Homeworld

By Steven Lake

Silent for many years, Black Orchid, a dark and powerful force bent on world domination, has risen again. For decades the Society Intelligence Corps has successfully kept Black Orchid's power in check. But that is all about to change. With recently stolen fleet technology in their grasp, Black Orchid now strives to use it to once and for all destroy the Society, and her fleet, and claim Earth for their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Lake
• Release date: Jun 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476338927

Steven Lake

Steven Lake is a prolific author of many, many books, stories, articles, and other literature spanning a period of over twenty years. He began his long writing career in 1992 while serving in the US Army and has worked continuously to improve his craft to the great art it is today.

Book preview

Homeworld

Earthfleet Saga Book 3

By Steven Lake

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Steven Lake

Prologue

A tall, slender man in a tailor cut Armani business suit strolled into a humble little London pub and sat down in the far corner. It wasn't a remarkable establishment, almost barbarian by his standards, but it was one of the last places he expected anyone to find him, or more importantly, ask questions, and that was the kind of place where he needed to be right now.

A waitress approached him a few moments later, and asked, What'll it be, love?

Give me a pint of ale. No preference.

Right then, a pint it is, she replied and then slipped away.

A moment later she returned with a small napkin, and a large foaming mug of beer.

Will there be anything else? she asked.

The man shook his head.

No thanks, that'll be all.

The woman nodded, and then went about serving her other customers. The man quietly took a sip on his beer, and then leaned back.

After a moment he grinned, and said, Well, well, Mr. Carter, you are slippery as always, I see.

He soon glanced over at another man in a black suit who grinned back. One moment he hadn't been there, and the next he was, as though out of thin air.

What do you expect, Mr. Lent? One such as yourself should know that stealth is important in my line of work. It might go bad for me if someone were to see me, said Carter.

I can imagine. So, what word do you bring the council today?

Black Orchid wishes to forge an alliance with you.

Lent furrowed his brow.

After all these years of working against us, Black Orchid now wishes to become an ally with the Illuminati? I find that difficult to believe.

Carter slipped a small brown envelope across the table.

I think this may change your mind, and hopefully the minds of the Thirteen, he said.

Lent studied the envelope briefly, and then opened it. What he saw inside made his heart leap with surprise. Seeing this, Carter grinned.

Is this for real? asked Lent.

Carter nodded.

It's just the first piece in a much larger plan to once and for all destroy Earthfleet, and the Society, and claim Earth as our own.

Chapter 1

Two Months Earlier...

Major Robert Dutch Collins was a United States Air Force ace fighter pilot. Decorated nineteen times across numerous wars and military actions, he was no stranger to combat. He had scored thirty confirmed air to air kills, and had taken part in thousands of sorties during his long and distinguished career. But, it was a distinguished career that was unfortunately cut short, and brought crashing to the ground, in a fiery ball of shattered metal. It'd all began one otherwise normal August afternoon during what was supposed to be a routine mission.

He and his wingman had been crossing over one of the taller peaks in the Ural mountain range, flying high above the cloud tops as they always did when, out of nowhere, a hidden anti-aircraft battery locked onto his jet and fired a stealth missile at him. Even if he had been able to see it coming, or at least spot its approach on radar, it would've been difficult to avoid. But Dutch never saw it coming. No radar blip, no warnings, nothing. He never felt the missile plow into his aircraft, nor did he feel it shatter like dust beneath him. One moment he'd been enjoying a relatively uneventful afternoon flight, and the next he awoke on a naval hospital ship paralyzed from the waist down, covered in bandages and singed flesh, with only one good eye, a disfigured left hand, and partial use of his arms. The other eye had been so damaged that doctors had been forced to remove it, leaving behind nothing but an empty, hollow socket. Because of his injuries, he was removed from flight status, and quietly ushered out of the service to live the rest of his days in the civilian world as a broken, crippled man.

But these setbacks didn't kill his dream of flying again some day. No matter how badly his body was mangled, he refused to give up. But reality spoke a different story. And, despite how much his heart longed for the skies, he was hopelessly earthbound, trapped in a body that no longer worked right. And, if that were not torture enough, upon hearing of his injuries, his wife filed for divorce, and left him, claiming she couldn't live with someone who was now half a man. Hearing that had nearly crushed him. It was three weeks after this that he was officially discharged, and sent home to a house that had been stripped to the walls of all its belongings. All he had left was his medical pension, a few clothes, and his hospital bed. His wife had taken everything else. Even his bank accounts and investments had been emptied out, cashed in, or otherwise stripped bare of all their value. She'd even forged his signature on the divorce papers, officially making him single once again, completely against his will. The worst part was, it'd all been so sudden, so quick, and so thorough, that he didn't have a chance to lodge even a single word of protest.

