Dark Vengeance

By E. R. Mason

It was to be a luxury cruise to the planet Enuro for the purpose of bringing the newly refit Starship Electra back to Earth. For Adrian Tarn, and R.J. Smith the trip was a long overdue vacation until someone or something began murdering the guests. As the two struggle to understand what is happening, they discover the situation is actually much worse than anyone realizes. The only question remaining is; do you dare join them aboard the Starship Star Seven? (Standalone, 4th book in the Adrian Tarn series)

• Language: English
• Publisher: E. R. Mason
• Release date: Oct 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9780692549063

E. R. Mason

This is the place where many people write their profile in the third person so it sounds like someone else is writing about them. I'm just not comfortable with that. Instead, let's assume that you are the literary authority, (which you are) and I your applicant. Here are my qualifications; As far back as childhood, my passion for space travel, and flight was so strong it was nearly painful. In contrast, I grew up on a horse ranch in Connecticut. It was a rough and ready place. We participated in horse shows and rodeos. My friend Bill Larson rode with us. Somewhere around sixth grade, Bill discovered rock and roll, and dragged me into it, thereby ruining my life forever. We began developing bands around grade six, an addiction that remains strong to this day. Bill is presently lead guitarist for the rock band Road Work, based in Connecticut. http://theroadworkband.com/fr_intro.cfm Bill also introduced me to an even wider range of adventures such as swinging out over a cliff on a knotted rope, climbing Mt. Washington in the freezing rain, and sailing a small boat in the tail end of a hurricane. Two of those did not end well. We attended The Norwich Free Academy High School which is larger than many college campuses, and still reminds me of Hogwarts. There I became completely enamored with a gifted English teacher named Janice MacIntyre. She will always be a part of my inspiration. Somewhere along the way, I found the works of John D. MacDonald. He has remained my favorite author ever since. There I also began writing screen plays and fiction. I began my study of the martial arts at NFA and that continued for many, many years until I finally became a black belt student instructor at a Merritt Island, Florida Taekwondo Center under Masters Walter Simpson, Michael Raney, and half a dozen other gifted instructors. When I was nineteen, I finally got a chance to fly a Piper Cherokee, and have been flying ever since. Because SCUBA diving is much like an EVA, I also became a certified diver and have done quite a bit of salt water, fresh water, and cave diving. The currents of life, which we only think we control, eventually carried me to the Kennedy Space Center. I worked there as a Coordinator for twenty-five years, mostly on the Eastern Range side. I have innumerable rocket stories. I struggled to find the time to write The Empty Door and The Virtual Dead in that period. There I also met bassist-extraordinaire, Stormi ...

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Dark Vengeance

E.R. Mason

Smashwords Version

Copyright 2015 by E.R. Mason

All rights reserved

Editor

Sam Thornton, PE PhD

https://www.facebook.com/SamThorntonPE

[e-mail]

Frank MacDonald

Contact: [e-mail]

https://sites.google.com/site/scifiproofreading

All characters in this book are fictional

and any resemblance to persons living

or dead is purely coincidental

ISBN: 978-0-692-54906-3

Chapter 1

It’s never a good sign when they won’t tell you why they want you. You climb reluctantly into the vehicle provided only because you know running like hell will do absolutely no good.

It was a government shuttle, a particularly lavish one, the type usually reserved for diplomats accustomed to receiving perks they do not deserve. In my case, providing such a luxury commodity made me even more skeptical. When they want you to do something especially aggravating, they always send the best. They also devise candy-coated excuses carefully constructed that tell you nothing at all. It reminded me of the Farside joke where the dog is in the backseat of the car teasing his buddy out the window saying, Ha ha ha, Biff. I’m going to the vet’s to get tutored.

We hovered at 3,000 over the Potomac, in sight of Crystal City, waiting for clearance to put down on the Glenn building roof landing pad. The shuttle was designed expressly for comfort. The passenger area was a lounge complete with kitchenette, private dressing room and bath with shower. The door to the flight deck was transparent but with the push of a button could be electronically frosted for those times when knowing you were back there might upset the pilot. Two disinterested jocks were presently intending to bring us down through the beehive below.

