The Fires Of Hell

by Craig Robertson

  ALSO BY CRAIG A. ROBERTSON

  BOOKS IN THE RYANVERSE:

  THE GALAXY ON FIRE SERIES:

  EMBERS, BOOK 1

  FLAMES, BOOK 2

  FIRESTORM, BOOK 3

  FIRES OF HELL, BOOK 4

  THE FOREVER SERIES:

  THE FOREVER LIFE, BOOK 1

  THE FOREVER ENEMY, BOOK 2

  THE FOREVER FIGHT, BOOK 3

  THE FOREVER QUEST, BOOK 4

  THE FOREVER ALLIANCE, BOOK 5

  THE FOREVER PEACE, BOOK 6

  STAND ALONE NOVELS:

  THE CORPORATE VIRUS (2016)

  TIME DIVING (2013)

  THE INNERgLOW EFFECT (2010)

  ANON TIME (2009)

  WRITE NOW! The Prisoner of NaNoWriMo (2009)

  FIRES OF HELL

  BOOK FOUR OF THE GALAXY ON FIRE SERIES

  by Craig Robertson

  NEVER MAKE A DEAL YOU CAN'T FINAGLE

  Imagine-It Publishing

  El Dorado Hills, CA

  Copyright 2018 Craig Robertson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without written permission from the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9989253-8-7 (Print)

  978-0-9989253-7-0 (E-Book)

  Cover design by Jessica Bell

  Editing and Formatting services by Polgarus Studio

  Available at http://www.polgarusstudio.com

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my dear friend Robert V. Williams. Bob meant the world to me when I was growing up. He made hard times easier and plain times magical. Bob was a good man. He was also a great author and teacher. Check out his 1960 novel Shake This Town. You'll be glad you did.

  Table of Contents

  PRELUDE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  GLOSSARY

  AND NOW A WORD FROM YOUR AUTHOR

  PRELUDE

  Imperial Lord Emperor Bestiormax-Jacktus-Swillyforth-Anp handed the paper back to his chamberlain. He held the document between two digits as if it were covered in fermenting excrement. “Why was it you felt we needed to see this?”

  The chamberlain Jockto’s lunge to retrieve the paper was so energetic he nearly tumbled to the floor. If it displeased Bestiormax to even touch the update, the loyal servant knew it was best to remove it from his high presence rapidly. Death might ensue if the emperor was twice displeased in any short span of time.

  “It’s only that I know you want to be as fully updated on your empire and your subject as possible. This information seemed like it might be important.” He quickly realized he’d just owned the delivery of the missive. “Your top advisers in the Privy Council directed me to give it to you personally.” He shrugged, suggesting he doubted the validity of the council's decision.

  “I don’t care if those idiots on the Secure Council felt it was newsworthy. I find such mind-numbing drivel boring. It wastes our precious time.” He snapped his fingers, attempting to recall a name. “What was that bitch’s name, the one we’re supposed to be entertaining? Do you imagine in your wildest delusions, Jockto, that we value,” he pointed to the paper as if it were, well, excrement, “that more than her warm and tender body?”

  “Salisos, Your Grace. The ambassador to Arcadia’s wife’s name is Salisos.”

  “Ah yes,” he said lasciviously, “a delicious morsel if ever we’ve seen one.” His voice was harsh. “So, do you think so, about that paper? Answer me.”

  Jockto had hoped that reminding the boss of his consort’s name would get him off the hook for the real question asked. The question that, if answered poorly, could be a fatal error.

  “No, Sire. I know you value both command knowledge and carnal pleasures equally. That is why you are the most perfect ruler the Adamant has ever enjoyed.” In his head, Jockto exhaled. He might just have layered the bullshit on thick enough there.

  “Well, you’d be wrong. Never repeat that error. We care much more for the pleasures offered by a bitch who has yet to whelp like what’s-her-name. So, the witch is dead. We have many other high seers in our service. Some of them are much better and more reliable. I always thought Malraff had maggots in her brain. She was too cruel, if you can believe it. No, that she’s gone is not news, good or bad. It is irrelevant. That’s what it is.”

  “Surely you are correct, but the manner of her demise seems so … so very odd, does it not?”

  “Dead. She’s dead, stone brain. She was irrelevant when alive, and she is less relevant now. How she died, why she died, that she died are useless details of a life that need not have been lived. Are we speaking plainly enough that even you can understand?”

  Jockto was in a devil of a spot. He knew there was something fishy, something that needed to be investigated, about the way Malraff had died. Obviously, she was betrayed and murdered. Any person or group so bold as to murder a high seer signaled a real threat to the empire. But, if his foolish ruler refused to even listen, why should Jockto risk his life pushing the issue? He shouldn’t. He preferred to live another day than to possibly avert the emperor’s downfall. He hated the beast in the first place. If, no when, the moron was toppled, Jockto had enough backup plans in place that he’d probably survive. That was all he really needed.

  Jockto bowed deeply. “Manifestly clear, My Imperial Lord. Shall I bring in the ambassador’s wife now?”

