The Order

By Christopher Goodrum

The Order of the Nova’Psi were once the galactic peacekeepers and warriors of the Ventax Galaxy. Feared by the corrupted and imperialistic government of the Central Government, their leader was assassinated and the Order fell under attack. The Order was disbanded.
Ten years has passed and Anaya, a supplier, possesses the only file with the identities and locations of the surviving members. When the file is stolen from her, Cayl and Gar, members of the former Order are targeted. With Anaya’s help, they must find the one responsible before bounty hunters and mercenaries destroy them all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Goodrum
• Release date: Jun 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311635334

Christopher Goodrum

Christopher Goodrum writes on the go. That is how he would describe how he prefers to write. He still prefers the old way of writing: putting pen to paper, even in this age of laptops and tablets, Starting with comedic skits for talent shows at a young age, Goodrum quickly found his knack for humor and the art of screwball comedies. His later years transformed his work from skits to dramatic plays, having scripted, performed, and directed an one-act play for the senior class of his high school as well as scripted original dialogue for his high school's Broadway Revue show. All the while, he begun his adventures in writing novels and teleplays. After a few years, he shifted his focus on honing his craft in writing novels: particularly in the genres of science fiction and fantasy. Goodrum is an entertainer at heart. A self-proclaimed jack-of-all-trades in this field. He acted and directed; sung and danced; composed, recorded, and performed musical scores; played the piano; briefly tried stand-up; and learned the art of improvisation. He performed in numerous plays and musicals, both in high school and for San Joaquin County in California, performing in front of the state's capital; and performed in two theme parks, including Paramount's Great America (now, California's Great America) and the Disneyland Resort. Through it all, writing was the one thing that was always present.

Book preview

Chapter One

It was no secret that Syntiens were being illegally sold behind the protection of the Black Market Trade Zone: a designated section of space set up by arms dealers and smugglers three hundred light years from the Central Government. Illegal sells of these synthetic lifeforms have been going on for centuries, since the Syntiens’ creation. But the most degrading aspect of these transactions was that some were done through gambling.

Cayl’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight of his opponent putting his Syntien on the table to cover the bet. He realized that it meant one of two things; one: that his opponent had a terrific hand and had great confidence in his victory, or two: he was incredibly stupid to meet stakes that was raised so high. Rykarian poker wasn’t a game for the lightweights. Syntiens were worth ten times as much than what was in the money pot.

And the pot was getting pretty steep.

Cayl knew he had to put up the difference of the bet and the worth of the Syntien. His opponent stared into Cayl’s eyes displaying a stoic expression mixed with a mischievous I dare you look. But Cayl had a knack for these kinds of situations and he never in his life turned down a dare. He wasn’t, by far, a lightweight, and he put down the credits to cover the difference.

A crowd had swarmed around them, gathering to the center of the smoky bar, and buzzing with excitement. Surely, they hadn’t seen the stakes raised so high in a long time. And with a Syntien thrown into the pot, at that. Bets were being taken on the results of the dealt hand and everybody had an opinion on it. No one could see what the players were holding. Rykarian poker required that players guard their hand from spectators as if the metallic cards were cash themselves. Credits were being passed to a trusted bet keeper (if one could trust anybody in the Black Market Trade Zone) as the noise level in the bar raised several decibels with each passing minute.

The suspense and the tension were building. Cayl was purposely taking his time with calling the bet. He wanted to let his opponent sink into his false sense of security. The game wasn’t over, yet, and to declare a victor, even in the last stages of the dealt hand, would be dangerously premature.

Cayl stared down his opponent: a slime-coated Tazitian with a severe drooling problem. Every breath the smuggler took, it seemed that his grease-covered clothes were going to slide or drip right off of him. The thin layer of slime which covered his entire body, shined like polished crystal, providing a protective membrane from alien airborne viruses.

The Syntien, however, was just like Cayl in the species department. The Syntien had a soft look about her: healthy skin, clear complexion, free of blemishes or scars, shoulder length brown hair, deep brown eyes, stood at 5’8", and had a bodily frame like an athlete. She was a simple looking humanoid, who looked just as much as a Nerran as any real person could.

And that was what made Syntiens unique. At plain sight, no one could tell Syntiens apart from the rest of the population. They were designed to resemble any species (depending on the specification of the buyer). If Cayl hadn’t known, he probably would have made the mistake of hitting on her.

