Black and White

by Mark Wandrey

  Black and White

  Book One of The Frontiers

  by

  Mark Wandrey

  PUBLISHED BY: Seventh Seal Press

  Copyright © 2019 Mark Wandrey

  All Rights Reserved

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  and discover other titles by Mark Wandrey at:

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  and discover other titles by Seventh Seal Press at:

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  Take your VOWs and join the Merc Guild on Facebook!

  Meet us at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/536506813392912/

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  For a suggested reading order guide to the Four Horsemen universe, go to:

  https://chriskennedypublishing.com/the-four-horsemen-books/4hu-suggested-reading-order/

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  For a listing of all the Four Horsemen books, go to:

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  Cover Design by Brenda Mihalko

  Original Art by Ricky Ryan

  * * * * *

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  * * * * *

  Contents

  Prologue

  Part 1 – The Tower of Babel

  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

  Part 2 – Exodus

  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

  Part 3 – Exile

  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

  Epilogue

  About Mark Wandrey

  Excerpt from Book One of the Salvage Title Trilogy

  Excerpt from Book One of the Singularity War

  Excerpt from Devil Calls the Tune

  Excerpt from Book One of the Mako Saga

  * * * * *

  Prologue

  Pacific Cetacean Research Institute, Molokai, Hawaii, Earth

  May 19th, 2035

  Dr. Matthew Clark watched the ocean from his office balcony at the PCRI. There was a dense bank of clouds to the northeast, which looked like it might be over them by midday. Not uncommon in Molokai in the spring, yet still annoying.

  He turned his head and looked at the computer through his out-of-date prescription glasses, scowling slightly. A budget spreadsheet was displayed, with a lot of red entries. Tourism was down, way down. Kaunakakai still got a lot of traffic from tourists trying to get off the beaten path, sure, but they weren’t looking to see tanks full of stressed cetaceans in the process of being rehabilitated. Nobody was interested in whales and dolphins anymore, not with aliens coming to visit.

  Hearing a high-pitched whining, he looked to the south. There was one of the multi-fanned air cars they called “flyers” coming in over the ocean, no doubt from Honolulu. The island’s air traffic control was still leery of the craft and insisted on routing them over the ocean as much as possible. If what Matthew had heard was true, they needn’t have worried. The alien-manufactured craft were safer than the kiddy rides in an amusement park.

  “The Galactic Union,” he said, shaking his head. He’d been a scientist all his adult life, dedicated to the pursuit of truth. The existence of many thousands of alien races in the galaxy was an undeniable scientific truth. He’d seen many images on TV, and had even met a couple the previous year during a scientific symposium in Washington DC held by the new world government. They’d been installing Earth’s first GalNet node—the Union’s version of the internet, but on steroids.

  A decade ago, he’d been a relatively young researcher doing post-graduate work on deep ocean sea life in the Atlantic, when first contact was made. The aliens landed in New York City and began negotiations to bring humanity into the Galactic Union. It had seemed to be going pretty well, until some Iranian-sponsored terrorists blew up the UN.

  Many of Matthew’s friends considered that almost a public service. The UN was a constant pain in the marine research community’s ass, after all. The problem was, the bomb also killed the alien ambassador, one of the owl-like race known as Buma. She’d perished along with several of her MinSha guards. The Buma were inclined to be forgiving; the MinSha were not. Those aliens looked like huge praying mantises and fought like demons. Iran, and many of the surrounding countries, no longer existed.

  “Dr. Clark?” he heard from his intercom.

  “Yes, Sheila?”

  “There’s a tour group due in an hour.”

  “Get Benjamin to take them through,” Matthew said. The young grad student was both competent and passionate about cetaceans. He always managed to get some good donations.

  “They’ve requested the director personally,” Sheila said.

  “Who is it?”

  “Someone named Kodu’ku,” she said.

  “Are they kama‘āina?” he asked, referring to native islanders.

  “No, Doctor, they’re aliens.”

  “Oh,” he said, and quickly headed downstairs.

  The institute had started life as a posh resort, but had suffered from crib death. Financing had fallen through before it was completed due to the economic downturn in 2008. In 2033, it was purchased by NOAA, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, not long after they were ported over from the USA to the world government and their responsibilities expanded to ocean life conservation. With some fresh funding, they set about rehabilitating cetaceans abandoned by ill-fated parks around the world.

  Their problem had always been getting enough funding. The world government kept their doors open and paid their salaries, but had never given them quite enough money to make a difference. When Dr. Clark had come on board in 2034, just over a year ago, he’d formed a conservatory endowment—with help from some rich family friends. It allowed them to improve their outreach and bring in some tourists. People had liked whales and dolphins, at least until the aliens
had become more popular.

