Beyond Antares: Dimensional Gates

By Brandon Rospond and Robert E. Waters

An anthology of 10 stories set in the Gates of Antares Universe

• Language: English
• Publisher: Winged Hussar Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Oct 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781945430466

Brandon Rospond

Brandon Rospond has edited many athologies for Winged Hussar Publishing as well as contributing many short stories

Book preview

Beyond Antares

Dimensional Gates

Edited by

Brandon Rospond

Beyond Antares: Dimensional Gates

Edited by Brandon Rospond

Cover by

Zmok Books an imprint of

Winged Hussar Publishing, LLC, 1525 Hulse Road, Unit 1, Point Pleasant, NJ 08742

This edition published in 2017 Copyright ©Winged Hussar Publishing, LLC

Beyond the Gates of Antares is the property of Warlord Games and Rick

Priestley, produced under license by Winged Hussar Publishing, LLC

ISBN 978-1-945430-46-6

Bibliographical references and index

1.Science Fiction 2. Space Opera 3. Action & Adventure

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Beyond the Gates of Antares

Beyond the Gates of Antares lies a universe vast beyond comprehension, a universe of human endeavor stretching eons into a dark and turbulent past, a universe of embattled civilizations possessed of unimaginable power. Across millions of worlds rival empires are locked in a struggle for dominance, driven by intellects that are as much machine as human, the omniscient integrated machine intelligence of a society and a time very different to our own. This is the universe of the Seventh Age of Humanity and the setting for the game. It is called Beyond the Gates of Antares because that is where our adventures will take us. We will travel through Antarean dimensional gateways to the galaxy spanning empires of the PanHuman Concord and Isorian Senatex, and further to the myriad worlds of the Determinate and beyond. We will board the glittering space borne cities of the Vardari, the great mercantile powers of Antarean space, and we will confront foes as implacable as the Ghar and as merciless as the Renegade NuHu Shards. Beyond the Gates of Antares was originally conceived as a game and that is where our journey begins. However, this is only the first step upon a path that promises to take us to new stars and undiscovered worlds. It is a living, breathing universe, and one that we intend to realize fully in the form of novels, campaigns, background expansions and - in time - further games exploring the many different aspects of our setting.

Rick Priestley 2017

An Introduction

            Space is an enigma that stretches infinitely, expanding with it an endless amount of galaxies and lifeforms. While we on Earth can hardly grasp our own planet, we know that our solar system belongs to the Milky Way, but trying to contact any other living species that might exist is nothing more than a pipe dream for our technology. Even if we were to somehow communicate with some foreign species, how would we get to them?

            Surely that is something that the denizens of humanity before the First Age thought as well, long before the red giant known as Antares was ever reached, before the term ‘panhuman’ came to recognize offshoots of the human race, and before the need to worry about the numerous collapses of Antares could ever even be fathomed. To be limited to one small planet, one single galaxy, a race would be considered extremely primitive!

            Just beyond the farthest orbiting planet of a galaxy, there is a tunnel of light known as a ‘gate’. This bright circle is what connects a solar system to the red giant, Antares, that theoretically lies in the center of the universe. Countless serpentine-like tunnels jet from Antares, each leading to a different system. And it is here that the Terrans first discovered that life is larger and farther reaching than they ever believed possible. And they entered, what would be known as, the First Age.

            Six ages have transpired since then. Six times the gates of Antares depowered, trapping ships and populations in whatever system they might have been in, keeping civilizations stranded from other worlds they might have controlled. Each time that the gates have fallen silent, they remained that way for hundreds of years. No one knows what truly causes the collapses, nor what brings them back to their working status.

            Yet, here, in the Seventh Age, is the setting for the vast stories that will take you, the reader, through the wide birth of space, and beyond the gates of Antares.

            When we first put the call out to Antares fans for submissions for Open Signal, the first anthology in the Beyond the Gates of Antares novel line, we were nearly overwhelmed with the amount of fan support and content the game had. The response was so positive, the only logical idea was to do a second anthology; and thus, Dimensional Gates came to fruition. We have put together ten more action-packed and world-building stories to expand the lore of Antares’s vast universe.

