6: Silurian World

By Dante D'Anthony

The Swarm

Consider an eyeball. Billions of years of years ago a few light sensitive cells on a mere blob of primordial protoplasm. Fast forward and we have two hundred million cells in one of nature's great visualizing tools hooked up to the brain, scanning the universe. Wonder then what other senses may have developed in the untold eons and the eleven dimensions. Wonder and worry. They might be watching us now.
-Winteroud Sole, Caldris.

General Ossa glared at the holos from spy ships for weeks. He'd seen every seedy O'Neil station port and every two bit ore hauler with bad registry in three systems. He had a team on it working round the clock. Nothing that indicated private navies. Nothing that even indicated a stray Guildsman trading without tariffs. Yet that wasn't his true concern. Yes, he would do his duty. Private armies were a bad thing. His real desire was another search, the search for the missing intergalactic matter signature signal that had been edited from the probe reports before it hit the hive mind.
The ensign he'd assigned that covert research was standing before him now. Tamara Fortunato had grown up on Earth's moon in an industrial region humankind had occupied since the conquest of the solar system with sub-light drives. It was a world with traditions of mastering a complex artificial environment old as any, and people conditioned to subterfuge techno bureaucracies as a way of life. She was perfect. Ossa loved her for decades, but he was a general. That was that.
"Ensign?" he queried.
"Sir." She hesitated a moment and Ossa realized she was about to throw him a curve. "I tried eight-hundred different ways of getting at the data but it's locked up with overlord only security codes on every channel. I came in under a different auspice each time, but sooner or later a red flags going to go up-if it hasn't already-and the overlords are going to come after whoever is hacking the data."
"Are you requesting we surrender?" He chuckled.
"No Sir. I'm not. But on a hunch I thought maybe the matter we found out there was something we sent. I did a search of historic migration records and there was a colony ship-a huge one. It was sent out centuries ago.
"About a hundred miles long, really an O'Neil station with mega drives strapped on the back. Religious fundamentalists-they wanted out of our galaxy completely because it was too darn sinful, Sir. So they left on a journey that will take an eon to finish."
"The trajectory? That matter was coming towards the Milky Way, not away." Ossa knew she'd have an answer for him, but they had to run through this inquiry by the numbers.
"That's correct, Sir. Its orientation was in the departure trajectory, only reversed. They turned
around."
"Too much of an assumption. I don't buy it. They turned around an ark ship a hundred Kilometers long and started coming back?"
"I know it's a lot to buy. But I figured if they did turn around they might have had trouble, sent out a mayday. So I went through the files of guard satellites outside the Hercules cluster. One had record of a transmission but the codes were so old it hadn't translated them, simply filed. It was our mayday. I've managed to convert the file." She laid it on his desk.
"Have you seen it?"
"No sir."
Ossa threw his hands up. "You never fail to amaze me, Ensign. Put it on."
Nervously, she loaded the file and adjusted a flat screen projection.
It showed the hull of an O'Neil ship. Several people in Eva Suits were walking along the outer hull as if on routine maintenance work. They were followed by a couple of auto bots hauling equipment. Suddenly one of the humans turned and seemed to look up.
He stared for a moment and then began scrambling in a frenzy away from where he'd been...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dante D'Anthony
• Release date: Jul 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301627318

Dante D'Anthony

From South Buffalo New York. Producer, writer, artist. http://www.imdb.com/name/nm4873327/Currently heading up the launch of the “Pandoran Age Chronicles” franchise and the “Magnificent Raiders of Dimension War 1” feature film. D’Anthony has worked in Finance, NYSE Licensed broker with AG Edwards. He has worked in Commercial finance and project development in Miami with $70M in assets under management as the personal assistant to the owners at DCA International Real Estate and several high end Design, Architectural, and Development firms working on numbers of projects from conception through all aspects of Design Development, Financing, and Project management. In 2003 he won the Florida Communities Trust Grant ($6M) with his designs for parks in Southwest Ranches Florida. He has owned and managed two art publishing companies that have published art on clothing with national retailer accounts while maintaining ongoing bricks and mortar galleries. His current venture (a full animated studio launch) with a major Hollywood Producer involved includes a complete matrix of a feature film and merchandising franchise and a full console video game. Education: Undergraduate work at SUNY Buffalo, across from the venerable Albright Knox, Bachelor of Science in Design 1985 with a Concentration in Urban & Environmental Design. Included were seminars in Urban Planning and Design, and studios Interior Des, minor in Art History. At FIU in Miami graduate level Coursework in Fine Art & Special Education (continuing certification for Florida Department of Education) included figure drawing studies under the noted Richard Duncan. Additional Graduate Work in Architecture, Florida Atlantic University School of Architecture. NYSE Series 7 broker License, A.G. Edwards And Associates. U.S. Army reserves Corporal.

