The Secret Citadel: The Secret, #1

By Jon Carter

Has time finally run out for Freelance inventor/freighter captain, Sparrow Dane, and the Nighthawk rebels hiding on the planet, Eridanus? Captain Dane may be in over her head when the government goons show up to capture the rebel bases and kill anyone who resists. Even with her friends, her people are outnumbered and outgunned. Wielding her greatest assets—her wits, her steady hand with a gun, her sneaky ship, and her band of unusually gifted outlaws—may not be enough. Their vow to never retreat, ever, is put to the test. But what the government really want may not be Eridanus back under their thumb. Do Dane's greatest allies come in the form of profiteers? A captain among them owes her big; even so, trusting him may be a big mistake. It's a dire situation for those who are truly The Secret in the Citadel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon Carter
• Release date: Jul 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516329830

Book preview

Chapter One

D awoke on the ship’s bridge as she had every day for the last three weeks. Conscious of her surroundings, she disconnected from her charging station, and stepped out of the device.

Captain Sparrow Dane—the master this deep-space freighter, and D’s creator—peered out the forward windows to a scene of destruction. "Take us in, Carina, she said to her ship. Shields to full. Tractor beams to max. Take every precaution. Let’s not collide with any of this trash."

Aye, Captain, D responded. As ship’s android avatar, D’s job was to act as liaison between man and machine.

Caught unawares, Sparrow whipped around to see the droid. Ah, you’re awake. All charged up and ready to go, I see.

I am, D answered. As ships went, most considered Carina old, and from the beginning she had been conscious of her surroundings. Its new avatar, however, offered a fresh perspective to the old girl’s own existence. Nothing inside the ship got past her. She was aware of both, the cadence of her engines and beat of Captain Dane’s heart. Sparrow Dane had made it so.

With invisible hands, the ship reached out with energy beams to catch and push aside large chunks of metal to clear their way. The android avatar, tied to and apart of the ship’s mainframe, was little more than a mobile subsystem of the ship itself. But through her, the ship could go to her captain, and actually stand beside her. From the ship’s perspective, this was a new and strange dichotomy which drastically altering her relationship with her commander. Inside the mind of the android, Carina became keenly aware of her oneness, conscious of her own existence, her own thoughts. And, through the eyes of D, the avatar, Carina could study her human master on a level never before realized. Fascinating creature, this flesh and bone being; both autonomous and, at the same time, completely dependent on her. Carina saw her captain as something of a marvel crafted by an extraordinary mind.

"Carina, alter our heading to one-one-three-eight. Best time please."

Aye, Captain, the android said, answering for the ship. She could have just as easily said ‘no.’ But something inside D wanted to obey. By comparison, her mental functions were faster than those of her master; her physical strength greater. Yet something undefinable told her the human was still somehow superior. And that required further study.

Beyond the window mile upon mile of wreckage drifted aimlessly.

Her maker, a woman in her early thirties, was lean and fit in her form-fitting pants and loose, white linen shirt. Her hair, often put up in a ponytail, flowed loose today like a river of brown cascading down to her midriff.

Captain Dane gave the android a sidelong glance. Turn your emotion chip on and cut your tie to the mainframe.

Aye, Captain. Easier said than done. It was easier to first sever her tie to the ship without the emotion chip engaged. Doing so in the order given, emotions active, made her feel heartsick at being cut in half—one consciousness isolated in the droid, the other locked in the ship. Was this, as her captain had said, the only way to let her know what being human was truly like? Did every human out here in the black feel severed from their community. The solitude was awful.

Whatta ya say, D? Any thoughts?

Regarding what, ma’am? D saw her own reflection in the glass, her face, as always, was very serious. Her hair—unlike any human’s she’d ever seen—was bright purple. What was the point of that, she wondered. Master said it was to make her easily spotted in a crowd. D had yet to see, let alone be in, a crowd. Refocusing, she looked beyond her reflection to fix her eyes on something straight ahead.

