Cries of the Chosen

By A. S. Lewis

Five young lieutenants from the United Confederation of Interplanetary People (UCIP) come together to form a covert strike team code named T.E.A.M. G (top-secret espionage assualt issions group). Consisting of a quirky security officer, Chan Lao, a mysterious medical officer, Ayanna Mangai, a cocky pilot, Ivan Kree, a wife and science officer, Heather Kree and a former rebel soldier, Kiiyla Ciari, T.E.A.M. G is a collection of some of the finest officers ever to graduate from the UCIP Institue. Their mission involves the Rell of Ukatmah a vicious warlord who is believed to have acquired a weapon of mass destruction. The group encounters countless dangers and ordeals, but also during the course of their mission, Lt. Kiiyla Ciari must face her own demons as they return from her past. These demons take the forms of her friends back when she was rebel fighter back on Ukatmah where she also fell in love with one member of her group that was a priest named Seth. Seperated from each other each believed the other one had perishe Seth vowed revenge against the Rell. Kiiyla was rescued by a UCIP vessel where she befriended her would be assassin officer Mark McLoan. Mark, upon relaizing than even in this short period of time he has feeligs for Kiiyla, confesses that he is the son of the Rell of Ukatmah that she hates so much. Kiiyla scorns him, but her contempt soon fades away when she realizes that he hates his father more than she ever could. The Rell discovers that Mark has failed to do his job and sends his guards to capture them both. Mark and Kiiyla flee in a shuttleship and avoid capture. They settle on a non-allied planet called Duncan III where they fall in love and eventually get married. They hide there happily for three years before the Rell discovers their whereabouts. He sends his people to bring back his son and kill the girl. They capture Mark and disguise his abduction as a terrorist bombing. Kiiyla hears that her husband is dead, but she is given no time to mourn as her assassin is in her house. Kiiyla narrowly escapes and is now under the protection of the local authorities. Kiiyla, not one to live in a cage or on the run, is easily persuaded by a young woman named Ayanna Mangai to join the UCIP Marine Corps.
Back to the present situation. The newly formed team is issued the experimental assualt vessel commissioned as the U.S.C. HALCYON and its detachable strikeship, the U.S.C. TIBURON. shortly after leaving the system the crew encounters a Veran vessel under the commission of their mission target, the Rell of Ukatmah. Lieutenants Kiiyla Ciari, Chan Lao, and Ivan Kree board the ship, and after neutralizing all the Veran officers, they discover it carried one Ukatmahran prisoner who knows Kiiyla from her youth. It is her lover, Seth Atal. The four return to the Halcyon where Kiiyla soons discovers that Seth was not a prisoner on the ship like he was pretending to be, but instead he was an officer of the Rell. The team, however, realizes this too late and other Veran ships are closing in on their position. The ship is boarded and after a brief battle on the bridge Kiiyla and Ayanna are captured. Ivan, Heather and Chan managed to jettison to the nearby planet of Lathen IV, but Chan is seperated from his comrades. A search and recovery team is sent to the planet to acquire the remaining lieutenants while Kiiyla and Ayanna are taken back to the Rell's main compound on Ukatmah where Kiiyla soon discovers that not only is Seth in the service of the Rell, but all of her close friends from the past seem to have turned traitor. However, apperances are not always as they seem. Though her friends wear the emblem of the house of du Rell, they are all actually still fighting for the rebellion, but they are attacking from the inside. On Lathen's mercilous deserts Ivan contracts a fatal illness and Heather and he are easily captured in a few days. Chan, however, not only manages to find Heather and Ivan (albeit too late

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 21, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462839575

A. S. Lewis

Ashura Shante’ Lewis was born in Jackson, Mississippi where she currently resides. She is a senior on full academic scholarship at Jackson State University where she is majoring in Psychology with an interest in Pre-law. Ashura received a first prize award for her one-act play entitled Sunday Mournings. She is also an regular poet at weekly "U-N-I-Verse," and "Jazz-oetry" poetry readings at the Seven All Arts Club.

