Children of the Void: Rogue Star, #2

By James E. Wisher

No one ever truly escapes the business.

Iaka Kazumi is enjoying her life as a research scientist, at least until her former Earth Force boss calls.

Iaka finds herself dragged back into the dangerous world of espionage and running for her life.

Marcus Drake and Solomon Keys rush to try and save her before it's too late.

Hunted by black masked assassins while on the trail of a dangerous techno-cult, Marcus, Solomon, and Iaka crisscross the galaxy in an attempt to save the Earth from a dark fate.

An old enemy becomes an ally and the final battle will leave the Earth changed forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sand Hill Publishing
• Release date: Apr 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9781945763243

James E. Wisher

James E. Wisher is a writer of science fiction and fantasy novels. He’s been writing since high school and reading everything he could get his hands on for as long as he can remember.

Book preview

Chapter 1

N o, you can’t try the new cloaking device. The Rogue Star emerged from hyperspace five hundred thousand miles away from Yourin 3. Captain Marcus Drake guided his ship toward the brown, ugly moon orbiting a beautiful, green gas giant. A pair of heavy cruisers patrolled the system for unauthorized ships.

Come on, Marcus. His navigator and best friend, Solomon Keys, took every opportunity to nag him about trying the latest toy First Councilor Dra’Kor’s technicians had installed on the Star. We have to test it. What if it doesn’t work when we need it to?

We don’t need to sneak down to the planet; they’re expecting the load of medical supplies in the hold. If we go in cloaked they’re apt to think we’re smugglers and blast us out of the sky the instant we hit the atmosphere. I never got shot down when I was a smuggler so I’m certainly not going to risk it now that I’m doing honest work. I’d never live it down.

What about that time we snuck the three-eyed princess off her home world before they could marry her off to that old guy with the horns? Our engines got shot up pretty bad.

The Star streaked toward the nearest cruiser. Marcus expected to receive a call any second. That didn’t count. I landed us safe and sound. Besides the cloak’s Vencar tech. Anyway if we get shot down how are we supposed to get the councilor’s negotiator off the planet?

Solomon crossed his arms over his ample stomach and frowned. Fine, forget I asked.

A beep from the comm spared Marcus further pouting. You going to get that?

Solomon hit the flashing button. "This is the Rogue Star, go ahead." Marcus smiled. All traces of the pout vanished when Solomon went to work.

"This is Captain Korbin of the heavy cruiser Defiance. Please transmit your cargo manifest and shipping permit."

Solomon typed a short command into his console. Transmission commencing.

The data transferred and a few seconds later Captain Korbin said, "Everything looks in order, Rogue Star, they’ll be expecting you at beacon six."

"Understood, Defiance, Rogue Star out." Solomon cut the connection.

A grid overlaid the main view-screen showing Marcus his landing coordinates. See, no sweat.

Don’t say that, Marcus. Every time you say that someone tries to kill us.

Marcus grinned and accelerated toward the moon.

Someone centuries earlier named the town Frontier X, and the spaceport comprised a dirt field half a mile from the town proper. If any rhyme or reason existed for the landing arrangements Marcus couldn’t figure it out. Three other ships, two bigger and one smaller than his, sat on their landing gear at whatever angle had suited their pilots when they landed. Marcus brought the ship in for a soft landing, the loading ramp pointed toward the town.

He powered down everything but the external defenses, slipped on his command gauntlet, and headed toward the cargo hold. As usual his cargo handler came to life at his approach. Time to go to work.

Herc switched from guard mode to work mode and followed Marcus through stacks of crates toward the ramp, the robot’s heavy steps rattling the deck. Marcus hit the switch and lowered the ramp. Not wanting to blast their customer he switched the auto-guns off. Marcus walked down the ramp and looked around. A flatbed wheeled hauler approached at a sedate pace surrounded by a cloud of dust. Marcus shook his head. This planet was low tech. He hadn’t seen a truck like that outside Willie’s Junkyard, ever.

The flatbed turned around and backed up to the loading ramp. The driver’s side door opened and a bow-legged fellow in a broad-brimmed hat hopped out. He ambled over to Marcus, thumbs stuck through his belt loops, an antiquated slug thrower holstered at his hip.

You got the medical supplies? The stranger squinted up at Marcus who noted the small horns jutting from his brow. They’d sent a native rather than one of the council’s aid workers.

That’s right, Marcus said. If you want to lower your tailgate I’ll get started unloading.

The native frowned. Don’t you want to see my paperwork?

Marcus shrugged. I got paid on the front end. All I want now is to unload and get a drink.

The native barked a laugh and stuck out his hand. Man after my own heart. Name’s Jack.

Marcus shook his hand. Jack had a firm grip for such a scrawny fellow. Marcus. If the native’s given name was Jack then Marcus would eat his gauntlet. No doubt the other spacers had given him a nickname easier to pronounce than his native name and it stuck.

Jack unlatched the tailgate and Marcus typed a short command into his gauntlet. Herc grabbed the first crate and started for the truck. Marcus and Jack moved a little ways away from the noisy robot.

Jack spat into the dust. Quite a machine. He nodded toward Herc.

It gets the job done. A buddy of mine recommended The Dancing Trollop for a good place to get a drink, you know it?

Jack nodded. Sure though most of the off-worlders prefer The Bent Rocket. The Trollop’s a good place to get a drink or have a poke if you want to blow off steam. The road to the med-center goes right by it if you want to ride in with me.

Thanks. Marcus looked at the gun at Jack’s waist. Do I need a weapon?

Jack patted his holster. Nah, this is more fashion than protection. Nobody bothers the off-worlders much beyond a fist fight now and then.

