prof and I were the only people crazy enough to be out on the terrace in that storm.
"Here comes another one!" I shouted. Sure enough, another great grey leviathan wave, way out there, was gathering strength and rising up as if preparing a knockout blow for the cliff.
"We're fine, Carol, don't worry!" The Prof had to shout into his comset because of the roaring wind. The Prof was our heart and soul, our fearless leader. He was a little guy, not impressive physically, but he had the heart of a lion and the soul of a saint. Carol was his daughter. She was a lovely little teen who had been driven back to their hotel suite by the violence of the weather. Probably a good move, I thought.
"Please hold this, Honeyhair," the Prof said. "I've got to get this shot!" He thrust his comset into Honeyhair's grasp while struggling with his holocam, grappling with the railing and trying to steady the camera.
"Just put it on auto, Prof," I said as the wave stuck the cliff. I swear I could feel the impact through my feet. I guess the whole scene was kind of funny, if you really thought about it. This was Quaba, a world of violent extremes, originally claimed by violent, extremist settlers and now inhabited by their extremist descendants. Yeah, we were extremists all right – but I couldn’t help it. I loved this place.
"I got it!" The Prof cried out. "I'm sure I got it! What a shot!"
"That's great, Prof," I said. "I'm about to get frostbite. This is fun but let's get outta here." My teeth were chattering. Time to go!
We headed back to the resort complex, the wind pushing us along as an icy rain pelted us. The resort hotel was an amazingly luxurious series of low-slung suite complexes, partially sunk into the earth, designed to minimize resistance to the unending winds that tore at the coastline. It was a popular tourist destination and the Prof had ordered all Delta personnel to take a week's leave prior to entering into what promised to be a challenging new assignment. We were all recently returned from the war – Galinta, Dragon Shoals, Kratar and Veda. We were sick of violence and death, and needed a break.
"That was exhilarating. See you in the morning," the Prof said, splitting off for his own suite.
"Yeah, hope the pix turn out all right, Prof," I said.
"Let's get back home, jump into bed and snuggle," Honeyhair said, as we headed for our own suite. In the Legion "home" could be anything from a muddy trench to a warm barracks, depending on where you were. But Quaba had become my adopted home.
"Sounds like a plan," I replied.
"Oh! The Prof forgot his comset!" Honeyhair said, pondering the little commo device in her palm.
"Dummy," I said.
"The Prof is not a dummy!"
"I wasn't talking about him."
"Well, I can't be expected to remember everything. I keep busy enough just trying to keep track of you."
"Let me have that. I'll catch up to him."
"I'll come with you, no problem." We changed course towards the Prof's suite. It was near the aircar lot. The rain was easing off to a light drizzle. A dark airvan floated motionless up ahead at low boarding height, stationary, lights off. Several figures were huddled around it in the wet haze from the exhaust. It was evening by then and I could n
ot make out their features. They should have lights on if power is on, I thought. Otherwise it could be a nav hazard. Something wrong with the van? They appeared to be loading a bundle of some sort into the open doorway.
The item they were loading slipped from their grasp momentarily and I saw it was a body. What the hell – a drunk? And suddenly I realized who it was.
"It's the Prof!" I shouted, yanking my vac gun from my coldcoat pocket. Then a barrage of vac burst all around us and I went down hard, right onto my back. It felt like I had been hit by a speeding aircar but it must have been a glancing blow. My entire left side was numb but I was still conscious. Honeyhair returned fire with her own vac gun, down on one knee right next to me. I forced myself up and staggered off right into their line of fire. Instant counterattack into the ambush, standard Legion drill. Of course it's more effective if you're in armor. I was firing vac non stop, shakily aiming at the shadowy figures standing over the Prof, who had fallen to the ground. As I neared them, my vac bolts and my uncertain charge seemed to be having the desired effect. One of the figures dropped to the ground as if hit and the others leaped into the van, still firing back at me, then the car took off abruptly, shooting into the dark with no lights. Honeyhair was by my side, grasping at my arm as I slumped to the ground.