But, even if he had, there was little chance it would've done him any good. His life had become a train wreck of epic proportions, and it just kept getting worse. It was during this time of sorrow and distress that something curious happened. A well dressed man, in a gray business suit and fedora hat, came to his house one day to see him. The guy looked more like a leftover from the fifties than anyone of any great importance. The man introduced himself at the door as someone who was there to help. But Dutch wasn't interested. However, the visiting nurse let him in anyways. Seeing this, Dutch grumbled as the man strolled up to his bed.

What do you want? If you're here to sell me something, I'm not interested, he muttered.

Oh, I'm not here to sell you anything, Mr. Collins. I'm here to give you back everything you've lost, and more, said the man.

Yeah, right. What can you do for me that everyone else hasn't already tried, grumbled Dutch.

Well, for starters, I can give you back your sight, and the use of your arms and legs.

Upon hearing this, the visiting nurse quietly excused herself, and left the house as Dutch laughed mockingly at the man.

Nobody can do that, retorted Dutch.

But we can. Our medical staff is able to perform miracles beyond your wildest dreams.

And how much is this going to cost me? I bet it'll be a pretty penny. Although that doesn't matter since the fed won't pay for it anyways. So your proposal is pointless.

The man chuckled.

Who said you have to pay for it? What I offer you is free of charge.

Dutch studied the man curiously.

So what's the catch? There's always a catch to everything. Especially something this good.

The man grinned.

You are right. There is a catch. But it's one I'm sure you'll like.

Dutch grunted.

Thought so. Alright, spill it, he said.

We offer you the chance to have full use of your body again, including both of your eyes, as well as unlimited opportunities to fly for as long as you wish, be it for three months, or the rest of your life, said the man.

And what do I have to give in return?

The man shrugged.

All you have to do is be willing to join our organization.

Dutch stared suspiciously at the man.

And what organization do you represent? The Russians? The Chinese?

The man chuckled and shook his head.

No, Mr. Collins. I represent an organization known as the Society.

Dr. John Rasmussen was a man of science. Not your typical run of the mill science, but rather a field of theoretical physics more advanced and complex than most scientists could grasp. Because of this, many of his colleagues laughed his theories, and his research, to scorn. But not everyone. Some even went beyond this and worked to cut his legs out from under him as a way to silence his perceived pedantry and foolishness. As a result, he was often forced to tow the company line as most scientists in his field did, concentrating only on those endeavors that would either guarantee them a job, or sufficient grant money to do their research. Those that deviated from the narrow road of acceptable science, set down by the academic, government, or corporate worlds, rarely saw their work rewarded, and even fewer found funding. In theory, this was counter to the rules of scientific discovery that encouraged scientists to search for the unknown and reveal hidden truths. But true and proper scientific discovery took a back seat to profits, prestige, politics and personal agendas. The scientific world had long since ceased being a place of learning and discovery, and had instead become a thinly veiled, publicly and privately funded, megalith of government or corporately directed, profit focused, product R&D. Dr. Rasmussen found himself mired in the midst of this mess, unable to find a true outlet for the intricate and complex theories that swirled around in his head.

They were all great ideas with world changing implications. But, if they could not somehow be exploited by his corporate overlords for profit and personal gain, they were thrown out with the same disdain as common household refuse. Even supposedly independent colleges and universities were in on the take, seeking ways in which to turn the science and academics exercised within their walls into generous piles of money that were quite often used to line the pockets of certain high placed individuals, both inside and outside of the schools. Time and again his most innovative projects were either rejected, or denied grant money, forcing him to repeatedly return to the petty, mediocre, scientific charlatanism he so detested. However, despite how much he despised being a part of this heretical excuse for proper science, it paid the bills. And, if he was ever to see his ideas become reality, he would need to ensure that those bills continued being paid for the foreseeable future. It was during this time of frustration that something interesting happened. He received a phone call one day from a stranger who seemed genuinely interested in his work. And, for the first time in ages, Rasmussen was actually excited. So he invited the stranger to come meet him in his office at noon to discuss his interest in the doctor's work, as well as potential funding opportunities. The stranger agreed, and showed up to his office the following day in a simple, but fashionable gray business suit and tie, with a thin metal briefcase in his hand. He took a seat in a chair in front of the desk and stared at Rasmussen with an excitement as though meeting with an old friend.