Making a pass on anyone here was dangerous enough as it was. This was the place where people get killed just for sneezing wrong. Countless of fights broke out here, illegal sells of arms were done under the table here, and if the wrong path got crossed, deadly results happen here. No one cared to ask questions.

Universal law of the land: unless you had a death wish, don’t ask questions.

But Cayl wasn’t interested in asking questions. He was there for the money. His ship needed a systems upgrade. A very expensive systems upgrade. And if he was going to keep a couple steps ahead of the Central Government, he had to have the fastest ship, the most advanced system, and the most efficient equipment he could get his hands on.

Keeping one step ahead of his pursuers was an everyday challenge. For years now, he had been hiding in asteroid fields, nebulas, and gravitational fields of small planetoids. He dared to maneuver through the icy debris of a comet’s tail, fly dangerously close to a dying star, and weaved through plasma storms. He wasn’t out of tricks, yet, but he has never looked forward to running into another squadron of Justifiers: big league fighters of the Central Government.

That was one of the reasons why he came to the Black Market Trade Zone. All smugglers, criminals, and arms dealers have immunity here. It was a safe haven from bureaucratic justice and persecution. The borders of the Black Market Trade Zone ran for light years, heavily protected by the most advanced weapon systems imaginable. Since the technology was invented illegally, the inventors stretched the limits of science to its most destructive properties to protect the area of space they practically call home.

The Central Government could never hope to match the firepower of the weapon system. They had tried decades ago when the Zone was first established, hoping to eradicate the illegal sells and trafficking. But they were helpless to prevent it. Hundreds of ships were lost in the battle while the criminals, smugglers, and arms dealers only lost a handful in a joint effort to protect their mutual interests.

Anyone was welcome to come and perform their transactions or conduct their business as they pleased. How they did it and if they could manage to come out profitable or alive were up to them. No one really cared why anyone was there, whether it was for recreational activities (the Zone had the most extensive and best gun range in the quadrant and the high stakes gambling facilities always drew the crowd. Not to mention the strip clubs, which featured delectable samples of females from over a hundred and thirty worlds) or whether it was for business; or just laying low, hidden away out of reach from the authorities. However, any undercover government officer and peacemaker who ventured into the establishments would pay a deadly price if discovered.

That was the last thing on his mind. He just wanted to collect his winnings once he won, take his ship across the Goliath Expanse, and upgrade his ship. He had more important things to take care of. Wrongs to put right, if he was still alive to do them.

His hand was good. Very good. And judging by the look on the Tazitian’s face, he needed to at least have a hand greater than an Utolus flush, the fourth highest hand one could ever get. And that he had.

It was time to call the bet and he did so with a smirk. No more poker faces, no more mind games and calculating probabilities. He had taken care of that before he received his third hand. The pot was high enough (hell, a Syntien was thrown in. What the hell was he going to do with a Syntien?), and it was time to complete the game.

The Tazitian placed three of his four metallic cards on the table, partially displaying his hand: three High Priestess cards, a very lucky hand. Majority of the heads in the crowd nodded in approval and smirked with satisfaction. Many others lowered their heads with the weight of loss and monetary misfortune. All those familiar with the rules of Rykarian poker knew that the High Priestess cards were among the top-level advancement cards. Only one other set of cards was higher: the Infinite cards. And the Tazitian had it. He dropped the card on the table as a wide, slimy grin spread across his pale yellow face.

The crowd around him erupted into a mix clash of triumphant cheers and defeated moans. The bet keeper started to pass the credits to those you placed the bet in favor of the Tazitian. The winners took them happily and greedily as the losers argued in harsh tones and vicious deadly intent, which was always common after such results, no matter what game it was and no matter how much the bet was.

Cayl, however, didn’t move nor speak. He kept his cards in hand as he watched the reactions of those around him. He didn’t mind that people were happy that he had lost; nor did he care that people were upset that he lost because the fact of the matter was, he hadn’t.

During his observation of the crowd, congratulating each other and the Tazitian, who was now reaching for the credits in the middle of the table, Cayl noticed the Syntien staring at him. Her deep brown eyes appeared to peer into his soul and his thoughts, analyzing him, studying him. He didn’t find it uncomfortable, but he knew that there was some intelligence behind those synthetic eyes of hers.

Wait, the Syntien demanded. Her voice boomed through the bar, echoing off the walls and ceasing all activity.

All became quiet and the focus of the bar went to the Syntien. The Tazitian glared at her for speaking so abruptly, and without permission. He owned her. She was not allowed to do anything without him commanding her to do so. But she did it anyway because she knew that the situation was not resolved. Being that she was going to be the most effected by the resolution of the situation, she had the most right (although legally, Syntiens didn’t have rights) to call for a proper and definite resolution.

