Rigel's Escape

By Tom Bielawski

"Heck," said Dooly, poking Heck Thomas in the shoulder. "Why do Moon rocks taste better than Earth rocks?"
Heck looked up from the pilot's console with an irritated expression and a raised brow.
"Because they're a little meteor!" Dooly laughed uproariously. Heck shook his head and returned his attention to the console, smiling at the thought of paying Dooly back.

"Tom Bielawski is a bright light in today's dark sea of new writers. His writing gives me hope for the next generation of dreamers. I highly recommend both him and his works." -NYT Bestselling author, Tracy Hickman.

Rigel's Escape is the second installment in The Orion Trilogy, and it not about Earth rocks or tasty meteors. This book picks right up after the conclusion of The Orion Deception, catapulting Heck Thomas into a twisted web of intrigue, corruption, and lies.

The Centaurus Device is the devilish gift that just keeps giving, and everyone wants a piece of it. Heck's ex-partner makes a dramatic return from the dead and wants Heck to step outside. Heck, ready to settle old scores, is only too glad to oblige.

But Heck Thomas could never have imagined what came next.

Old friends return from the dead, new friends disappear, and Heck Thomas is ready to send the whole damned drift across space and time in order to stop the madness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tom Bielawski
• Release date: Oct 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370410354

Tom Bielawski

A veteran of the US Marines. 2 years in Afghanistan as an International Mentor. A husband, a father of two, and a CF Dad. My hobbies include spending time with my family, trout fishing, fly fishing, bass fishing, camping, fishing, horses, fishing and fishing. Contact me: www.facebook.com/thechroniclesofllars www.tombielawski.com

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R I G E L’ S

E S C A P E

R I G E L’ S

E S C A P E

by

Tom Bielawski

Copyright 2016

Smashwords Edition

Cystic Fibrosis (CF)

I am a CF dad; someone I love needs a cure.

CF is a genetic, inherited, disease that affects the lungs and digestive systems of about 30,000 children and adults in the United States, and 70,000 worldwide. A defective gene and its protein product cause the body to produce unusually thick and sticky mucus that clogs the lungs and leads to life-threatening lung infections, and obstructs the pancreas stopping the natural enzymes from helping the body break down and absorb food.

This disease used to be a death sentence. Now, more and more people with CF are living into their 30's, 40's, and beyond. And that is thanks in large part to organizations like Cystic Fibrosis Foundation and others who have supported and driven the research community with awesome fundraisers, studies, and media attention.

Please support Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, Cystic Life, Boomer Esiason Foundation, or any other great organization that is helping to fight this terrible disease.

Thank you,

Tom Bielawski

P R O L O G U E

Prime Minister Horatio Arnold stood on the observation deck of the most powerful battleship in the Commonwealth Naval Forces, CS Juggernaut. Built and outfitted with Rigelan weapons technology, Juggernaut was a new addition to the Fleet. Commissioned in concert with the Fleet’s redesignation to Commonwealth Navy, Horatio Arnold expected great things from his behemoth flagship.

Juggernaut had been built in secret on a mining drift in the outer reaches of the Asteroid Belt. A century ago, the entire crew had suffered a fatal reaction to a peculiar new element they discovered. Arnold had known little about it, and less of the drift itself, but it pleased him that the old drift had been relatively untouched. It took some effort to refit the drift and modernize its equipment, but his efforts had paid off. With the capacity to carry one thousand assault craft and ten thousand troops, and fitted with the most advanced weaponry in human history, CS Juggernaut alone was as powerful as an entire squadron of CSN Naval ships-of-the-line.

Arnold beamed as his troops assembled on the well deck, that cavernous chamber in which Juggernaut’s subordinate assault and support craft were staged. Prior to launching sorties, pilots and crew boarded their craft, buckled in, and transitioned to launch tubes. Then, launch tube atmosphere would be vented and assault craft catapulted into space. Arnold knew how many men and women under Vladimir’s command had met their end in launch tubes and sally ports. His irrational fear of dying in space made him happy to be the Russian’s superior.