Book preview

TEAM G

CRIES OF

THE CHOSEN

a novel

A. S. Lewis

Copyright © 2011 by A. S. Lewis.

Library of Congress Control Number:         00-192478

ISBN:         Hardcover         978-0-7388-4289-9

Softcover         978-0-7388-4290-5

ISBN:         ebk         978-1-4628-3957-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

29773

Contents

1. S.O.S.

2. THE FAMILIAR UNKNOWN

3. OCCAM’S RAZOR

4. RECKLESS ABANDON

5. THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

6. REFUSE AND REFUGE

7. ABSOLUTION

NOT INCLUDED

8. IN A FOXHOLE

9. THE COST OF LIVING

10. RETURN TO SENDER

11. REWIND, RESET, RESTART

12. OUT OF LEFT FIELD

13. BUSINESS UNUSUAL

14. METAMORPHOSIS

15. SCHOOL OF

HARD KNOCKS

16. BREAKING THROUGH

17. ALL’S WELL

THAT ENDS

18. FOLLOWING

THE RABBIT

This book is dedicated to my father, my steadfast and most loyal fan. You are missed.

. . . . and like a pebble disturbs the stillness

of the water, so shall the outsiders disturb

the stillness of our world, but as their fiery

blade sweeps through our bodies and slashes

our limbs, the Khaoos will be summoned and

a passion that burns far hotter than their blade

shall burn the transgressors, for our spirits can

not be severed, except by our own hands…

1.  S.O.S.

Lieutenant Kiyla Ciari was on her last life. She truly believed that she didn’t have it in her to once again pull herself up from the rubble as she had literally done twice before. No, she was through with starting over. This life would have to take.

Kiyla glanced away from the display of an expansive, purple hued Nebula, turning on her heel. She moved slowly, but with assuredness in heel-toe gracefulness, hands clasped behind her back. She surveyed the room slowly, carefully like a detective taking in all the small nuances. She noted the couple in the corner exchanging whispers and muted laughter. She watched the spindly guy by the door, head back against the wall, eyes closed, but whose subtle tilts of the head told her that the man was alert and taking in the room in his own way. The woman by her side needed little scrutiny. Kiyla already knew her quite well from their years of living together as roommates.

The five of them had been summoned to this conference room under the pretext of a mandatory officer review, but Kiyla and the others knew their presence had little to do with a performance assessment. The base had been abuzz with activity for the past few days, but no official news had come down the pipe leaving off-duty poker games and meal-time gossip the main source of information. Kiyla, who wasn’t one to idly speculate, found herself mentally running through various scenarios when the doors to the conference room parted with a gentle hum.

All five officers moved quickly to their seats; where they stood at attention. Admiral Lockstaff moved swiftly across the sea of chairs and grasped the edges of the lectern with a grace and efficiency that is achieved only through a lengthy stint in the military. The red-bearded Admiral inhaled causing the numerous medals on his uniform to stir; their shiny surfaces twinkling like stars on a clear, country night. He tapped in a command code on the touch screen panel of the holo-imager.

Be seated.

As the lieutenants took their seats, the holo-imager hummed to life. Slowly, a blue-green haze coalesced itself into a sphere.

This is Ukatmah, a planet on the outer rim of the Cise system. As you all should be aware, Ukatmah and its sister planets, Pandgi and Hamur, are under the control of the Veran Empire. Ukatmah, herself, is under the rule of this man, Karq du Rell, the admiral continued as the holo-image shifted from the picture of a planet to a steel-jawed Veran male with piercing gray eyes. Kiyla shifted uneasily in her chair, but only her roommate seemed to notice.

Since the Veran occupation began some 200 years ago, the Ukatmahrans have been petitioning for UCIP intervention. However, given the political implications of such an intervention, UCIP Command has consistently declined their requests, that is, until now.

Until now? the female half of the giggling couple asked. What’s changed?