He didn’t show his hand.

And with that statement, the reality of the situation set in and all eyes went to Cayl. The Tazitian froze in his tracks collecting the money. His glare went from the Syntien to Cayl, then back to the Syntien. The grin he once had while he thought he came out victorious was now gone. He reluctantly let go of the money and sat back down. Impatiently he said, Then show your hand, Nerran.

Why bother, Cayl began, sarcastically. You have three High Priestess cards and an Infinite card. How can I hope to beat that?

Then it is clear. I have won. Another grin creased the Tazitian’s face, bigger than the last one.

I didn’t say that.

Then what are you saying? His grin faded, again, with annoyance. Turning to the crowd, he added, I should have known that Nerrans don’t lose graciously.

The crowd roared with laughter as the Tazitian laughed with them. His laughter was a sickening audible display of gurgling slime and mucous. A hideous sound to hear.

Cayl continued to focus on the Tazitian, not affected by the remark or the agreement of the crowd. He has dealt with worse with a more unruly crowd and a more dangerous opponent. It was just this time, he wouldn’t get his arm broken if he won.

You need at least four Infinite cards to win and I have one of them. It is highly unlikely that you will be able to win the hand with it. Unless you happen to have a Nova card up your sleeve. But we all know the probability of drawing the single Nova card in the deck.

Astronomical, Cayl smiled, whimsically. He eyed the Syntien, who was still studying Cayl with a cold stare, her eyes blinking at randomized intervals. Wouldn’t you agree, he said to her.

The Syntien merely replied with a simple nod. She was reserved as one could possibly have been, displaying no sign of anxiety or apprehension over the whole gambling process. Her hands were loosely by her side, her posture fully erect, and her face still completely stoic. Inside her artificial brain, she was calculating every possible outcome of the game, wondering which one would come to reality and how it will change her existence.

In retrospect, it shouldn’t have mattered all that much to her. As a Syntien, it was within her nature to expect change (dramatic, or otherwise) and then, adapt accordingly. It was a crucial part of the Syntien’s programming and development. Tailor made with valuable features such as adaptability, versatility, multiple linguistic capabilities, and technical expertise. Although the Syntiens were created for other purposes hundreds of years ago by a now extinct species, those features insured the Syntiens usefulness to the rest of the galaxy.

But as useful as she was and although the reality of her existence was that she was property, she never looked forward to being sold, traded as payment, or lost in a gambling establishment. Each time was degrading.

The Tazitian, beginning to lose his patience, slammed his slimy fist upon the cold, hard, thin steel frame of the table. A small vibration rumbled the cards and the credits within the pot. I’m not one to irritate. If you cross me, you’ll quickly find that my temper is not to be tested. I will prove to be dangerous.

Cayl’s smile dropped, focusing his eyes into a stern stare. He locked eyes with his poker opponent, projecting an icy, fierce front. It was a look that could back down the most vicious warrior, that could make the most powerful foe second-guess their actions, and that could make an entire crowd clear the way for safe passage.

The Tazitian held his ground, but it was shaky. He wasn’t about to let a Nerran stare him down and get away with it. He had won; he knew it. He had the second highest hand possible in the entire game. The fact that the Nerran was not willing to show his hand was evidence and testimony to his victory.

Three of Cayl’s cards were laid on the table. Just as the Tazitian had assumed, Cayl had three Infinite cards. The crowd bustled verbally with anticipation and relief from those who placed bets in favor of Cayl winning. The others against Cayl started to become unruly, yelling at each other, and shoving anyone who would taunt them for assuming a win so prematurely. They were all waiting for the final card to be shown.

Aside from the Tazitian, no one wanted to know the outcome of the unveiling more than the Syntien. But it was her nature to wait patiently. She could have waited a millennia if she had to. Although she preferred not to have waited quite that long for a poker hand.

Then it was shown. Cayl tossed the Nova card onto the table as casually as if it was a hat being masterfully tossed onto a hat rack. As soon as the card hit the table, the crowd burst into a mixture of cheers and moans. Money changed hands, once again, as the winners congratulated each other and the losers threaten the winners with deadly actions if they didn’t get the chance to win their credits back.

The Tazitian stared at the cards. He was dumbfounded and angry at the results of the game. He just lost his credits and his Syntien to a gruffy-looking, half-shaven Nerran in a raggedy gray jumpsuit. Of all the low level species to lose a game of Rykarian poker to, losing to a Nerran had to be the lowest he could go.