The massive well deck served another purpose: a parade deck for the Commonwealth Legion. Until now, the Commonwealth had not been in the business of long-term war and had not needed a permanent standing army, although the Commonwealth Army had been raised and dissolved from time to time in the past. The burden of defending the Commonwealth and policing its commerce lanes belonged primarily to the Commonwealth Navy, Marines, and Guard.

Driven by his greed for power, Arnold tried to manage his military forces directly by taking on the roles reserved for each branch’s top officer. The burden, however, was too much. Arnold had to give that authority to Anton Vladimir. Along with the increased authority, Arnold created a new title for Vladimir commensurate his added duties: Commonwealth Imperator. This title made Vladimir more powerful than every civilian or military official in the Commonwealth short of Horatio Arnold. In truth, Arnold felt that Vladimir deserved more power and esteem for his loyalty these many years.

Vladimir had assured Arnold early on that his campaign to purge malcontents from the Naval Forces would work and that the PM’s ascension to rule was all but guaranteed. Vladimir’s plan backfired, however, and triggered an increase in resignations within his officer corps.

Arnold wanted to order a draft, to send press troops throughout Commonwealth and round up new recruits. The Imperator wisely counseled Arnold against that move. Press gangs would only serve to bring attention to their trouble and further aggravate public opinion. Vladimir conceived a new plan to ensure the success the planned coup, and it was one that Prime Minister Arnold was fond of. Vladimir ordered the creation of three cohorts of troops would comprise the new Commonwealth Legion. Vladimir filled its ranks with willing candidates from the Commonwealth’s prison system. When given a choice between an airlock ejection or joining the Legion, none turned down the chance at freedom and plunder.

Sir, your troops are ready for review. General Bill Morano, known as The Axe in Fort Leavenworth Prison Drift, stood at attention beside Horatio Arnold. Vladimir picked this man to head up the Commonwealth Legion. Convicted of a series of gruesome axe murders while serving in the United States Army, Morano jumped at the chance to quench his thirst for revenge against the bureaucrat judicial class that had wronged him.

Very well, replied Arnold, wearing the military coat and holding the scepter that symbolized his power. General Morano tapped something on his wrist and the holographic image of a uniformed officer appeared in the air before the men.

You may begin, Morano said to his underling.

As the hologram vanished, Arnold pondered whether the lack of military decorum and discipline of regular troops would be a hindrance. While the true tests were to come, he truly did not care so long as the Legionnaires obeyed orders.

Arnold watched proudly as the men marched along the perimeter of the massive well deck. He decided that the instances of improper alignment or cover were minor, compared to the greater need for troops willing to get dirty. He smiled. Vladimir enjoyed the intensity of his new troops, but felt strongly that they all needed to endure the rigors of boot camp. Arnold, however, was too impatient. Many of the Naval and Guard ships were committed to heavy patrol duties in the Inner System and around Earth. Discontent was prevalent, and Arnold needed his new troops now.

After the troops completed their march, the assault vehicles began their demonstration. Two sleek fighters, newly developed by top defense contractors, hovered into the massive bay and rose to eye level with Arnold and his general. Arnold admitted to himself that this was risky, considering who piloted those deadly craft, but he forced himself to present a firm countenance. The versatile craft, created using the brilliant minds of the prisoners on Rigel’s Escape, resembled a raptor poised for the kill. Outfitted with deadly plasma cannons, the new Solar Hawk fighters could even defeat the Navy’s own Phalanx Defense Systems.

Arnold felt relieved as the menacing fighter drifted away, signaling the arrival of a variety of other newly designed craft such as personnel transports, stealth assault craft, tanks, and even amphibious assault craft. The best advancement in the armaments of these new craft was a shielding mechanism giving them the ability to withstand any atmospheric condition known to exist in the Solar System. From the crushing pressures of the deepest of Earth’s oceans to the corrosive power of the Outer System’s gas giants, Solar Hawks could conduct operations anywhere the Navy chose to send them.