Book preview

Siluria and Diablo Nubula

Feature film Concept Art-Roy Rudder

Copyright © 2013

Dante D’Anthony

All rights reserved

SMASHWORDS EDITION

For Hazel

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Somewhere in time Hazel watched over us ragamuffins.

–Dante D’Anthony

Contents

The Bounty hunter of Rigel 6

Diablo Nebula, Siluria

Ocho’s World

Deneb IV

Amnesia

Ring around the rosy

Out of the Solar wind and into a Rad box

The Reckoning

Walking after midnight

The Bounty Hunter of Rigel 6

...like the Roman Empire in its long fall, the Cyborgians hired muscle from the barbarians. Called Sheriffs, these mercenaries came from all walks of nasty life. Background checks were intentionally sketchy. Their presence among the Outer Republics chaffed at the populations. They were given wide berth as CC armed them well. When they committed crimes of their own apprehending bounty, CC would throw its hand up, So sue them. One seeking reparations for overzealous, often violent Sheriffs, would soon learn the expense and Byzantine confusion of legal systems centuries in the making. It was a no lose proposition for CC. The sheriffs, desperate men with little fear, were more deadly than a score of Cyborgian police.

-Winteroud Sole, Caldris

Rigel 6, 4217

He was a strange, silent, giant of a man. Even at the Sheriff Induction facilities, he turned heads. His whole body was encased in grey animal hide of indeterminate origin. Only his deep-set blue eyes proved him human. His DNA scans showed no know previous arrests, and his shaky identification papers passed him without too much trouble. The office workers were glad of his departure when they handed him his authorization discs and sent him packing for his CC hunter-ship. They stood staring when he made his way for the lift.

That's one scary customer. One observed.

Thought I'd seen it all, another added. I wouldn't want him snooping around after me. Sheriff 182-61, enjoy the ride.

Yeah Buddy. You catch that outfit? What the heck was that stuff, human skin?

Petrified human skin?

They chuckled and moved on to the next potential sheriff, a far less imposing character with mere tattoos and genetically altered teeth.

182-61 showed no emotion as the lift carried him down to the hunter-ship bay. They were single person crafts. Black and waspy, the hunter ships were deadly scouts. Nothing about them indicated grace; they looked like the innards of other ships without hulls. Endless antennae, weaponry, and other devices slapped together with complete disregard for appearance, and so they were. State of the art hunter killing hardware that would never make it to a consumer market, and thus needed none of the styling of a hyper yacht, or even the voter appeal of military glamour. They looked like what they were-mechanistic predatory technology. Just the sight of one chilled nerves in hard men on dirty stations.

182-61, however, took a long glance, leaning back like an automaton psycho from a slasher sensorama, and without comment, it seemed to win his approval. The ship and the sheriff were of like natures. Single-minded purpose, frightening resolve. No negotiations. No compromise. Business ends of an ugly business. He climbed aboard his new home with the ease of one raised on interstellar craft, ran through system checks smoothly.

His new role as sheriff gave him access to the CCCE hive mind although he was an unborged Outworlder. 182-61 didn't stay long, the hive mind and his mind didn't have a taste for each other. He registered for his quarry-two renegade out pilots recently escaped from Ophelia. Vincent Mariner Leavel and Sagamore mad-dog Salvatore.

The information he was able to obtain from the hive mind relevant to his quarry sickened even this strange man. Leavel's lover had been transferred from Ophelia to the Silurian nebula for unknown reasons. The rumors shambling around the underworld were grim, horrible research done on living convicts. It was theorized Leavel might pursue her into that system because Leavel was considered borderline obsessive. 182-61 ran course projections through several systems where CC control was less than ideal, surmising Leavel would keep a low profile.

The hunter-killer ship lifted, with occupant, and ferried to an ejection port. Without ceremony, it was released from the side of the processing skyscraper and attained flight. It moved into the traffic of air cars buzzing among the towers, and then into higher traffic, again, and again until finally, breaking orbit, it made for the shipping lanes and system gateway.

It took the Gateway to New Galen system where dead worlds served as reminders to rebellious star men of Cyborgian dark resolve. From there, he made hyper toward a few choice and ignoble worldlets of bad reputation.