Dimensional Gates opens with an Isorian-based story by Robert E. Waters. The Magpie focuses on a retired Isorian phase sniper, Mick Shan’am, who is called back to action after a rogue soldier, going by the name of ‘The Magpie’, starts assassinating high-ranking commanders. The Magpie was once Shan’am’s student, but will that bond allow the old sniper to stop the renegade soldier, or will he have to silence his sniper rifle permanently? Waters published a Boromite story in Open Signal entitled Leap of Faith. He also published his first novel, The Wayward Eight, under the Wild West Exodus series, as well as numerous short stories.

            The Boromites’ lavan companions are interesting creatures, and in particular, Duncan Waugh’s fan-submitted story, Trials of Necessity, focuses heavily on the locomites. Clan Jent has staked their entire livelihood on the success of their quickest locomite they have entered in a race. This story of subterfuge, betrayal, and intrigue helps to shed more light on the Boromite beyond just being rock-faced miners. Waugh’s story helps to dive deep into the lore of the stony panhuman race and explain how the lavans are used for more than just war.

            Back for round number two with Cadet Tamika Gatchnall as she goes through her Concord academy training, Scott Washburn brings Hard Truths to Dimensional Gates! Expanding on the story from Open Signal, Washburn picks up Gatchnall now learning about combat experience and all of the highs, lows, and tough decisions that come with it. The story helps to give readers a better understanding about how the weapons and armor of the C3 function, as well as just what can happen when stakes and tensions are high! Washburn is best known under Zmok for his works on the series The Great Martian War, and he has published several original novels.

            Even though most of the stories in our two Antares anthologies are of a lighter tone, not everything always works out picture perfect; any situation that happens on the battlefield can and will end negatively for one of the sides. Marc DeSantis tells a bit of a darker tale in Yesterday’s Battlefield as he sends a Freeborn group, led by Ayess Kozon, to explore a newly discovered planet in what might be his last expedition in the Vard’s favor. They find a ruin-strewn battleground where another house seemed to have been eliminated with no surviving record. Will they find what they’re looking for, or will Kozon be better off to perish among the other houses?

            Riley O’Connor pens another tale of Nacen Byzantia, still trying to return to the homefleet after his unexpected stop in Open Signal. The Freeborn captain and his crew find the remains of Algoryn ships, and when they go to warn the nearest panhumans, they find they are in time for the local festival – something the ship’s former captain, Nacen’s father, apparently always planned in his routes to attend. Both this story and A Fair Trade from Open Signal set up for O’Connor’s future novel, following the same crew of the Carmine Canotilla. O’Connor depicts deep, realistic characters in Nacen’s crew as well as finding the perfect balance between sarcastic humor and dark reality.

            The Ghar are still a mysterious and brutal force. Their weapons are so destructive to the environment itself, there is a special die in Beyond the Gates of Antares to replicate the damage their guns are capable of doing. Andy Patrick puts his own spin on this idea in Antidata, as Trooper Kalta Byatt goes on her first mission to a formerly Ghar-infested planet. The squad starts seeing hallucinations of Ghar that are not there, even though their radars are reading entities. What strange effects could the Ghar’s weaponry have had to the very fabric of reality on Astioch?

            Dave Horobin also returns for Dimensional Gates with a story based on the Boromite, entitled, Papa. Kaig is the rock father in a clan of Boromite, whose wife, Grita, is pregnant with their first child. The rock father finds the drive to see his baby born a factor that motivates him through certain doom on several occasions. Horobin’s first story in Open Signal was highly acclaimed by both fans and professional authors alike, and even though the content of his story is different in this anthology, Horobin does not disappoint.

            War will always have its winners and losers, but what about those caught in the crossfire? In Nicky P. Gardiner’s short story, The Hunted, Kraxis and his Mhagris, Tzar, are the only two surviving members of their Freeborn ship. After having been shot down by the Ghar, they must try to find a way to regroup with their vardos, the Kreeto Trading Guild. Along the way, they must still contend with the enemy that stranded them in the first place. Even though this is Gardiner’s first published work with Zmok, he has published several ghost novels under a series called Deadly Shades.

            To close out the anthology, veteran writer C.L. Werner’s piece is entitled, Scream in Silence. The story focuses on the bodyguard of Doma Undari, named Viridi Torani vet Alkasta, as the doma and his retinue come to a planet under the lead of the expedition’s ethnobiologist, Lydianna ur Heigvari.  Alkasta starts to get a strange uneasiness coming to the planet, and the Freeborn group soon start finding themselves cornered like mice. Can they survive the encounter and somehow escape, or will their enemy butcher them? As Werner is no novice in both writing and science-fiction, this story promises to deliver a dark, action-packed thrill with quite the twist.

