The Amortals: Compact Universe

By TS Hottle

Douglas Best returns, this time taking over the investigation into the mysterious Juno. He and his wife Carolyn are drawn into the political back-dealing of the Compact. They get an unexpected ally in Jayne, a high cleric of the Marilynist Temple. As people begin to die around them, they uncover something far worse than a company using a war for profit: A battle for control of human evolution itself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TS Hottle
• Release date: Oct 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393153870

TS Hottle

TS Hottle is a science fiction writer originally from Cleveland. By night, he writes, cooks, golfs, plays video games with his future stepson, and fights with a cat named Tearyon. By day, he is a software developer. Sometimes, he wins against the cat, but not often. For fifteen years, he wrote crime fiction under the name Jim Winter. Now he has returned to his first love, science fiction He has created The Compact Universe, a series of loosely connected space opera tales centered around humans' disastrous first contact with a species known as the Gelt. He lives in the Cincinnati suburb of Deer Park with his fiancee Candy and her son. When not writing or cooking, they both can be found fixing up their newly purchased Cape Cod. Which has a deck. Which makes TS very happy.

Book preview

For Jennette Marie Powell

My sister from another mister

The Amortals: Gathering Storm Arc Book 1 – A Compact Universe Novella

Copyright ©2020 by TS Hottle

Ebook and Paperback Editions ©2020 Compact Press

Cover Design: TS Hottle

Cover Image Credit: Luca Oleastri

Published by the author

The following work is Copyright 2020, Compact Press. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without written consent from the author and publisher.

For information, please contact the author at [e-mail]

This work is available for purchase through authorized retailers. If you have purchased a copy of this work from a retailer that you suspect of piracy, please report it to the publisher. If you knowingly own a pirated copy of this work, the publisher/author retains the right to exercise legal action.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or use in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Printed in the United States of America, except where otherwise noted by authorized electronic and print distributors subsequent to publication.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This edition published May, 2020 by Compact Press

ONE

Douglas Best felt groggy as the shuttle banked on its final deceleration turn over Africa. He never came directly to Earth from Jefivah, not when he had himself sedated during wormhole transit. He would instead come through the hypergate network over Mars then take an EM shuttle to Earth to sleep it off. By the time he arrived, the sedative would have worn off, and he would be ready to face his job.

Beneath him, the Indian Ocean grew closer, clear water reflecting blue skies and not a hint of the toxic sludge every extra-Solar child was taught clogged Earth's seas. Around him, the sky shifted from misty white to deep blue as the shuttle descended toward distant Hong Kong. No smog or yellowish gas marred the air. Best had to face it. Every school child in the Compact had been lied to about the cradle of humanity. The place was clean.

Relatively speaking. Even with obvious damage done by humans and nature over the millennia, Earth looked pristine compared to his native Jefivah with its abandoned farms, rural metal shacks and derelict farm equipment, its colorless cities, and the unremitting gray skies of a years-long winter now just ending. Here winter held sway only in the northern hemisphere, summer just to the south of where he was. Around the equator, however, it was always warm, if not necessarily dry. In a few weeks, the seasons would begin to shift in each hemisphere, a pattern altered somewhat on occasion but never interrupted since the early Stone Age.

The shuttle circled an island near Hong Kong proper called Chek Lap Kok, a name that sounded almost Tianese to Best's ear. Hong Kong's spaceport occupied the island and parts of the nearby mainland. Best marveled at it. The spaceport had started as an airfield in the World War Era and remained Earth's oldest major spaceport. Jefivah's own primary spaceport looked like it was still waiting for supply ships from Earth and Mars to bring food.

The shuttle changed direction, and Chek Lap Kok disappeared from view. Best rang the pilot. Lieutenant, why are we not landing?

Orders from the Navy, said the pilot. Sorry, Delegate Best, but apparently someone needs to see you urgently.

Is this person aware that I am a delegate to the Compact Assembly, and that our session begins tomorrow morning?

It's not that far, sir, said the pilot. We're going to Macau.

Macau. Where was that? Since his appointment to the Assembly, Best had made it a point to memorize the major cities near Quantonesia, which sat in Hong Kong Harbor. He did not remember Macau.

But he soon saw it. Even by day, the city glowed with thousands of wall-sized video displays. It did not so much resemble a city as it did an overcrowded hologame. The city itself looked as crowded as Quantonesia, all giant towers looming over plascrete canyons. And not a single airfield visible. Did aircraft and space vehicles land outside the city?

The shuttle approached an extremely tall, flat-roofed building adorned with the video ads and the logo of Caesar's, an Etruscan chain of hotels. Elsewhere, Caesar's was a stuffy tribute to the culture that inspired Etrusca's founding. The chain prided itself on its conservative, low-key atmosphere. Here, it looked like a ninety-story billboard for Macau's gambling and vice industries. The shuttle hovered over the roof of the building.

Can't land, said the pilot. The shuttle would collapse the roof. But I'm only half a meter up, so just watch your step as you get off.

What about my luggage?

Taken care of. I'm to send it on ahead to your apartment in Quantonesia. He triggered the hatch. Good luck, Delegate Best.

With that, Best realized he had been dismissed.