Magnificent! he whispered, a gleeful grin adorning his creased face. He could feel the power at his fingertips!

When do we begin the assault, sir?

In four hours. A dark smile played about his lips. When the battle is complete, and you have won my drift back for me, you may commence pillaging.

What are the rules of engagement, sir? the general asked, a trace of a sneer developing around his mouth.

Rules? asked the would-be dictator with a raised eyebrow. Take what you will. Kill who you will. Try not to destroy too many of the homes on the drift because your men will live in them. Beyond that, do not disturb my palace or the capitol grounds!

Sir! The general executed a sloppy about-face and departed.

Prime Minister Arnold left the observation deck with a huge smile. He strolled down the passageway, noting with pride the way the ship’s crew made way for him and snapped smartly to attention. He nodded to each of them as he went, enjoying the boost to his ego. The passageways on Juggernaut were wide and ornately decorated, a distinct but pleasant contrast to most Navy starships. An extraordinary amount of money went into the creation and outfitting of the massive starship, and no expense was spared to ensure Horatio Arnold’s luxury. He imagined how Napoleon must have felt on the eve of battle, his troops surging across Europe like a battering ram and his enemies scattering before him like embers in the breezes of their pillaging fires.

With the ceremonies concluded, Arnold stepped into the lift that would take him to the bridge, pleased with the relaxing music that filled the small chamber. As the hatch slid shut, a gentle chime followed by a female voice interrupted the music. Welcome, Mr. Prime Minister. Shall I activate live intelligence feeds?

Arnold smiled and nodded. The ship’s computer recognized his head movement and an array of holodisplays streamed intelligence reports. An open source product that analyzed what the major news outlets said about him during the preceding twenty-four hours held his interest the most. He shook his head at the top story on one news outlet: CSN’s militarization of civilian law enforcement is complete. He just could not understand the outrage.

Tiring of the news, Arnold scrutinized the intelligence feeds and scowled at the analysis. Reporting revealed civilian media outrage over his attempts to censor critical news reports. Civilian news media outlets ignored his requests to funnel their stories through approved government media monitors. With a wave of his hand all the feeds and displays ceased and the soft music resumed.

The lift stopped and the computer voice announced, Bridge. Arnold stepped out into the massive control nexus of Juggernaut as a pair of guards snapped to attention. Commandant on the bridge! All heads snapped toward the elevator. In seconds everyone in the room was standing at attention.

Carry on, said Arnold in a loud voice, smiling. He knew that Naval customs and courtesies did not call for all hands to stand at attention when he entered the bridge, in contrast with what was customary elsewhere, because critical activities within the ship’s brain could not be interrupted every time a person of rank strolled in. Today, however, was different. Today, they accorded him the respect he was due, and they disregarded custom to do it. From this point forward, please observe protocol when I enter the bridge. A simple announcement will do.

The crew returned to their duties as he approached the captain’s chair. The ship’s captain was not on the bridge, so Arnold seated himself on the luxurious leather throne. He glanced over his left shoulder and saw the Operations Chief—third in command on any Navy starship—peering over the shoulders of three of his men, reviewing battle plans and procedures. To his right was the Intelligence Chief, directing the flow of information and ensuring all content was properly analyzed. Ahead of him were the helm and navigation stations, and before him was a massive viewing screen that permitted simultaneous situational reporting and a view of open space. Several other small stations were scattered throughout the bridge, but their purposes eluded him, as did the names of the officers who manned them.

Arnold gazed out at the ethereal beauty and vastness of space, and he knew that greatness lie in the secrets hidden among stars once thought out of reach to Mankind.

An escort of battle cruisers flanked Juggernaut as it sailed inexorably toward their target, Palace Drift. He had left Palace Drift at the head of a military convoy to Earth, planning to maneuver the Terran States farther into his sphere of influence. When he left, he had pulled off the only coup in the history of the Commonwealth of Spacefaring Nations; or so he had thought. After he invoked the military powers of his office, at once unprecedented and unimaginable, he had rendered Parliament powerless. He seized control of the civilian security and police forces and militarized them, bringing every arm of government under his complete control.

