Darkness: Book One of the Oortian Wars
Page 1
DARKNESS
Book One of the Oortian Wars
Iain Richmond
Worlds of Iain Richmond
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Copyright © 2018 by Iain Richmond
E-book published in 2019 by
Rouge Planet Publishing.
Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics, additional artwork by James E. Grant. Editors: Claire Rushbrook,
Andrea Hurst, Sean Fletcher.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN 978-1-946807-09-0
Fiction / Science Fiction / Space Opera / Military Science Fiction. CIP data for this book is available from the Library of Congress.
Rouge Planet Publishing
20875 Jerusalem Grade
Lower Lake CA 95457
for my Arial Queen of Light
"The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore."
–Vincent Van Gogh
– for Pluto –
Planet of my Childhood
Contents
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
10th Fleet
Worlds of Iain Richmond
About the Author
Also by Iain Richmond
1
0500, 12.05.2214
Confederation of Chinese Republics,
Mongolia Province
UN Aeronautics & Intergalactic HQ,
Officer Housing
“Jack.”
The voice was soft, sweet—familiar. Lieutenant Jack Falco pulled the blankets up to his chin. He rolled toward the siren song, unable to open his heavy eyes.
“OK, ladyfriend, I get it, you need the early-morning Falco Special.” Still blind and half-awake, Jack sent his adventurous hands on a journey through the jungle of blankets until they found two perfect landing zones.
“Jack.” A giggle. “Your neck is glowing again, and at 0500 … again.” Her voice hovered between annoyance and laughter.
“Hmm-mm.” Jack slowly forced his eyes open and found a strikingly beautiful face looking back at him. “Much rather look at you, woman. Too early to play pilot, and I was hoping this was a different type of wake-up call.”
The pinprick light-blue glow on the back of his neck began to flash.
“They’re getting impatient, honey.”
“OK, OK.” He reluctantly moved his hands from her breasts, corralled a few pillows, and piled them behind him. I better get to blow some shit up today, he thought, and tapped the special-issue LINK on his neck. Lieutenant Falco here. His lips wanted to move, but thoughts were all that was needed. A truly private conversation could take place anywhere. It’d taken him years to perfect the art of communication without opening his mouth.
He listened to Captain Baines’s voice and knew it was literally in his head. No one else could hear it. The part that still made him uneasy was the realization that the technology enabling this call was hardwired to his brain through his spinal cord. The result of giving up total privacy … 0500 calls from HQ and instant downloads, of course.
Yes, Captain. Jack nodded. Yes, sir. 0800.
He tapped the LINK, turned toward Luciana, and just stared into those eyes, raising his eyebrows, giving her “the nod” until a large pillow met the side of his head, followed by muffled laughter.
“So that’s how you treat the man who has given you all this?” His hands gestured toward the windows of their small house on the United Nations’ largest base, the perfectly framed view of asphalt, postage-stamp yards, and launch towers as far as the eye could see. “Right?” he finished.
On cue, one of the Luna Station supply shuttles ignited from a distant tower. The well-known vibration rolled through the three hundred square meters of living space. “At least it’s a small one? Could have been a Mars shuttle.” Jack winced.
“Ever wish you still piloted the shuttles full-time? You were in the space program in the early days for a reason.” Luciana fell silent.
He turned toward her. “Space Station jockey is a lifestyle job. Gone for a few weeks if you get the lunar milk-run or a few years bouncing between here and the Mars shoebox. Besides, I still get to go up every now and again. You trying to get rid of me?” He moved closer and kissed her full lips, looked into those dark brooding eyes. “My two ladies. That is why I stay planetside.” Falco held her gaze, a smile spreading across his face. “And then there is you and Ziza.” He ducked under the incoming pillow, rolled out of bed and started to get dressed.
“What’s the mission?” Luciana asked.
“The kind they don’t tell me about.” He finished buttoning his uniform. “Just like all the rest, but Cap did say I would be back for dinner.”
