The Late, Great Benjamin Bale

By John Joseph Doody

The Guild Saga, Book Two

The Late, Great Benjamin Bale

by John Joseph Doody

The destinies of two men depend on Maggie Thorn. One is dying and the other is dead...or is he?

Supreme Fleet Commander, Admiral Geoff Grangore knows of only one man who could get Maggie to Timmerus and back while traitorous eyes are watching. That man is an old drunk who lives deep in the Thandimonean wilderness with his pet Eno, Snot. Benjamin Bale is suicidal and cantankerous, and Maggie can’t stand him—at first.

Bale is a dead man. At least, that’s what everyone was told. But this dead man has a final mission to perform. The greatest star pilot in the galaxy has a chance to redeem himself and make right a great wrong. A wrong which he can never forgive or forget. A wrong that cost him everything.

Genres: Science Fiction, Action/Adventure

Novel

And don’t forget to see how this all started in The Wonk Decelerator, Book One of The Guild Saga.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eTreasures Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Oct 2, 2013
• ISBN: 9781937809478

Book preview

The Late, Great

Benjamin Bale

By John Joseph Doody

Published by eTreasures Publishing, LLC at Smashwords

ISBN 978-1-937809-47-8

*****

Copyright 2013 John Joseph Doody

All Rights Reserved.

Cover Artist: Christie Caughie

No part of this book may be reproduced, except for review purposes, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any format or by any means without express written consent from the publisher. This book in electronic format may not be re-sold or re-distributed in any manner without express written permission from the publisher.

Print version published available at eTreasures Publishing, LLC

Visit Author Website at www.johndoody.com

This book is entirely fiction and bears no resemblance to anyone alive or dead, in content or cover art. Any instances are purely coincidental. This book is based solely on the author’s vivid imagination.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Prologue: I Saw it in Her Eyes

Galactic Guild Commander, Thad Cochran sensed he was being carried. He could hear muffled voices and boot-clad footsteps, like a harried funeral march, echoing against metal bulkheads.

For a moment his eyes opened and he looked up at a gray, sheet-metal ceiling with recessed yellow lighting and row upon row of bubble-topped steel rivets.

I’m back aboard the Independence. I remember now.

Three of his comrades carried him—Gome Learn, Alex Sco and Doc Branch. Their expressions were grim, and there was blood on Doc Branch’s hands.

Is that my blood?

Doc Branch noticed his eyes had opened. Hold on, Commander. We’re taking you to the infirmary.

Where’s Thorn?

Captain Thorn is still in the hangar bay. She’s with that machine you brought us—the M-3. Do you remember?

I remember.

Thad started coughing and tasted blood. He remembered Sudwig’s words, while in the caverns of Timmerus. ‘You’ve got the Wonk sickness, baby.’

It’s a Wonk Traveler, Thad said between gasps. He grinned weakly. Did she see the droid’s skin yet?

Doc Branch frowned. Skin? What skin are you talking about, Commander?

Gome Learn’s eyes got big. So that’s what that was. Yeah, I saw it on the floor of the M-3.

Thad smiled at the thought of Maggie discovering the oozing blob of Mandroid skin on the floor of the Traveler. She could be so uptight. Tweaking her sensibilities was one of his favorite pastimes.

It was a struggle for him to talk. Loaded with Chromytheum...worth a bundle.

The smile faded when he remembered the look he’d seen in her eyes in the hangar bay. Maggie was angry. He knew what happened when she got good and mad. All hell was about to break loose.

Things got fuzzy. He was placed on a gurney. Something was put over his nose to help him breathe. He could hear more conversation, then Doc Branch started shouting.

He’s going into cardiac arrest!

Thad’s chest tightened as if in a vise, pain shot down to his toes and his ears rang like someone beating on cymbals.

His vision cleared. He was surrounded by flat-topped medic-bots, their square eyes glowing white, Doc Branch in the middle of them, pressing buttons frantically and yelling at the other two to get out of his way.