Without the aid of ship’s sensors, D, analyze the world around you, and tell me what you don’t understand.

I understand . . . all of this, ma’am.

Do you?

"Beyond this glass, Captain, I see a mess of metal debris, litter some would say."

Sparrow turned around to sit against the window’s thin ledge. Her focus was on D’s face, and that put the android ill-at-ease. Wasn’t this litter, as you put it, something functional before it became debris?

D considered the fragments, great and small. Many, if manipulated, would fit together like puzzle pieces. In her mind she began to reconstruct numerous parts. They took on recognizable shapes. Spaceships, Captain. These were once spacecraft like my greater self.

That’s right; this is all that is left of ill-fated spacecraft. At one time, each and every one served a purpose. Now they are nothing; haplessly drifting rubbish kissed by little more than the shifting light of an indifferent sun. Tell me how this debris field come to be?

I will analyze. Some of the space boats were now nothing but mangled twigs snapped in two. Some pieces held to their other half by the thinnest threads of conduit, cable, and stretched-like-taffy metal plate. Others had huge sections absent entirely. As far as D’s eyes could see—her senses severed from the ship’s scanners—the entire area was littered with destroyed space ships. By their markings and shapes, ma’am, I can tell that a large anarchist flotilla had engaged Confederate war ships.

"Not anarchists, D; Pirates. Their luck, or the lack of it, is unmistakable."

Yes ma’am. Among the wreckage are a few Confed vessels as well, but clearly only assault-craft-class or smaller. Almost all of these were pirate ships, as you say. I think this must have been a battle.

Sparrow looked almost surprised at D’s analysis. It was, my friend, but what do you see?

I see wrecked ships, Captain. Pirates mostly, some Confederate ships. Scorched and burned metal plate. Looks like it was fierce fighting all around.

Her master’s mouth parted as if to speak, then clamped shut. She sighed.

Am I wrong, Captain? Have I missed something? Do you see something beyond twisted metal and empty hulks?

Sparrow dropped her eyes. Then, when she drew them to D, the android suddenly felt uneasy. She searched her programming for a reference that would explain the captain’s expression and her own disquiet, but found nothing.

Sparrow’s voice dropping to a mere whisper. There is more to this than you know. You’ll need to access you emotion chip to see beyond the surface of things. What you see, however, is no different than what the Federals see. They count the cost of that, she shot a thumb over her shoulder, in dollars and cents. Numbers, stats, percentages. Nothing more. And until their view of things change, that is going to be a problem for all of us.

And you, ma’am, what do you see.

Just then they breached the debris field.

Chapter Two

Here she comes, Captain, the coxswain said.

Captain Michael Cortney pushed to his feet and stepped to the ship’s large fore-window. Carina had indeed breached the debris field and was moving his way. Ready boarding tubes, Mr. Hobarth, he said turning to the short, round man at his side. Cargo tunnel as well. Make haste. She doesn’t have all day.

Aye sir, the coxswain said. Dipping his balding head, he turned away.

Bobby.

Aye, Captain, the cabin boy said hurrying to his side.

Once we’ve tied off, Pipe Captain Dane aboard and bring her straight to the bridge.

Aye Captain. The young teen hurried off.

Captain Cortney watched the goings on from where he stood, and soon, Bobby returned with Captain Dane.

My, she said, By any measure, Capt. Cortney, you make for a fine cut of a man.

As she interlaced her arm in his, he turned from the window to her. Unlike her ship, his bridge was fully staffed; every monitor had alert eyes on.

Well, Sparrow, I must say, it’s good to see you. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement, and craned his neck to see another woman enter his bridge. She was slender and shapely, though less so than Sparrow. Her hair, an unusual shade of lavender, hung in loose sweeps past her shoulders to frame a face that was magnificent despite her lavender lips. Her eyes, a stunning deep blue, locked on his and refused to move. And who do we have here? he said after recovering his wits.