He slammed his slimy fists upon the table and started to remove himself from it. Without looking at Cayl, he hung his head low in disappointment and waved the Syntien in Cayl’s direction. Take her. I was going to have her dismantled anyway.

Cayl quickly glanced at the Syntien as he began to collect his winnings. He looked at her long enough to acknowledge the change in ownership and then went back to keeping his eyes on his winnings. He wouldn’t feel comfortable with the money lying around with this crowd until he had fully secured the credits in a safe place.

As for the Syntien…that was a different matter altogether.

He peered every once in awhile at the Tazitian working his way through the crowd to leave. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he needed to keep his eye on that Tazitian. Tazitians have been known to strike down a poker rival with a pulsar weapon after losing such a large amount of credits. Cayl was hoping that Tazitian wasn’t one of those kinds.

The crowd started to disperse and return to their own business of gambling and illegal trade. At that point, the Syntien approached Cayl.

I will transfer all my operational functions to acknowledge your command, sir.

There is no need, Cayl replied, not bothering to look at her. I do not require or desire your…services.

Cayl finished collecting his winnings, placing the credits within his pockets, and began to walk away. Once again, he didn’t acknowledge the Syntien’s presence, despite that she was right next to him.

I’m afraid that I do not have a choice in the matter.

That got Cayl’s attention. He turned around slowly with a perplexed expression. He would have assumed that the Syntien would be very appreciative of having been let go from the obligations of the Tazitian’s bet. His knowledge of Syntiens was not extensive, nor could he say that he was knowledgeable about Syntiens. But he did know what they were capable of doing and what they were used for. In his current position, the need for a Syntien was ridiculous. Then again, he never required the services of one. It was inconceivable.

Cayl drew himself closer to the Syntien and looked her straight in the eye. What are you talking about?

The wager of my former owner was legal and binding.

Yes, it was, Cayl agreed. He had lost the game and he had lost you as his servant. You are no longer under his ownership. But I, however, have released you from your obligation to serve me. I have no use for you, nor will I. You are free to go and do whatever it is you like to do.

I have no ‘likes’, sir. You have won the credits and you have won the ownership of this Syntien. I am yours to command.

Fine. I command you to release yourself from your obligations and hit the road.

I cannot do that.

You’re worse than a lost puppy, Cayl sighed. Bringing his hand up to his left collar, he activated a small, round communication device. To an unobservant eye, the device merely appears to be a decorative pin of some sort. But underneath the simple design of the pin laid a sophisticated network of circuitry and electronic components, squeezed into a circular framework no larger than a dime. Gar, this is Cayl. I’m going to need backup.

I’m on my way, a deep voice came back, being transmitted to the small, inconspicuous earpiece in Cayl’s ear.

The Syntien questioned the nature of the conversation, but only to herself, making a note of it, and coming up with likeable possibilities for it. Surely, Cayl anticipated an assault. But from whom? And where? And how did he know there was going to be one, if there was going to be one? She found that to be intriguing. Perhaps it stemmed from the fact that she was always able to understand the actions and logical (or illogical, as many cases seemed to prove) thinking of every species she encountered, especially Nerrans. It was part of her programming. Programming which she was able to evolve further from since her seven hundred and some odd years of existence.

But this Nerran was different somehow.

What is your name?

Name? The Syntien asked.

Yes, what is your designation? What did your owner call you?

Syntien.

Anything else? Anything that distinguished you from any other Syntien or lifeform?

No.

Well, then, Syntien, let me put this in a way that will conclude this little discussion. You own yourself from now on.

That appears to be a sort of a paradox in my case. And impossible. I believe the correct statement to verbalize is, ‘You’re stuck with me.’

With a sigh, Cayl replied, Great!

His eyes wondered to the upper level of the bar: a second floor gambling area over-looking the ground floor. Colorful tubes of light lined the walls and ceiling. They projected colors of red, yellow, and blue. There purpose was to attract the eyes of potential clientele and customers. The gambling area displayed a wide variety of games with higher stakes and even deadlier consequences if found cheating. High profile games that were the biggest crowd drawers from their respective system of origin spread throughout the entire range of the Ventax Galaxy. Only the best players and the best hustlers played up on that level. Naturally, the noise level was substantially higher and the competition was most fierce.

And from the looks of the crowd swelling up against the railings of the second floor, it was pretty packed up there and the games must have been getting ready to maximize the betting requirements for some big winnings.