Thad saw tubes, with a yellow substance flowing through them, running from a medic-bot to his arm. He wasn’t in pain now. Everything had become very still.

Doc Branch looked at him, leaned close and talked loudly. Thad had always liked Doc Branch. He was a good man.

Do you have family, Commander?

Thad blinked, focused on the question, then answered in a strained whisper, My father...

Doc Branch’s eyes rounded out apologetically. Oh yeah, I’d forgotten. Your father is an admiral with the Confederation, right?

A big shot, he said. Not good for him to be the father of a traitor.

Should I contact him? Is he your only relative?

Thad didn’t answer. He was having trouble breathing. The doctor must have realized it and pushed some buttons. More oxygen came Thad’s way and he relaxed a bit. He saw Learn and Sco standing apprehensively behind the medic-bots. He could tell by their ashen expressions they figured he was a goner.

I’m dead to him. With warmth filling him, he gazed at them. You’re my family...this ship...family.

Thad took a deep breath. He needed to get these words out. It was important. Tell Thorn...the M-3 is Gravian’s. He let me go.

Who’s Gravian, Commander?

Thad looked at him. He’s a yazz. They’re just like us...some good, some bad. I was wrong about them.

Dark clouds filled the room and swallowed everything up. His vision failed. He reached and grabbed a fistful of Doc Branch’s white jacket. Don’t let Maggie go back. I saw it in her eyes. It’ll be like Coomrun...

Calm down, Commander. Save your strength.

Not because of me...a screw up. The darkness pulled at him.

You’re no screw up, Commander. No more talking.

The Wonks are back...can’t get away from them.

Some medic-bot started ringing out an alarm.

He’s going into cardiac arrest again. You two get over here and help me. I’m going to give him an injection of anphemerol. It’s our only hope now.

It was like he was being drawn back into Wonk space. There was a familiar sense of loneliness—deep and profound. It was as if he was strapped again into the pilot seat of the M-3. He could hear Doc Branch saying, You’re going to sleep now, Commander. Just relax.

He became aware of another distant voice, and then a hand touched his hand, caressing it gently. Exhaling, he let go, knowing Maggie was there.

Cochran, don’t give up. You’ve got to fight.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, but at a time in his life when he was finally ready to say them, the Wonks dragged him back into the darkness. He tried to squeeze her hand, to at least say good-bye, but his strength failed, his hand went limp and he was utterly alone in the universe.

Now there was only darkness. Darkness and, along with it, a new companion. For the first time in his life he was truly afraid of something. It wasn’t dying he was afraid of. It wasn’t that simple.

Thad Cochran was afraid of the Wonks. And now the Wonks were everywhere.

Chapter One: The Eagle that Forgot How to Fly

Three days later

The eagle-shaped hull of the Guild star cruiser Independence was sheathed with interconnected girders and crawled with slow-moving, tethered workers, all clad in silver space suits, while the starship drifted in orbit, getting a facelift and a new paint job, above Thandimone.

Captain Margaret Thorn watched a busy gang of boatswains through her ready room portal. They used a solar-powered paint chipper on the ship’s fuselage that sent a cloud of silver flakes billowing outward into a red debris-catcher. The visors on their helmets reflected the Thandimonean sun—a yellow dwarf with a blue corona that Earthers had nicknamed Sid. The glare made her look away.

Below she saw the eastern hemisphere of Thandimone, its terrain comprised mainly of green, forested mountains and a lowland wilderness that was swallowed up on its eastern rim by an encroaching desert.

Along the distant horizon, she also saw the edge of the blue, shimmering waters of the Great Thandimonean Ocean.

Thandimone was a two-day journey from Timmerus. When their mission, to find and bring back the Wonk Decelerator from that Meganite world, had collapsed, Maggie had been ordered to harbor her ship here, until the Guild decided what to do with the M-3, and the Frontier Council decided what to do with her. She was to attend a hearing in a couple of hours to settle the latter issue.

