Rayne

By Roger Schultz

Rayne has been fighting for her life for three years against an alien enemy, on a distant planet, with no hope of rescue. When help finally arrives, it becomes a mixed blessing, because something is not right in her head. Psychological trauma, rage, and bitterness are the least of her worries as she fights for control over her mind. If only that were her only problem. The military suspects she's hiding something, they want it for themselves, and they're willing to do anything to get it. After losing everything, they're seeking to take the last thing Rayne has...her freedom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roger Schultz
• Release date: Jan 30, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311085597

Roger Schultz

I live in the mountains of eastern Idaho where I spend my time working and trying to find productive ways to spend my time. I haven't thought of anything productive yet, so I ride my dirt bike, shoot guns, and create stories and art to entertain my friends.

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RAYNE

By

Roger Schultz

Published by Roger Schultz at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Roger Schultz

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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 your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Front Cover image:

Copyright Roger Schultz, 2015

Thank you Cheyenne for inspiring me to write and to Heidi for naming my character. Also to my sister Vera and brother Robert for all their work editing this book.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

About the author

CHAPTER 1

The ship’s bridge rocked with the impact, throwing her to the hard metal floor. The sound of adults yelling, and the voices of a dozen different alarms screamed through her ears until her brain practically vibrated. The harsh smell of burning electronics filled her nose and lungs as she struggled to breathe and then gagged.

Rayne! What are you doing up here? Her mother ran forward, picking her off the ground and securing her in the captain’s chair, her father’s chair. Her mother’s normally happy face was creased in panic and fear.

I’m sorry, mom. Tears ran freely down her face as her own fear grew exponentially at the sight of her terrified mother. I was scared. There was a loud bang, and the ship began to shudder violently.

Her mother clung to the command chair. She put her head to Rayne’s and spoke in her ear to be heard over the chaos.

It’ll be okay, baby. It’ll be okay. She laid a soft hand on the side of her face. Remember, I love you, and then her mother was snatched through the gaping hole that had suddenly appeared in the command deck. Rayne screamed, her cry swallowed by the rush of atmosphere blowing out the jagged hole.

***

The cadet stepped tentatively onto the command deck, wide-eyed and nervous as she took in the scene before her. The tac-screen, tac-stations, and crew were a bustle of activity and even with four years of cadet training under her belt, she was having difficulty tracking all that was happening. Her stomach dropped to her toes, wondering how she was ever going to measure up to the captain’s standards. No way but forward, she said to herself, quoting her academy’s oft repeated mantra as she approached Captain Gault, who stood at the center of the chaos.

Permission to come on deck, captain? she asked, cringing at the waver in her voice as she stood at attention.

Permission granted, cadet, Captain Gault replied tersely without turning as he surveyed the crew’s work. Stand next to me and stay out of the way. We’ll speak when time and circumstances permit.

Understood, captain. The cadet did as she was told, her attention shifting to the captain himself. He was just over six feet tall, lean and physically fit, with short salt and peppered hair cut to an exacting regulation cut. He appeared to be just passed middle-aged and word had it he’d seen more space and survived more combat missions than any other officer in the fleet. She done some checking, but it was hard to draw any meaningful comparison from so many.

She watched carefully, trying to glean what she could from the way the captain conducted himself. It was obvious from a glance, that discipline cut through every fabric of his being. From the way he stood, to the way he spoke, it was plain that the rules and procedures were the beacons that determined his course. She was impressed with his quiet confidence and intensity. It demanded obedience, making a raised voice an unneeded waste of breath. When Captain Gault spoke, the crew listened and then did as they were ordered. It was obvious he had both their trust and respect, something not easily won on a fleet vessel.

Having finished the initial in-system procedures, Captain Gault turned his attention back to her. Cadet Jahani wasn’t it? he asked, still keeping one eye on the crew and the tactical screen of the system.

Yes, captain.

Have you read the mission brief for this operation?

I have.

Good, he said, turning to the tac-screen. What star system are we looking at?

Ross 614. A binary system at approximately 13.3 light years from earth, she answered, regurgitating the mission brief data from memory.

Anything else?

It has one habitable planet and…um, she struggled to remember what she’d studied over the last week while en route. Oh, it’s just off the major trade route to Procyon.

Why hasn’t the system been developed then if it’s so close to the Procyon trade route?

It’s a resource poor system, captain. I guess you could say the juice isn’t worth the squeeze, she finished with a grin and shrug of her shoulders.