            Then there is my short story, Psychosis. I debated on a few different ideas for this anthology, but ultimately I went back to an interview that I found with Mr. Priestly about Concord forces battling each other. While it doesn’t necessarily make a whole lot of sense for why two Concord forces would fight each other, the question needs to be asked about why they would be fighting. If two people really like the C3 and that’s the only army that each has, there should be some suitable reason for two people to square their armies off. I plant the idea that perhaps if a planet’s environmental factors are overlooked or not as thoroughly enough researched, the Concord troopers might be able to be compromised. Thus, if you were to take my story and apply it to an actual tabletop battle, you’d have two sides where one is trying to subdue and rescue, while the other is brainwashed into hallucinating the other Concord troopers are of some different alliance.

            As with Open Signal, we tried to take ten stories that were diverse enough to cover all of the main factions, as well as this time looking to explore topics, ideas, and models that we had not yet delved into. We want to thank the Antares community for all of the support and submissions; as I said in the last anthology, the game has a very strong and dedicated community, and it because of that the game continues to thrive. Keep on reading, writing, exploring ideas, and sharing with other players of Beyond the Gates of Antares to prepare for the next anthology!

Enjoy! All the best,

Brandon Rospond

The Magpie

By Robert E Waters

Isla Feliz, Borgo Planetside, R&R Habitat for the 5th Isorian Guard

            Commander Kem Molan of the 5th Isorian Guard breathed the sweet, salty air blowing in from Anjax Lagoon. It was a brilliant morning. The sun shone brightly. The bleached white sand, the crystal blue waters, and the dark, smooth-skinned Injorian princess at his side reminded him of his prowess on the battlefield. He smiled. Some in the ranks might call it a massacre. Commander Molan called it a smashing success; and thus, here he lay, surrounded by his laurels, enjoying a brief moment of peace and quiet, before heading back to the dirty, mud-and-blood-caked battlefields three thousand kiloyan away. He loved battle, thrived on it, but for today, he would try to ignore the swarm of nano-tech that churned in his mind, keeping him in constant contact to the Senatex IMTel. Today, he would focus on the fresh air and the smooth shoulders at his side.

            What flowers do you most enjoy, my sweet? he asked the girl. Tell me, and I shall get you one from the garden.

            The Injorian princess turned to him and smiled perfect teeth. Roses. The white ones.

            He kissed her nose and rolled out of bed.

            He threw a thin blue robe over his shoulders and walked out onto the veranda of his three-room suite. Courtesy of the 5th Isorian Guard, it was the most secure and lavish resort on Borgo. All the top brass enjoyed it in rotation, and Commander Molan enjoyed it more than most. He placed his hands on his hips, breathed deeply, then stepped down into a tiny maze of flower beds overrun with broad and thin petal flowers of green and red and yellow. And roses. White roses. Beautiful and singular, just like the woman in his bed.

            He leaned over and sniffed them, one at a time, lingering upon their fresh scent, and trying to ignore the memory of battlefield odors: punctured bowels, burned flesh, congealed blood on boots. Innocent blood. Innocent faces. It was difficult to ignore the overwhelming sensory data that flowed through his mind on a daily basis. But he was Isorian, descendant of the NuHu and of the Five Sons. He was special, connected, one of the finest, and it wasn’t a massacre, goddammit! It wasn’t!

            He found a perfect white rose in the middle of a bed of complementing soft petal red annuals. He reached for it, and that’s when he saw the magpie.

            Perched nearby in a pink azalea bush, its iridescent green wings fluttered in the light breeze, accentuating its plump, black-and-white feathered body. Its delightful song brought a smile to Commander Molan’s face. Hello, he said. And how are you this morning?

            It was the last question he ever uttered, for somewhere distant, a rifle barked, and a high-velocity needle hit his temple and ripped through his brain.

            The magpie, unmoved by the shot, lifted from its perch, flew across the lagoon, and set down upon a sniper barrel peeking out from beneath the calm surf. In time, a hand came out of the surf, gently wrapped its fingers around the bird, and slowly brought it below the water.

* * * *

Shalgorn, Isorian-Controlled Planet

            Mick Shan’am watched with apprehension as Military Crime Inspector Kaman O’Shiply approached the door to his flat. His heart skipped a beat. It registered on his IMTel health monitor. Red sensors flashed ghost-like across his vision, reminding him of his weak heart. A heart he could - if he so desired - fix and live another half century or more. But who had the time for such nonsense?

