Zon

By Maureen A. Miller

From USA TODAY bestselling author, Maureen A. Miller, comes this young adult cosmic adventure.

With a father from the planet, Ziratak, and a mother from Earth, Zon's challenges are galactic. Zon doesn't possess superpowers, though. If anything, he's a bit of a klutz.

In Ziratakian folklore, the tale of the Temple of the Monarch has been passed down for generations. As legend has it, a series of miniature globes lead to the temple’s gate.

Folklore...nothing more.

Except, Zon knows of a cave with small globes in it. And with one clumsy mishap, he triggers the gate–opening a portal to other worlds.

A trip through this vortex transports him to Earth, where the first human he encounters is a young woman with challenges of her own.

This is a brand new saga, and a new generation. There is no need to read the BEYOND series. However, for readers of the series, you will enjoy this continuation of the epic science fiction adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maureen A. Miller
• Release date: Jun 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463200384

Maureen A. Miller

USA TODAY bestselling author, Maureen A. Miller worked in the software industry for fifteen years. She crawled around plant floors in a hard hat and safety glasses hooking up computers to behemoth manufacturing machines. The job required extensive travel. The best form of escapism during those lengthy airport layovers became writing.Maureen's first novel, WIDOW'S TALE, earned her a Golden Heart nomination in Romantic Suspense. After that she became hooked to the genre. In fact, she was so hooked she is the founder of the JUST ROMANTIC SUSPENSE website.Recently, Maureen branched out into the Young Adult Science Fiction market with the popular BEYOND Series. To her it was still Romantic Suspense...just on another planet!

Book preview

MAUREEN A. MILLER

SERIES

BEYOND

TWO SUNS

THREE PATHS

FOUR WORLDS

ZON

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2020 Maureen A. Miller

Cover art by Angela Waters Art, LLC.

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

Zon stood on an overhang high above the fertile crater valley. His foot was propped up on a boulder and the wind ruffled his dark hair. Overhead, a Zurkan crow circled. Its cry was a haunting blend of dominion and pride. On its last pass, it deposited a sizeable chunk of dung on Zon’s bare shoulder.

"Gayat!" he cursed.

It is a good sign, a reedy voice observed. Your shoulders are wide enough to be targets now.

Zon swatted at the floating orb that skillfully dodged his efforts.

"At least I have shoulders."

The metallic blue ball with wide black eyes and an equally wide smile extended itself into a cylindrical shape, the mouth thinning with deformity. Wobbling with effort, it morphed into the vague facsimile of a head and shoulders.

Zon ignored his aqueous friend and squatted down on the boulder, stretching his long legs out. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes to the assault of the two suns. Their heat warmed his face and clashed with the wind of the high plateau.

Shouldn’t you be training right now? JOH, the droid pointed out.

One of Zon’s amber eyes popped open, gauging the cross-section of shadows behind him. They fell long and flat against the stony path.

Of course, his trusty sidekick was right. He was always right. No matter how much Zon tested him, JOH never erred.

JOH was a cyber assistant–or that was what Zon’s mother had called him. She said his actual name was too difficult to pronounce in any language. Comprised of a series of symbols–the first three represented a sound similar to Joe.

Training for what? Zon challenged. To be a warrior like my father? There is no war.

There is always a war, JOH replied sedately. Maybe not here on Ziratak. But history proves that there will always be a need for security.

I’m a good pilot, Zon considered. But—

But you don’t like to shoot at things?

It’s not what I really want to do. Zon shook his head in dismay.

JOH bobbed in the air, the sun’s rays reflecting off his gleaming shell.

And what is that? he encouraged. What do you want to do?

I want to travel. Zon’s hands fisted. Look at my father. He was my age and already roaming the galaxies in search of a cure for a plague. And my mother—she traveled from her planet at my age.

You’ve been to Earth—your mother’s planet, JOH cautiously pointed out.

"Twice! Zon countered. I was a kid. I mean, I see my grandparents all the time on the holo-relay, but—"

And you’ve traveled on the HORUS.

That tempered Zon’s protest.

Yeah, he admitted with a hint of a smile. "The Guardianship was incredible. That’s where I should be."

Zon stared down into the wide crater that housed a village of wood and stone edifices. Despite the crude raw materials, the structures were progressive. Multi-tiered organizations scaled the crater wall—a virtual waterfall of habitation.