There were windows all around, even in the floor. The world below was what it was. We were now in the dome age, the latest rage of competitive industrial development. Every important conglomerate had to have one. Otherwise you just weren’t. Tropical foliage and swimming facilities in midwinter. Snow on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, followed by warm breezes with no sign of winter at all on New Year’s Day. The dense artificial landscape that for so long had symbolized the competition for tallest skyscraper with the most glass and balcony was now spotted quite frequently with clear and semi-frosted domes each enclosing several city blocks or more depending on a CFO’s willingness to glorify his boss and board of directors.

The city was abuzz with personal air vehicles and the ground-bound cruisers that still outnumbered them, all dashing about, each following along the prescribed air corridor or roadway, a mind-boggling, moving tapestry of tiny lights and color. Almost directly below I could make out a PAV that had stalled in midair and was being towed by a flying tow truck; Sam’s 24 Hour Air Service, Lowest Rates Anywhere, We Do It All.

When our turn finally came, the shuttle drivers dropped us down too quickly, causing loose items around the cabin to float momentarily. It was a cowboy attempt to alarm the passenger, a reminder that his life was in their hands.

Cowboys like that don’t usually bother me. But, my 6-foot 2-inch frame does have quite a few decorations here and there as a result of my own common stupidity. My sun-washed sandy hair and deep brown tan are from too much beach, a complexion completely out of place in the fluorescent pale skin-tone office look of D.C. I had, at least, chosen to wear my only suit and tie, just to make others comfortable, certainly not me.

The Glenn Building roof was a good deal more than a landing pad. The eastern side had tables with umbrellas for the brown bag lunch crowd. An open room nearby was filled with workout equipment. A hefty rail ran the circumference of the place for sightseers looking out over the ever-changing world. I went to the nearest edge and held to the rail to look out for a moment at the great city. The view reminded me that my good friend R.J. Smith would have had a running commentary had he come along. He is famous for his frequent contestations on the evils of technology and mankind’s dependence upon it. His loveable countenance bears quite a bit of similarity with that of Einstein’s, and his gold-red beard and discordant hairstyle seem to respond with expanding chaos the more agitated his rambling becomes. What was bothering me lately was that I seemed to be paying more attention to R.J.’s impromptu lectures and even agreeing with them to some extent. And now, watching the mass of civilization running hectically all around brought back the lyrics to an ancient song frequently selected by R.J., a song conjured into existence by someone from long gone and yet its truth far more apparent now than it ever had been.

"Us and them. And after all, we’re only ordinary men.

Me, and you. God only knows it’s not what we would choose to do."

I remembered the name. It was somebody called Floyd. I knew nothing about him other than he seemed to have an uncanny talent for describing the state of the human condition.

Two shiny silver elevators waited nearby. Someone had thoughtfully placed a printed sign above them with a single word: DOWN. Since that was the only way one could go, the message was obviously intended as one of philosophical persuasion. The doors slid open. A gentleman in a dark suit and matching sunglasses with a security badge hanging from his pocket held the door and motioned me in. On the ride down he clasped his hands at his waist, stared upward at nothing and did not speak. When the doors again opened to the third floor, Suite 319, Commander, was all he said. I stepped out. He did not.

It was a very spacious and well-decorated hallway. Planters, oils, and antique furniture along the walls. Suite 319 had no hardware of any kind on the gray metal door, only a call button on the wall beside it. Before I could reach for the button, it slid open to reveal a large reception area, an equally lavish room with an attractive woman sitting at a very long desk. Her blond hair was up, her makeup too heavy but applied with professional precision, her gray dress suit finely tailored. She smiled at me and waved me in.

His instructions are for you to go right in, she said merrily. And he wanted you to take note that he did not make you wait.

Do I get to know to whom you are referring, dear lady?

Of course! The man through those double doors. She pointed at the heavily engraved dark oak doors nearby and resumed her smile.

I placed both hands on her desk and leaned forward. Why all the secrecy, doll?