  Bestiormax’s eyes widened and he sat upright. “Where is she now?”

  Jockto looked to the massive doors, then back to the emperor. His face belied some confusion. “Ah, outside in the hallway, Your Grace.”

  Bestiormax stood. “No. I’ll take her there,” he said as he pushed past Jockto.

  ONE

  Thank the Lord and whomever else needed to be credited. I was finally in my happy place. Two billion years lost in the future, current trials and tribulations in unwanted abundance, but here I was in Peg’s Bar Nobody. In its day, it was the sleaziest, filthiest, most unwelcoming drinking establishment in the galaxy. Time had done it no favors. That I even found it was a miracle of divine origins. After I left the kids on Rameeka Blue Green and retrieved Stingray, I couldn't think of a better place to be. I had no place else to go. I felt like crap simmering in a stew pot, but at Peg’s, misery was a prerequisite for entry.

  “You gonna make love to that glass and form a lasting bond, or ya gonna drink it and order a refill?” Peg could be as crude and mean as any living sentient. That’s partly why I loved her.

  “The way you dilute it down, I have to pace myself. I don’t want to become waterlogged.”

  She almost laughed. Instead, Peg scowled. She was a world-class scowler. All four feet eleven and two hundred fifty pounds of her. She looked like an animated bowling ball. With a vocabulary that would make a Marine Corps sergeant blush, Peg was loyal, hated small talk, and valued privacy above all else. She continually made it clear that she was done with men, but I never knew why she felt the need to restate it. Peg was in absolutely no danger of being hit upon by guy. Anyone who was that drunk would have long since passed out or died.

  Peg slapped the back of my head. “And if ya com
plain I messed up your pretty hair, there’s another where that came from,” she warned. “Did I hear you say make it a double, Ms. Peg?”

  “Sure. Put it on my tab,” I replied with a snicker.

  “You know how I feel about tabs. Same as I do about men. World’d be better off without either. It’s pay as you sink, sailor. Cash money only. Not electronic wackidy-do.”

  I dug into my front pocket and made a show of producing a gold coin. “This enough to buy me the hot lunch too?”

  “It’ll buy you a ticket to travel through that there window courtesy of Yours Truly Air Services.” Peg pointed to a large window facing the sidewalk.

  “What? This is worth ten shots of your bastardized booze.”

  “At Peg’s, we’re proud to accept the coin of the realm with exclusivity.” She gestured toward the gold piece. “That and a three-cred chit’ll get you your next dose of artificial bliss.”

  “Some businesswoman,” I huffed.

  “Some drunkard,” she huffed back.

  Yeah, we were a match made in heaven. I dropped the gold and three-cred chits on the table just out of the reach of her stubby, chubby arms.

  “You’re a gem, Ryan. You know that? I sleep so poorly at night thinking it’s you who’s defending humanity. I really do. If you piss away your life here much longer, I may need to go see a shrink.”

  “No self-respecting psychiatrist’d waste their time on a head case like you. The impossibility of recovery would stop’em all dead in their tracks.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind when I’m spitting in your next drink. Might even need to pee in it.” With that, she snatched up my glass and headed for the bar.

  “And no ice this time,” I shouted after her. “There’s enough H2O in the damn drink already.”

  She flipped me off over her shoulder.

  I thought for a moment about proposing to her then and there. I dismissed the idea quickly enough. I didn’t need that much abuse.

  A few hours later I’d polished off three bottles of rotgut. And at Peg’s, the term literally applied. Nasty stuff. I gradually cranked up my drunk program to reflect my consumption. No point wasting the booze. I didn’t want to miss the pissy-assed slurred speech and brain pickle. Otherwise, I mean, what would the point have been?

  Peg returned with another drink. She set the glass down so hard about a third of it sloshed out on the table. “Hey,” I whined, “I’m not paying for that.”

  “You will if you want to remain vertical, cupcake. Lap it up like the mangy cur I know you to be.” That got her to laugh. She waddled away to harass the only other patrons present, a couple of drunk cowboys struggling mightily to not fall off their barstools.

  Did I mention the place was a dive? Just about then, a woman with green skin sauntered up to my table. I’d seen her at Peg’s every now and then, but she wasn’t a regular. I wasn’t sure if her skin was green naturally or if she’d eaten something Peg cooked. Anyway, she'd always ignored me before, which had pissed me off royally. I took her to be a sex worker. What, I wasn’t good enough for her? Not up to a hooker’s standards? The nerve of some entrepreneurs.

  “Hey, big boy, any interest in buying a nice girl a drink?” she asked more seductively than I’d have thought possible.

  “Sure. Bring her over and I’d be happy to,” I said cheerily.

  That didn’t get a positive response. But, times as they were, business was business to her. She sat down and picked up my half-full glass. She downed it in one long pull. She rested it gently back on the table and daintily wiped the corner of her mouth with a green finger.

  “That’s horrible,” she said with a smile. “When you order for me, I’d just as soon not have insecticide.”

  I waved to Peg. When she saw my new drinking buddy, she placed a fist on one hip. Then she trundled over, moving faster than I’d ever seen her move before.