And— he hesitated, I want to build.

JOH’s fluid face morphed into a wide grin.

Why are you laughing? Zon frowned.

It’s just that you are the perfect blend of your parents.

Trying to pretend he wasn’t intrigued, Zon hoisted himself up and started down the path to the valley. He didn’t look back, but he knew that JOH was following. JOH was always following. He had been following Zon since he was a toddler.

Due to his unique heritage, Zon was an anomaly.

Any time he walked through the village, curious glances shadowed him. If he turned quickly, the eyes were always averted. It was only up here—high on the crater walls that he felt peace.

In Ziratakian years he was only eleven, but his mother said that in Earth years, he was seventeen.

Earth years sounded much better.

His mother recognized early in his life that he was the subject of scrutiny, and she had bestowed—or inflicted—JOH on him as a companion. JOH didn’t come from Ziratak either.

Fated misfits.

According to his mother, JOH was once a flat-faced floating tablet created as an animated portal for the Guardianship HORUS.

Now, this enhanced orb stretched himself into a ribbon barrier across the path, the motion spreading his eyes and mouth into thin slits.

Move, JOH, Zon ordered, not amused with his friend’s antics.

I don’t think you want me to.

Patience was running thin. Everyone was always telling him what to do.

Zon planted his hands on his hips and stood with his shoulders pinned back, trying to make himself as tall as possible. At nearly six feet, the trick worked and JOH withered back into a floating sphere.

Behind the droid, the crazed eyes of a Zull stallion startled Zon. Froth bubbled from the creature’s bulbous lips, and a three-pronged hoof stomped the ground in challenge. Its mighty head rose to Zon’s shoulders, but the beast was five times Zon’s weight—and ready to charge.

Whoa, Zon splayed his hands wide. Easy there, fellow.

It was a narrow path, with a dangerous drop off the cliff to his right. If the creature charged, a deadly leap was the only way to avoid it.

JOH flashed by, momentarily distracting the crazed creature. The orb dodged by again, agitating the beast all the more.

JOH, get back. You’re not helping.

If there was more volume to JOH—perhaps he could stretch enough to transform into a wall—or an extended cliff. But in his default shape, JOH was merely an orb slightly larger than Zon’s palm.

The Zull stallion bobbed its head—a precursor to an attack.

Zon closed his eyes and let air whiz through his lips in a soft whine. The bobbing and stomping continued. Drawing in another breath, he repeated the sound. It gave the creature pause, its massive head snapping up. Baffled black eyes fixed on Zon. The hairy head cocked sideways in consideration. Without the vigorous snorting, the Zull was able to hear Zon’s low whistle. Now both hooves struck the pebble-strewn surface in a frenzied dance.

The Zull inched forward.

Zon held his ground as the behemoth approached. One twitch of the Zull’s head and Zon would be nothing more than a twig tossed over the ledge.

The immense crown lowered and nudged against Zon’s abdomen. Just the slight pressure was enough to nearly topple him back onto his butt, but he planted his legs and leaned into the creature. It grunted and bobbed its head up and down against Zon’s long torso.

I believe he likes you, JOH whispered.

Shhh.

Slowly lowering his hand and stretching it before the stallion’s quivering nostrils, Zon dared to touch the exposed skin.

In the distant past, Ziratakians had worn outfits made from the fur and hide of these creatures. Now, with an influx of technology from the Guardianship HORUS, their textile manufacturing had made the hunting of these animals obsolete.

Touching the bristly skin above the nostrils—running his fingers up into the long hair that hung from the boulder-shaped face, he thought that neither the skin nor the hair felt like something he’d ever want to wear on his body. But those had been desperate times. Times of war. A war his father had helped end.

Gradually slipping his fingers alongside the Zull’s head and behind the flap of his ear, Zon began to slink around it. He hugged the cliff, flattening his back against it as he kept petting the scruffy pelt. Eventually, he made it past the stallion, the grand creature dipping its head to nibble at a stray patch of grass that clung to the lofty rocks.

How did you do that? JOH asked, zigzagging across the path before him. "Even I don’t know how to stop a Zull from charging."

"Even I don’t know how to stop a Zull from charging, Zon echoed drolly. Did they ever program humility into your vast array of knowledge?"