Her gaze traveled back briefly to the boatswains. One of them noticed her and waved stiffly. Because of the glare, she couldn’t see the face behind the visor. She returned the wave mechanically then rose to her feet.

Maggie pulled her dark hair back, like she was pulling a sword from a scabbard, then tied it off into a pony tail. She slipped on a pair of sparring gloves, then punched the wall eight or ten times until she could feel the pain through the gloves.

Training-bot, protocol...Thorn, she said, through gritted teeth.

The ship’s computer responded in a phonetically delivered, metallic male voice. What kind of workout would you prefer, Captain Gorgeous?

Personal combat...intense mode.

I must warn you, Captain—you could be injured. I would instead recommend a nice medium level workout today. Otherwise, you should put on protective gear.

I don’t recall asking for your opinion.

Very well, Captain. Hand to hand, unprotected, mixed martial arts it is.

There was a hum and a whir in the far wall. A panel slid open and a black metal cube, about waist high, no more than a foot square by a foot thick, riding on a set of silver wheels, rolled into the room and stopped a few feet away from her.

Prepare to defend yourself, Captain Thorn.

The black box expanded upward and outward, spinning as it went. Soon the contours of a battle droid emerged. Two arms straightened. Two wheels stretched into a pair of legs and a square head settled down between a set of broad, bronze shoulders.

The fighter-bot had no eyes, just a square patch of flashing red sensors in the center of its featureless, flat face. Maggie pretended the fighter-bot was a lizard-faced Meganite. That got her blood boiling.

She had fought this droid many times before. She knew it had two weak spots. One in the middle of its chest and one directly beneath its eye sensors. If she managed to hit either one of these spots, the droid would be crippled. Of course, no one had ever actually managed to accomplish this feat against this particular fighter-bot model.

There’s a first time for everything—right?

She went on the offensive, punching in short, furious combinations and kicking toward its flat head. The droid easily defended her assault, knocking down her attack with heavy arms and elbows and defending itself by launching an aggressive counter attack.

One of its powerful kicks got through and stung her on the thigh.

Maggie winced, backpedaled and limped slightly. The droid followed her, its eye sensors flashing bright red and its joint motors humming audibly.

The computer spoke up. Are you hurt, Captain Thorn? Would you like to take a break, or change to an easier mode now?

I’ll tell you if-and-when I decide to quit, you hammer-headed sack of Daggonite pig crap. Maggie screwed her mouth up like she had just swallowed a jug of vinegar. Then she went after the droid again, this time launching right and left hooks, upper cuts and looping leg whips.

Again the droid mirrored her moves, swatted away her punches and batted down her kicks. A metal foot slammed into her shin. A lightning fast right cross followed, clipped her on the shoulder and sent her careening into the bulkhead behind her.

Maggie bounced off the wall. She leapt to her right and her feet left the floor as she flipped completely over. When she landed, she came out swinging and peppered the droid’s defenses. Not a single strike got through, but the fighter-bot had been forced to back up a step. It was a small victory—of sorts.

The droid went on the attack and launched a volley of blows. Its sensors flashed. Sweat soaked Maggie’s back and chest as she dodged and weaved. She slipped beneath one of those withering attacks and managed to get behind the droid. Spying an undefended spot, she aimed a hooked foot at the droid’s back, but only struck air.

The droid had already anticipated her move, leaped backward, head-over-heels and landed facing her several feet away. It’s impossible for you to penetrate my defenses at this level, Captain Thorn. I’m programmed to perform superhuman moves in this mode. Are you certain that you wouldn’t like to switch to an easier mode?

Shut up. I’m trying to blow off steam and you’re ruining it.

As you wish, Captain Thorn.

The droid charged her with a relentless volley of back-fists. It glided at her like it was on roller skates. She backpedaled, knocked down as many swings as she could and ignored the pain left by the shots that got through.