The answers you seek lie beyond those doors, oh Great One, she replied mysteriously, seeming to enjoy the game.

I gave up, went to the doors, took a last look at her, and pushed them open. The answer became immediately clear. There sat a familiar man behind a hideously plush desk, surrounded by an equally elaborate office. He wore a gray suit that had sparkles in it. The lapels were too large and turned up at the collar. The white silk shirt beneath it had gold stitching and was buttoned all the way up. He had thin light reddish eyebrows that turned up at the end, probably artificially induced to appear that way. There was the familiar narrow stare of gray eyes adding just the slightest bit of color to the pasty white face. Thin lips, small mouth, ears that stuck out just a tiny bit too much. It was Bernard Porre, senior advisor to the Global Space Initiative, my inescapable management nemesis. I hung my head and shook it.

Ah, Commander Adrian Tarn! Slipped right into my well-laid trap again, haven’t you?

I’m here, aren’t I?

Please sit, let us reflect on old times.

Bernard…

He gestured to a red cushioned high back chair that would have been appropriate for any well-maintained medieval castle. Begrudgingly, I plunked down into it, still shaking my head.

My dear Commander, I’ve just now had the dubious fortuity to adjudge your recent sojourn to the Mu Arae Tolkien Minor sector. What illuminating reading it was!

Bernard, really, what do you want?

Oh please, first tell me. I must know. Did you really destroy an entire transport ship this time, just before altering the social development of a Paleolithic civilization on an undocumented planetoid? And did you then disguise yourself as a Sirenian lord and kidnap someone from the planet XiTau, a place we have not yet visited nor do we have diplomatic relations with? Could one man have caused that much carnage on a single interstellar trip, Commander?

Bernard, once again, what do you want?

My, my! You may recall my daughter was finally certified for PAV flight on our last visit. Since that time there has been nothing but chaos on our local airways here. It has made me wonder if at some point in the past you had relations with my wife that I do not know about.

Bernard, it would be impossible for your wife and me to have anything at all in common.

You are an aberration to all reason and logic, Commander. I firmly believe GSI keeps sending you to me to remind me that life does not make sense.

Bernard, what do you want? Please!

Well surprisingly, we have a job that only you can do, Commander.

I bet you say that to all the guys, Bernard.

Defer your pessimism, Sir. You may enjoy this assignment!

I’m already not enjoying it, Bernard.

You may recall yet another infamous mission of yours that involved the starship Electra, do you not?

What about the Electra? How is she?

To quickly review, she set out fully manned and with equipment and stores necessary for a simple charting mission. You sir, brought her back in quite a disparaging condition with only a partial crew remaining.

You left some things out there, Bernard. But, what about the Electra?

The Electra has been refitted at Enuro over the past 12 months, making her the most advanced ship in Earth’s fleet. She’s ready to come home. GSI wants to give you a temporary Captain’s license so you can ferry her home.

Why?

Why? You mean why you? I asked that very question! You may recall, the fact that the Electra made it back to Earth at all made for spectacular headlines everywhere, Commander. Certain members of Congress who support Global Space enjoyed a good deal of notoriety from that successful return. They have impressed upon GSI that it would be in the interest of several agencies if the Electra’s return were publicized as much as possible. Since you happened to be the ranking officer credited with Electra’s return, they would like you to be at the helm on this trip as well.

This is a publicity stunt? This is all to get some big press?

As I’ve said, it could only be you.

Should I be waving a flag and saluting when we pull into space dock?

You will genuinely serve as Captain of a heavy cruiser; quite a feather in your cap, Commander. This is an affair many high-ranking government and agency officials feel important to the future of Global Space. There will be quite a celebration waiting for the Electra’s return.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Mr. Smith has agreed to participate.

No way! R.J.’s at a mountain cabin in Lake Burton, Georgia. There’s no way even to contact him.

Actually he’s on one of our shuttles arriving back in Florida at this very moment.

There’s not going to be any way for me to wiggle out of this is there, Bernard?