Maybe not. JOH fluttered alongside him, the black eyes sliding to the side of the orb. But they did enhance my sarcasm sensor.

Hiding his grin, Zon hiked down the trail, pausing at a fork in the path where the route broke off to climb the crater peaks. He stared up that trail longingly.

Training, the bodiless voice reminded.

Training. Right.

Zon stared down the sleek bow of the Astral Ranger as he banked the craft to the left, adeptly hugging the base of a mountain. His copilot grunted a sound that could have signaled approval or disinterest.

Straightening the Ranger in the narrow chasm between the mountains, he glanced at his older reflection in the passenger seat. The profile projected strength, with a straight chin and sharp jaw, and eyes squinted against the blazing suns. A wide hand rose into thick dark hair, slightly longer than Zon’s own.

Take it out to the Zargoll, his father, Zak, instructed.

Flexing his fingers over the console, Zon maneuvered the craft through the gulch and escaped through a break in the range, flying low across the plains until the Zargoll River scarred the crimson vista. A twitch of his fingers sent the Astral Ranger into a low dive until it leveled out, buzzing the wide river so close he could see whitecaps when he glanced out.

Beside him, his father hunched forward, gazing below and chuckling.

If your mother saw this, she’d have a coronary.

Zon had heard his mother drop the phrase, have a coronary over almost everything he and his father ever did. He smiled before hefting the Ranger back up into the deep blue sky.

Does this mean we’re done with training for today? he asked.

Zak settled back into the cone-shaped seat, crossing his muscular arms. Unless you have anything you want to add.

They both knew this statement was a release of sorts—permission to let Zon showcase his abilities. Without warning, Zon cramped his fingers into a fist, sending the command to the console that reacted to every motion of his hand.

The nose of the Ranger hefted vertically and Zon tugged his fist back as the craft sped up into the atmosphere. Through the windshield, the sky altered from a bright azure to a pale blue, then a pastel coral, until finally, the thin band of the atmosphere fell off in misty wisps, giving way to the darkness of eternal night.

Flattening his palm above the command plate, Zon felt a slight charge score his skin—a transfer between pilot and vessel. The Ranger leveled off and coasted smoothly in the weightlessness of space.

He glanced at his father to gauge his reaction. The craft was completely pressurized, and the effects of the ascent were tempered in this protected environment. Still, considering that his father was older, Zon always checked on him for side effects. What he saw was the profile of a grin. His father enjoyed this bold style of flight nearly as much as Zon did.

The Astral Ranger was advanced from the model his father used to pilot. This craft was adaptable to terrestrial and galactic travel—all in a sleek, angular package capable of accommodating only two passengers. Unlike the Terra Angel that his father used to fly, this Ranger was not equipped with star lasers or any sort of weaponry. It was hard to imagine the cheerful man beside him engaging in hostile warfare.

When can I go on my own trip, Dad? I mean interplanetary travel. He took a deep breath and clenched his hand, inadvertently sending the Ranger into an awkward dip. He quickly opened it and righted the ship, adding feebly. I’m ready.

Zak’s smile slipped.

You were battling Korons at my age, Zon pressed.

And you traveled galaxies searching for plague antidotes at Zon’s age, JOH added, bobbing behind them.

Zon’s father turned in his seat. The raised dark eyebrow alone was enough to send JOH darting into the cargo area.

My past was troubled, Zak explained, returning his gaze to his son. I don’t want that for you. I never want my son to experience such trauma. There is no need. You have a good life, and your mother and I worked hard to see to that.

Zon banked the Ranger, preparing to head back.

Yes, he had a good life. He could not argue that.

But the tales of his parents' adventures—yes, in his mind, adventures, not trauma, were tempting. His parents had each held purpose in life. What was his purpose?

Instead of responding, Zon remained mute, which earned him a curious glance from his father. But Zak remained quiet as well. Only JOH could not hold his virtual tongue.

What trouble can Zon possibly get into with me watching over him? the bobbing orb challenged.

His father’s expression was uneasy.

Exactly, he whispered.

CHAPTER TWO

Zon’s family were crater dwellers, a relatively new development on Ziratak. The innovative architecture was designed to escape the overbearing heat of the two suns. The pioneering families chose to rebuild the lowlands near the Zargoll River after the invading Korons destroyed the original structures. Zon’s grandfather, and his namesake, lived in the lowlands. His dwelling was near the aerodrome where Zon’s Astral Ranger waited for today’s training.

