The Last Stryker (Dark Universe Series Book 1) Read online

  The Last Stryker

  Dark Universe Series

  Alex Sheppard

  Contents

  Sector 22

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  What’s next?

  YOU can help spread the word

  An Excerpt from The First Covenant

  About the Author

  My girls—sugar, spice, and not always nice.

  Text copyright © 2017 Alex Sheppard

  Cover Design and art by Gergő Pocsai

  All rights reserved.

  All characters and elements in this book are trademarks of the author.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.

  Sector 22

  The Endeavor was not supposed to be anywhere near Sector 22. In a warp of fate, instead of its planned run to Komilah to drop off a crate of Pterostrich eggs, the battlecruiser-turned-freighter was spit out in the middle of nowhere.

  Ross Pornell, second-in-command of the Endeavor, sat frozen in the captain’s chair, staring blankly at the scene outside. They were zooming past a planet with a mottled-orange surface and the system’s twin stars were just specks in the distance. Ross didn’t know where they were, except for the fact that they weren’t supposed to be here.

  Even though Ross had never been trained in the gritty ways of the Armed Services of the Confederacy, he was not one to be shaken easily. Not too long ago he had fought against pirates in Sector 79 and had hardly broken a sweat. But the current situation was unexpected, and Ross had to admit—albeit unwillingly—that he hadn’t a clue about what to do next. The god-awful klaxon’s earsplitting ruckus did nothing to help.

  A second or two after Endeavor’s abrupt arrival in Sector 22 that had set the ship-wide alarm blaring, Ross got some bearing back. He pressed the communications module embedded on the side of his brushed-steel chair. “Flux, why the alarm?” he said over the intercom.

  The engineer’s hasty, “Running systems check, Ross,” drifted in from the engineering bay via the communicator. “All my scans are clear,” Flux said a moment later.

  Another second or two passed before the alarm died and Ross breathed a sigh of relief. He looked around the semicircular COM or Core Operations Module. It was designed in a rather eclectic fashion and differently from most battlecruisers Ross had seen. Instead of the usual spacious set up with the officers’ stations ringing the captain’s seat on a central raised deck, Endeavor’s dual control stations were simple and sparse. The room was tight, and right now, even with just three people in it, it felt claustrophobic.

  “What the hell just happened, Fenny?” Ross demanded of the navigation officer whose fingers were dancing deftly over the controls. She frowned worriedly at the large screen in front of her. Fenny, petite and frail at first glance, was nothing but. Ross had seen her in action over the last month, and she was hands down the best navigator he had ever met. That she took more than a second to answer him clearly indicated that something far from the ordinary had happened.

  “The iffin SLH threw us out, Ross,” Fenny informed. Running her fingers through her bushy mane, she swiveled around to look at Ross. Her charcoal-black eyes looked even darker than usual. “The inductive barriers collapsed and we dropped out of it like a boulder. We’re in Sector 22. And that”—Fenny pointed at the predominantly orange orb next to them— “is the fourth planet in the Kyo-Sedra star system. This is iffin middle of nowhere.”

  This is nothing short of bizarre, Ross thought. Discovered two centuries ago, the Super Luminal Highways were wormhole networks built for spacecrafts traveling across galaxies using the faster-than-light Nongbut drives. The existence of the Confederacy was made possible largely due to the SLH, and their maintenance was the Confederacy’s top priority. Ross had never heard of such sudden collapse of inductive barriers that made sure traffic stayed within the corridor, and seeing how high Fenny’s eyebrows had shot up, Ross deduced that she hadn’t heard of anything like it either.

  “How far are we from the next AP?” he asked.

  An AP, or access point, was the only place to get back on the SLH. But there was a problem: while outside the highway, the Endeavor couldn’t use its faster-than-light a.k.a. Super Luminal mode. In ordinary mode, even if the Endeavor was retrofitted with a state-of-the-art depleted delmidium ore engine and extra thrusters, it’d take considerable time to reach the AP.