Not this time, Mr. Tarn. Too many eyes on you. The Electra will be the flagship of our fleet now. She has innovations and capabilities like no one has ever seen before.

What happens after I get back?

That will be entirely up to you. New career choices will be available if you desire them; otherwise you may disappear back to Florida, no harm done. By the way, how is that little jewel of a starship we signed over to you?

You mean the Griffin; that little jewel of a starship you were forced to sign over to me, don’t you? It’s just fine. It’s in a 30-day instrumentation upgrade at the moment. It’s not available for any taxi rides to Enuro.

No need, Commander. Enuro has a luxury liner used for ferrying diplomats back and forth. We’ve arranged accommodations for the two of you. The ship will be here to fetch you in three days. One of our shuttles will meet you at KSC and provide you with direct boarding.

These visits are always so unexpected and enlightening, Bernard.

I have a bet with certain members of the GSI head council that this most simple of missions will conclude in utter chaos. I believe my chances are very, very good. You need to stop in on the 7th floor on your way out for a quick checkup and some inoculations. The shuttle will be waiting on the roof to take you back.

I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure, Bernard.

Please deliver my highest salutations to Mr. Smith. I believe he is the only source of reason left to you, Commander. Although every time he touts his restored Corvair automobile to be the finest land vehicle ever made, it shakes my confidence further.

I stood, a beaten man, and walked dejectedly to the door. When I looked back, Porre seemed to be gloating. If it’s any consolation Commander, I’m now off to my daughter’s latest traffic fiasco. She seems unable to destroy only one other vehicle at a time. Would you consent to a DNA comparison, if asked?

I shook my head, waved him off, and pulled the double doors closed behind me.

Chapter 2

R.J. and I sat in the living area of my modest section of quadplex in Cocoa Beach, Florida, drinking Blue Moon Belgian White, each waiting for the other to complain about unexpected dealings with Bernard Porre. I squirmed around on the simulated leather of the oversized couch. R.J. fought with the side handle on the recliner.

So how did they get you? I asked.

Two shuttle pilots appear at my cabin door, hand me a secure satellite phone, and Mr. Porre strongly suggests I accompany you on this trip. He’s the only contact I’ve had with anyone about it. How’d they catch you?

About the same. It seemed to be well planned.

Why did we sign up for this again?

It was implied our best interests would not have been served by refusing.

I thought I was deep enough in the woods, but no…

I guess Porre fancies himself the hunter. So is this bothering you much?

I’d like to know what the heck we’ve been dragged into. I suspect we don’t really know. R.J. pulled at his beard and shifted around in his seat. You’re not drinking your beer. You keep drifting off because you know what I’m talking about, don’t you.

I know we take a luxury two-week cruise to Enuro, then pretend to be seafaring Captains ferrying a large ship back to Earth. What more could a couple misfits like us ask for?

He sat for a moment with a stolid look then finally tipped the amber bottle up against his lips. Why are you trying to avoid the subject, Kemosabe?

I’m waiting for you to switch into Sherlock mode. I love the way you do that.

He took another drink, looked thoughtfully off beyond me, then began the deductive reasoning he was so well known for. How many people were in Porre’s office when you were there?

Just the delightful Mr. Porre himself. He said to give you his warmest salutations.

An operation like this and no other VIP’s in his office to help with the sales pitch? Does that sound right to you?

He seemed to feel he had the upper hand, which he did.

So, as far as you know, you’ve been given an assignment and the only other person in the world that knows anything about it is Bernard Porre?

Well, now that you’ve put it that way…

It’s the same for me. I only spoke to Porre, no one else.

You think Porre’s setting us up somehow? He’s supposed to be Mr. Upstanding, even though he’s such a nuisance.

Why only three days notice for a trip that will take more than a month there and back? How’d they know we weren’t going to be off-world or having surgery or something?

They are nosy, I think.

I searched the net as soon as I was escorted home. There’s not a thing anywhere about the Electra having been refit and coming home in a few weeks.

Maybe it’s a big surprise.