Mike, this is my droid, D. Sparrow said, releasing him to face the droid. D, this is Capt. Cortney, an old and dear friend. He commands one fleet in the Red Hand guild.

D raised a hand.

He took it in both of his. Surprisingly, hers was as soft, and as warm as any real woman’s. You will never cease to amaze me, Sparrow. She’s stunning.

"I’m still working out the bugs but perhaps, Mike, one day I will give you the tech. Her A.I., once perfected, should enhance your ship’s capabilities two fold."

How so?

Her emotion chip is the key. It isn’t enough that a ship’s scanners simply see objects. If an A.I. is to help navigate space without a human overseer, the objects it encounters must mean more to it than mere things. Does that derelict hide something dangerous? Could that moon be a possible place for an ambush? Right now we are entirely dependent on human intuition. A good navigator is indispensable.

So, let’s stick with what works.

That’s fine for you. But what about us independents? I have my brother, of course, but my son is still too young. Getting up throughout the night to answer this alarm or that can grow tiresome. But a ship with the intelligence to anticipate danger and avoid it . . .

I see what you mean. So, Sparrow, why did you build her as a free-roaming droid instead of as a built-in?

Sparrow raised a coy smile. Strike me and see.

What?

Strike me. Go ahead.

Mike halfheartedly moved to slap Sparrow. But before he could touch her, the droid had jumped forward to grab his wrist mid-swing, preventing the blow.

Oh . . . oh, I see. Nice.

He swung again, this time, at D’s face and connected, turning the droid’s head. Startled, he apologized. I’m sorry, I thought . . . Um, why didn’t see defend herself? And look, if an A.I. won’t defend itself, how will it know to raise her shields if it’s tied to the nav-system?

As a ship, sir, D answered, I will contain people; lives I am programmed to defend.

You should still defend yourself, D, Sparrow said, then turned to Cortney. Like I said, Mike, buggy. Given time I’ll get ‘em worked out.

No doubt. Until then, why don’t you take a couple of my boys? You know, as loaners until D’s up and running.

Sparrow offered a coy smile. Don’t get me wrong, Mike. I trust you. I do. She shot a thumb over her shoulder. But some of your men have yet to prove whose side they’re really on.

Understood, and I agree. Their mettle will be tested in battle soon enough. I’ll see to that.

You have a strange weeding out process, Capt. Cortney.

"Ah, but it is effective. And it’s like you said, the newer among us have yet to prove themselves trustworthy. That being said, this shipment is bound for Eridanus. Can I trust you to deliver it straight away?"

You could have just asked back on Corina?

I’m asking now. Any closer and I’m afraid I’d give the Citadel Stronghold away to some unsavories in my group. Some of these guys are a might too eager to make a buck.

Sparrow laughed. It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Mike.

More than likely. But those are a defiant lot, and that’s a good start.

Well, said Sparrow, my bay is empty and I certainly could use the coin.

He faintly grinned. I thought you might say that.

You already moved the goods onto my ship, didn’t you?

His answer was a simple raised brow above a forced toothy grin. Of course he had. Mike knew Sparrow almost as well as she knew him. She squared her shoulders and pretended she had expected all of it. Fact was, Mike looked after her as well as any, seeing to her welfare as often as he could.

Sir, D asked, When you look at that debris field, what do you see?

Excuse me?

What do you see, sir?

The captain’s eyes turned angry as he looked at it. That debris field!? Look closely, D. That is women weeping for their husbands. That is children crying for fathers who’ll never return. It’s brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers.

Knitting her brow, D turn to the glass and tried to understand.

That mess out there, Cortney continued, is ruined lives. It’s wanton destruction worth nothing near the price paid. What do I see? I see foolishness and greed and arrogance. I see men seeking easy money or fame or prestige. But mostly . . . I see its reach.

The same sadness mixed with angry appeared in Sparrow’s face. Do you understand, D? her master asked softly.

