HIVE: First Contact
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Hive fleets search the galaxy for planets to eat, indulging their Hive Cycle: feed, reproduce, increase. Interstellar distance was not a concern. Time was not important. The Hive had always been and would always be. When they enter the sphere of the Earth Empire, Emperor Maximel dispatches a crusty old space navy admiral to take care of the prob
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HIVE - James D. King
HIVE:
First Contact
HIVE:
First Contact
By James D. King
Cover art by Mat Sadler
© 2015, James D. King
All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address aois21 publishing, LLC, P.O. Box 129, Mount Vernon, VA 22121.
ISBN: 978-1-941771-08-2
Chapter 1
Communication Specialist, Second Class, Franklin Freemont awoke with a start. He lifted his head from his arms and looked at the holo display hovering over the desk in front of him. The monitoring screen indicated there were no alarms from the robo harvesting machines. Still, hearing noises, he rolled his desk chair to the office window and his eyes widened in amazement. Several meters away, Captain Delaney was running and screaming as if playing a game. He stood and moved closer to the window to see more of the area outside. The older man was traversing the central quad, dodging and swerving as if being pursued. Franklin was mystified until he saw the tall, green, bug-like creature behind the Captain leap onto his back. He watched Captain Delaney’s face crease in pain and his body slump into accepting unconsciousness as the alien creature’s serrated jaws bit deeply into the man’s neck.
Franklin stood transfixed in horror as the bug monster sucked on the Captain’s neck and the man’s body seemed to shrink. In a moment, the bug opened its arms and the empty, deflated skin, still in its uniform, was allowed to fall to the ground. Through his tear-clouded eyes, other bug creatures could be seen exiting an oval craft and stripping plants from the colony’s vegetable garden. Beyond the garden, laser beams burned holes in the walls of the dormitory building.
He was jolted from his traumatic inaction by the sounds of violent pounding on the door. The door was not locked; nothing on the small base was locked. Instantly, he knew the pounding was by someone or something that did not know how to operate the door latch to the administration building. Franklin did the only thing he could think of. He ran to the main comm unit and fingered its buttons. His hands flew over the controls. He was speaking into a microphone as the aliens burst through the door.
Franklin Freemont’s last act before the monster bit into his neck was to push the postal missile dispatch button.
Chapter 2
When Admiral Roberto Pomeranz entered the side hatch of his official vehicle, he took off his hat and unbuttoned his dress uniform coat. After strapping in, Pomeranz massaged his neck where the tight coat collar had rubbed and said to the pilot, Lieutenant, let’s get moving. You have the clearances?
The pilot looked into his mirror and replied, Yes sir, we are cleared from here to the main entrance of the Imperial Palace.
Admiral Pomeranz grunted, Good,
and leaned back into his seat.
Both men were quiet as the black limo motored up the ramp to the top level of the parking facility above Imperial Space Navy Headquarters. Pilot-Lieutenant Anthony Borden, glancing in his mirror, saw that the Admiral’s face was in a worried frown. Anthony was familiar enough with the old man’s grumpy temperament to keep silent.
The Admiral took no notice as Lieutenant Borden lifted off and expertly wove the official craft up through the dense traffic and foul air of greater London. Once the 20,000-meter Express East Fly Lanes had been reached, Borden contacted London air traffic control and gave his destination only as Switzerland.
Admiral Pomeranz was in fact very worried. He was brooding over how he would tell the Emperor the recent news. The incident had actually begun weeks ago, slowly unfolding like a malignant jungle flower. It had started when a communication had arrived at the Colonial Bureau Headquarters in New Washington via a standard faster-than-light postal missile. The short, audio-only message was a hysterical plea for help.
He had listened to the message so many times, trying to glean some hidden nugget of information, that he had it memorized. He replayed it in his mind.
Not much time. Please send help! We are being attacked by giant alien insects with lasers. They’ve landed and are eating everything, including us! Hope this gets to you. They’re coming in now! God save. . . .
That was all there was. The sender had apparently pushed the dispatch button before he had finished his sentence. There was no originator name or planet identifier code attached.
The Colonial Bureau communications center had the postal missile’s on-board memory reviewed. It was found to have been last in orbit around a small planet named Loftstrand III when it was dispatched by the unknown sender. It had taken the postal missile nine days to reach Earth by its outdated FTL hyperdrive. While still in space, the missile transferred its message memory contents to the Colonial Bureau. The