“I’ll take it, but you better tell the other woman in your life good-bye. You know h
ow she gets.” Luciana nestled back under the blankets.
My god, that woman is sexy. Her olive skin is the perfect contrast to the white sheets, he thought. A snort broke the silence, and Luciana, asleep already, rolled over and wedged her head partially beneath her pillow.
“That’s my ladyfriend,” Jack whispered with pride.
A faint glow lit the back of her neck. He observed the morning ritual as his wife pawed at it once, sending her alarm into snooze mode. The first of four such actions, he thought. “I love you, sweetness.”
He quietly closed the bedroom door and moved down the hallway toward a yellow door with an orange-and-red sun painted on it. Jack reached for the doorknob, stopped, and took in the grandeur and skill of the work before him. There were sunspots, solar flares, and hazy areas tagged “soler wins.” He held back a chuckle and eased the door open.
Every extra blanket in the house had been carefully folded into long rectangles and stacked like bricks along the edges of the small bed. Jack moved closer. Inside the great wall of bedding lay the fluffiest swirl of quilts. Gently sitting on the newly built fortification, Jack leaned in.
“Ziza,” he whispered to the heap, his Sicilian accent in full form.
“Ziza, my piccola farfalla, Papi must go.” Jack waited for the heap to move. Slowly it shifted back and forth, a small sigh puffing from deep within.
“Ziza.” The heap moved again. Two small hands emerged on the far side of the bed, followed by a mop of curly black hair, and finally two bright blue eyes blinked and were covered by small, rubbing hands.
“My little butterfly has emerged.” Jack ruffled her hair.
“Papi, who will make pancakes?” she said, yawning.
“Mama will. I taught her my secret recipe.”
“But I want the smiley-face pancakes.” Ziza’s eyes turned shiny as she swallowed hard.
“Not to worry. Mama knows how to make sun pancakes.” Jack knew Luciana could wing it with the best of them.
“With spots and flares?” A huge toothy smile spread across Ziza’s face.
“Of course.” Jack felt a pang of guilt, knowing he was setting his wife up for an interesting morning.
Ziza’s eyes fell heavy, and he leaned over and kissed her forehead, then both cheeks. “I will see you at dinner, my little butterfly.” He pulled up the fluffy quilt and adjusted her cocoon. The light from the hallway caught the LINK implanted in her small neck.
We always know where you are, my Ziza, Jack thought.
He did not trust the implants; even more, he loathed what they stood for. No, he pondered, I hate what they have taken. They have stolen all privacy from our lives. But worse were the billions of people around the world that asked for the LINK, wanted its torrent of information, music, games, and especially its pornography.
In his case, it was simply part of the contract. The greatest nano-computer ever created and required by all those who lived and worked for the United Nations. Another leash marketed as progress.
A gentle knock sounded on the front door. His ride was here. Petty Officer, First Class Azim Shar’ran may have been the only person left who knocked instead of using the LINK to announce his arrival. Shar’ran didn’t trust them either.
Jack pulled Ziza’s door closed and stepped lightly to the entryway.
Before opening the front door, he hesitated and turned around. Be back for dinner, he thought.
He found the tall, muscled, lanky form of Petty Officer, First Class Shar’ran, patiently waiting.
Shar’ran’s brilliant ivory teeth softened the old scars crisscrossing his otherwise flawless dark skin. “How is my little Aziza, still building cocoons?” Shar’ran asked.
“She has the intelligence of her mother and the imagination of her father, and yes, still building cocoons.” Jack fell silent as they walked toward their transport.
Shar’ran cleared his throat. “OK, Falco, what’s on your mind?”
Neither man used ranks or salutes until they had to, at least not when it was just the two of them.
“Captain Baines brief you on the mission?” Falco looked to his friend and stopped. They were getting close to the transport and he wanted to continue this conversation in the open air.
“CODE BLACK,” Shar’ran stated, “but I’m a ground-and-pound grunt. You fliers are the ones they talk to.”
