The Crest

By Philip J Steele

Trista Bomstruck, a fifteen year old creative engineer, fills her daily life with amusing inventions. At the annual inventors’ festival, Trista is swept up in a war that her grandfather thought had ended. As an aggressive robotic army creeps closer to Trista’s doorstep, she and her grandfather are rescued by the strongest military force in the galaxy. Her grandfather’s heroic past is revealed and Trista realizes she has an integral role in the war to save humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philip J Steele
• Release date: Jul 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301699230

Philip J Steele

When Philip is not writing about distant galaxies or alien worlds, he spends his time with his wife, family, and friends. He is an elementary school teacher in Florida. Philip is an accomplished martial artist with a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. During his spare time, he enjoys playing guitar and gaming.

Book preview

***~~~***

The Crest

By Philip J Steele

Published by Philip J Steele at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Philip J Steele

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook 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 return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

***~~~***

The Crest

Chapter 1: A Great Day

Drone 2-43 Reporting.

Day: 95

Status: Functional

< Begin Transmission > The Master gives orders to find the one with information on the Crest. Scout reports and memory extractions lead to the planet Hethion 4. Reports will be sent daily from this point forward as per the Master’s request. < End transmission >

Trista woke with a start. It felt early. Through half-opened eyes she looked at the window’s drawn curtains. It was early, she said to herself blinking at the dawn, too early. Defiantly, she pulled the bed covers over her head and rolled away from the clock on her dresser. She closed her eyes again and almost drifted off once more until an alarm went off, startling her awake. Without hesitation, she quickly rolled over, thrusting her arm out of the blanket and silenced the noisy contraption, while muttering curses under her breath. Trista then tucked her hand into the warmth of her sheets.

Way too early for you. Shush, she grumbled as she enveloped herself in the soft cocoon of bedding and away from her clock.

Seconds later, the room’s lighting system brightened and a voice rang out from a flat speaker on the far wall. Good morning, Trista, the voice filled the room with its routine tone.

It was Ellise, the Neo-Nanny her grandfather had programmed for their household. Trista did not acknowledge the greeting. Instead she sneered from underneath the covers.

Good morning, Trista, the voice repeated, and then a pause.

Trista’s contorted face expressed her discontent for the morning.

More time! she yelled through the sheets. It’s just now dawn. Can’t you turn your circuit board off for at least another ten minutes? It was an order more than a request.

In her dulcet voice Ellise spoke again. I’m afraid, Miss Trista, that is not a request I am able to carry out at this time. The alarm has gone off and your grandfather is downstairs waiting for you. Breakfast is almost ready.

Trista scowled. Her head was still buried in the thickest part of her blankets. How about this, she began negotiating. Instead of shutting off, you just mute yourself for the rest of the day. Then I’ll think about getting up.

Her approach did not go the way she had planned. In an instant her covers were sucked off the bed and her mattress inclined to a sitting position. She was finally up. Trista wished awful things upon the Neo-Nanny.

The voice came over the speaker again, Good morning, Trista. It sounded too delighted. She was almost positive that this programming etiquette was her grandfather’s purposeful doing.

With eyes still not yet fully open, Trista mouthed sharp words through a big yawn, Good morning, Ellise. Even a robot would understand the insincerity of her tone. I guess just five more minutes was out of the question?

Today it was, Miss Trista.

Well, I’m up now. Thanks a bunch.

You’re welcome, Miss Trista.

As much as she hated to admit it, Ellise was right. It was the day of the Solar Festival. As a fifteen year old student, it was finally her time to show off her talents as a young inventor, while making good of her self-proclaimed inventive prowess. Still, a few more minutes of sleep wouldn’t have hurt.

Trista wobbled a bit as she stood. She had been in a good state of sleep, deep and carefree. With one final yawn she hastily began to dress herself in her usual fashion: black shirt and her favorite long tan pants. Now more awake, she went over to the mirror leaning against the wall and pulled her mid-length black hair back into her traditional pony-tail fashion.

She looked at her reflection and stared at her light gray eyes. Plain face as always. She hated make-up and refused to wear it even under the most appropriate circumstances. With a huff, she made sure her green short-sleeved vest, and the many pockets on her pants, were straight before stepping out in front of public eye.

Satisfied with her appearance, Trista took a hard look at the brown box on her desk. The workspace around it was littered with bolts, springs, and metal scraps. Welding tools and all types of wires were strewn across the floor underneath an old metal chair nearby. Trista eyed the rest of her room. The position of her bed gave her plenty of space to spread out her work items. She beamed at the mess. It looked like someone had been working tirelessly into the night to finish the gadget that was now wrapped up in that very package. She just hoped that all of her work would pay off.

Your grandfather is waiting in the kitchen for you, Miss Trista, Ellise interrupted her thoughts. Shall I tell him you will be down in a moment?