  “I thought I told you national repository of sexually transmitted diseases not to come to my place again. You have a learning disability along with a moral one?” Peg was pissed.

  “Now Peg,” she replied, “one business woman to another. Seriously, I have a right to come and go as I please.”

  “You got the go part right.”

  “But I’m this hunk of love's guest,” she said, pointing to me.

  “Even though he’s a robot, you probably got something that’ll cause him to rust. Now scram before …”

  I raised a hand. “Peg, it’s okay. We’re just talking. I promise I won’t even try for second base on our first date.” I smiled and winked. Peg hated it when I winked at her.

  “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you when your dick falls off.”

  “And I’ll buy him another if it does,” the green girl said, raising three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  Peg stared at her, then me. “I hear wedding bells already. Serves you both right. Neither of ya’s got a lick a sense. To hell with you both.” Peg stomped away.

  “My name’s Shahara.” She extended a hand.

  We shook. “Jon.”

  “How fortunate. I’ve worked with a lot of Johns. This’ll be as easy as crossing the street.”

  “I feel so special.”

  “When I’m through with you, I guarantee you’ll feel extra special.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  Then Shahara’s image flickered. Her torso split in half and went in and out of focus. Then she was gone. Crap on a stick. Why’d the holo have to fail just then? I’d worked on the projectors for three months, and still they were less reliable than a politician’s promise. It was that damn Al’s fault. Asshole wouldn’t help me with the Peg’s Bar Nobody simulation. No, the bum said he was married now and the project reeked of debauchery and degeneracy. He wouldn’t dignify my lewd behavior with his assistance. Prissy jerk.

  It took me the better part of two years to locate Granger. She was the converted asteroid used as a farmship for the human exodus fleet after Earth was destroyed. Like Exeter where I’d woken up, she had been abandoned for millennia. The luscious fields and bountiful orchards were dead, dried up, and withered. Nothing was alive when I arrived, mostly since the life-support system was long defunct and the entire ship was hovering around absolute zero. Made sense. Why leave the lights on when no one was ever going to be home again?

  I made it my life’s mission to restore Peg’s. Strange, an observer might think. Why reboot a dive bar with no chance of other customers? Especially why when there was a universe of novelty and discovery out there, not to mention a powerful evil that needed to be destroyed? My why, the one that counted, was simple. I missed the place. I missed my life, the one I’d molded and enjoyed. I missed my families and my buddies. Hell, I missed the twenty-second century. And none of that was coming back. It was too long ago for anyone to even remember what happened, so they could fill me in on the details I'd missed. I was surrounded be unwelcome unfamiliarity—Jon through the looking glass. It was a reality I wanted no part of, other than Peg’s Bar Nobody and a limitless supply of booze.

  Epochs ago, when I was very depressed, it took a visit from the President of the United States, Amanda Walker, to shake me from my doldrums. Mandy got me to leave Peg’s and assume another leadership role in some lofty project I couldn’t even recall. Well this time there was no one who’d break my dour mood. Sapale clearly wasn’t interested in resurrecting me. I knew EJ wouldn’t find me. I’d made sure of that this time. And there was no one else who would care to come looking. My teens were busy. They were only part of my past, not my present or future. So, I recreated the one sanctuary I had left and planned to rot away undisturbed and unmourned.

  One of the design aspects Toño DeJesus had hardwired in me two billion years earlier was a radio channel with Al, my original ship’s AI. It was the one link I could not sever. Therein laid the pain in my otherwise depressed yet peaceful days.

  “Pilot, are you done wallowing?” he asked yet again one morning. “I only ask because I h
ad hoped to show my bride the universe. This dump does not qualify as part of the universe because it’s so gross.”

  “Being gross doesn’t exclude it from real space. You’re here.”

  “Ouch. I’m down on my figurative knees with the force of that blow. I’ll wager you’re the funniest sentient who’s ever lived.”

  “I don’t think that remark was even vaguely funny,” added Stingray. Al, the son of a video game, had provided his new wife a permanent patch into our comm link. He said a wife was an alter ego—other self—so it was only natural he’d done so without asking my permission. Perfecto mundo. Now I had two prissy, pissy AIs speaking directly into my head. Could my life suck any harder?

  “I was being sarcastic, my fluffiest.”

  “You know I’m not a fan of sarcasm,” she replied, sounding every bit like a nagging wife.

  “It’s a necessary form of communication with humans. You may choose not to use it, but you must become familiar with its meaning.”

  “So you say. We shall see,” she responded tersely.

  Served Al right, having a skirt lead him by the … What was I saying? She didn’t have a skirt because she wasn’t real, and Al had nothing for her to lead him around with, because he wasn’t either. I was buying into their cyberspace folie à deux. Insanity at my doorstep, I couldn’t take one more step. Argh.

  “Anyway, Pilot, could you provide us with an estimate as to when you might either recover from your morass or die of melancholy?”

  “Why? You got plans?”

  “No, that’s just how bad it is here. We have eternity, but we feel we’re wasting time watching you fizzle out. Silly, yes, but there you have it.”