  Matthews waited impatiently for the elevator to arrive on the top floor, where the administration offices were located. While he was waiting, his son Terrence came running up.

  “Did you hear?” he said, his eyes wide with the kind of excitement only a ten-year-old could manage.

  “Yes, Terrence, I heard.”

  “Terry, Dad,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Call me Terry.”

  Terry is the name you give a street sweeper, Matthew thought. He’d never preferred Matt; he refused to understand why his son now insisted on being called Terry. “Where’s your mother?”

  “She’s down at the docks waiting for the fishing ship,” he explained. “She heard a trawler had a large load of Hapu‘upu‘u they were trying to get rid of.”

  Matthew grunted in understanding. Hapu‘upu‘u, also known as Hawaiian sea bass, wasn’t a particularly popular fish. More often found in sushi, it had fallen out of favor. If the boat was unable to sell it, the fish was probably getting ripe. The institute was a well-known market of last resort to many of the fishing boats. Nine orcas and nineteen Pacific bottlenose dolphins ate a lot of fish every day. If the boat captain could make fuel money, and the institute could get some still edible fish, a meeting of the minds was possible.

  The elevator arrived, and Terrence—Terry—practically bowled his father out of the way. Shaking his head, Matthew followed his son in and pressed the button for the visitors’ level. Terry danced from foot to foot as the elevator descended, even reaching out to push the visitors’ level button again, as if it would speed their descent.

  “Patience,” Matthew said. “You don’t want to make a poor impression on our visitors, do you?”

  “No, Dad,” Terry said. With a visible effort, he composed himself.

  Very good, Matthew thought, but felt a barely-suppressed thrill run up his own spine. Aliens, here, at my institute! He realized their arrival likely explained the flyer, as well. Few but the superrich could afford those yet.

  The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Terry possessed just enough presence of mind to allow his father to exit first. Matthew walked out into the rotunda to find a huge tour group composed of mostly typical tourists, dressed in shorts, brightly colored shirts, and a plethora of floppy hats and sunglasses. There were around 30 of them, and they’d created a crescent around two more members of their group. One looked for all the world like a two-meter-tall bear standing on its back legs, except that bears on Earth weren’t bright purple. The other alien was a meter-tall bipedal gecko!

  Benjamin Anderson, the assistant he’d asked to take the tour, was talking to the gecko and turned when Matthew stepped into view. He moved forward, and the lizard followed. “Dr. Matthew Clark, may I introduce you to Kodu’ku,” Benjamin said and gestured to the lizard with a bow. “He’s a member of the race known as elSha.”

  Matthew nodded, came a little closer, and gave a slight bow, a greeting he knew many aliens used. Shaking hands wasn’t something most of them understood. “An honor to meet you,” he said.

  Kodu’ku made some hissing and clicking noises, then a clearly understood English voice said, “The honor is all mine.” The voice emanated from a silver medallion hanging around Kodu’ku’s neck.

  A translator, Matthew realized. The incredibly powerful little computer translators were starting to turn up in places on Earth. The government had quite a few, as did some large corporations. Now programmed with most languages on Earth, they were breaking down national boundaries in a way even being bombed by aliens hadn’t managed.

  “I understand you research marine mammals here?” Kodu’ku asked.

  “We call them cetaceans,” Matthew offered. “Cetaceans are a clade, a monophyletic group of marine mammals.” He added a bit of a questioning tone in his voice, uncertain if the alien would understand, then berated himself for doing it that way, realizing it was unlikely the computer would render such an inflection to his voice.

  “I understand,” Kodu’ku replied.

  “Oh, are you a scientist?”

  “Life sciences,” the alien replied. “My consortium reworks starships from existing designs to suit various other species. I’m here to meet with some of your primitive space contractors and discuss a possible expanding market.” He shrugged, a disconcerting gesture for a meter-tall lizard. “I think bothering with a merc race is a waste of time, but my boss doesn’t agree.”

  “We don’t all make our money killing things,” Matthew replied, a little put off by the alien’s back-handed swipe at his world. Though Human mercenaries were increasingly leaving to go fight off planet, he didn’t approve. The so-called mercs made inconceivable amounts of money, but it was all wasted on more guns. He got angry just thinking about what he could do with a fraction of that money. Galactic Union credits were worth thousands of dollars apiece on Earth.

  “You are a strange race, this is true,” Kodu’ku agreed, “however you are also apparently pretty good at killing, despite your complaints. What do you call your leading merc companies? Four Ponies?”

