The Man From Empire: Rediscovery, #1

By Dan Melson

A duel in the shadows as echoes of an ancient war wash up on a new planet!

Life in the Empire has finally settled down. The last of the ston rebels have taken amnesty, and re-joined civilization - or have they?

A massive terrorist attack kills millions and the trail leads the investigator straight to a remote world with no known Imperial contact - a world known to its inhabitants as Earth

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Melson
• Release date: Sep 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781386558248

Dan Melson

Dan Melson is married to the World's Only Perfect Woman.  They have two daughters in training for world domination.  They live in Southern California

Book preview

Prolog

Twenty-three kilometers up, Osh Scimtar felt the explosion through his feet.

More ominously, he immediately realized that he was no longer feeling the full force of Sharanna’s acceleration.  The building was falling.

Quick probes with his mental abilities and datalink told him all he needed to know about this disaster before it happened.  Blue Gold Arcology held fifty-two million people at the peak of the primary business day, and its’ support columns had been severed and back up gravity generators destroyed by a series of cutter bombs at the base. 

There was no time for anything but trying to save as many people as possible.  He commanded all portals within the arcology to lock into emergency exodus mode – they would lock onto the destination chosen by the first person to enter them, and would refuse to accept any incoming traffic.  Matos, his superior, beat him by less than a millionth of a second to flashing the emergency via all data channels. 

Osh wasn’t concerned for his own safety.  Like roughly a seventh of the Imperial population, he was capable of generating his own portals.  The question was how many he would be able to save with himself. 

Next question, what would happen to the mass of Blue Gold as it fell?  Either of the destroyed systems would have had no difficulty keeping the Arcology up alone, but with broken supports and no gravity generators, the hull charge on the building wasn’t enough to keep it from falling – down or over.  That hull charge was the real issue, as it was likely to cause irregular resistance as the massive arcology fell, imparting lateral force to the building as a whole.  In short, the hull charge made it more likely the building would fall sideways, into the lesser arcologies surrounding it.  The choice was to order the hull charge dissipated and hope it fell straight enough not to hit the smaller but still populous arcologies around it, or keep it on in order to buy perhaps an extra minute to escape with a practical certainty it would fall and hit at least one of its lesser brethren, more likely two or three. 

Osh ran a quick mental simulation - the structural systems of arcologies were tough.  It would take something more than bare mass to bring them down, but if Blue Gold Arcology still had its own hull charge when it hit a neighboring arcology, there was considerable doubt they’d maintain their integrity.  He linked with Matos, his superior, who concurred in his estimate, and Matos ordered the hull charge dissipated.  It wouldn’t make that much of a difference to those inside Blue Gold Arcology.

Already in the first four seconds, at least a million would have died as the lower floors pancaked, falling ever faster with the force of Sharanna’s acceleration.  Ironically, the people at the top would have the longest fall, and therefore the greatest chance to find a way to save themselves.  More than eight sixtieths of the imperial population were Guardians, and most of them would be able to rescue some non-operants as well – perhaps two or three each.  Perhaps another five or six sixtieths might make it through a portal on time.  Some few would be close enough to vehicles or spacecraft on the parking levels to get out.  Isolated individuals might figure something out that enabled them to escape or be rescued, but already the lowest levels were crushed debris, and the levels above were crashing to ground with ever greater force.  Osh estimated than probably eighteen million would die in the minute it would take for the collapse to complete itself – at the end, the top floors would be falling at supersonic speeds.  Most of the non-operants were simply too far inside the building to have any hope of escape.

Osh, Matos, and all three of Osh’s Primus subordinates were among the Guardians – one of them, Fridalisa, was a known Fourth Order Guardian, and she had already created a portal for everyone in the government office to escape the fall, with a terminus in Leading Edge Arcology, too far away to be endangered by the fall of Blue Gold.  Aided by Matos she was expanding it downwards as fast as she could – an escape column in one corner of a building several kilometers on a side.  It wasn’t much, but it was what could be done.  Matos and the Primuses had the situation in hand; that left Osh free to investigate.

He stretched his perception to the now crushed sublevels where the explosion had been.  There was a fading Instance Portal not five steps from one of the blast centers.  Where it led, he couldn’t tell, but it wasn’t the home Instance.  There wasn’t much doubt; the ston terrorist who planted the bombs had fled through that portal.  The time for action was now; in the next minute tracking down the exit Instance, let alone a precise destination, would be something that would take a specialist days at least to track down.  Osh didn’t want to emerge right on top of his quarry, so he applied a small lateral – thirty ififths.  He was confident he would be able to sort out the proper Personal Event Line from that distance.  He reached his hand into his personal pocket for his main weapon, and projected himself through the portal.

Chapter One

Riverside

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No matter what the song says, it does rain in southern California.  All the damn time in March of El Nino years.