“We are all in the dark on this one. We just spent the last eight months hunting and killing every member of the Korean Empire’s Terror Militia.” Falco scanned in all directions, lowered his voice. “We’ve taken out their entire command chain—”
“Except Vice Marshal Ri,” Azim stated.
“Exactly!” Falco stated emphatically. “Head of the snake is still out there. She’s responsible for slaughtering thousands. We’ve never had a BLACK OUT mission for any of the previous kills.”
“You think they found Ri?” Shar’ran’s eyes lit up.
“Let’s hope so.” Falco motioned toward his house. “World would be a much safer place if we took her out.” He again scanned the distance in all directions. “I think we’re dusting off the T-11s.” Falco rubbed his hands together in excitement.
“Shit.” Shar’ran returned the nod. “You're going way up. Get some space time on this one.”
“Yeah, and one hell of a ride down. They don’t call the T-11s lawn-darts for nothing.” The thought of skimming the edge of the exosphere again brought an exhilaration Falco had long missed.
“Speaking of a ride down,” Shar’ran put his hands up and punched the air, “you up for a little sparring this week?”
“One lucky punch and you think you’re the grav-fighting champ of the Province.” Falco grabbed his still aching jaw at the thought. “That how you treat a commissioned officer?”
Shar’ran nodded. “No officers in the ring, Lieutenant—”
“Just meat.” They exchanged a thunderous high five and were on the move again, jumping into the transport and heading toward Aeronautics HQ.
In the distance, streaking flames rose into the early-morning sky. Two Mars Station supply shuttles had reached full burn and a third launched moments after from a remote tower deep inside the Gobi Desert. This shuttle was matte black, three times the size of the Mars models, and traveled a different course that would carry it far beyond the Mars Station.
4 hours later, Al-som Island
60 klicks off the eastern coast,
Korean Empire
Vice Marshal Ri, wearing the regulation black uniform with a red sash, spoke over an old landline receiver. On all sides, concrete and steel formed walls, ceiling, and floor. Each grunt from her hard lips echoed within the tomb. “I understand. The global power structure must change for the Militia to rise.” She gently placed the receiver on the base.
“Quickly. We have no time. The UN has found our bunker.” Vice Marshal Ri looked down at her subordinate tapping away on an ancient computer with bubbly keys. Her hand rested on the worn grip of a sidearm. Ri had always feared the command bunker. Hundreds of meters down, the engineers drilled through the islands volcanic rock pedestal, far below the ocean’s surface.
Which waits to come rushing in, she thought.
“Almost finished, Vice Marshal.” Sweat ran down the subordinate’s puffy face while his hands continued to fly over the keyboard.
Vice Marshal Ri stepped closer behind him. “The system is completely hardwired, yes? No one can stop us. We must strike the ultimate blow.”
He turned and looked up. She jostled her sidearm within its holster; he quickly turned back to the monitor, keys tapping faster until the sound reached a low hum.
“Yes, Vice Marshal, we are connected to the emitter by cable, nothing else.”
Vice Marshal Ri enjoyed watching the sweat that ran down his face, hearing the tremor in his voice. All by my hand, she thought. My reputation strikes fear not only in the hearts of my people, but in my enemies as well.
“The code is good. It will do as intended, but many of our
own will die with them.” A cold, steel muzzle pressed against his temple, followed by the click of a cocking hammer. “Sorry, Vice Marshal, all will die as heroes! Patriots of the Korean Empire!” he cried.
“Good.” She held the pistol against his pale, glistening skin. “We may have lost this war with the United Nations, but on this day, the Korean Empire’s Terror Militia will be remembered for our final act of defiance.”
“It is done.” The man pushed his chair away from the desk, putting distance between himself and the muzzle, and pleaded for his life, hands above his head. “It’s finished! Please don’t kill me! It’s finished! My wife, my children all have LINKs. As does your own family, Vice Marshal. Please!”