"How is the Prof?" I asked, fighting to retain consciousness.
"Are you all right? Are you hit?" Honeyhair asked.
"I'm fine. The Prof –"
"He's breathing. He's all right!"
"Call tacnet! Declare an emergency. Give them the description of that airvan. Tell them to – is that attacker conscious?" I struggled to my feet, aching all over. He was a male clad in a black coldcoat, sprawled on the ground, arms askew. I zipped the coldcoat open and discovered an A-vest. He was all set for a fight. But now he was out, stunned by the vac. He looked like a young Outworlder, but it was hard to tell in the dark. "Ask for a medevac," I added. The man was alive. Terrific, we'd be able to interrogate him and find out what this was all about. It was certainly not simple crime. We didn't have crime in ConFree and one of the reasons was that every ConFree national was armed – or everyone who wanted to be armed. I always carried a vac gun, and so did Honeyhair. It was simple and effective and non-fatal. In ConFree we were unlikely to need anything more lethal than vac.
Δ
By the time the medevac van arrived the Prof was conscious and standing.
"They vacced me," he said. "It happened so quickly I had no time to react." He was bleeding lightly from his forehead where he had hit the pavement. Honeyhair was staunching the wound with a tissue while three emergency medics were working on the attacker, still sprawled out on the ground. It was raining lightly, the flashing red lights of the medevac van pulsing silently, casting us all in blood.
"He's gone," one of the medics announced. They had tried to revive him with cyro, then with a biotic charger. It didn't work. He was dead.
"You say he was alive and breathing before we got here," one of the medics asked me.
"Sure was. He was unconscious but breathing. I had shot him with vac. That shouldn’t have killed him."
"No, it shouldn't have. He was young and healthy. This is a bit of a puzzle."
"I want a full autopsy done on this man," the Prof said. "And a brainscan. Please do the brainscan as soon as possible, before the memory patterns fade away. This is extremely important. I'll send you some techs to help with the scan."
"And you are…"
"The Professor is a Brigadier General in the ConFree Legion," I said. "He represents Galactic Information. Please do as he says."
"Yes sir. Let me take a look at that wound." The other two medics were loading the body into the van.
"Something wrong here, Karl," one of them said. The medic who had been looking at the Prof's wound turned to the van.
"He's dead," he said. "What else can be wrong?" The body was in the van but the medics seemed quite concerned about something.
"He's on fire! Deadman, he's burning up!"
"What are you talking about?" Karl joined the other two medics inside the van as the Prof, Honeyhair and I watched from the open doorway.
"His head is red hot. Look! Good lord!" A puff of smoke curled around the medics.
"This man is burning internally. Spontaneous human combustion! He's burning internally! Ow! Watch out!" Flames were spitting out from his body.
"His brain is on fire! It's his brain!"
"There's no such thing as spontaneous human combustion," the Prof said calmly. "Internal combustion, yes, but not spontaneous. There has to be an ignition source to initiate it."
The body was burning brightly now, the skin slowly charring as the flames burnt outwards. His eyes were sizzling, his hair burst into flames. A terrible stink hit us.
"What do we do?"
"Water! H2O! What else!"
"Get him out of the van or the van will catch fire!"
They dragged out the burning corpse and laid it on the ground. It was awful watching it burn as the rain hit it hard, veiling it in steam. It did appear that the man's brain was burning – and may even have been the starting point of the fire. The head was being utterly consumed and the rain wasn't helping much. I had seen a lot of death and blood and gore, but I had to turn my gaze away from this one.
"He dies," the Prof said, "with no explanation. And then his brain catches fire internally, and brain and body are destroyed. And all because their kidnap attempt failed. Am I really that important?"
"You are, Prof," I said. I was aching all over. Honeyhair had me by one hand, watching me closely.