It's nice to finally meet you doctor, he said.

It is a pleasure to meet you, as well. I'm to understand that you're interested in my research? said Rasmussen.

We are more than just interested. We want to fund and support it.

Rasmussen perked up at this.

You want to fund it? Why? Everyone else says that my theories are pedantic drivel not worth the paper they're printed on.

We disagree. We believe that your theories have great merit to them. In fact, they interest us enough that we are willing to not only fund your research, but also supply you with all the equipment, resources, and help you need to complete your work.

This greatly interested the doctor. But, given his past experience with spontaneous donors, he wanted to be sure this wasn't just some worthless flight of fancy, or yet another corporate suit trying to rope him into doing their dirty work. Or worse yet, a rival trying to embarrass him out of revenge, or for personal gain. So he studied the man intently, his eyes narrowing as he did.

What's the catch? he asked with suspicion.

The man grinned.

No catch, doctor. Our offer is very simple. We give you all you need to complete your work, and you simply invent, discover, and create to your heart's content.

That's it? asked Rasmussen.

Well, there is one other thing.

Rasmussen grunted.

I knew it. There's always a catch.

Well, this is a catch I think you can live with.

Alright, what is it? he muttered.

You will have to forsake everyone and everything you know or have here.

Rasmussen cocked an eyebrow.

That's all? he said with a hint of disappointment.

Is this a problem for you? asked the man.

Rasmussen snorted.

Would you believe me if I said no? I'm so sick of the hypocrisy and lunacy of this place that I'd gladly leave it all behind.

Then you'd be willing to come work for us?

Rasmussen cocked his head slightly.

Well, I might. But I first want to know who you are. Or, at least, who you work for.

The man smiled.

That is a legitimate request. Doctor Rasmussen, I represent an organization known as the Brayburn Society.

Dutch looked at the man with great curiosity.

The Society? Are you talking about the American people? Or our local city? he asked.

The man shook his head.

You will have to forgive me if I have confused you, since you are unfamiliar with the place I come from. The Society that I speak of is more correctly referred to as the Brayburn Society. But as time has worn on, we have come to simply call ourselves the 'Society'. We are an organization that seeks the betterment of all mankind, and Earth as a whole, through science and discovery.

Dutch grunted.

Science? I'm a stick jockey, not a lab rat.

The man nodded.

True, but even an organization such as ourselves needs pilots and military aviators.

Dutch narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

Military aviators? What country are you from? he asked.

We are not from one single country, but rather many. Our people hail from almost every corner of the world, both now, and in the past.

Dutch grunted.

What are you? Some crazy super secret para-military group or something?

The man laughed.

We're not quite that idealistic, Mr. Collins. The focus of the Society is science. And, while we do possess our own military force, they only exist to protect us, and Earth, from threats outside of Sol. And a few from within whenever necessary.

So you mean this is some weird space organization that fends off all the little green men?

The man laughed.

We are, in a way. As I said, our military forces are for defensive purposes only.

Those with power use that power to maintain what they have, lest it be taken from them, said Dutch, quoting an ancient parable.

The man grinned.

True strength is having power, and not using it, he replied in kind.

Dutch smiled slightly.

Well said. So, has your military ever used its power against anyone?

The man shrugged.

They've been through a few skirmishes over the years, but none of which were anything that we, ourselves, started. Everything that we've gone through has been entirely defensive.

Dutch nodded. He was starting to like this guy. Even if he wasn't sure of the man's motives, he didn't seem all that bad.

So, if I join this organization of yours, what will I be required to do?

Well, as a pilot, there are numerous things you can do.

Whoa, wait a second. I can't pilot anymore. I'm paralyzed.

I know that. But we have technology that can return your body to full vitality again, even restoring your vision to its fullest, said the man.

Dutch looked at his legs, and then flexed his one good hand slightly.

You could give me the ability to fly again? he asked more somberly.

The man nodded. Dutch cocked an eyebrow suspiciously.

Forgive me for seeming skeptical, but every doctor I've talked to has said that there's nothing more they can do for me.

And they are correct, since their medical science is fairly limited compared to ours.

Dutch squinted in curiously.

You speak as though yours is more advanced, he said with a hint of suspicion.

The man nodded.

It is. And we can offer you a complete healing as a demonstration of our good intentions, if that will help change your mind.

So, let me get this straight. If I agreed to allow you to heal me, assuming you can, once you do so, there will be no catches, requirements, nor stipulations that I need to adhere to afterwords? And, if I ever wanted to, I could just walk away from you guys at any time, no strings attached, right?

