Astral Messiah: Mission 6: Black Ocean: Astral Prime, #6

By J. S. Morin and M. A. Larkin

Some actions can't be undone. Some can, but shouldn't.

With Astral Prime in chaos, Kendra hatches a desperate attempt to use forbidden alien technology to bring her lover back from the dead. As the struggle for control of the station unfolds, her efforts go horribly awry and plunge everyone into a strange and unfamiliar universe.

Stranded in a desolate sector of an unknown universe, the citizens of the station cling to hope and ration their supplies of food, water, and medical essentials. But what hope can there be for rescue when even they don't know where they are?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press
• Release date: Jul 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643550589

Book preview

Astral Messiah

ASTRAL MESSIAH

MISSION 6

BLACK OCEAN: ASTRAL PRIME

J.S. MORIN

M.A. LARKIN

Copyright © 2019 J.S. Morin & M.A. Larkin

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Ordering Information: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

J.S. Morin & M.A. Larkin — First Edition

ISBN: 978-1-64355-058-9

Printed in the United States of America

ASTRAL MESSIAH

MISSION 6

Cedric faced the vaieen-made door, hands clasped behind his back. He learned nothing from his careful study of the metallic surface he’d seen so many times before, this one and others just like it. The careful stiffness of his posture spoke of a man who knew he was being observed, if only fleetingly, and had a persona to maintain.

Over his shoulder, the magpies of science and vultures of technology squabbled over the wonders the outpost held.

Not one bit of this makes a lick of sense.

"It might if we could bring a sample back aboard the Bangkok or even use a damned spectrum analyzer."

One of them lowered her voice. You think he’d be willing to ease up a little if we could provide assurances that—?

He would not, Cedric replied. He twisted, feet planted, to scowl at them out of the corner of his eye. Scientists averted their gazes, all too well aware—no doubt from comprehensive briefings prior to this assignment—of the perils of meeting a wizard’s eye. You are here because you have complied with the list of edicts I have set forth for the purely academic and religious visitors to Shadow Planet.

I’ve never liked that name for it, said the lead scientist, a man named Dodgson. Did the vaieen have one of their own?

Yes.

The Earth Navy Archaeological Team waited as if expecting more of a reply than that. With a weary sigh, Cedric turned around to face them fully.

The vaieen name isn’t in any kind of language you could record. It is comprised of sound and emotion, psychic impression and imagery. It is, all at once, a warning, a multi-dimensional map of the current configuration, and the state of mind that existing within its confines evokes. Without any one of those components, the name would be incomplete. He left off that it sort of sounded like Yaintaa, which likely would have appeased them. The less he could get away with telling them, the less likely anyone would fund future nosy expeditions. He greatly preferred guiding awestruck tourists.

But if we just had the sound, we could at least record it for posterity, Dodgson argued.

Cedric wiped a hand down his face and strode over to the pedestal the trio had been arguing over when this all began. Pressing a palm to the top of the pedestal, a panel opened overhead. Snaking tentacles of metal and wire descended, startling the archaeological team back a step.

To their credit, the scientists were either brave enough or stupid enough to retreat no farther.

Raising an arm, Cedric allowed the tentacles to curl around it, worming their way beneath the fabric of his sleeve. This machine could burrow its way through my every vein and artery, replacing my blood with a form of translucent ichor and connecting my very soul to this outpost. I do not fear it because I understand its nature, know the name it responds to, hold an image of it in my mind, and project the confidence that the master of this place should wield. Absent any one of those conditions, and I would risk my life just touching it.

The science team shifted nervously. One of the two junior members swallowed. But since you’re here to protect us, what would be the harm in at least hearing the name?

Cedric opened his mouth and uttered a word that made all four of them wince. Did you write that down?

My … uh … you didn’t let us bring recording equipment, Dodgson pointed out.

Indeed. With his free hand, Cedric triggered the pedestal again, and the tentacles uncoiled themselves from his other arm. The panel in the ceiling sealed behind them. Nor did I allow you to bring anything with which to pry, cut, or hack open the access panels in this place. Though none would avail you, your blood would be on my hands.

Turning on his heel, Cedric marched over to the door once again. This time, with a silent command, it opened to reveal a gleaming white corridor beyond.

Shall we get on with this? Your captain was insistent on this inspection tour, but I did not consent to the loss of an entire day’s research.

The woman was up there, in her office. Not Sevigny’s office, no. Hell, no. It would always be Hiroko’s office, as far as Kendra was concerned.

She stood on Transit Concourse E, staring at the moving walkway, imagining it animating and eating all those people riding atop it. Like, just rolling over and "Surprise! I’m actually a monster with teeth instead of gears!" and gobbling all those people who trampled it straight down.

Or maybe Astral Prime itself was the monster—giant space gremlin, all whirling parts and nefarious purpose, sucking down lives.

But Kendra stood there, hands behind her back the way Hiroko sometimes did, staring at the throng of people coming and going, half of them no longer caring about the fallen director. Maybe some of them didn’t even know.

Oh, Kendra was supposed to take the walkway to the Hub, ride up to Hiroko’s office and meet Captain-Seven-Deadly-Headaches for a report. A debrief, the stodgy navy woman called it. As far as Kendra was concerned, she hadn’t had a brief, so she didn’t need a damn debrief. Of course, since Sevigny had a stick so far up her ass you could see leaves sprouting from her nostrils, Kendra didn’t put much stock in what the woman chose to call things.