Captain Gault cracked a smile, the first she’d seen him make. Right you are, cadet. It disappeared quickly as he continued his examination of her knowledge. And our current assignment?

Rescue mission, captain. We’ve been tasked with locating a recently lost group of pioneers. Mormons I think. If I remember the brief correctly, they were looking to establish another New Jerusalem. Despite the sparse resources, there were always those looking to get away from the crowds. Earth’s billions had multiplied exponentially in the last five hundred years, filling space with its masses. Finding an undeveloped system within easy reach that had been properly surveyed was becoming less frequent. It would probably remain so until the population could no longer support itself at its current limits. Until then, small groups looking for a better life would continue looking for the next frontier in the known available space.

You’ve got a good memory. I’m impressed. Is this the first attempt to colonize this system?

No, she answered, inwardly pleased at the complement and even more so that she could answer the question. Ross 614 has been the destination for a number of such pioneers over the last ten years. So far, none of the colonization attempts have taken root, ending in disaster of one type or another.

And why is that?

Sir? she asked, not sure what he was asking.

What is it about this system that’s proven so difficult?

Well…, she began, shifting from the simple regurgitation of information to analyzing facts and circumstances. It was important to know the information, but understanding it was something else entirely her professors used to always say. …navigating space is difficult, even inside known trade routes. Less traveled space tends to be sparsely mapped and the dangers from unknowns rise exponentially.

What kind of dangers are we talking about?

She didn’t have to think too hard. Astronomy and inter-system dynamics were her favorite subjects. Meteors, comets, black holes as well as tricky and unexpected planetary gravity wells or debris clouds. Professor Rozhkov taught us that any one of those could lead to a puff of smoke and debris field of your own.

And Ross 614 contained most of these risks, cadet, Captain Gault said, turning to scrutinize the tac-screen. The binary suns have played tug of war with everything in the system and over the course of millennia, moons have been ripped from planets, planets shifted from their regular orbits, and debris fields formed that make navigation in some parts of the system impossible.

Cadet Jahani scanned the tactical display as well, noting that if anything, the captain had understated the hazards. It was fascinating and looked as if someone had taken a mighty hammer and laid waste to everything in the system with the two suns fighting over the leftovers.

That being said, Captain Gault continued. Tell me why I’ve chosen our position as we have.

She did her best to analyze the data on the tac-screen. The captain had ordered the star ship to full stop just outside the limits of the twirling sun’s gravity well. That was standard procedure, but the why was escaping her.

She gave the only answer she could. Because it’s procedure?

It is, but it’s important to know the why behind it. Captain Gault turned to the crew. Begin the scan and survey. Keep me updated. The crew snapped to with practiced precision and he turned back to Cadet Jahani. We approach perpendicular to the orbital plane because it gives us the best view of the entire system, allowing us to conduct a comprehensive survey while keeping us away from any in-system hazards…for the most part.

They stood in silence, watching the crew work. Navigation was where her interest lay, and she did her best to follow the data flow on the petty officer’s tac-station.

Do you know what we are looking for? Captain Gault asked, interrupting her study.

No, captain.

We’re looking for radioactive debris fields to start. That puff of smoke you mentioned earlier. That’s usually the telltale giveaway of a catastrophic event. Absent that, we’ll conduct a planet-by-planet survey looking for wreckage. What else might we be looking for?

Transponder, she offered, referring to the emergency beacon equipped on all ships. In an emergency, a ship’s transponder would broadcast a request for assistance from anyone in-system. Unfortunately, there was no one around to hear it so the call would have gone unheard.

Correct, though it’s possible it could have been damaged on impact. Unlikely, but it happens.

Captain? a young petty officer called, confusion written on his face.

Report. Captain Gault stepped away from Cadet Jahani to join a member of the crew at what she was pretty sure was the communication’s console.

I’ve got an emergency signal, captain. Cadet Jahani watched as he double and triple checked his work. An emergency transponder signal should be good news. Procedure dictated the next step should be the launch of a probe to the crash site, followed by a rescue team to retrieve any survivors.

So, what’s the problem?

It’s not coming from the pioneer vessel transponder. In fact, it’s not coming from a vessel at all.

Then where’s it coming from? Captain Gault asked.

The petty officer took several seconds to check his readings for the fourth time. The point of origin is coming from the fourth planet out, but that’s not what’s got me confused. The signal type is all wrong. It’s not an emergency beacon signal at all, sir. This is a reinforcement request from a T80.

You can’t be serious. Captain Gault replied. Are you sure the signal isn’t originating from one of our own onboard units?