R.J. drank again. Sir, I always love your impudent commentary, but there’s more going on here than meets the eye. I guarantee you that. Porre may not be doing anything unethical, but he’s not telling us everything and this is not just about bringing the Electra back.

Well, as it stands, we are going to have to get into an unfamiliar vehicle with strangers. Mother always warned me about that, but I see no way around it.

Yeah! Why don’t we know anything about that? How big a ship is it? Who’s driving? What kind of trip will this be, exactly? Why do they just happen to be going our way?

A three-hour tour?

Careful what you wish for.

So what do we do, Mr. Holmes?

We pack, my dear Watson. We pack and hope Moriarty isn’t doing the flying.

Two days later we stood outside the fence near the VAB at the Kennedy Space Center, watching a panicked ground crew trying to clear a no-go on our surface-to-orbit shuttle. Surface-to-orbit shuttles look very much like all-white motor homes sitting on pontoons. With all the little service doors hanging open on ours, it gave the impression of unreliability. We stood, each with a single duffle bag, looking like lambs for the slaughter. It was a particularly clear, bright day. The smell of salt air from the nearby beach was strong. The sky was particularly blue, not a cloud in sight. For once the grand blue sky was disconcerting because somewhere beyond it an alien spacecraft awaited our arrival.

When the umbilicals finally began to be pulled off, the mood of the service personnel changed to one of angry impatience. Our gate was hurriedly unlocked and opened. Threatening stares were ungraciously provided to indicate we should hurry. We climbed aboard, took seats, and were off the ground before we could strap in. Our light green flight suits quickly form fit around our bodies in the three-G ascent the pilots were allowing themselves. R.J. managed to look over at me and roll his eyes, his face sagging in the heaviness.

It was very dark beyond the blue. There had been no time to secure our bags, so they began to float around the cabin. I unbuckled and pulled myself forward to the flight deck where I knew the first sight of our new space friends would come into view beyond the forward viewports. For a moment it puzzled me that no stars were visible. It took another long moment to believe that the entire field of vision was being blocked by our ride.

It was quite large, a polished dark green, so dark it almost blended with space. Given nothing for comparison, it had to be at least the size of a football field. The massive outline drew an elongated triangle, the body flat with rounded sides. A large tubular feature originated atop it at the center and ran all the way back to the stern with dozens of blackened viewports along the way. There was not much time to look. Our boys were maneuvering us alongside the midsection for docking.

When the bumping and jerking finally ceased, and the hissing and rushing air equalized, the shuttle’s side door slid open to a snow white airlock. We glided around, gathered up our bags and pushed them in, then watched them crash to the floor in the alien ship’s gravity. With due diligence, we pulled ourselves into that gravity, stood and backed away from the pressure doors. The alien ship’s airlock did not slide closed. It snapped instantly shut. We picked up our bags and stood at the closed inner door, waiting.

R.J. could not resist a nervous quip. Well, this really is a fine mess you’ve gotten us into.

Don’t push it or I’ll start scratching my head and crying.

I hope the flight suits are appropriate.

At least we can run away fast in them.

Right.

The inner door suddenly snapped open so quickly and silently it startled us. Beyond the inner airlock door, large silver elevator doors swished open. We stepped in, found no controls whatsoever and before we could turn, heard the doors close behind us. There was no sound or sense of motion. The doors on the opposite side of the car opened a moment later. The view beyond was dazzling.

Before us was a large gallery area with plush furniture here and there, some of it difficult to understand. The high, domed ceiling peaked at a portion of the tubular section of ship we had seen from above. Viewports filled its surface. They were tinted gray blue and not transparent. The room was oval with a wide wraparound chrome counter on the left and a large fireplace some distance away on the right. A dark figure with his back to us sat by the dead fire. Thick white carpet embedded with silver stars of various sizes covered the floor. Small glass courtesy tables were here and there. The air felt slightly too cool and smelled like that of a hospital with a touch of perfume added. The angelic receptionist behind the counter beckoned us with a wide smile.

