Sleeping in the Stars (Marston Chronicles Book 1)

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 By Daniel Wagner, all rights reserved.

  Reproduction or transmission of this book, in whole or in part, by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or by any other means is strictly prohibited, except with prior written permission from the author.

  You may direct all inquiries to:

  dpwagner@dpwpublishing.com

  Cover Design by Miguel Yurrita

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, places and incidents described are products of the writer’s imagination and any resemblance to real people, living or dead, or events is purely coincidental.

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  Date: 25 February 2019

  Contents

  Copyright

  Map of the Federacy

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Map of the Federacy

  Prologue

  Mortek Fleet-5 Years Ago

  For over one hundred Earth years or one hundred and twenty-five Mortek-planet orbits, the invasion/pilgrim fleet of alien ships traveled at eight-tenths the speed of light from their galaxy to the Arm of Orion in the Milky Way. Currently the huge armada continued its ballistic journey, just one light-year from the outer edges of the long dead Ballisonian civilization. The hundreds of millions of occupants and embryos in the war ships, colony ships and supply ships slept, deep in cryogenic sleep, to be awakened at the appropriate time and to establish a new Protectorate of the Mortek civilization. A quarter of an Earth year ago the leaders, administrators, warriors and maintenance personnel of the Insect-like creatures rose, groggy from cryo-sleep, weak from lack of exercise, starving for real food. For three months the engineers checked systems, repaired failings and prepared their ships for any possible contingencies. For three months the warriors exercised, drilled and trained to get their bodies, minds and spirits back into combat readiness. For three months the scientists and surveyors scanned these new stars, looking for planets to colonize and species to conquer. The leaders and administrators began the arduous tasks of organizing the awakening of their citizenry and establishing a new set of worlds. Now, after extensive scans, evaluations and lower level meetings, the leadership council met on the flagship and assessed the current state of affairs.

  Standing behind his seat at the head of the conference table, Lord Minister began, “Science,” he, clicked and chittered. “Our histories state that this area of space, once belonging to the Ballisonians, is void of that dead civilization. Is that true?”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  “Then it is ready for colonization and settlement?”

  “Not exactly, My Lord.”

  Lord Minister’s golden vestigial wings partially spread over this slight contradiction. “What does ‘not exactly’ mean?”

  Science pressed his own useless wings tightly against his carapace, pulled his wedge-shaped head in and pressed his head comb flat in submission. “I’m sorry, my Lord, but there is another race occupying the farthest edge of the dead Ballison civilization.”

  “Another race. Who are they? Have we seen them before?”

  “No, Your Lordship. They are new. Our long range interception of visual and radio waves from one of our probes shows a soft hided, bipedal species. But they have achieved space travel. Not up to our speed or level of technology, but close.”

  The Lord Minister straddled his four legs around his stool and sat. Gesturing with his two arms, he asked, “Comments?”

  All of the attending councilors avoided eye contact except one. The Councilor of War partially extended his wings, displaying a small modicum of red. “The soft-skinned civilization appears to have a war fleet,” The large, war class Mortek pronounced as he pointed a clawed digit at the video recorded from the long-rang telescopes and light sensors that were pointed towards the dead Ballison civilization.

  Lord Minister rose, walked to the screen and studied the fleet floating around the core world of this weak looking race. “How old is this video?”

  “About two cycles, Your Lordship.” This came from Science.

  Turning back to his table of counselors, “Do they pose a threat?” asked Lord Minister.

  War responded, “Nothing significant. From the scans, their weaponry appears weaker than ours. And their ships are smaller and don’t appear as well armored. And we have never recorded any flight speeds that match ours. In another fifty cycles they might be a serious threat. But now we should be able to destroy them.”

  “They look sufficiently advanced for an indentured work force.” This observation came from the Counselor of Labor. Lord Minister focused his attention on the slight administer-class Mortek, who continued, “Physically they appear strong. They are bipedal with working upper limbs and grasping extremities. And, since they have reached space, their intelligence is sufficient for command control. Once we conquer them we can use them as labor to build our empire.”

  “They do appear to have matured enough for absorption,” War replied, again slightly spreading his wings and raising his spiked head comb in agreement. “And, from the extent of their civilization, they appear to possess abundant resources and manufacturing. They would be a good addition. But we would need to conquer them first.

  “Interesting.” Lord Minister returned to his seat, placed his claw on the Ruling Orb and paused to ponder. "Is our target star system still uninhabited?"

  "Yes, Lord Minister. There are large varieties of plant and animal life but nothing achieving sentience."

  The Lord Minister tapped a single claw on the orb. The table of counselors waited for their leader to make his pronouncement.

  “We came to establish a new Protectorate for the greatness of Mortek. We came prepared for war, to re-cleanse this space of the Ballisons. We will continue with our plans. We shall land on our new world and build our new empire. And, since our long-time enemy is not here, we shall conquer this race and use it as a slave force. This new, soft-skinned race will be used to strengthen the power of the Morteks.” So saying, he pounded the heavy metal Globe of Pronouncement once on its stand, proclaiming the new law and initiating a new command for action.