Positive, sir. I’ve checked it twice. The petty officer pointed to the display showing the system’s fourth planet. It’s coming from this area here, near the equator.

***

Captain Gault took a moment to assess, then made his decision. Navigation. Bring us into orbit around that rock. Once established, I want visual confirmation. Foremost in his mind was the possibility of ambush. If something was too good to be true it probably was, and a T80 signal requesting reinforcements was just plain unbelievable.

Sound the general alert and keep scanning our six. I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t want any surprises. Captain Gault sank back to the command chair to think through his tactical options. If this was a trap or ambush, there could be an enemy cruiser waiting behind one of the nearby planets or asteroids. He didn't want to be caught flat footed.

He turned to the cadet, dutifully standing to the side. He was tempted to get her off the bridge where she’d be out of sight and mind, but she was here to learn, and this was a prime opportunity.

Cadet Jahani. Take a seat at the auxiliary tac-station and mirror tac-nav. The cadet nearly tripped in her haste to comply, but quickly recovered and took her seat. Her excitement was palpable and more than just the captain cracked a smile.

Captain Gault turned back to the tac-screen as the ship made slow headway through the system’s debris fields. It would take approximately three hours to make orbit. Even without having to avoid the debris, slipping their ship into orbit would take some doing. Their scouting class vessel didn't turn on a dime like a small fighter and bringing it to the correct position took precision planning and execution. There was no rushing the process. Coming in too fast could have disastrous consequences, not the least of which was not having enough thrust to stop before slamming into the planet's surface. So, despite the need and desire for haste, they moved at a snail’s pace.

***

Rayne ran blindly in terror through the now deserted corridors of the ship. First her mother, now her father was dead, shot before her eyes shortly after crash landing. The floors were tilted at steep angles, making running difficult as she dodged and crawled past live wires dangling from ceilings and walls. Gunfire cracked behind her and metal projectiles peppered the bulkhead next to her. The spray of fragmented bullets cut into her unprotected skin as she ducked into a nearby corridor leading to the cargo bay. She ran as fast as her young legs would carry her, upward toward the partially closed doors. Fighting her way through their twisted remains, she scanned for an escape or place to hide. She ran back and forth through the mostly empty cargo bay looking but found nothing. There was nowhere to hide. Most of the crates of supplies had been lost to the atmosphere on their descent and the remaining wreckage left nowhere for a wiry fourteen-year-old girl, except a T80 battle-suit lying in a slightly disorganized heap in the corner.

She’d watched the techs working on it, but didn’t know much more than its combat designation, stenciled in large letters on the right breast. Normally powered down during shipping and storage, the T80 was fully operational, just waiting for its pilot to step in. Rayne didn’t ask why. Perhaps someone had turned it on. Perhaps it had been activated by the impact of the crash. She didn’t care. What she did care about were the heavy footfalls approaching the cargo bay door and the battle suit was the only place offering a place to hide.

Rayne jumped inside the open front. The unit was designed for an adult of any size, though the ideal pilot was considered to be between one hundred seventy to one hundred eighty-five centimeters. At one hundred seventy centimeters tall, she was tall for her age though undersized for the weapons platform. The interior was coated with a black bio gel, integrated with the battle suit’s systems. Upon contact with human skin, the T80 would launch a 10 second countdown and then seal itself with the pilot inside. She knew this from asking the tech hundreds of questions until being shooed off by her father to let them work in peace.

The T80 began its countdown as the heavy footsteps came closer, stopping at the cargo bay doors. Sparks danced off hanging wires and Rayne heard nothing for a moment. The counter ticked down to four. The cargo doors were forced open by unseen hands. She lay perfectly still as the counter ticked to three, hoping her lack of movement would conceal her presence in the open T80 frame. The heavy steps moved her direction. Two. Closer. One.

The T80 sealed itself in one smooth movement, the bio gel feeling cool as it filled in around her torso, arms and legs. She felt a mild electric charge move through her body and the gel heat to a comfortable body temperature. The battle suit swallowed her, adapting to her size and form. In an instant, Rayne became aware of so much more around her; not with her eyes, because there were no visual interfaces. She saw the world now as the T80 saw it, in infrared, radar, and a dozen other ways delivered directly to her optical nerve.