  “It’s near the second planet. Thirty pulses, fifty-one hours,” Fenny said quickly.

  “Damn!” Ross got off his chair and stared a while at Fenny’s screen. It was ablaze with the bright orange planet; the twin stars of the system peeked from beyond it. “Take us there as fast as you can, Wiz,” he said.

  Wiz, the stocky pilot with long, well-groomed sideburns, responded with a flamboyant salute.

  “Damn!” Ross cursed again. This was more complicated than he had thought. It meant significant impact on their plans. And that in turn meant he had to inform the captain right away. It was protocol. But Captain Terenze Milos had finished his shift at the COM barely an hour ago, and anyone who knew the man knew he didn’t like to be awakened untimely from his sleep.

  Ross shifted uneasily on his feet. Had it been anyone else, Ross wouldn’t have hesitated as much, but Terenze Milos was a legend. In the long war of Locusta-Vanga that solidified the position of the Galactic Confederacy, Captain Milos was a hero. Post-war, Captain Milos didn’t rest on his laurels; he’d practically walked away from them. Why? No one knew. Even though Ross had never found Captain Milos any less than affable—one could say he was unexpectedly lax for a man with his experience and background—nervous jitters always engulfed Ross’s gut when he was in the presence of the captain. The fact that Ross was the newest addition to Endeavor’s five-member crew and proving his worth to the captain was on the top of his agenda didn’t help much either.

  Ross drew a breath to compose himself before he buzzed the captain.

  “About time, Commander,” Captain Milos said in a gruff voice. The captain had been expecting him, Ross realized. He had likely been awakened by the alarm, yet he hadn’t tried to find out what was going on. Ross suppressed a sigh. This was another peculiar thing about the captain—he’d push the crew into handling iffy situations with little oversight, sometimes to an extent that someone would think he didn’t care. But Ross knew far too well that wasn’t true. He chalked it up to the captain’s way of assessing his crew’s strength or perhaps a tactic to toughen them up.

  “Why are we outside the SLH?” the captain demanded.

  Ross explained as quickly as he could. In return, Captain Milos made an odd guttural sound. “I don’t like this,” the captain said.

  Ross sympathized. This addition of fifty-one hours would make them late at Komilah. The Komilahn traders who had paid for the Pterostrich eggs wouldn’t be happy.

  “I’m sure the Komilahns will understand, Captain,” Ross said. “It’s not like we’re late every time.”

  In fact, the Endeavor was never late. Terenze Milos had gone from being a celebrated captain of the Confederate Space Fleet to owner of a freight ship, but he ran his
freight operations just like he had run his military command. “If you aren’t an hour early, you’re late,” he always said, and his customers never had any reason to be unhappy.

  Captain Milos grunted and Ross wondered what it could mean. He guessed that the Komilahns were not what worried the captain. He was probably worried about being dropped out of the SLH. Or could it be something else altogether?

  A sharp beep jolted Ross out of his thoughts. The comm on the captain’s seat was the source of the noise. Ross walked over, pressed the largest button, and a woman’s voice that was soft, graceful, yet exuding command, streamed in. “Terenze? I need to see you right away. I’ve got something to show you.”

  “Sosa, the captain’s off-shift, but I’ll tell him.”

  “Yes, please do that,” Sosa replied.

  Sosa, the ship’s enigmatic medic, was the only person Ross knew of who called the captain by his first name. She was also the only one on board who didn’t engage in the observance of a military chain of command on the Endeavor.

  “This is a freight ship, Terenze, not a military battleship,” Sosa had told the captain many times. “You may always be the captain, but the rest of us are just regular people. No one’s a lieutenant here, or an ensign. Try calling people by their names.”