  Unknown to Humanity, it had just gone to war.

  Chapter 1

  Arium

  Approaching Gregor’s secret lab, Krag sent his security codes and the fake transponder ID on a narrow beam that only the asteroid could receive. Eying the asymmetrical, slowly rotating rock, he saw something the size of a small moon. “It’s got some gravity. Good,” he thought. While drifting at the same rate as the space rock, he waited. After a few moments, Buster announced that the codes and ID had been accepted.

  “Captain?” The voice of the military-grade and highly illegal AI seemed to come from all directions.

  “Yes Buster?”

  “We have the coordinates for the landing bay. Should I plot a course and take us in?”

  “No, I’ll fly in manually.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  In truth, Krag didn't need to speak loudly to vocalize his statements nor did the AI need to respond in kind. With the sensory communication and electronic interfaces wrapping his brain and inserted into his body, Krag always had a neural link with Buster. He on
ly needed to speak in sotto with responses picked up in the sensors implanted into his inner ears. But, living mostly alone, he’s gotten into the habit of speaking normally to his ship’s A.I..

  Buster wasn’t truly an AI, but rather a highly evolved, fully integrated super computer with massive amounts of processing power, memory, data and complex reasoning code. Add visual/audio receptors and vocalization and Buster almost appeared sentient. But Buster would not pass the Turing test. Buster would not be judged sentient or self-aware. That was a level of technology that humanity hadn’t yet reached. But Buster was still one of the most powerful computers that had ever been built, albeit for war.

  Flying to the coordinates on the asteroid, Krag saw a large portion of rock split and swing wide like two huge barn doors. Looking through the forward port, Krag saw the small landing bay and picked a line of flight. He flipped Griffin around and, using the control thrusters, he backed his ship into the landing hanger carved into the space rock, pointing at the exit. Looking out his view screens, he saw the tunnel that led to the main facilities.

  While he waited for the huge hanger doors to close and the bay to achieve pressure and atmosphere, Krag stopped at his cabin and changed into his mono-weave bodysuit. Over that he again put on his flight overalls, the bodysuit hood hanging over the collar. The bodysuit wasn’t as protective as full body armor, but its energy dispersing properties would protect him from almost all personal and military energy blasters and lasers. It also protected its wearer, for a short time, from the ravages of space. He strapped his energy pistol to his waist and anchored the holster to his thigh. The last piece of equipment that he donned was a satchel that looked like something a college student or trendy young businessman would carry.

  Once the interior became habitable, Krag looped the satchel’s strap over his head and adjusted it on his left hip. Touching his pistol to insure its security, he walked back to the cargo bay. After dropping the loading ramp, he exited the only place he called home.

  Krag found twelve cases sitting on a pallet, overseen by an obvious foreman. Walking over, Krag acknowledge the man with a ‘Hi’.

  “Is this my load?”

  “Are you Krag Marston?”

  “Yes I am.”

  “One moment please.” The foreman held up a data pad, pointed it at Krag’s face and tapped an icon. After a moment, the foreman nodded and spoke. “Yup, it’s you. I’m Bill,” he approved while holding out a hand. “You need a loader?”

  “Nah. I’ve got my own,” Krag responded while shaking the proffered hand. With a big display, Krag pulled a communicator off his belt, spoke into it and turned to watch his labor android clomp down the ramp. As the android approached the two men and pallets, Krag commanded, “Clyde, stop.” Clyde complied.

  “Where’d you get a humanoid ‘droid? Looks military.”

  “It was. War surplus. I found it in a junkyard with all its battletech removed.”

  Krag opened the first case and inspected each gem, nestled in its own padded pocket. Once satisfied, and with the case sealed back up, Krag commanded, “Clyde, take this case and stack it in the center of the cargo bay.”

  Krag knew that that was all the command he needed to give. Clyde wasn’t the actual computer running the android. The computer running the machine was actually Buster, the same powerful, military grade AI that kept the ship running. But no one, except for Krag, knew that. Nor did anyone know that the battletech hadn’t been removed.

  Two hours later, after inspecting each case, verifying the flawlessness of each gem and supervising the stowing of the cargo, Krag ordered the android to return to its docking rack and then headed to the lab's main office to pick up the first half of his compensation and documentation for delivery.

  That was when the assault began.

  The Federacy assault ship began with a strafing run, killing anyone unfortunate enough to be outside. It followed up by dropping a troop vehicle that landed hard, the carrier burst open and a squad of heavily armed enforcement troops proceeded to encircle and invade the structure. The attackers blew the personal doors off to the side of the main hanger doors and poured into the hanger bay, fanning out and killing everyone in sight as the atmosphere rushed out into space.