The only thing he had not foreseen, was how stretched his forces now were. Vladimir had to leave a contingent of the Commonwealth Legion on Mars to ensure there was no trouble from the Marines—he still did not understand why Vladimir had not eliminated them, if they were to be such a problem—along with an orbiting Commonwealth Guard cutter with space-to-surface weaponry; long-range patrols to keep order in Earth-space coupled with extra patrols in the Inner System’s drift-space, had stretched the Commonwealth Guard to its limit; and only Carrier Strike Groups 1 and 5 were left uncommitted to ongoing operations. CSG-1, headed by Juggernaut, would lead the assault on Capitol Drift while CSG-5, headed by CS Indomitable, would remain in reserve with Imperator Vladimir in ultimate control.

And, he noted with irritation, the media is not helping!

The media outlets had all been favorable toward Prime Minister Arnold during his tenure and had given him a pass when he endured scandal in his government. His confidantes assured him he should not expect the media to behave differently after the coup. They loved him after all. Now, it seemed that the media reporting was getting worse by the minute. It made him especially angry that miserable louts had the gall to openly report the movements of his military and police forces, and he knew the enemy was watching.

Arnold scowled at the memory of the news reporting from Palace Drift. The foppish elitists of the Commonwealth’s capital, of all places, had displayed a measure of fortitude and taken control of the capital away from his own forces—he was still seething over that. The coup had gone off perfectly, as far as he was concerned, and there was little reason to believe more than a skeleton force would be necessary to keep the drift under control.

With his forces stretched thin, Arnold was forced to take Juggernaut’s CSG to Churchill Drift to settle a fractious matter between his detractors and supporters. The rebellious politicians had somehow acquired the force they needed to overtake his troops and stage a countercoup. He never imagined that those feckless politicians had it in them. It galled him that what had stirred the drifters to revolt so soon eluded his intelligence officers. He suspected the troublesome rebels of the Free Frontier Alliance of planting the seeds of rebellion. Ever since the media uncovered that one of Arnold’s covert strike teams was behind the destruction of the Drift of the Virginias, the FFA had enjoyed groundswell of support from the public.

An FFA mole on my team? he wondered. The loyalty of his own intelligence director would have to be questioned.

Your Excellency. The voice came from Arnold’s right, parting him from his dark thoughts. The holographic image of Imperator Anton Vladimir appeared and coalesced into a lifelike version of the dour Russian. An incoming message from the capital, sir.

So? Arnold was irritated by the interruption and gave his Imperator a scowl to reinforce this.

You should take it.

Arnold did not care for the barely perceptible condescension the man’s voice. He responded with a slightly pouty voice. They should not have revolted.

Perhaps we should discuss this in your office?

Again, that tone.

Vladimir did not approve of Arnold’s intentions toward the capital. A true soldier, Vladimir wished only to retake the drift and install trusted officers. Arnold, however, wanted revenge.

Arnold gave a barely perceptible nod and flicked off the hologram. He returned his gaze to the viewing window before him as the hologram vanished, enjoying that Anton Vladimir would be bristling with anger at the delay. He took in the stunning view of space before him and relaxed despite the approaching battle. After all, he would be in no danger.

O N E

Heck Thomas fought hard to keep business mode engaged as he stared down the ghost of the man who had betrayed him and sold him out to the Ukrainian mafia. He was same man who had fed information to Yulia Kharkov, allowing the devilish mobster to kidnap Heck’s girlfriend, Detective Laylara Espinosa; the same man whose interference caused her to disappear into the greatest unknown Mankind had ever faced; the man whom Heck Thomas had once shot and presumed dead.

David Hall was holding out on me, he thought wryly.

Heck forced himself to calm down and think of Lainne. Focusing on her face settled his nerves. He let out a deep breath and everything seemed to slow, allowing his quick mind to take in the surroundings with analytical detachment.