"But who would do this? And who has the capability to do this?" the Prof asked.
"I don't know, Professor. But I'll bet we're going to find out."
"We can't do that post-mortem brainscan – if his brain is burnt up."
"That occurred to me too," I said. "Whoever these people are, they're a damned serious bunch."
"Well, so are we," the Prof replied. "So are we."
Chapter 1
The Janitor who Rules the Galaxy
Home – at last! I was thrilled to see it, even though I had never been there before. Home was Delta Research, but this time it was on Quaba instead of Pandaravos. It had been a long journey getting there, for squad Delta. The route was via another universe, where we had to fight for survival, and then back into U1 to Veda 6, where we participated in the recent extermination campaign against the D's. Yes, that's right – another universe. Six of us – including me – were still recovering from very serious war wounds. Two of my squadies had actually died, but recovered. I know that sounds strange too, but it’s one of the reasons Delta Research is in business. Four of us managed to survive without any major wounds and that is only slightly less miraculous than coming back from the dead, considering what we’d been through.
Delta Research's impressive new headquarters building was a beautiful new four-story structure built of glittering green stone, with lots of autotint picture windows to let in the light and give us the view. It was located in the outer suburbs of Quaba City, the capital of the Confederation of Free Worlds. And we – Delta Research – were damned happy to see it. We're Legion soldiers – all of us – and we've been through it all. We're pretty tight knit. You threaten any one of us and we'll kill you real quick, no questions asked. A sixty percent casualty rate tends to do that to survivors.
"Prophet?" someone asked. I was sitting behind the desk in my office. The visitor was a young Outworlder male in formal greys – the ConFree government uniform. He was clean shaven with light brown hair combed off to one side, brown eyes, a friendly demeanor.
"That's me," I said. I sure didn't feel like me, sitting behind that gleaming desk in that large, plush office. I felt like an imposter. Actually I was nobody. I was just a young Outworlder kid who had gotten into the Legion by accident. And found myself in a squad of heroes. And that's where I found I belonged: in the mud, with the troops. But here I was – here were we all
, all of Delta squad.
"I'm Jan Korchak," he said, smiling and extending his hand. I touched it with my fist – the Legion greeting. "We had an appointment," he continued, "about Frederick Willford?"
"Fred," I replied. "Yes, of course. Welcome to Delta Research."
"Thanks. It’s nice to be here. Prophet. I've heard of you. You're one of the guiding lights here, aren't you? What exactly does Delta Research do, anyway? Nobody would tell me."
"It's cosmic secret. We don't talk about it. But I can assure you we're earning your tax dollars."
"Well, that's fine, Prophet. Now, about Frederick."
"Let me show you around. I want you to see what it is he does." I got up and he accompanied me as we strolled through the fourth floor. "Fred is the janitor here. He's the senior janitor. This building was only recently constructed and Delta has only been here a few weeks – but we've all gotten to know Fred very well. As you can see there's a lot for a janitor to do here. We have office cubes for our core staff of ten, and plenty more for miscellaneous support staff. There are two conference rooms on every floor – and there are four floors above ground." I opened one of the conference rooms for him to see.
"We've got supply rooms, snack rooms, lounges, lecture rooms, a medunit, examination rooms with a lot of very complex equipment, an advanced research library with links to whatever you want, a theater, a cafeteria, an executive dining room, a slew of residential apartments and TDY quarters, lots of supply rooms, power rooms, an aircar garage, guards quarters' with an armory, a firing range, and a very nice internal open-air recreation park – as you can see." I stood by one window to give him a good view of the tree-lined park in the heart of our compound.
"That's nice," he said.
"We've also got a swimming pool and some ball courts. Plus an underground complex, quite extensive, which I can't show you for opsec reasons. But it, too, takes a lot of routine work to keep it up and running. And Fred handles that, too. He has some help – but he's in charge."
Prophet and the Blood March (Prophet of ConFree) Page 1