A stray punch clipped her on the jaw and drew a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth.

The droid stopped its attack and went motionless. I am not programmed to inflict harm on my opponent, Captain Thorn, the computer said. I will have to terminate this training session now.

Belay that, Maggie said, breathing heavily and gathering herself together. Override protocol...Thorn. Now defend yourself, you bucket of bolts.

Very well, Captain. I have eliminated all protection protocols at your direction. As they say, it’s your funeral.

She inhaled deeply. Force, will and light, she murmured, exhaling. These are the three pillars of Luch Chi. She glared at the droid. My hands are hammers, my feet are missiles and my will is unbreakable. This is Luch Chi.

I am familiar with Luch Chi, Captain Thorn, the computer replied, matter-of-factly. I currently have three volumes on the defensive art of Luch Chi, as well as one hundred articles in thirteen languages on this same topic, in my memory access. Would you be interested in reading any of this material should you survive our sparring session?

Shut up, Maggie shouted. How can I pretend you’re a yazz with you jabber-jawing constantly?

She went at the droid with a renewed fury. With rapid-fire precision, she attacked. It backed away under her withering assault. The motors in its joints whirred louder. The sensors in its face flashed heatedly. The droid seemed to be nearing its programmed limits.

But then it left its feet and flipped over backward. A heavy, metal foot inched upward toward her chin as it went by. Maggie stepped back, avoided the knock-out kick, stumbled and then, to her own amazement, kicked the droid in the back as it passed her in mid-flight.

It was a clean hit. The first she had ever managed against the droid at this level.

What do you think of that, you pile of junk.

Her victory, however, was short lived. The droid landed on its feet and assaulted her with back hand strikes and kicks aimed at her knees and shins. One blow smashed down on her foot—the same foot she’d used to kick it in the back.

Was that retaliation, you sack of techno crap?

The pain spurred her on to try harder. Her side ached and she was getting tired, but she noticed some holes in its defenses now. She just had to stay clear of its punches long enough to slip one of her own in and she might just disable it.

Just then the droid lunged at her, kicked her dead-solid in the gut and sent her flying across the ready room. She landed on her desk, slid across it and hit the deck.

Okay, maybe I was getting a bit too optimistic.

With the wind knocked out of her, she lay there, gasping and grunting. Her anger boiled over. All she saw were lizard-like, blue faces. All she could think about was Thad Cochran—tubes running in and out of him—barely clinging to life.

The Meganites would pay for what they’d done. She would see to it.

It would be best to terminate this session, Captain Thorn. I will remove your override and you can call for a stretcher.

Belay that, Maggie shouted. I was just catching my breath.

She popped out from behind the desk, a bit wobbly and rumpled, and then raised her fists as she settled into a defensive crouch. This time I take you out, she growled, sucking in air.

That’s physically impossible, Captain Thorn.

So you say. Now, where was I?

I believe you said something about Luch Chi, Captain Thorn. And then I offered you some reading material on that subject—then I stomped your foot.

Just then the ship’s whistle sounded through the ready room com.

This is Thorn, she said, wiping the sweat away from her eyes with her sleeve and glaring at the fighter-bot.

Gome Learn was on the horn. Captain, there’s a secure feed coming in from Fleet. For your eyes only.

Maggie looked at Hammer Head and sighed. Terminate session, she said.

Toodle-loo, Captain. Better luck next time.

The droid telescoped down to its original, cube-like form and rolled back into the far wall. She scowled and started rubbing at her sore spots. Go ahead and patch it through, Lieutenant, she said, irritably. And, Lieutenant...

Ma’am?

Have you been farting around with the ship’s computer again? I’m pretty sure it called me gorgeous a while back. Though that’s not necessarily a terrible thing in-and-of itself.

Sorry, Captain, I might have made some minor changes to the computer’s salutation protocols.

Well, undo it, Lieutenant. No one likes a fresh, mouthy computer.