A golden chandelier, finely accented with famously expensive Titan crystal hovered near the ceiling. Its intuitive programming lit the room with perfection. A gaming table of the finest Earth cherry wood hovered under the power of state-of-the-art antigravity technology. Each player had his own holographic head-up display that allowed him to view his hand at a comfortable level. Artificially intelligent robots attended the needs of players and spectators alike, equipped with weapons for security.

Gelad stood near the antigravity bar, mingling with other spectators. The operative took off his glasses and set them next to his drink, facing Heck. That was the signal meaning Israeli Special Operations Police command was online and monitoring. It was remarkable that ISOP’s communications technology was good enough to circumvent the drift’s communication countermeasures. Gelad was the key to the mission’s success. Without the assets his government provided, and their amazing Signals Intelligence Section, their chance of success was close to zero. ISOP was legendary for their SIGINT capabilities.

Lainne left the ornate bar and brought Heck a double Jameson, neat, in a Titan crystal glass. Just how he liked it. She looked stunning and elegant in her black ballroom dress, a fact not lost on the other players in the room. He smiled, hoping to reassure her. Lainne was vibrant, charged with excitement, and there was no doubt in her eyes. Perhaps the nearness of her lost brother, and the chance to save him, had given her new determination. Instead of bolstering her confidence with a reassuring smile, Lainne had bolstered his.

Dooly sat across from him, leering at Lainne while gloating about his recent illicit exploits. Despite his roguish demeanor, Dooly’s scarred face framed eyes full of pain and rage. The man was a grenade waiting to explode. Dooly spoke of treachery to the Commonwealth with complete freedom, careless that nearby Commonwealth officials might hear.

What disturbed Heck the most was the air of indifference among the players, both to Dooly’s bluster and to the Commonwealth’s trouble. Important Commonwealth officials availed themselves of the drift’s plentiful vices, many of whom were in this very room. While Heck did not decry the diminishing influence of the Commonwealth of Spacefaring Nations, he still cared about the rule of law.

Gelad must have sensed Heck scrutinizing the other players. A data stream detailing the players’ identities came to him through a tiny chip inside his ear canal. That chip relayed data by subaudible radio wave through the nerve pathways to his brain, allowing him to view data in his mind’s eye. This bleeding edge technology would be revolutionary—if anyone but ISOP had access to it.

Law enforcement databases identified two of the players through 3D point recognition. The first was Colonel Irina Asinov, a high-level Commonwealth Intelligence Agency operative. Heck recognized her, having seen her around Capital Drift before, but had never met her. If she recognized Heck Thomas, she did not show it.

The second was Ibrahim Mohammadin, a powerful commander of the Soldiers of the Crescent Moon. Heck had seen the man’s scarred face on CIA intelligence summaries distributed to Commonwealth law enforcement agencies. The SCM had murdered countless innocent people across the system during the preceding decades, all in the name of their faith. That their faith forbade the vices available in excess on Rigel’s Escape, proved the hypocrisy of the savage group. Its harsh and intolerant ideals served to elevate its leaders to lordly posts while their own people lived in abject poverty. Only the leaders lived well under SCM rule.

That a CIA officer and an SCM commander indulged their vices over drinks, while their subordinates killed each other elsewhere, was intolerable to Heck Thomas and underscored the depth of his government’s corruption. Although Gelad had not yet identified the other players, Heck guessed that their names would reveal more of the Commonwealth’s death-spiral.

Heck assessed his surroundings and determined the biggest threat, then brought his quick-thinking mind back to where it belonged. The dealer, dressed in a fine tuxedo, gave instructions to the players. The dealer reached out to a holographic deck and flicked it with his fingers. Three-dimensional playing cards flew in succession across the table to each player.

The game had begun.

Hours of intense play later, Heck Thomas took advantage of an intermission and made his way to the bar. Heck had always been good at mathematics. Determining probabilities was an easy thing for him, and it made him an excellent card player.

Heck went to the bar and sat down on a plush, red velvet, antigrav