            He opened the door before the inspector activated the bell. He did not greet the man with kindness. He rarely greeted anyone with kindness these days. The world wasn’t worthy of it.

            There was a time, Inspector, Shan’am said in greeting, when I’d put a round through the head of anyone who so boldly approached me without prior notification.

            O’Shiply cracked a wry smile. A round through the brain is why I’m here, Mick. He spoke as if they had been friends for years. Once upon a time, maybe. But Shan’am hadn’t seen the inspector for twenty years or more.

            It wasn’t my rifle, I can assure you. I don’t do that kind of work anymore. And if I did, the Isorian IMTel would know about it.

            O’Shiply did not speak. Instead, he put out his hand. In the center of his palm lay a small green feather.

            Shan’am stared at the lone feather. Adrenal monitors blared inside his ear. He ignored them as always. Is that… a magpie feather?

            O’Shiply nodded and allowed Shan’am to pluck the feather from his hand to look at it more closely. "It is indeed. Taken three days ago from the corpse of Commander Kem Molan of the 5th Isorian Guard, Isla Feliz, Borgo planetside. Single high-velocity mag round through the temple—"

            Not from a phase rifle? Shan’am asked, interrupting.

            O’Shiply shook his head. The man isn’t an Isorian sniper anymore; not in good standing, anyway. He has little access to our military assets these days. But he doesn’t need a phase rifle to kill. He can do that with a rock at a hundred paces.

            Shan’am nodded, giving no argument.

            O’Shiply continued. It was a perfect kill shot, which we estimate was delivered to the target two hundred yards away.

            Estimate? Don’t you know for sure?

            O’Shiply paused, and Shan’am could see embarrassment in the inspector’s eyes. We… IMTel… could not get a lock. We are working blind on this.

            Shan’am turned and walked into his living room, leaving the door open so O’Shiply could follow. Shan’am could not prevent a grin from spreading across his taut face, though he did not allow the inspector to see it. Showing joy at the death of a highly respected Isorian commander was bad form. But he was not grinning about Commander Molan’s death. Shan’am was grinning for what the feather represented.

Brilliant!

            What can I do about it, Inspector? Shan’am asked, taking a seat on his couch and leaning back casually. He gripped the feather in a tight fist. How am I involved in this matter?

            Come now, Mick, O’Shiply said, taking a seat as well. "Don’t insult me. The Magpie was your student."

            "Was, Inspector. That is the operative word here. But he has been missing for twenty years and presumed dead. A green feather is no proof."

            It isn’t a real feather, Mick. Check it again. It’s comprised of an unknown porous mono-filament, as light as a feather, but strong and waterproof. Perhaps indestructible against any Isorian weapons. We’ll do tests. But what we do know is that… O’Shiply seemed unwilling to utter the next phrase … it hampers IMTel recognition. It’s dead to us, Mick, like a dried branch on a tree. Our nanotech cannot penetrate it, cannot divine its secrets. Perhaps it’s some unknown Tsan Kiri technology that we’ve never experienced before. Perhaps it’s some alien tech discovered in the hinterland of the Antares net by Freeborn merchants. Perhaps it’s Boromite or Ghar. We do not know. But one thing is absolute: the bird that it belonged to emits a shield that cannot be penetrated by IMTel, which means that The Magpie can kill unfettered, unchecked with his low-tech, but very powerful, mag rifle. He’s back, Mick. He’s on silent running… and he’s hunting.

And where a lone magpie appears, death always follows. Shan’am did not bother to speak the legend aloud, for O’Shiply surely knew it and did not need to be reminded.

            Shan’am opened his hand and inspected the feather once more. Indeed, it was not real, but oh what a nice piece of engineering. As far as the basic senses could detect, there was nothing about this feather that did not feel real. He tried himself to get the IMTel nanotech swirling about him to study it. Nothing. O’Shiply was right. It was dead.

            I will ask you again, Inspector. What do you want from me?

            He’s your man. You know him better than anyone. We want you to find him… and kill him before he strikes again.

            Shan’am huffed and got up. He went to a window and stared out onto his lake. One does not simply ‘find’ The Magpie, Inspector. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since his last appearance. If he’s stumbled upon cloaking technology that renders IMTel sensors irrelevant, what is one old man, with creaky joints and a weak heart, going to do?