Yes, ma’am.

And round up Commander Sco and Lieutenant Lemaru. We’ll all meet on the bridge in one hour.

Yes, ma’am. Captain, there’s something else.

What is it, Lieutenant?

Doc Branch wants you to drop by the base hospital as soon as your hearing is finished.

Is there news? Maggie stiffened.

No, ma’am. He said to tell you he wants to give you something.

She relaxed, remembering Admiral Grangore’s plan. Very well, Lieutenant, go ahead and patch the feed through. I’ll take it on the holophone.

Yes, ma’am.

One more thing, Lieutenant. Get someone up here to look at my desk. I think one of the legs is broken.

Yes, ma’am.

****

The old man awoke face down on the ground, between two white grave markers. A cold rain soaked him and there was mud caked in his tangled gray hair. Inside his head, the voices of screaming children echoed out of the distant past. Shaking, he pulled himself up onto his hands and knees and vomited.

Then he heard her voice admonishing him from the recesses of his mind, No more killing, Benjamin Bale. Promise me.

I promise, he groaned, spitting bile and gagging. When he got his breath back, realizing she wasn’t really there, he wailed mournfully, Caroline, Geoffy, where are you?

When no one answered, he staggered to his feet with a grimace and blinked at the surrounding forest. Then he saw his flask on the ground nearby—where he had dropped it before he’d passed out. He retrieved it, stumbled and nearly toppled over. He sucked down a big draw, then retched again.

The booze was beginning to rot his insides. It was a slow death—too slow.

A small, monkey-like creature ambled beside him, reached and took his hand, then pulled him toward the house. Through tears and raindrops, he looked down at the creature and followed it.

I can’t live this way anymore, Snot. I don’t want you to be alone, but I just can’t do this anymore.

Benjamin opened the door, things were spinning and he murmured, Make sure there’s no Bashtier in the woods, Snot. After taking a step, he collapsed across the threshold. Snot tried to get him to his feet, but he was dead drunk, so they lay there together, Benjamin pulling him close. The door stood open behind them and the rain blew in—a soaking rain.

Snot stayed at the old man’s side as he always did. Benjamin immediately dreamed of a blue, lizard-like face and a Guild flag with too many stripes

His eyes popped open. Get out of my head, Darver.

****

Gome patched the communiqué through. The secure feed contained a video link. Still winded from her bout with the droid, Maggie sat down and hit a flashing square on the chair arm.

A flickering, blue, holographic grid enveloped her chair. In the center of the grid was a pulsating, rectangular box several feet high and several feet wide. She pressed a flashing cursor beneath the box and a video sprang to life.

The box expanded until it encased the video feed. She watched a rolling, three-dimensional screen. The ship’s computer spoke up.

Iris scan required.

Maggie held still while a blue light funneled out from the box and scanned her eyes.

Identification confirmed—Captain Margaret Thorn, Commanding Officer, Guild star cruiser Independence.

The three-dimensional viewer sprang to life. She was fond of the aging, gray-haired man on the screen. He had rescued her from the streets of Argo when she was thirteen years old, and he was the main reason she had become a Guild officer and hadn’t ended up, instead, in a Daggonite prison—or dead.

Admiral Geoff Grangore was one of her heroes and one of her biggest supporters in the Guild. Maggie Girl, he exclaimed. It’s certainly good to see you.

She smiled at him and it made her face hurt.

He peered at her and frowned. Is your lip bleeding, Maggie Girl?

She wiped at her lips with the back of her hand, saw a smear of blood there and twisted up her mouth sheepishly. The fighter-bot clocked me, she explained.

You don’t say. Grangore leaned against his desk, his arms folded on his chest. There was a red and white striped Guild flag, with a blue Earth at its center, on the wall behind him.

The hologram was a bit fuzzy, but she thought he looked dapper in his dress-whites.

I would like to be able to fill in my officers, Admiral.