That's is correct.

And what if I choose to stay?

The man smiled.

The potential opportunities available to you will only be limited by the boundaries of your will, and your imagination.

Rasmussen looked at the man in surprise.

The Brayburn Society? Never heard of them. Where are they located?

In space.

Rasmussen frowned slightly.

Oh great, another quack. I knew this was too good to be true, he thought. In space? he said in disbelief.

The man nodded.

Our people left Earth several centuries ago, and now populate all the nine planets of Sol, as well as the entire sector of space that surrounds it.

Rasmussen cracked a sarcastic smile.

So they're out there in space, playing tiddlywinks with the local space debris?

The man laughed.

Not exactly, but yes, they are out there.

Then why haven't I heard of you before? asked Rasmussen.

Because, we don't want you too. At least, not yet. If we had, we would've introduced ourselves years ago. But your world is not, as yet, ready for what the Society offers, nor the rigors of galactic citizenship. Thus we have purposely left you in the dark for your own protection.

Rasmussen grunted and stood up.

Alright, this prank has gone on long enough. I want you out of my office, now!

But this is no prank! insisted the man.

Rasmussen crossed his arms and frowned.

Prove it.

The man nodded.

I can if you like. However, you must promise me one thing.

And what's that?

That you'll give serious consideration to my offer if I do.

If you can prove to me that you're not lying, and this isn't some big, practical joke, then I'll gladly sign up for your organization. But, if you're lying, you've got one minute to hightail it out of here before I call campus security on you.

The man grinned slyly and tapped his ear.

Moon base one, we are go for portal. Two to transport up.

As Rasmussen cocked his eyebrow in curiosity, a grayish sphere of energy surrounded the two men briefly, and then vanished, leaving the office empty.

Dutch felt someone give him a gentle nudge on the shoulder, and then call out his name. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and was surprised to find himself in a strange room filled with consoles, gizmos and gadgets of every shape and type, most of which looked more like they'd be at home on a sci-fi movie set than in a hospital. A nurse passed a strange, blinking metal rod over his body, and then switched off the device.

He came through the procedure without any complications, she said.

Dutch yawned, stretched, and then paused in surprise as he felt his legs move. He sat up, and looked down at his feet in amazement. His toes were wiggling. All ten of them. The fact that all ten of them were even there to begin with was the most surprising. The nurse grinned upon seeing this.

It's been a while since you could move those, hasn't it? she asked.

Dutch nodded, but remained speechless. She pulled aside his blanket and took his hand.

Here, let me help you to your feet, she said.

Dutch cautiously turned, and then climbed out of the bed with the help of the nurse. This was the first time he'd stood up under his own power in months, and without any pain either. At first he stumbled slightly, but soon found himself able to walk properly. As he was strolling around the room, enjoying the newly restored use of his legs, he realized that his arms were whole again as well. Then, as he looked around the room with joy, he realized that both his eyes were also working! He began to leap and shout for joy, which drew smiles from several of the nurses in the room. A man in a fedora hat stood in a nearby corner of the room, and grinned at him.

So, what do you think? he asked.

What do I think!? I love it! How did you do this!? asked Dutch.

Micro-cellular regeneration. We have devices that can use your DNA and RNA as a blueprint to completely rebuild your body from the ground up. We also have the ability, using this method, to increase your vitality, and reduce your physical, and biological age, as well. Right now you're technically a fifty two year old in a twenty one year old's body, said the nurse.

And you guys have the technology to do this!? said Dutch in surprise.

The nurse nodded.

This is a very basic medical procedure for us. There are many others, which are more complex and difficult, that we can do as well, if needed. But this one is fairly routine, said the nurse.

I told you we could get you back to a hundred percent, if you just trusted me, said the man with the fedora hat.

And I'm glad I did, even if I was a bit skeptical at first. So, since you've been so gracious, and fixed me up all brand spanking new, I think it would only be appropriate for me to accept your offer in return, no strings attached.

Well, your acceptance of our offer was not dependent on our healing of your body. You're still welcome to walk away if you like.

Dutch snorted.

Are you kidding me!? I have nothing to go back to! And besides, after what you just did for me, you'd have to shoot me before I'd say no. So, where do I sign? said Dutch.

The man chuckled.

We're a paperless society, sir. So there's no physical paperwork on which to place your signature. However, there are still some formalities you'll have to go through before we can begin your life within the Society, and possibly the fleet.

Dutch grinned.

Bring it on!

Mike