I’m going, Ellise. I’m going, Trista said harshly. One day soon I’m going to rewire those voice circuits of yours so I can sleep through the morning. She was already thinking about how she would begin such a task. It brought a satisfying smile to her face.

When the Neo-Nanny didn’t answer Trista knew it was processing a response to her comment. Luckily her grandfather had not programmed sarcasm into the command base. Ellise said nothing as Trista walked out of the small bedroom with her head held high over her victory.

The kitchen, much to Trista’s enjoyment, was lively. A typical morning started with some smoke from a random appliance and a few choice words from Grandpa Finneus Bomstruck. He would then yell at Ellise for not helping out before he was covered in whatever it was he had attempted to cook that morning. You would never have been able to tell his age by the commotion he let on when battling the breakfast bots. It is no surprise he was as skinny as a nail when half of the meal ended up all over the table or on his lap. Trista may have loathed getting up at a decent hour, but she loved mornings in Apartment 34’s kitchen. The chaos was always an entertaining way to start the day.

Standing just in sight of the doorway, she was able to witness the middle of a fight commencing between the toaster and her grandfather. Trista only smirked as she watched him lean over the out of control machine like a cat ready to pounce on a rat. The toaster did not want to give him his bread. It kept jumping back and forth on the counter just out of his reach. She knew he should never have tried to modify the old toaster. It worked just fine before Bomstruck hands began to grow idle. It now had a mind of its own and Grandpa was losing this morning’s battle.

Idiotic gear-head! he huffed. Give me my toast or I’ll scrap you into a mantle-piece! He hadn’t noticed Trista watching him, giggling.

He lunged at the device but it quickly evaded his grasp, shooting the toast at his face.

I’ll fix you, you blasted machine! No amount of illorite in the galaxy will bring you back from where I’ll send you! he yelled wiping crumbs from his eye brow as he grabbed for a spatula.

Trista just shook her head in amazement and casually leaned against the wall, still staring and smiling. Seeing the toast fly through the air was making her hungry.

While he was locked in this epic struggle between man and bread, Trista took the opportunity to slip by them and open the refrigerator. Grandpa Bomstruck, hearing the noise, looked up.

His nearly bald head was red and he was sweating. Immediately he hid the spatula behind his back and straightened his scrawny frame. He was a good head taller than Trista. His thin eyebrows creased over his blue eyes and his slender face narrowed to his strong chin. His clenched teeth caused it to jut out even more than usual.

Oh, Trista! His cheeks bloomed into a dark shade of burgundy. I hadn’t noticed you’d come in. Good morning, my dear. A warm smile stretched across his face.

That’s more like it, she thought to herself.

Think you could help me round up my breakfast? No sooner did he speak when another piece of toast flew between them and slapped up against the kitchen window.

Looks like your breakfast is rounding up you, Grandpa.

Grandpa Bomstruck grimaced, unamused.

Trista nodded and closed the refrigerator door, placing the juice pitcher she had reached for on the counter top. Looking at her grandfather sweetly, she pulled the toaster plug out of the electrical outlet on the wall and twirled the cord in her fingers. The toaster convulsed on its side for a moment before laying still. Then she leaned over and kissed her grandfather on the cheek. The perspiring old man stood there staring at the cord with his mouth wide-open and speechless.

Grandpa Bomstruck muttered something about sending the toaster down three stories of building as he proceeded to dig out the rest of his toast with a butter knife. Trista waited until her back was towards him to let out another silent laugh.

So what’s illorite? Never heard of it before, she asked.

Grandpa Bomstruck raised a questionable brow. What? He thought for a moment. Oh, nothing, Trista. Just a molding material we old folks used to use. He smiled.

She set the pitcher on the table and sat waiting for her breakfast to be done. Within minutes a pan with freshly cooked eggs shot onto the table from the oven. The smell made her mouth water. It was turning out to be a good morning.

Breakfast is served, Ellise announced.

Her grandfather tossed a plate with charred bread on the table and flopped down in his chair. Somehow the bread had soggy, blackened edges even though it had been burned to a crisp.

Trista eyed the crusty meal and felt a lump in her throat. Gross was the only word that came to her mind.

Toast? asked her grandfather still red in the face.

Um, The gears in her head moved fast. I’m good. These eggs will be enough. Thank you though. She smiled.

Her grandfather stared at the plate for a moment. Probably the best choice you’ll make all day.

Certainly the healthiest, she said softly. She quickly turned away and continued eating before her grandfather could shoot her a look.

With a heavy sigh he waited silently for Trista to finish the non-disastrous portion of breakfast. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him reach for two cups.

Wait! she yelled excitedly. Looking at the cups made Trista remember something.

Grandpa Bomstruck nearly jumped out of his seat. What in the...., but before he could finish his sentence Trista took out a small device from one of the many pockets on her pants. In her hand was a thin, two button remote.