He shook his head, his jaw set firmly. Unacceptable. The less they know the better. They can’t talk about what they don’t know, Maggie Girl. Your ship’s doctor has to be included, because he’s already involved in this up to his eyeballs and he’s useful to our plans. But no one else can know.

I don’t get it, Admiral. Why all of the hush-hush? I know there’s a traitor. Someone sold out Commander Cochran to the yazz, I get that. But why go through all of this to flush out one snake-in-the-grass? Why not just let Guild security handle it?

Because we may be dealing with a whole den of snakes. Some of them are powerful snakes, he said grimly. Therefore, secrecy will be of the utmost importance. Understood?

She nodded. I understand.

I’m just going to go ahead and tell you this, Maggie Girl. There’s been an attempt on the life of the president.

She gasped.

Those involved are still on the loose, and a few of us think it looks like a Confederation plot hatched by some of our own people. This makes your mission all the more important.

Grangore stepped around his desk and sat down. He thumbed through an electronic clipboard and then gave her a sober look. This can’t be like Coomrun. You have to be in control. I think you understand what I mean.

I understand, Admiral.

Upon hearing that, he seemed to relax and changed the subject. I too grew up on Daggon, Maggie Girl.

She didn’t know that. She realized she really didn’t know much at all about Geoff Grangore. I don’t think you’ve ever told me that before.

Of course, I didn’t grow up in that slum hellhole you grew up in. What was the name of that galactic toilet?

Argo, she murmured.

Life there made you hard as nails, he said. Sometimes that’s good, sometimes that’s bad. How long was it that you belonged to that Shepp runner?

Seven years, she said. From when I was five.

He looked away for a moment and his expression changed, like he was thinking of something that pained him. Are you familiar with the Toron Mountains of Daggon, Maggie Girl?

Maggie was puzzled by the question. I think there’s a volcano up there somewhere, but I’ve never been there, she said. I grew up in the city, Admiral. I never got out into the country much.

I grew up near the Toron Ridge, he said. "My family lived about thirty clicks from the volcano. One year, when I was fifteen, I stumbled across a Daggonite Eagle not far from our house. Both of its wings were broken. It was an enormous beast with bulging red eyes. It was nearly dead when I found it and nursed it back to health.

Funny thing was even though that eagle’s wings healed up—it still wouldn’t fly. No matter how hard I tried to get that bird to fly, it just wouldn’t do it. Did you know that a Daggonite eagle can forget how to fly?

I didn’t know that.

What’s with the sudden lesson on Daggonite wildlife? I’ve got places to go and lizards to kill.

That’s a fact, he said. They forget.

Grangore stood up and paced. It made the motion-sensitive video jump around some. You see, a Daggonite eagle learns how to fly, in the first place, when its mother kicks it out of the nest from the top of one of those massive cliffs. The young bird will fall thousands of feet, flapping its wings furiously, terrified all the way down, until its wings are strengthened enough to carry its big body aloft, or until it dies on the rocks at the bottom of one of the gorges. It’s a fear of dying that teaches the bird how to fly.

That seems like a rough way to get started in the world, she observed. "I suppose it’s a fifty-fifty chance of making it, at best.

He stopped pacing and looked at her. I thought this eagle had forgotten how to fly because it had taken its wings so long to heal. So I decided I’d try and help it learn how to fly all over again. One night I put that bird in a cage, then I slipped off unnoticed and made my way to the western rim of the volcano—where the big cliffs are. It took me two days to get there and another day to climb to the top of one of the cliffs.

That was an interesting choice to make, Admiral, she said.

Dumb as all get out, is what it was. He grinned then paced again, like these memories made him agitated.

When I got to the top I held that big bird over an abyss, thousands of feet deep, its wings flapping wildly. It looked at me like I was about to murder it. I’ve never seen such terror in the eyes of an animal.

Grangore stopped pacing and frowned. "Sometimes we just don’t know if what we are doing is