And summoned. By whom, he could not say.

****

The woman who greeted Best inside wore a hijab and a very flattering floor-length dress. Caliphite attire, he guessed. Somewhat rare on Earth as the more observant Muslims he had seen here dressed more utilitarian. If this woman were truly Caliphite, then that hijab would disappear the moment work ended for her, and she would be at a wine bar or a night club blending in with the rest of the locals.

Delegate Best, she said, I'm Sarai Gaddar. I work for Dasarius Interstellar, but I am assisting Admiral Austin on this investigation. Would you come with me please?

Austin? He knew of a Quentin Austin, who was supposed to face a trial in the Security Council, but all that changed after the Gelt failed to take Anacreon. Would this be Force Admiral Austin?

Rear Admiral, said Sarai. He's been promoted.

That answered that question. And didn't.

She led him to a penthouse suite. Inside, no lounging or frolicking occurred. While outside the windows, holograms and building-sized videos advertised everything from legal sex for hire to first-class vacations on and off world to premium rejuvenation therapies, inside, Naval officers scurried about from holographic display to holographic display. They looked down at their palms and their tablets, tapping away to make the holograms inside change to whatever text or graphic they needed. Beyond this melee, a man in a white flag officer's uniform stood with his back to Best, a two-dimensional chart spread out on the wall. He manipulated it to look at different aspects of it. He turned as Sarai and Best approached.

Delegate Best, he said, thank you for coming. Sure enough, Quentin Austin now sported two stars on his collar instead of the one he wore when he last spoke before the Assembly. Austin had classic Nordic features, light blonde hair, blue eyes so light they were almost gray. He also had paler than normal skin, marking him as a native of Demeter. And never mind that Austin had lived on Earth for more than twenty years. It seemed that frozen world had become an enemy of humans' naturally occurring melanin.

Well, said Best, it seemed a good idea to follow my pilot's lead.

Austin gestured toward a small room and nodded at Sarai. Let's talk in private.

Best followed him, and Austin closed the door behind him.

I apologize, said Austin, for the cloak and dagger routine. But I'm not really supposed to be here. Fortunately, Mr. Germanicus has a vested interest in what I'm about to tell you, so he graciously setup this operations center for me to use while I'm 'not on Earth.'

So this meeting...

Never took place.

Lovely. The name Germanicus might have implied private industry meddling in the affairs of government and military, but this arrangement wreaked of Cybercommand, everyone's least favorite branch of the service.

Well, Best's least favorite, anyway.

Have a seat, said Austin. Can I get you something?

Will I be staying long?

Austin shook his head. I'm actually here on other business, and the Fleet Admiral wants it kept off the Martian delegation's radar.

Pricks, Best automatically thought at the mention of Mars. He hoped it hadn't shown on his face, but Austin's slight smile told him otherwise. So what can I do for you, Admiral? Please bear in mind the new Assembly session begins tomorrow. I have to meet with our senior delegate so he can give me instructions I plan to ignore anyway.

Austin chuckled. You sure you're not Navy?

Two years in the Border Guard on Masada, said Best. Enlisted.

Anyway, I want to talk to you about something we discussed last time we met.

Oh, no. Juno.

Juno.

Best's eyes went to the stars on his shoulders. You think someone whispered into the right ears and made the Martians' temper tantrum go away after your failure to kick the Gelt off Amargosa.

Not so much their tantrum, said Austin. Remember, I have a son on Amargosa, so it was in my best interests for that operation to succeed. No, someone decided it was best to get me away from Juno before I could say something they didn't like. They have friends in the government. That's for sure.

I see.

You have a position, Mr. Best, that I cannot ever possess. The Marilynist Temple considers you their Prophet, thanks to you procuring them their own colony.

Oh, dear God, why is this still following me around? I am aware of the Grand Dimaj's little marketing gimmick. Of all the religions that have sprung up since the dawn of the interstellar era...

Austin shrugged. At least they're not blowing things up like the Cubists.

But they worship that... that... He couldn't get the vision of their goddess out of his head, a pale blonde euro woman whose statues depicted her in a flowing white dress that billowed up around her hips, revealing her long legs.

She was an actress, said Austin. You know that as well as I. She died long before anyone even thought of making her a goddess.

I once heard there was a cult to some hillbilly singer during her time, back on Earth during the First Cold War.

Spreading his hands, Austin said, Well, this one has some power on your homeworld. And their influence is growing. I am also aware that you had your own issues with Juno. I would like to hand the investigation of that company off to you.

This was all Best needed. Bad enough that he had been relegated to committees on milk price controls and Compact monuments and heritage. Now he had to cram this in with everything else? Vanever, Jefivah's senior delegate, would never let him hear the end of it. Admiral, may I remind you that I am a delegate to the Compact Assembly? I have work to do.

Austin turned and projected a holo display from his palm tatt. It displayed what could have been an org chart, but it was chaotic and messy.  This is the actual corporate hierarchy of Juno. As you can see, it's a jumbled mess, but the accountants at Dasarius have identified five false layers of deception in it, one in which the late Walter Pope actually reported to his own assistant. He tapped his wrist and several sections of the org chart disappeared while the rest reorganized. "At the center is