She was not human but was breathtakingly beautiful and intensely radiant. There was a silver-white glow around her that matched the white gown she was wearing. It sparkled from silver embedded in the material. A wide luminous neckline added to the aura. The gown was sleeveless, but she wore matching arm-length gloves that came up just short of the shoulders. She had pointed pixie ears barely visible through loops of golden-silver hair with silver clips in the center of each loop. The tiny nose and small mouth accented unblemished ivory skin. Her eyes were almost too large to be proportionate. They were blue-gray and piercing.

As we stepped up to the counter, I realized R.J. was just as mesmerized as I. The entire length of the counter top was displaying ship’s information. Our ethereal host kept her practiced smile and drew a small hand scanner from beneath the counter. She held it up pointed at us.

A computer voice from the scanner spoke:

This audio file is designed to check your language translators to verify adequacy. If you do not possess a language translator please notify your attendant and one will be provided for you for the duration of your journey. The following segment of this audio file has been assembled from portions of the various dialects you will need. If at any time you do not understand any part of this audio file please notify your attendant. We are committed to providing you with the utmost in safety and comfort. Please advise the attendant of any needs that may arise. This concludes your language translator verification. Thank you for your patience.

R.J. and I already had translators inserted in both ears, devices obtained on a previous trip to Enuro. I glanced over at him with a childish smirk and found him still staring at our beautiful host with his mouth hanging open. She did not seem offended by the earthling’s worshipful gaze.

Captain Adrian Tarn, and Commander Rowland J. Smith? Her voice was as hypnotic as her aura. It sounded like the two sexiest voices I had ever heard, mixed together to make one musical voice. Instead of answering her, we continued our blank stares.

Something snapped in R.J.’s mind. Commander Rowland Smith? Commander?! He looked at me and blurted out a laugh. Captain Adrian Tarn? Captain?!

I rolled my eyes at him. R.J., didn’t they tell you about this?

Our host interrupted, Sirs, my deepest apologies. Are our records in error?

I managed to recover from my flashback to puberty. No, ma’am. It is we who are sorry for confusing you. Those are our correct names and ranks.

R.J. had gone back to his endearing gaze.

Thank goodness. We do not make errors here, please be assured. With that, she came out from behind the counter, stood in front of us, and scanned each of us with her handheld device. Gentlemen, my name is Fantasia.

Of course it is, replied R.J.

I will be attending to most of your needs during this voyage. Please let me show you to your staterooms. She touched a control band on her delicate wrist. Instantly, two individuals emerged from a nearby archway. They were no more than 4 feet tall, skin tone a light green, dressed in matching green attire that looked like wetsuits. They had no hair at all and their facial features were tiny and crammed together in the center of their faces. They scurried over to us and tugged at the handles of our duffle bags. We obliged by releasing them and the two miniature bellhops took the bags to a spot nearby and waited to follow.

Fantasia resumed her hypnotic smile. Captain, Commander… She raised one hand and turned to lead us across the room toward a large, open corridor of glass and light. A wide domed entrance gave us access. As we passed by I recognized it as an elaborate pressure door disguised as a simple archway.

The grand gallery is a social area for all guests who wish to use it, she said. Ahead of us now, this is the main concourse.

Overhead the narrow, raised channel of windows continued. The tinting had been removed so that they now showed stars above us. The floor looked like white marble with the same silver star icons embedded within it. The passageway was much wider than the raised row of windows above and the extra ceiling was a display of slow-moving intertwining colors that helped light the concourse. The walls on either side had long bands of waist-high blue menus scrolling information with the best deals of the day. Beyond the glass walls were various facilities available to guests. A kind of gymnasium and pool on the right, a cafeteria and lounge on the left. Ahead I could see a recreation area, and theater. Beyond those, still other facilities I didn’t recognize. All along the way glass phone booth-sized displays held items for sale or decoration. Display areas had extra golden light intended to ensure guests did not miss something they might wish to purchase. It was impossible to tell where the light was coming from, and yet somehow it did not interfere with the stars in the viewports overhead.

I’m beginning to think this may not have been such a bad idea after all, remarked R.J.

Fantasia, what is the ship called? I asked.

Without slowing her pace