D hesitated. I feel . . . I’m beginning too, ma’am. There is a connection between what a man does, and who his actions effect. I need to extrapolate on what I see to perceive what actually exists.

That’s right, Mike said There is a sort of symbiosis between man and his machines. Out here, you keep us alive.

And you give us purpose, D put in. I see it now. As man and machine, we need to rely on each other.

Sparrow raised her hand to D’s should, and then smiled at Mike. Given time, we’ll get there.

Chapter Three

Jake Harrier loosened the gun in his leather holster before stepping into the Guthrey Spaceport’s saloon. He took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the subdued light before looking around.

Tattered, musty curtains strung between each booth added to an ambiance stinking of one bad idea lined up behind the next. Places like this all spoke the same language; low-level crime and high-level stupid. Contracts and deals made here were usually accompanied by threats. It wasn’t unusual for someone to leave with broken bones if he was lucky, or in a body bag if he wasn’t. Hopefully, everyone knew that. If they didn’t, they soon would.

In his wildest imaginings he couldn’t picture anyone choosing this as a place to dine, and wondered who’d name a little puddle of puke like this, The Grill?

A dark and primal place, whiskey on the air seemed eager to pull those willing to wander back into a bottle. His coming back to a place like this—on purpose—was just a bad idea all around. But he had a job to do, so he drew a deep breath and fingered his ninety-round clip. Before he could take two steps forward a man near his own age rose from a booth and deliberately blocked his path. A hand on his holster, and a hungry smirk didn’t hide his intentions.

Jake narrowed his focus and sized him up.

The man’s face was scarred from fighting. Fists and knives had taken their toll, leaving no room for a smile. A thick scar, the worst of the lot, ran from his hairline, down between his eyes and across a cheek almost to the ear. His steely eyes seemed to reflect a heart that was black, cold, and deadly—devoid of fear. With an expression of fight or die, he cocked his head.

Jake sighed. It was way too early in the game to let anyone lay him out, and certainly not someone totally unconnected with his business. Relaxed, but alert, he met the man’s eyes with confident acceptance. Jake was a professional. This other guy was just some punk looking to make easy money—nothing more.

Fat chance. All he could think of was the lessons his dad had given him, let your eyes voice your intent.

An inch or two taller than Jake, he rested a hand on his pistol which was holstered high on his hip. Buy a fella’ a drink? he said with a gravel-paved voice.

You heart-set on dying, little man? Pull that weapon and you’ll wind up bleeding from places you’d just as soon not.

Weapon? You mean this little lady? The scarred man patted his pistol. This is my girl-friend, Millie. Buy her a drink, too?

Jake exhaled audibly but purpose kept his face as dispassionate as stone. Move aside.

Blindingly, both men pulled their guns; Millie skittered across the floor into some dark recess, DOA. The would-be-robber reeled and fell to the floor clutching his hand.

Millie, meet Brutus, Jake said coolly, then tucked his pistol back into his leather.

Unlike everyone else, one small man at the bar didn’t flinch when the shot rang out. That caught Jake’s attention.

Jake looked down at the man on the floor. Move aside, fool, while moving’s still your option. Jake’s tone, like his face, was unruffled.

Still clutching his hand, Scar-face rolled aside, waited for Jake to pass, and then scrambled to his feet to hurry out of the bar.

Jake stepped up to the bar. The smallish man didn’t look up, but hovered over his drink as though it was a possession needing protection.

The bartender motioned toward the exit to refer to scar face. How’d you know you could beat him?

A man with scars isn’t the one to fear, Jake said calmly. The man who’d given those scars, now he’s the one to watch for.

The bartender chuckled. How can I help you?

I have business with Lang. Tell him ‘Jake Grapnel is here to see him.’

The bartender shot a thumb over his shoulder pointing to a back room door.

Mr. Lang’s expecting you.

Three long strides and Jake rapped twice at the door, then pushed it open. Two men waited inside. One of them, a stocky lump of muscle, sat on a couch to