  Perhaps it was hard for the captain to let go of his years of habit, or perhaps he saw a benefit to making his crew pretend they were part of a military command. Whatever the reason, Captain Terenze Milos wasn’t about to completely change his ways. And Ross was happy that he didn’t. Too young to enlist during the Locusta-Vanga war, Ross had attempted joining the Confederate Space Fleet post-war, but he was rejected all three times he tried. The fleet’s physical training was simply too rigorous to withstand. So when Ross chanced a spot on the Endeavor as the captain’s chief, it was the next best way of realizing his lifelong dream of serving in a military command. Perhaps, Ross thought, with Captain Milos on the Endeavor, it was even better than being in the Space Fleet.

  Turning off the central comm, Ross turned to his personal wrist-mounted communicator. “Captain, that was Sosa. She needs to see you right away.”

  “All right,” the captain replied. “I’ll join you at the COM shortly. Just steer us toward the AP.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Ross replied, even though he badly wished Captain Milos could be at the COM that very second, but that did not seem likely. The captain heeded most of Sosa’s dictums with utmost earnestness. Like now. Ross wondered what Sosa needed to show the captain so urgently. Regardless of the reason, Ross had to handle COM and this weird turn of events on his own.

  “Thank you, Commander,” the captain said before a sharp click cut off the channel.

  Ross drew a long breath. This was the third time the captain had referred to his as “commander.” He had used the term once when Ross was hired a month ago and the second time when the Endeavor had been attacked by the Swarm, a nasty bunch of space pirates in Sector 79.

  Something about this situation has spooked the captain, Ross thought as he walked over to Fenny’s side. Her screen was still lit up by the mighty orange planet.

  “Fenny, can you get me a read of the system?” Ross said.

  “Right away,” Fenny replied. After a few clicks, her screen split into four, showing feed from scopes from all around the Endeavor. The orange planet, whose basic Confederacy name was Kyo-Sedra-4, hogged the top-right screen, but the others showed the areas of the Kyo-Sedra system that stretched behind the Endeavor and to the sides.

  “Behind us is Kyo-Sedra-6,” Fenny informed, pointing at a large blue striated planet behind them. “An ice giant,” she added, but Ross’s eye was drawn to a large flash on another screen that showed an area left of the Endeavor.

  “What the heck was that?”

  “What in the—”

  With a couple of taps, the feed from the ship’s left scope filled the screen. It showed a planet, white and shiny, a distance away from the Endeavor. Its view through the scope quickly turned grainy as Fenny maximized the enlargement.

  “That is”—Fenny looked up her star charts—“Kyo-Sedra-5. But something’s wrong with that iffin planet. It’s not supposed to have space rocks floating around it.”

  Yet there it was, a field of shiny specks all around the circumference of the planet.

  “Holy God of the stars,” Fenny exclaimed loudly. “Do you see that, Ross?”

  He saw it clearly. A large blob of black swirled on the lower left half of Kyo-Sedra-5.

  “Something crashed into KS-5? An asteroid? Perhaps part of it broke up above KS-5 and—”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Ross said. Even though he could not believe what he was about to say, he went on. “That’s no asteroid remains. I think that’s a debris field. Someone just eviscerated a space fleet.”

  “Sorry, Ross, but it can’t be,” Wiz chimed in. “Never heard of a space fleet in this sector. There’s no record of one in the charts either.”

  “I know fleet debris when I see one,” Ross said, ignoring Fenny’s doubtful look. He was an energetic fifteen-year-old when the Locusta-Vanga war had broken out. Too young to be part of the fleet, Ross had applied for a position as a recon specialist. The Confederacy wanted to bring all its lost soldiers home, and Ross and many other youngsters learned to pick up remnants of lost fleets from distant views just like this. Ross had found a way to be useful to the cause, but learning firsthand the cost of a galactic battle eventually took its toll on him.

  “So . . .” Fenny asked hesitantly. “What do we do about it?”

  “Analyze the debris. Once you have confirmation, we need to report to the Confederacy. Also run a scan for life.”