  “The Four Horsemen,” Terry offered from just to Matthew’s side. He’d forgotten his son was there.

  “A hatchling Human?” Kodu’ku asked.

  “My son,” Matthew said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder and moving him forward. “This is Terrence Clark.” Terry shot his father a disapproving look for not using his proper name, then looked back at the elSha. He was clearly piqued by the fact Kodu’ku was maybe a couple centimeters taller than him.

  “How old are you, Terrence Clark?” Kodu’ku asked.

  “I’m ten,” Terry answered.

  “Do you also study these cetaceans?”

  “I help Dad out,” he said and looked up at his father. “I’m too young to get a job, though.”

  Matthew and Benjamin both laughed. It was well known Terry thought he should get paid for the work he did. The boy didn’t entirely appreciate the tradition of working for the family business on a pro bono basis.

  “He’ll help on the tour.” Matthew looked at the crowd of tourists, who were all curiously looking at the aliens instead of the massive 50,000-liter tank behind the 10-centimeter Lexan wall to their left. A pair of dolphins raced by, unnoticed. The big purple bear followed the animals with its tiny black eyes. “May I inquire as to your friend?” He indicated the ursine.

  “Friend?” Kodu’ku turned and almost seemed startled to notice the other alien. “Oh, him? He’s just an Oogar merc, a company-hired bodyguard.” The Oogar regarded Matthew with cold detachment.

  As Matthew suspected, the tourists were an impromptu retinue Kodu’ku and his bodyguard had picked up when their flier landed nearby. More curious about the pair of aliens than a marine biology institute, they’d simply followed the off-worlders inside and continued to tag along.

  Matthew began his tour with an informative film on the different types of marine mammals and what made cetaceans unique. It eventually moved on to why they were in danger and various types of conservancy. A bit on the end of the movie thanked the guests for their interest and encouraged them to support the institute’s nonprofit endeavors.

  The next step was the part most tourists were the least interested in—the inner workings of the institute’s six huge seawater aquariums and two habitats. However, this was the part which interested Kodu’ku the most. He wanted to know all manner of details concerning heat exchangers, pump capacities, filter workings, and even what kinds of alloys went into the pipes. Matthews ended up calling his chief engineer in from his lunch to answer the questions.

  Kodu’ku took little notice of his bodyguard’s difficulties in maneuvering around the various tighter areas. The elSha’s diminutive size made the passageways no more difficult than if Matthew were walking down a city street. The Oogar nearly got stuck twice; the second time required three technicians to undog a door from its top to free the alien.

  If anything, Kodu’ku found it amusing. “They’re brutish, but
reliable in a fight,” he told Matthew quietly at one point. “To be perfectly honest, I didn’t expect much more from you Humans until I got here.” He examined a huge seawater pump humming with power. “Your engineering, while lacking finesse, has potential.”

  “Thanks,” Matthew said out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Think nothing of it.”

  As the tour moved on to the reason for the institute, the cetaceans, Kodu’ku seemed less interested to the point of indifference. Matthew would have assumed he only stayed out of a sense of common courtesy, except the alien didn’t seem to possess the trait. He didn’t ask any more questions, merely watching the dolphins leaping meters out of the water to intercept thrown fish with one of his two independently-controlled eyes. The Oogar was slightly more curious— though only slightly.

  When they reached the first of the three large orca tanks, Kodu’ku perked up slightly as he caught sight of one of the four new Russian Resident orcas. Kray, the dominant male, breached to get a better look at the visitors. The orca’s head hovered a short distance out of the water, his eye examining the Oogar for a long moment before submerging.

  “Why are they here?” Kodu’ku asked.

  “All our cetaceans are rescues of one kind or another. These four are from Russia and were once on display at a park.” The elSha cocked his head. “A place where they’re kept for amusement. Sometimes for education, as well.”

  “Terry!”

  Matthew looked over and saw his wife Madison coming in, with two men and a tub of fish in tow. He smiled. She’d made a deal. His son left them and went over to his mother, helping her with the fish.

  “You Humans enjoy seeing and experiencing other species?”

  “Yes,” Matthew said.

  The elSha shook his long head, both eyes going over different parts of the Human tourist group at the same time. “I think scientists will be trying to understand Humans for a long, long time.”

  Matthew looked over to where his son was feeding Kray. Terry had a feeding pole, three meters long and telescoping, with cotton twine holding a large Hapu‘upu‘u out over the tank. The familiar shape and grayish color of the Hawaiian sea bass dangled just above the surface. Kray’s great shiny black head broke the surface, an eye examined the fish for a second, and he submerged again.