Rayne registered a dull thud. The T80 alerted her they were taking fire. Still terrified, Rayne did the only thing she could think to do. She ran. The T80 barreled right through the invisible firing form, bursting through the broken cargo bay doors and into the corridor. She ran down the incline crashing against the walls like a drunken sailor and out of the ship into a jungle clearing outside in a tangled mess of limbs and flying dirt. Rayne scrambled back to her feet, running for the tree line as automatic rifle fire sounded behind her and projectiles dug into the armor of her legs and back. She crashed to the ground again, the T80 outrunning her ability to control it. Terrified, she clawed her way to her feet and crashed into the undergrowth.

***

Navigation brought the ship smoothly into orbit around Ross 614's fourth planet. It was like most habitable planets; a little green, a little blue with clouds circling the globe as it took its course around its twin suns. They had pulled into a steady orbit on the day side of the equator.

Captain Gault circled the large three-dimensional tac-screen at the center of the bridge. Launch the probe, he said calmly, knowing that if he got excited, the crew got excited and he found that people who got excited often got stressed beyond their capacity to think clearly.

The petty officer had been waiting for the command and immediately launched the probe, a one-meter ball packed with as many cameras and sensors as could fit in the small space. Used for both science expeditions and military operations, the probes could be launched from high orbit and reach the surface in only twenty minutes. The cameras were active as the probe left the ship and began zooming on to the target area as it began to fall.

Captain Gault watched the display, turning his head slightly to the communications console where the petty officer monitored the probe’s progress and incoming data streams.

Make sure you keep one eye on the rest of the system. Don't get too focused on that probe.

Aye, captain, his fingers danced across the console as he checked the other incoming data streams. All clear so far. I'll keep an eye on it.

The probe descended into the atmosphere and mountains, rivers and other geographic features began to distinguish themselves. The target area near the equator appeared to be lush and green. It was mostly mountainous jungle environment, but he could see it gave over to open plains that stretched toward the eastern hemisphere before running up against the coastal waters.

Are we still receiving the reinforcement signal?

Aye, captain. It's been continuous since first contact. We should be getting close enough in a few minutes to pick up a visual if nothing is obscuring the view. I've marked the target area with the red triangle.

The semblance of order on the bridge was broken by a loud curse from the petty officer, drawing a shocked look from Cadet Jahani and a scowl from Captain Gault.

Did you see that? he exclaimed. Some of the other bridge personnel craned their necks to take a peek.

What have you got? Captain Gault asked calmly, maintaining the quiet composure he needed his crew to exemplify. He was less than pleased with the poor impression made on the young cadet. The junior officer cringed, looking properly chastened without him having to say a word.

The petty officer pointed to the target area.

A large explosion coming directly from the signal's point of origin.

Let me see the play back. Captain Gault walked back to the tac-screen and watched the image replay. Even with the zoom on high power, it was still hard to pick out any detail. As he looked, an explosive blast lit the screen; flashing blue as it pushed outward, then collapsing back into itself without a sound. That was not a conventional blast, which would have been characterized by an orange plume of flame and black or gray smoke. No, this was something else. Something he had seen often during his combat career. It was a high energy detonation from a laser pulse canon or similar weapon. The captain's heart skipped a beat. This could really be a T80.

Give me the live feed again, he directed, scrutinizing the image as it came into focus. During the minutes they had been reviewing the other video feed, the probe had reached an altitude of two thousand meters to a holding position. The probe was tracking the signal, but the viewing area showed nothing but the tops of the jungle trees. That view isn’t showing anything useful, what else have you got?

Try this one, sir. It picks up on any metal objects and I’ve overlaid it with infrared. If it's really a T80, it should show up bright as day in this environment. The organics will be muted to gray, metal will show as white, and anything with a heat signature will be red.

Captain Gault stood before the tac-screen, stunned. There it was, in black and white; a T80 battle suit being piloted through the jungle on a planet it had no business being on. Taking a closer look, he noted its stilting movement. He'd seen and worked with T80s for much of his career and the ship was currently outfitted with several along with its contingent of marines. This one appeared damaged. The data feed tracking its speed showed it moving at only thirty kilometers per hour; slow for a T80. It turned suddenly, firing on the move at something off screen.

Zoom the image out. I want to see everything within a square kilometer. The image shrunk as the view of the surrounding area expanded. Captain Gault frowned, turning to the crew. Full alert people. Get those marines in the hold suited up. I want their T80s on the ground in no less than thirty minutes.

***

Sgt. Mike Weber reclined against the bulkhead of the weapons bay, watching his fire teams. Some played cards, some cleaned gear, while others slept as they waited for the call to action. Until then, they passed the time any way they could. More often than not the wait was for nothing. Marines were born to fight and when they didn’t get to fight, they got pissy. The last four times they’d been put on alert, it had been cancelled after hours of expectant waiting.