The most recent storm had finished blowing through earlier that evening.  I didn’t like working after dark, but the compliance reports just couldn’t wait any longer.  My boss, Call me George Martinez, had informed me that the EPA was crawling all over him and that if the hazardous usage and disposal reports weren’t completed by the time he got to work in the morning, I would be joining the ranks of the unemployed.  In blue state basket case California, in the middle of the worst economy of the last eighty years.  Jerk.

Overall, Riverside’s not a bad town.  I’ve got a small apartment not too far from the UC campus.  The complex is full of students with a smattering of old fogeys too poor and too stubborn to leave, and working class stiffs, not to mention hybrids like me.  The ones I’ve talked to were alright.

But this wasn’t there.  The warehouse sits in a commercial district near where the 91 dies and turns into the 215 at the 60 merge.  There are some rough people nearby, in the old twenties and thirties housing they threw up back before tract housing.  Tiny lots, old decaying houses, ancient plumbing and wiring, never updated.  Paint cracked, chipped, and peeling.  Calling them Craftsmen would be implying a level of charm that simply didn’t exist.  Streets jammed with old junker cars.  Chain link fences, neglected lawns, junk left wherever someone dropped it because it was too much effort to clean up.  An occasional abuela put in a few flowers that just made the rest of the neighborhood look even more pitiful.  Rough people, mostly poor hispanics with the occasional white trash or black, human refuse that just didn’t have what it took to get ahead in the world as it had become.  Some were disabled, most simply never applied themselves much.  Get a second or third generation in there, and you got some real gangbanging.  Easy path to see, damned near impossible to make it work into a real life worth living.  Enough to make me appreciate my parents, who escaped that world and made sure I knew enough not to fall back.

The gangs had been cooped up inside most of the previous ten days.  El Nino storms came through one after another.  Maybe they wouldn’t drown or freeze you, but they were cold, wet, and miserable – at least by the standards of California weather.  Nobody came out when it was raining without a good reason why they had to be out there and then, but once it stopped a light jacket would keep you warm, and the hoodies would be out looking to burn off some energy.  It’s not like they had anything better to do.

And here I was, a 28 year old woman leaving the building all by myself in the dark just after eight-thirty with no one around.  Just bad luck the four guys in jackets walking up the other side of the street at the exact wrong time.  No key to get back in – damn Call me George to hell.  I picked up my pace.  If I could get to my car – beater that it is – and lock the doors there was a chance I’d be able to drive away.

Mistake.  The hoodies started to run.  Now there was some effort in it for them, things were looking worse for me.  Cell phone, you say?  I could grab the phone and push the number to dial 911, but it wouldn’t do me a bit of good.  Typical response time was thirty minutes.  By the time the cops showed up, it would be long over.  I was about to do it anyway when it happened.

I swear on my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ that this happened.  He looked like an Angel of the Lord, minus the wings.  Hanging up there in the air.  Well, not hanging – he was falling, though not like he was getting pulled – more like he was riding an escalator that wasn’t there.  At least six five, thin as a rail, with a softly glowing sword of all the improbable things.  Wearing what looked like some kind of uniform, dark with lighter trim, cut like nothing I’d ever seen.

I don’t know what he did to call attention to himself, but all of a sudden the ‘bangers noticed him.  Not just the ‘bangers, but everything’s attention was wrenched towards him as if someone grabbed our heads, sunk hooks into our eyeballs and made us look.  Right down to the rats in the dumpsters.

That was enough for the ‘bangers.  They hauled out their guns and started banging away.  The visitor looked puzzled for an instant, then the sword vanished, and I saw a flash from him.  Something in his hand – didn’t did get a good look at what it was.  The gang members fell over so fast it was over before I could twitch.  Damn!  The guy was fast.  I’d never seen anything like that even in the movies.

One look showed four lifeless bodies with blood starting to pool.  The visitor lit with catlike grace, apparently as unconcerned as if nothing had just happened.  I had a decision to make, and I did.  I jumped in my car and got the hell out of Dodge.  I didn’t want to be anywhere in the neighborhood when the cops finally got there.  I didn’t stop to say thanks, I definitely didn’t talk to him, I just jumped in and went.  I didn’t slow down until I was home.  I might have run a red light or two; I really couldn’t tell you with any certainty.

I pulled into the parking lot, and spent a few minutes having a quiet attack of the shakes.  The steering wheel was a nice solid reassurance of the familiar world of everyday life.  Things like that just did not happen.  Bad enough to come that close to being raped or maybe worse.  I lived in the real world, and things like that happened even though you don’t want them to.  But you do not get six and a half feet of impossibly fast man walking down out of the sky to kill your enemies every day, or any day. Maybe in fairy tales or fiction, not in Riverside.