            O’Shiply stood and came to him at the window. He’s not on Borgo for laughs, Mick. He’s there to change the balance of power in that struggle. If he’s on Borgo, you know what it means. Commander Miryum Stuzan is next.

            Her name sparked a rise in Shan’am’s blood pressure. He would not dare kill her.

            Are you sure? She is the next logical target. She is in line of succession after Commander Molan. She is on Borgo, deep behind enemy lines, in a desperate fight. She cannot be extracted—the situation is too desperate right now—and IMTel cannot protect her from him if he so chooses to strike. We cannot afford to lose another officer to an assassin, especially from someone who used to be our own. The loss of Commander Molan has put us in a dangerous spot with the Algoryn on Borgo. One more officer put down, and our army will fall. Borgo will fall, and then this place, Shalgorn, your home, will follow.

            He had little concern about his own life, but there were millions living on Shalgorn. Did he dare risk their lives, their peace and freedom, from vengeful Algoryn fleets? Did he risk playing with Commander Stuzan’s life? He had done it once before.

            Shan’am turned and faced O’Shiply with his most rigid pose. Very well, Inspector. I will do as you ask. It’ll be my last mission, and in the end, you’ll have either The Magpie’s dead corpse… or mine.

Borgo Planetside, Kalean Sector, Hot Zone

            Commander Miryum Stuzan accessed IMTel and reviewed the tactical overlays of her Isorian invasion force. The virtual battlefield came alive in her mind, and she was able to pick out each unit, and its officers, from the dots and triangles and x’s arrayed along the various topographical elements glowing green and brown and blue on her display: Kahloc KV heavy battle drones there; x-howitzer support teams there; NuHu Senatexis with supporting phase squads there. The finest of the 5th Isorian Guard, all engaged and fighting. Fighting for their lives.

            Algoryn units were everywhere, swarming, pressing on the Isorian perimeter. It was impossible to break out, impossible to flee. HQ had offered to air-lift her out of the hot zone so that she might coordinate the effort safely from low altitude. She had refused. Too many officers had died already, the latest being Commander Kem Molan, her superior. Morale was low, and how much lower would it go if she, now commander of all Isorian forces planetside, fled to safety while her men died in scores? No. She would not retreat. She would stay. Assassin’s threat be damned!

            She closed the battlefield overlay and walked out of her headquarters, into sun and open air. Foolish move, her aides would say. At least stay enclosed, isolated, so that The Magpie could not reach you. She snickered. What a foolish name! A little bird of little import. More crow than anything. Nothing to fear. HQ was overreacting. It was nothing more than some Algoryn out there causing trouble, trying to end the siege by picking off a few officers. But she was far behind enemy lines, and there were multiple IMTel perimeters set up around their position. Nothing, not even a feather, could draw near without being detected. Nothing.

            An aide handed her a tablet showing the relative positions and current strengths of their left flank. She scribbled changes with her finger. No, I want Commander Frech to move his remaining phase squads there. The Algoryn are weakest there. Tell him to push and push hard. I want a breach in the enemy line by nightfall.

            Yes, sir.

            The aide scampered off, and Miryum Stuzan was alone again. She paused to take a breath. She listened to the distant sounds of battle, of gun and drone fire. Men and women were dying beyond her protection of trees and cliff rock. She felt the guilt of not being there, of not standing side by side with them in the trenches. She preferred it that way, though she had agreed to her promotion, and so she could not blame anyone but herself. She was a commander now, and that required a certain sacrifice that she had agreed to take. She would not leave the battlefield to hover above it like some coward, but she had no choice about being here in this safer facility.

            She sighed and turned to return to her bunker, and there is was. A white-and-black bodied bird with fast fluttering iridescent green wings, hovering like a hummingbird, but bigger, like a crow. It squawked, once, twice, and then dropped to waist-level. Miryum Stuzan smiled, forgot herself, and reached out to touch it.

            A plasma round ripped through her uniform and grazed her shoulder. She fell forward, just in time to hear a second round zip past her head and lodge itself in the front door of her bunker. She clutched her bleeding shoulder, but stayed low, on the ground, and forced herself to watch, through the pain, the bird squawk once more and then fly toward the forest.

            She waited there on the ground until her aide rushed in to help her up. The wound on her shoulder stung like hell, but the nanotech in her body was already staunching the blood. She collected herself, wiped off the grime of the dirty, wet ground, and slowly