This time didn’t seem any different. The reports they’d been given so far said they were headed to rescue some idiot pioneers, an emergency beacon sounding off on one of the system’s habitable planets. A rescue mission wasn’t as good as combat, but they’d take what they could get. If they were lucky, they’d get attacked by some local aborigines or an alien monster.

Mike looked across the deck to where their T80s sat, looking empty and lifeless. He longed to suit up for a fight. There was no bigger rush than going to war in the two and a half meter killing machine. He’d been deployed in two different military actions in the eight years he’d been a marine. Both times were as a T80 pilot. This duty assignment though, sucked rocks. Long waits with very little to do but clean, polish and wait.

They’d been on alert now for several hours. Any moment, he expected to hear the stand down order. He got up and stretched his lean, muscled frame. At one hundred and eighty-three centimeters tall and eighty-two kilograms, he was the ideal size and height for a T80 pilot. His dark hair was regulation buzz cut and he was clean shaven. He sported a few tattoos, standard for any marine but not overdone. The military frowned on the defacing of what they considered government property.

Mike walked over to the intel officer standing at the weapons bay’s data console. Any updates?

Nothing new since the last time you asked five minutes ago, the man answered with a wry grin.

Kiss my ass, he replied. Intel weenies annoyed him, but Jensen wasn’t half bad. The problem with intelligence was that it wasn’t always intelligent. Someone always missed some vital piece of information or just plain got it wrong and then it fell to him to make it work anyway. Some intel officers, got defensive about being wrong, making excuses for x, y, and z. Jensen seemed to get the score. Bad intel could get good marines killed. Partial intel could get you the same.

Mike meandered back to his marines to take a hand at cards hoping to keep his mind from stewing about the lack of action.

Sergeant! Jensen shouted as Mike was about to take his seat. We got a green light for a combat op. The captain wants you guys suited up and planet side in thirty minutes.

Mike turned back, adrenaline already pumping at the thought of combat. Are you serious?

Deck operations says there is a friendly, planet-side in heavy contact with an unknown force. That’s all I got so far. The intel officer looked up and smiled. Go get some, Sarge.

Mike turned back and jogged toward his squad. Everyone suit up! We got a combat op. Everyone jumped up with excited shouts and ran for their T80s. This is what they lived for and it had been a while since any of them had really lived.

Any details Sarge? One of the squad asked as they armored up.

We got a friendly in heavy contact with an unknown enemy force. That’s all we got so far. Mike jumped into his combat suit and it sealed smoothly as it powered up. Comms connected immediately and he checked the status of his squad. Everyone checked ready. Form up at the airlock everyone. You know the drill. They stacked up in the airlock and the heavy door closed behind them. Everyone sound off!

Nine! Eight! Each marine shouted out their number in turn. Normally, a squad would consist of three fire teams, but a ship this size couldn’t fit that many T80s in the weapons bay. So, he was left with only two; but two fire teams equipped with T80s were enough to handle most problems.

One! Mike popped the outer door lock with his metal fist. Space gaped before them, billions of stars dotting the horizon with the twin stars danced slowly in the distance. Mike ignored the view as he let his body fall forward out the open door, the planet’s gravity pulling them from their ship anchored in low orbit. Eight other T80s followed like dominoes. They fell, quickly picking up speed in the thin atmosphere, the ship shrinking to a speck behind them into the blackness of space. He checked his team’s status. All were clear as they continued to fall planet side in total silence.

One, this is Mother on Tac1.

Go for One.

Mission update. You’re not going to believe it. Jensen’s voice came through crystal clear, if only a little tinny over the encrypted channel.

What do you got for us? Mike concentrated to maintain his attitude as he continued his descent from orbit. The T80 did not have systems for attitude control during orbital freefalls. The pilot had to maintain the proper orientation himself, which was difficult with no atmosphere to speak of. A moment’s inattention could send the T80 into a spin and tangle of limbs that would be nearly impossible to recover from.

"Deck operations reports one friendly

Reviews for Rayne

[Geoffrey Miller · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

The first book was OK, they deteriorated until I couldn't finish the 4th one. Apart from the plot getting more ridiculous, my pedantic soul revolts at the contempt the author has for his readers. He obviously does not know how to use apostrophes and relies too heavily on the autocomplete/autocorrect functions in his word processor. A competent proofreader would have fixed these problems, but he presumably couldn't be bothered to do a professional job before dumping his work on the public.