But that wasn’t what Cayl was interested in.

We’ll talk about this later, Cayl said. I have a feeling that no matter where I go or what I do, you won’t leave me. But for now, do what I say, when I say it. These will not be commands as in owner/Syntien commands. These will be I-know-what-I’m- doing-and-just-follow-my-lead commands. Got that?

Yes.

Good. Now stay behind me.

Cayl turned around sharply, extending his right arm out, his fingers slightly fanned out as a golden flash of light created by his hand produced a sword. Its hilt was a mixture of black and silver metals constructed together, given it a unique design. Cayl’s hand wrapped around the hilt firmly, yet comfortably: feeling one with the weapon like he was born with it. As if it was an extension of his own self.

Quickly, without a split second hesitation, he swung his left hand to meet his right and instantly cut through the air in a leftward arc deflecting a laser bolt that seemed to come from nowhere.

The surrounding crowd’s attention was immediately drawn to the occurrence and made a run for cover. Whatever was going to happen was between the unknown and the Nerran and they wanted no part of it unless they found dying for a stranger worth the gamble. The room didn’t clear of occupants, but the room sure gained a lot of dead space.

Every action in the room stopped as another laser bolt shot down from the second floor in a mad dash to strike down Cayl. Effortlessly, Cayl made an upward swipe, batting the laser bolt into a pillar across the establishment.

Do you want to try that, again, Cayl called up to the second floor where the all too familiar Tazitian stood armed with a small Tazitian laser pistol. Or leave while the stakes are still low.

The Tazitian, as well as the crowd, was astonished by the Nerran’s revelation. The fact that the Nerran had a weapon wasn’t at least the shocking aspect of it. It was the fact that the sword literally came out of nowhere was the most disturbing element. But he wasn’t about to back down. Not to a Nerran. Even if the Nerran was…

Shot after shot jetted out of the laser pistol, targeting Cayl with deadly accuracy. If it weren’t for Cayl’s swift actions, which were masked by blurs and his sword, he would have surely been dead on the spot. But the skills Cayl possessed would never allow that.

Bolt after bolt, Cayl protected himself with little trouble. Each deflection was like knocking away softballs. He did his best to not have the bolt ricochet into another individual or into any of the drinks sporadically placed throughout. The last thing he needed was an explosion and to rescue hundreds of smugglers and arm dealers. They wouldn’t take too kindly to that anyway.

The only person who didn’t flitch or move out of harms way was the Syntien. She stood her ground behind Cayl, doing as she was instructed: remaining behind him. Even if she wasn’t told to stay behind him, she very much doubted she would have moved a single millimeter. Without a doubt, she had been in worse, more dyer situations. And despite her position within the galaxy and the grand scheme of things, she was more than capable of defending herself and others.

Relentlessly, the Tazitian was on his way of empting his entire ammunition clip. Tazitians weren’t known for learning quickly.

A barrage of laser bolts streamlined for Cayl. Flawlessly and with expert timing, he knocked away bolt after bolt, sending each one out of deadly reach of any bar patrons. His actions were a blur, moving faster than a species could see. And he was doing it with finesse. The sword gleamed under the lights of the bar, presenting such an immaculate shine as if it came from a spiritual realm. Not a single residual mark was imprinted upon it by the laser bolts after making contact. It remained clean, sterile, and majestic.

The sword came to a rest at a defensive position near Cayl’s right shoulder as several clickings from the Tazitian’s weapon declared its occupancy. The weapon was thrown down, creating a loud clatter onto the floor. The Tazitian cursed in his own language, pulled out another small weapon from his slimy boot, and leaped off the second floor, landing on top of a table and crushing it flat. He remained on his feet, impressingly enough, and glared at his target.

You’re a Galactic Peacekeeper, the Syntien whispered.

Used to be, Cayl replied. There was a sense of loss in his voice. Loss from a past he was unable, or unwilling, to forget. Then once again, he was caught in the actions of defending himself, as more laser bolts were unleashed. Five were batted away in quick succession. Stay behind me.

The Tazitian had stood his ground for a moment, keeping the weapon leveled at Cayl. So far his efforts weren’t working. He knew this. He also knew that if he didn’t have his weapon, he would be good as dead. At this point, it was quite obvious that his attended target was a Galactic Peacekeeper. He was more than familiar with those that held the title. And they didn’t place themselves favorably in the Tazitian’s mind. They used to cause more trouble for smugglers than the Central Government did. And the opportunity to kill