Proudly, she said, This is one of the things I’ve been working on. She cleared her throat when she saw the puzzled look on her grandfather’s face. Not this, she said smirking at the plastic device. This. Trista held the remote towards a far cabinet and pushed the top button.

From one of the cabinets over the kitchen counter, a small tin cup with three legs popped out. It jumped to the table and made its way to the pitcher of juice. It sat there, waiting.

Grandpa Bomstruck’s grin showed his amusement. My brilliant granddaughter, he said. You make me so proud. This is wonderful. He held out his hands.

Trista’s smile was so big it exposed her top row of teeth. She poured the juice into the still cup and set the pitcher back down. With a press of the bottom button the cup shook and began to steadily move over to where her grandfather was sitting. It was very careful not to spill a drop.

He gleefully grabbed the bot by its sides and placed the rim to his mouth. After a small sip he looked down and then met Trista’s gaze. He smiled his approval. She was very excited that it worked. Most of her inventions usually ended in tragedy, with an explosion here, or a cloud of smoke there. But this one actually worked!

Suddenly the little mechanical cup shook violently in Grandpa Bomstruck’s hands. With a jerk of its side, it launched the liquid onto his face and puffed a swirl of smoke up into his nostrils. He dropped the cup on the floor and its little legs scurried into the hallway, disappearing around the corner. Trista looked at the scene in astonishment. Grandpa Bomstruck stared at the table in shock and coughed a small cloud of smoke.

Of course, she sighed. Trista dropped her head on the kitchen table and closed her eyes. It was then that she heard an unexpected sound of laughter. Trista lifted her head to see a giant grin on his face and a deep, hearty laugh heaving his chest up and down. She couldn’t help but grimace uneasily even with his face soaked in juice and ash.

You okay, Grandpa? You didn’t breathe in too much of that smoke did you?

I’m fine, Trista. That was highly amusing. he said still chuckling.

It should have worked. I had it walking across my room without spilling a drop all yesterday. Maybe I should go check its processor. It must have a glitch in its cycle.

Grandpa Bomstruck proceeded to wipe his face with a nearby napkin. And can I suggest not bringing it to any social gatherings anytime soon?

Trista thought about it for a second. It could still be a good gag gift.

Grandpa Bomstruck reached again for their regular cups and safely poured more juice.

You know, her grandfather went on after taking an overcautious sip, when I was your age that would have served me well. He took another long sip of his juice from the inanimate cup.

Why’s that? she asked. You enjoyed juice baths?

As delicious as that sounds, no. I was a lazy young adult and didn’t like to get up for anything. If I had a few of those, life would have been a bit easier.

Suddenly he became quiet. She thought it odd that whenever he would begin to talk about his past he would immediately drift off into a completely different thought.

I’ll need the mop bot to clean this mess. Trista, would you be a dear and flip the switch?

Trista did so without question and immediately a spindly robot with a mop attachment skittered across the floor. It began diligently cleaning the spilled juice.

She looked down the hall again. Little puffs of smoke from the malfunctioning cup were popping up from room to room. Think we should chase down that little guy before he smokes us out of the house? She motioned down the hall.

Bah! Grandpa Bomstruck scoffed. Half the fun of inventing something is watching it wreak a bit of chaos before it’s fixed. It’ll run out of steam eventually. He winked at her. Besides, don’t you need to be getting ready for something? He looked up at the clock over the stove.

She glanced in the same direction and alarm spread across her face. Oh bolts! she cursed. I’m gonna be late to the festival.

Her grandfather chuckled. Ah yes, he said. The look in his eyes told Trista he was reminiscing again, and she loved it when he did.

The Solar Festival. An inventor’s haven for the wildest gadgets of our age. Better get going then.

Trista rushed out of the kitchen, crossed the hall, and dashed to her bedroom where the little brown package was sitting. She quickly grabbed it and ran out of the room again toward the front door. She made a list in her head of everything she needed. Package? Check. Shoes? They were by the front door. Check. Grandpa Bomstruck? She looked around. No Grandpa Bomstruck.

Grandpa? she called out as she paced quickly back to the kitchen. Aren’t you coming? She peered around the corner to find Grandpa Bomstruck cleaning the table slowly and thoroughly. He had not heard her. His mind must have drifted elsewhere for the moment.

Trista tried to get his attention again. Don’t you want to come and watch? Concern washed over her face. You love this time of year.

He turned his head without setting down the dishes in his hand. It’s alright Trista. I’ll catch up. I just need to tidy up a bit.

She was disappointed to hear those words. The festival was a big deal for him, being the gadget-lover that he is. The whole situation just didn’t feel right to her.

Are you sure you’re okay, Grandpa? she asked one last time.

He reassured her with a gentle look. I will be there, by your side, when the time comes. He gave another one of his loving