Marcus took that pronouncement with a grain of salt as his contact said the council’s negotiator had a bounty on his head equal to ten pounds of gold. Marcus glanced into the hold and found it three-quarters empty. Excuse me a moment.

He waited until Herc went past with another crate and trotted up the ramp and continued on to the cockpit. Marcus stuck his head in. I’m going to ride in with the hauler and get our passenger. Keep everything powered up in case we need to make a fast getaway.

Solomon waved without turning around. He kept his eyes glued to something on his screen. Marcus often thought Solomon believed the world displayed on his screen was more real than the real world. He shook his head and returned in time to watch Herc load the last crate and retreat up the ramp. Marcus typed a command to reset the robot to guard mode and left the ship. He spun around at the bottom of the ramp and pushed another button. The ramp closed with a solid thunk.

Ready? Jack finished securing the tailgate of his overloaded hauler.

Marcus nodded, walked to the passenger side, and climbed in. Jack joined him a moment later and fired up the engine. The truck lurched when the native put it in gear and they were off. As they rumbled toward the town Marcus marveled at how rough the truck rode. For someone used to antigrav vehicles the combination of tires and shocks jarred.

Do you really have no hover vehicles on this planet? Marcus asked.

Jack spat out the window. A few here and there, but since the blockade no repair parts get through so when one breaks down that’s the end of it. Same deal with weapons. We’re down to using what we can make ourselves.

Has it done anything to slow down the killing?

Jack laughed. No, the warlords keep killing each other at the same pace; they just have to work harder at it now. At least they let medical tech through. The doc knows his business, but without these supplies a lot more people would die.

They reached the edge of town, a collection of one- and two-story wood buildings, some painted, some not. Hand-painted signs hung here and there. Primitive wheeled transports rolled up and down the streets. Willie would love this place; everything looked like it came out of his junkyard only with more rust. Every native on the streets carried a weapon of some sort. Marcus would have liked a blaster, but they weren’t allowed off your ship. He couldn’t finish his mission from the inside of a local jail.

The flatbed jerked to a stop in front of a wide, two-story building with tan siding and a deck on the second floor. On the deck native females in low-cut dresses waved and whistled. They lifted their skirts partway up revealing long legs covered in coarse gray fur. Marcus suppressed a shudder.

Jack licked his lips. This is it. Wish I could join you.

They shook hands again. Next time. Thanks for the lift.

Marcus hopped down and slammed the door shut. Jack guided the hauler down the street toward where Marcus assumed the med-center waited. Marcus wished him luck. He couldn’t wait to collect his passenger and blast off this backwater dust ball.

Marcus went up the front steps and pushed through the swinging doors. Inside a raucous group of natives drank, gambled, and generally made a hideous volume of braying laughter. Marcus scanned the room. The negotiator had orders to meet him here at noon local time for extraction. His watch read quarter of so maybe he hadn’t arrived yet. A skinny, seven-foot-tall, four-armed alien with horn-rimmed glasses couldn’t very well hide in a place like this.

Marcus walked up to the bar and found an empty stool. The bartender ambled down. What can I get you?

A mug of whatever’s on tap. The bartender poured a glass of frothy green liquid prompting another shudder from Marcus. You haven’t seen a tall, skinny alien by any chance?

The bartender set the glass in front of Marcus. If you’re looking to collect the bounty you’re too late. The sheriff grabbed him the second he walked into town. Poor bugger’s over at the jail. I hear the Red Devil’s coming to collect him personally.

Damn it! The Red Devil was the handle of the nastiest warlord on the planet. He’d put the bounty on the negotiator. Where’s the jail anyway?

Center of town. Go out the door and hook a right, walk three blocks and turn left. You can’t miss it.

Marcus slapped a twenty-credit coin on the table. Thanks.

He left without taking a sip of the nasty-looking drink. Outside the saloon Marcus turned right and followed the bartender’s directions. It took about five minutes to walk to the jail, an imposing stone building with iron bars set into the windows. At the front four natives with rifles stood beside a pair of double doors above which hung a large sign with sheriff written in red letters. The guards wore deep frowns and held their weapons in death grips. Talking his way in seemed unlikely. Looked like you could buy justice everywhere in the galaxy, even the backwater worlds.

The loading ramp opened at Marcus’s command as he approached the Star. He ran up the ramp and over to the storage cylinder. Marcus typed in his access code and the cylinder spun around.

Where is he? Solomon stood in the cargo hold door.

Marcus turned away from his gleaming black armor. The locals grabbed him. He’s in jail, and the warlord that wanted him is on his way to collect.

What are you going to do?

What do you think? Marcus turned back to his armor. Black Dragon, armor up.

Lights switched on as the suit’s computer went from standby to active. Marcus stepped into the armor which wrapped itself around him. Servo motors whirled to life and plasma seals engaged. The HUD flickered to life and all systems read go. Marcus stepped back out of the cylinder and turned toward the door.

We’re not supposed to interfere in local politics, Solomon said.

Unless you want to go ask them nicely to release the negotiator it’s this or we let him die. I don’t think that’s what the first councilor had in mind when he sent us to pick him up. Keep the shields up and power the engines. I shouldn’t be long.

Be careful.

Marcus activated his antigravity generator then blasted off toward the center of town. He appreciated Solomon’s concern, but his armor could survive a direct hit from a heavy cannon, if the natives’ slug throwers would even chip the enamel he’d be stunned.

The guards’ eyes about bugged out of their heads when Marcus landed on the street in front of the jail. He smiled. Run away now and I won’t hurt you.

One guard raised his weapon and opened fire. Bullets pinged off his armor without damage. It reminded Marcus of the time he’d flown through a hail storm, annoying but harmless. When