  Ross walked over to the captain’s seat and slid into it, wincing at the cold, unwelcoming surface under him. There would be no survivors, he knew that well. But that was not what sat like a mountain on his mind. The bigger question was what could have caused the destruction. And what was a fleet doing here? His finger hovered on the button of his comm port. Was it too soon to get the captain on board?

  “Ross.” Fenny’s sharp voice cut through the tightness of the room. “I read a beacon. It’s asking for help.”

  That was impossible. No one could live through a catastrophe like this. Or was it a miracle, one that he had been hoping for all through the Locusta-Vanga war but never found?

  Wiz swiveled around to face Ross. “What now?”

  There was no question, not in his mind anyway.

  “Change course, Wiz. We’re going to KS-5 to check for survivors.”

  Wiz didn’t turn around as quickly as he usually did when receiving an order. Instead, his eyes narrowed. That was expected, Ross admitted grudgingly to himself. They were late on the Komilahn run and Captain Milos had asked to set the course for the AP himself. Besides, this situation was weird and unnerving on the whole. Something didn’t quite fit.

  Hell, nothing fit.

  But however bad a situation he might be leading the Endeavor into, Ross couldn’t ignore a call for help. Not in a million years, not ever. And he also knew Captain Milos would agree.

  “That’s an order, Wiz,” Ross said, burying his doubts under a veneer of calm. “Take us to KS-5. I’ll brief the captain.”

  “One good turn is worth doing well.”

  -Mwandan proverb

  1

  Ramya Kiroff swerved to one side to dodge the blade that came swinging at her, but it still grazed her arm, making the alarm fashioned into her training suit emit an annoying, high-pitched hum.

  “Kiroff,” Istapol Maroni, the Institute’s top trainer who was well known for his dogged penchant for discipline, shouted. “Focus.”

  Ramya steadied herself and gripping her sword tighter, returned her opponent’s blow. Her peer, Armand Danukis, the favored cadet of their year, parried effortlessly and smirked.

  “Is there anything you’re good at, Kiroff?” Armand jeered, his hazel eyes glinting with ridicule through the steel mesh of his face
mask. “Anything at all?”

  You’ll see, Danukis. I’ll shut you up for good this time. Ramya brought down her sword in a slicing motion across Armand’s combat-suit clad torso, but he stopped it midway, his own blade set firmly between her sword and his chest.

  His brows danced. “That’s the best you can do? Hasn’t your father taught you anything? They say he’s the greatest swordsman in Raonic times.”

  He was indeed. Her father was also the richest man in Raonic times . . . and the most heartless father Ramya could’ve had.

  “He must be so proud of you, Kiroff,” Armand said, tossing his dark curls and chuckling. “Heiress to his empire can’t win a duel to save her life.”

  Ramya stiffened. This was not something she wanted or needed to hear. She didn’t need reminding of her father’s disappointment in her, especially not when she needed to win this duel so desperately.

  “Trysten Kiroff’s luck sure ran out with you,” Armand scoffed. “His firstborn, not only a girl, but also one as useless as you.”

  Shut up!

  Armand wasn’t far from the truth though. Trysten Kiroff, her father, owner of a fiefdom that included five mineral-soaked planets over three star systems, never would’ve wanted a daughter. At least not a firstborn who by the Confederacy’s laws of inheritance would be the sole legal heir to the house.

  Armand bared his impossibly perfect set of teeth. “He must wish you dead so your baby brother can be his heir instead.”

  I won’t let you inside my head.

  She struck a straight jab at his torso, but he blocked it right away. The jab was a calculated move, because she knew what he would come with next.

  Come on, step back and try your favorite swipe.

  Ramya smiled as Armand took a step back and raised his arm just like she had expected. She waited until the last moment before ducking to avoid the sweep, expecting to catch Armand by surprise. Her calculations were correct. He momentarily lost his balance and stumbled forward. Whirling around to face his back, Ramya thrust her blade with full force into his suit, right where his heart would be.