Shane Perry

Stanis Station, Kaster’s Moon, Sagittarius Arm

Mel No deal DePaulo was making his way back to Mel’s Monkey an ugly haste. He'd left a perfectly fine dancer back at The Colony with an unfinished service fee. He wasn't happy about it. A friend behind the bar had warned him of a sheriff on station asking Mel’s whereabouts.

Arriving at station bay he saw the hunter killer scout ship parked three ships down from his. He uttered an expletive and boarded the Monkey. Storming into the piloting Cabin he came to a dead stop.

His crew were all in their seats, white as snow. A nightmare of a man dressed in grey hide sat in his captain’s chair.

Captain DePaulo, I presume. 182-61 said softly.

Mel gathered his courage. I am. And I'm not wanted in any system on any charges. What business do you have with me?

The sheriff snickered an awful laugh at that.

"You are wanted in several systems on tariff violations, Mr. DePaulo, but the bounty on those wouldn't buy me a night dancing The Colony.

"My business here involves a couple of pilots you've sold out in the past, so your conscience shouldn't be too troubled. I'll forgo those other bounties in lieu of some information concerning your involvement with Vincent Leavel and Sagamore Salvatore, whom recently performed the outrageous task of escaping CC's most notorious penal world.

That Leavel and Sagamore are on the loose with an axe to grind with you should be another motivation to tell me everything you know. Better for you if I apprehend them before they meet up with you again.

DePaulo fumed.

I never sold them out. I was compelled to frame them. I never made a penny off it.

So you say? Who compelled you?

Good sheriff, even you don't want to know that.

The sheriff raised a weapon. This is a first class heavy combat disruptor. After you’re boiled into soup there will be a big fat glob of carbonized shit in your hull and navigation systems. Tell me again what I want, or don't want to know, and I'll find out from some other third rate smuggler who put you up to it, and I'll do it with salvage money from your ship.

Mel looked at his terrified crew. His squealing now would make them all financially motivated to tell tales. He didn't want to kill them, but their silence would have to be arranged next port of call.

Harry Stark. Harry was in an honor guard in the Royal Plieadian army in the ground wars at Baal One. Sagamore was in a unit guarding the escape ships. When the battle went sour, Sagamore panicked and deserted with the drop ship codes in a cruiser. They were the only codes. Harry's whole battalion was massacred.

And Leavel?

"Leavel was a kid at the time. He was doing a blockade run when he got caught up in a firefight with Plieadian air corps fighters pursuing Sagamore in the cruiser. They all were flying the same flags, so he took a desperate gamble and lost-he took out the fighters. Sagamore crewed with him ever since. Harry blamed Leavel more than Sagamore. He wanted them humiliated and spending long miserable lives with their wings clipped.

"Harry traced Leavel to me, ambushed my people. He held the others as ransom to insure me setting up Leavel.

"Harry's powerful. He'll be looking for Leavel and Sagamore too.

That's all I know.

I see. From behind the skin suit, So you were damned if you did, and damned if you didn't. Like today.

What do you mean? I told you everything I know. You said you wouldn't bring me in.

Again that awful laugh.

"I won't bring you in Mr. DePaulo. Now, however, you’re stuck with a crew of cut throats that can sell you out to Harry for informing a Sheriff-who'll soon file murder and conspiracy charges against Harry with CCCE. Not that they'll follow through, but it certainly can annoy him.

"I'll be naming you as the informant; I've recorded this whole conversation. As for your crew, well, I don't know. Maybe they're too stupid to know you'll have to have them killed before you can purchase a very expensive identity change to avoid Harry's minions.

Maybe they're not. Happy flying, Captain."

182-61 stood up, bowed, and left. Mel looked around nervously at his crew members, What?! he bellowed with a hollow ring.

Hyper spatial Transit, Orion Arm

Red tracers fired over the sandy hill, smacking fire in his memory.

Sagamore had withdrawn to himself after the break from Ophelia’s World. The stolen CC freighter careened through the deep wells of the hyper streams with a series of tachs and maneuvers that would shake any would-be pursuers. The memory of the war that Mercurio brought to Sag, and the implications of all he said, wore heavy on the bulky engineer.

Deep in the freighters bowels Sag shook at the memory of those days, the slaughter, and the pointlessness of it all. The carnage was one thing. He could have borne that. The lie that it mattered, that he couldn't have endured.

The war still raged in his mind, a conflict between the real and the ideal. It had driven him mercilessly over the years to strive for a perfection that could not be obtained. Relentless in his pursuits, he had become, in many ways, like a CC drone.

His life was always that battlefield.

Of course, there too, now there was Moss's death to add to his tally.

Footsteps. Vince appeared in a gangway, he leaned into the chamber. "What? Is it my breath? You've