  Krag didn't wait. At the first sounds of enemy fire, he grabbed his credits and documents, stuffed them into the pouch and pulled the full hood over his head, sealing him from the elements and giving him a small amount of oxygen. Slamming out the office door, Krag leaped towards the tunnel opening that lead to his ship. With his heavy-world musculature and the asteroid's low gravity, each step he took became a ten foot leap. He reached the opening in four strides. Dropping to all fours, Krag became a sprinter ready to spring from the blocks. Pushing with legs and arms, he lunged forward twenty feet at a time, landing back in the sprinter position until he reached the landing bay.

  Just before he cleared the tunnel, a Federacy law officer spotted him and fired down the shaft. With Krag either on all fours or laid out like a diver, most of the shots were high. A couple struck him in the back but the mono-suit dispersed the energy. Grabbing the doorframe as he exited, his momentum swung him around the corner. Rotating in the air, Krag hit the hanger wall with his back, landed on his feet and sprang towards his ship's open bay doors.

  Rounding the stern, Krag saw Federacy Troopers dispersed, pushing into the labs and through the offices. He focused on the trooper that firing at him. Not waiting, Krag launched himself at his target, pushing the pulse rifle to the side and hammering him in his sternum, with all the force of a hard left thrust and the inertia of his leap. As Krag’s momentum carried him forward, he drew his weapon with his right hand and thumbed the control to maximum stun. The hammered trooper flew across the room, hit the rock wall, head and shoulders first and slowly floated to the floor, unconscious or dead. While this occurred, Krag's momentum carried him to the ship's opening. He spotted another trooper heading up the ramp. Rotating, Krag fired the Taser at the Federacy policeman's helmet, knowing that the chainmail body armor would diffuse the charge. The electric burst exploded on the trooper's faceplate and expanded through his suit. The electrocuted trooper went rigid and toppled like a punching dummy.

  Krag landed, raced up the ramp, grabbed the shocked trooper by collar and belt and unceremoniously tossed him off of his ship. Slapping the 'close' button, he raced towards the control deck. Dropping into the egg-shaped command pod, he heard the ship's bay door slam shut. He pulled off his skull hood and pulled on his command helmet, slipped his hands into the command control sleeves and tapped the icon that closed the pod’s lid and deployed the compression pads.

  By this time, more Federacy police heard the commotion and began firing at the now-sealed ship. With the hull upgrades, the weapons proved to be less than useless.

  While he was being swaddled into the pod, Krag pressed icons that charged up the nose cannon and slid a touch-slide that pointed it at the center of the hanger doors.

  "Buster."

  "Yes, Captain?'

  "When I fire, you get us out of here."

  "What plot, sir?"

  "Best vector farthest distance from any ships in the area. And exit with full escape acceleration."

  "Yes, Sir."

  “Deploy all recognition counter measures as well.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  With that, Krag pressed the red firing icon. The hanger doors blew out, a huge rumbling started to spread through the hanger as the atmosphere exploded out even faster. On his viewer, Krag saw some troopers sucked out into space, immediately freezing to death and others grabbing what they could during this increase of wind and vacuum.

  The Griffin blasted out of the cave, Buster took less than a second to evaluate the situation, increased power to the fusion drives and streaked away from the destruction and mayhem that was occurring below. With the magneto-gravity dampeners just coming on line, Krag was slammed into the back of the pod, air being forced from his lungs. He began to see floating sp
ecks of light and became perilously close to blacking out. Slowly as the electro-magnetic anti-gravity countered the thrust force, and the pod’s cocoon pressurized, he began to breathe again, shook off the waves of dizziness and returned his focus to the current problems at hand.

  Frantically Scanning his monitors, Krag saw that the only ship in the vicinity was the Federacy assault ship and breathed a sigh of relief. “Obviously they didn’t think that there would be a ship on site,” Krag thought. Scanning deeper, he saw three other Federacy Police Cruisers re-tasking and heading for the now-doomed asteroid. Someone called in more troops.”

  “Buster, how far out are the cruisers?”

  “On our present course, they will be within weapons range in approximately one hour.”

  “Ok. Plot best vector to run from them, and get us to open space.”

  “Here is the plot, Captain. But it takes us in the opposite direction as the Corrinar gate.”

  “Can’t be helped. We run.”

  And he did.

  For three hours Krag Marston kept the Griffin heading towards the dark of starless space at three-tenths the speed of light, constantly reading his screens, calculating distances and potential plots.

  “Buster, calculate an elliptical course getting us back to the Corrinar gate. Keep our speed at point three.”

  “Plotted, Captain.”

  “What kind of lead will we have on the cruisers when we reach the gate?”

  “If they adjust to best intercept, twelve minutes.”

  “So they’ll be in missile range.”

  “Yes Captain.”

  “Damn. OK. Bump us up to point four SOL. That will get us through.”

  “Done.”

  Fifteen hours later Marston did not like what he saw on his helmet screens. His plans for an escape through the Corrinar gate came to a hard halt. He intently studied the three different live scenarios – the triangle of Federacy police cruisers aft, the space block fore and the surrounding space. With his cranial web tied to the sensors of his ship, he had a full view of his predicament and intently searched for an escape vector before he became boxed in with the result being he and his ship becoming so much space flotsam and dead meat.