It was close to nine-thirty by the time I pulled myself together enough to get out of the car.  I locked the door of the old blue Hyundai and walked through the gate, up to my door, went in and locked the door, then collapsed into my old vinyl chair – just in time to see him step into my field of vision.  Where the hell did he come from, how the fuck did he do that?  I’m sorry, my Mama raised a lady, words like that did not come out of my mouth, but they definitely went through my mind that time.  I started out of the chair, then caught his gaze and froze.  As in could not move, gazing into those eyes.  I don’t know how long – but it felt like an eternity.

In the light, I could see he was dressed in a deep sapphire blue with golden trim, a few pieces of decoration I didn’t understand here and there – not any military uniforms I’d seen, or police, but of that nature.  He himself looked like nothing I’d ever seen.  His skin color was a deep bronze – If I had to guess based on that, I would have said Cuban because most of them have some black ancestry, and his hair was that dark brown shade of almost black of many hispanics, but his facial structure was pure north European aristocrat – aquiline nose, hawk sharp face.  The rest of his body was even thinner, if that made sense, and just as tall as I’d thought at first.  At five-four, I barely came up to chest high on him.  Obviously greyhound fit, though.  I’d expect to see someone like him at the Olympics on TV, pole-vaulting or maybe running hurdles, not killing gang members on the side of a nondescript office building in Riverside, the armpit of Southern California.  His eyes?  They were steel grey, unlike anything else I had ever seen, and just as hard as that implies.  Not unwelcoming to me, personally, at that moment, but I got the impression he would have no difficulty staring down the entire world if he thought it necessary.  Age?  Outside the eyes, he looked younger than me - I’d guess 25, or maybe younger.  He was a young vibrant powerful man, not a boy.  The eyes were older – way older.

I’m sorry, he said in a completely normal California anglo accent, not a trace of anything else.  It broke the spell holding me in place, and I started to scream at him in my parents’ native Spanish.  I got about half a word out before he made a gesture of peace, in an unhurried way but just as fast as I’d seen back in the parking lot, As you have probably figured out, I’m from a long way away.  I’d hoped to get my business taken care of and leave, but I managed to miss the people I came to see.  And then I noticed – or should I say realized that I had noticed that his lips weren’t moving and I wasn’t actually hearing him with my ears, only in my head.

Think of me as a wizard, the voiceless words went on, A long time ago, my ancestors bred themselves in a certain way.  There was a danger, and they instituted a breeding program such as even livestock had never been subjected to.  They paid a terrible price, but the breeding program succeeded.  I am one result of that program.

He continued, now starting to actually speak, a strong baritone, but I somehow knew tenor or bass would be just as easy for him.  I didn’t mean to frighten you, and I apologize again.  I simply had no place better to go,  and when I missed my business meeting, I decided there was no point in going to someone else who hadn’t seen what happened.  I thought I might as well keep the witnesses to the ones that already had seen something.  I need to track down someone, and I need to keep myself out of his sight while I do.  The fewer people who know anything of my errand, the higher the odds of success.  I’ll stay out of your way, and I’ll see that you are well compensated for your trouble.  If you don’t want me around, I’ll leave.

Compensated how? I asked, thinking money.  If this guy really was a wizard – and so far the evidence was strongly in favor - maybe this was my opportunity to tell Call me George Martinez to go to hell

Money is certainly possible, but it’s going to take me a little while.  I don’t have anything I can sell quickly, but I can start with this, and suddenly I felt better, sharper than I had ever felt in my life.  Completely awake, refreshed, not hungry despite having not eaten since lunchtime.  My feet didn’t hurt, my backache went away, my eyes weren’t tired at all.  My vision looked weird, I popped my contacts out, and saw crystal clear.  For the first time in my life, perfect vision.  No coke bottle glasses like I’d grown up with, no special contact lenses that even Wal-Mart charged an arm and a leg for.  I had to break down and cry for joy.  It was a moment.  While I was marveling at that miracle, I could feel other, deeper changes.  I felt queasy while it was going on, but it wasn’t painful.  Any particular area was altered almost before I could get the idea he had moved into it.  I got the impression he had had a lot of practice, but when it was done, I felt better than I ever had before.  Perfect vision was only the most obvious change.

Stay as long as you like, I managed to choke out.

I should tell you that this will not last forever, he said, I can fix you so that you’re as healthy as possible, but it’s human nature that your body falls apart as you get older.  I can’t fix that with one treatment, or ever.  Even with recurring treatment, critical organs may fail catastrophically.  Even our own people don’t live forever.  All I can do is move you back to where you should be.

Forever? I asked, How long do you live?

Guardians like me, we’re not sure.  It’s been about thirty square years since we really mastered the skills we needed to improve ourselves, and we keep improving still.  Those of us who haven’t been killed are still around, my father among them.  He’s approaching thirty square.  Ordinary people, like you, between fifteen and thirty prime.  But all one treatment can do is make you as healthy and as young as you could possibly be.  You’ll still age normally

Fifteen prime?

Fifteen times sixty, Nine hundred years.  As a lower limit.  Maybe twice that.

Thirty Square?

Thirty times sixty squared, he said, and continued when he sensed