She would be in Hiroko’s chair.

In her chair.

It wasn’t right.

Except … except … except … it was better than Kendra herself having to sit in the thing. The crowning jewel atop the monster’s head. From that chair, the captain would watch the sickening orbit of Astral Prime as it swung around a planet they all should have left dead in the astral. Maybe the whole Ocean would’ve been better for it if they had.

Seriously, who even wanted to know people were made by ugly blue-ass aliens with Venus flytraps for heads? Was Kendra’s life better for knowing that shit? Was anyone’s?

People cast glances her way as walkways sped them by.

Yeah! she shouted after a man whose gaze lingered too long. "Yeah, I see you watching me with those googly eyes! You wanna watch something? Huh? You wanna watch? Watch this!"

Kendra’s big brother had liked to show his frustration with his middle finger. But when Kendra was too riled, she figured why stop with only one finger? She waggled all her fingers at the obnoxious observer. She broke into a run, though she could barely keep pace with the moving walkway, shaking her fingers at the man.

He kept backing away like there wasn’t a rail just behind him.

Yeah, you better run! she spat after him. Others were staring now, and she wanted to scream at them all. To have them all thrown off of Astral Prime. Don’t make me bust out the other hand, she grumbled.

Funny, maybe sending them away from this accursed system on the edge of the galaxy would actually save them in the end. Why the hell did the vaieen want to build their outpost way out here? Galaxies shouldn’t have edges. It was too damn weird.

And not in a good way.

Huffing, she finally took the next entrance to the walkway, then let it carry her back to the Hub.

It was probably better to get the visit with Sevigny over with. Kinda like getting a comprehensive med scan. Sometimes you just had to show up, open your mouth, and moan nonsense at an unforgiving sadist.

Still, the ride up to the pinnacle—Campbell had the lift running again, though some scorch marks still needed a fresh coat of paint—was far too short.

A stuffy naval officer now sat at Kendra’s desk, poking away at her omni terminal like he owned the damn thing. Kendra ignored him completely—paying absolutely no mind to his judgmental stare—and buzzed the main office.

You’re twenty-three minutes late, Sevigny snapped when the doors whizzed open.

And … yup. She sat in Hiroko’s chair, at Hiroko’s desk, in Hiroko’s office, at the top of Hiroko’s space station, overlooking Hiroko’s planet.

"And you’re … crotchety." Right. Because that ought to insult a naval officer.

The worst of it, though, the absolute worst of it, the stuunji-using-your-bathroom-on-burrito-night-level-worst, was that Kendra was almost glad Anna-Marie Sevigny was here. The bitch was kind of saving her ass.

Sit down, the captain commanded.

Despite herself, Kendra painfully slumped into the chair she had so often occupied across from Hiroko, when the boss had wanted to bounce around ideas.

You are grieving. I empathize. It does not excuse dereliction of duty.

If I want to derelict my duty, I’ll dere-fucking-lict it any which way it suits me, all right.

Sevigny folded her hands in a far too Hiroko-esque gesture. We lose people, Ms. Saunders. That is the nature of life, especially life beyond the core worlds. If you can’t handle it, run back home.

As if Delos was an actual core world. As if Kendra would ever go back there. As if anyone would welcome her back. Those people considered her a walking supernova.

The person who knew her, valued her, got her, she was lying dead in a medical freezer.

Astral Prime was a monster, but Kendra had nowhere else left to go. It had already swallowed her whole.

She’d spent hour upon hour mulling over that. Wondering if she should run away anywhere. Try to reinvent herself.

But she was caught in this place’s orbit. Maybe forever. Maybe until it killed them all.

The time has come, Sevigny said, to begin the transfer of station positions to Earth Navy personnel. She pushed a datapad across the table. Your records leave much to be desired. As such, we’ll be discussing the positions one by one.

Kendra blanched. You mean you want me to decide which of my friends to fire first. Because that sounded fun.

Ms. Saunders, this station should have come under Earth Navy administration the moment you discovered Shadow Planet. Had you done so, a lot of dead people might still be alive.

The worst of it was, Sevigny was probably right.

All things considered, Sevigny preferred her ready room off the Bangkok’s bridge. Fujita’s office, with its large window view of the planet below, huge observation deck above that, and massive glassteel dome over that, felt ostentatious and exposed.

Her physical presence on Astral Prime came of necessity, to ensure no one made the mistake of thinking this transition optional or temporary. Reality had come crashing down on these people, and many probably had not wanted to accept it yet.

So she sat at Fujita’s former desk, staring at reports fed into her omni screen and casting occasional glances up at her tactical officer, Lt. Commander Singh. Sevigny had to choose carefully those she’d brought aboard Astral Prime. She needed enough people here she could rely on to get this place up to code, but she couldn’t compromise the Bangkok’s operations either. Bringing Singh here as her second-in-command had been a tough call, but he had experience in these sorts of situations.

As much experience as anyone could have so long as one ignored the bizarre particulars of this planet and the vaieen.

This one, Singh said, turning his datapad so she could glance at it.

Eric Dunn.

Corey could do his job in her sleep. Plus, the psych profile indicates he may have PTSD. We’re lucky he didn’t snap during the Guardian Battle.

Sevigny hated that name. As if the whole battle, the loss of so many lives, the insanity, had actually revolved around that