Old enough to have completed all his schooling, Zon was already fluent in Ziratakian, English—his mother’s language—and some Anthumian, the planet on which the Guardianship HORUS was built. All that was left of his education were the daily piloting lessons.

In the lowlands, a market had sprung up to service construction workers. Over the years, that bazaar had grown massive, accommodating an array of handicrafts and culinary delights that made his mouth water every time he passed through the narrow aisles.

Opting to visit the market on his way to the aerodrome, Zon stopped at a stand filled with metalware forged from the crimson rocks that flanked the shores of the Zargoll.

The shopkeeper recognized him and sat back down to scan the crowd for any actual customers.

With his schooling complete, it was time for Zon to focus on a trade. Talented as he was at piloting the Ranger, joining the Ziratakian Space Control seemed the most logical path for him. It wouldn’t offer extensive travel, however. At the most, interplanetary, but never outside their solar system.

Every day, though, he stopped at this workshop to watch the man blend fire and metal, bludgeoning the formula into gleaming art forms. As much as piloting was a skill with the hands, he envied this stout man for his ability to build something with his hands alone.

Zon caught his reflection in one of the polished plates. His tanned skin appeared red from the metallic hue. Dark hair hung in erratic wisps around his ears, and wide golden eyes burned in the reddened reflection. He narrowed his thick eyebrows, frowning at the image.

Nearly black hair.

Yellow eyes.

These were common traits of the Ziratakian people.

But Zon’s dark hair was infused with copper highlights. His eyes weren’t as slanted at the corners as his father’s. Zon’s nose was straight and narrow, whereas all Ziratakians tended to have cleft noses–strong noses. And in just the right light, a few splices of green melded into his golden gaze. Each was a glimpse of his mother, as were all the other anomalies.

A slight vibration tickled his shoulder. A notification was coming through the transmitter sewn into his vest. Simultaneously, JOH darted in front of him with a gleeful grin across his silvery-blue face.

No training today! JOH exclaimed.

Yeah, I just got the message. Solar flares, Zon said, gauging his floating assistant’s reaction. Why does that excite you? I thought you were all about education and schedules.

Round black eyes were reduced to conspiratorial slits. I am, but I’m also all about hiking.

JOH’s enthusiasm was infectious. Not to mention that he seemed capable of mindreading. More likely, they had been together for so long, JOH knew almost everything Zon was thinking…and hiking was one of his favorite pastimes. It was a solitary activity—the droid’s company being the exception.

Well, Zon shrugged, catching the reflection of his grin in the polished metal, since we have the afternoon off—

JOH darted about like a zannuc hornet. His antics drew the attention of the metalsmith and some of the pedestrians in the narrow bazaar alley.

Few in this milieu had ever seen a JOH. They were not ignorant of droids or artificial life. Ziratak was regaining its technology—but JOH, the bright blue orb with black crystalline eyes and the wide animated smile, was a curiosity that made them gape.

Zon reached into the air and snatched the sphere, tucking it into his vest pocket. There it vibrated like an extra heartbeat. It was this thumping demand, along with the muffled protests, that distracted Zon. He glanced down to tame his friend and walked right into a stand full of zori fruits. The plump purple melons spilled into the alley as the long lapels of a woman’s gown caught between them, causing her to stumble.

Zon rushed forward, reaching for her elbow. He helped the woman regain her balance, but she shot him a disgruntled glance before yanking her arm free and kicking a melon out of the way. A man bolted out of his stall, waving his arms, dismayed over the chaos. Zon attempted to corral the wayward fruit, but the balding shop owner shooed him away with a litany of protests.

As Zon reluctantly turned away, he heard a familiar slur uttered by the man.

Gorzot.

Alien.

Shouldering his way past the critical eyes of a group of youngsters and their parents, Zon ducked through a row of hanging apparel, shoving the pelts and textiles out of the way until exiting the bazaar through a back passage.

Bent over, with hands on knees, he didn’t stop JOH from wriggling out of his pocket.

The orb bobbed timidly before him, the usual jovial expression now contrite.

I’m sorry, Zon.

For what? Zon muttered, swiping his bangs away from his eyes.

I made you stumble. I shouldn’t have complained.