Possibly everything, the admiral replied enigmatically. I am not at liberty to share those details with you at this time, but what I can tell you is this. Intelligence has sufficient reason to believe that intervention on our part to aid the Ukatmahran effort may not only now be feasible, but morally imperative. However, before UCIP commits to such an endeavor, we want to know exactly what we are getting into. That’s where you five fit in. UCIP Central Command has designated you five as T.E.A.M.-G, Top-secret Espionage Assault Mission Group. Each one of you was hand selected for your specific talents, knowledge and expertise, the admiral said. Then he turned directly to Kiyla. Lt. Ciari?"

Yes, sir?

It has been recommended that you be promoted to the rank of Commander and that you take point on this little excursion. This is a great privilege, one you are quite worthy of, but it comes with a price. You will be responsible for the lives of your team. Every aspect of this mission will rest squarely on your shoulders. There is no shame in turning down a promotion if you feel you are unable to carry the responsibility it brings. Do you feel up to it?

Yes, sir, Admiral Lockstaff, sir.

Excellent. Captain Rhine will brief you further at twenty-two hundred. The rest of you will receive your final briefing at twenty-three hundred hours and your departure will be immediately following. That gives you about four hours to get ready. Any questions? the admiral asked, looking around the room. Seeing that there were none, he gave a curt nod and added, Happy hunting.

*     *     *

So…

So what? Kiyla asked without bothering to look up from her clothes pack. After the initial briefing, the five had separated to attend to their various personal matters. A fifteen minute commute later, Ayanna and Kiyla had returned to their residential pad in district seventeen. Each disappeared into their room and prepared for their departure in silence, until Ayanna showed up in Kiyla’s doorway, leaning against the frame.

So, how are you? This mission must be strange for you?

It’s a mission like any other.

But it’s your home world, Ayanna persisted. Kiyla continued to place her spare uniforms in her pack. Kiyla, tell me what you’re thinking? Kiyla stopped mid-fold and sighed. She placed her jacket in her pack and snapped it closed.

You want to know my thoughts? I think it’s bullshit. That’s what I think. It’s bullshit that for 200 years my people have been begging UCIP for help and now when it may somehow serve their interests, UCIP declares Ukatmahran aid a moral imperative. It’s bullshit bureaucracy, pure and simple.

Does that really surprise you?

No, Kiyla replied honestly as she shouldered her pack and turned to face her dark-haired roommate. And that’s the most damnable part, but, she continued, I’m a soldier. I’ll play my part.

Don’t worry. I believe you have a greater part to play than you realize, Ayanna answered. Kiyla looked at her quizzically, her brow furrowed slightly.

What do you mean?

It’s just a feeling, Ayanna said with a shrug. She picked her own pack up off the floor. Come on, or they may leave without us.

No, no, no, I can’t leave without it, a frustrated Lt. Lao moaned as he turned over his pillows and checked under his sheets and mattress. Though normally found in outstanding condition, today Chan’s quarters looked like a mudslide. Unlike most single enlisted officers, Chan opted not to have a roommate. He also chose not to invest in little luxuries like artwork, armchairs or anything else that would have somehow personalized his living space. His one bedroom pad was in the same state he found it—a boring mesh of earth tone walls, khaki-colored carpets and off-white linens.

I just had it… he whispered to himself. He knew that everyone was given this downtime to tie up loose ends in his or her personal life, but since the lieutenant had absolutely no family or friends on Gia Prime, Chan found that his ends were not only not loose, but already tied up rather tightly—all ends except for the one that was causing his present frustration.

His solitary duffle bag was already packed with a few changes of uniform, some civilian clothes, two books and two pictures of his parents. All things he could have ultimately done without, but there was one thing he had to take with him. He had never gone anywhere without it and he wasn’t about to start now. He had received it shortly after being rescued from his parents’ lab when he was four years old. A social worker had produced it from a locker full of recovered personal items and had given it to the child to quiet his sobs. Since that day, Chan had never been seen without it, and, as a few ladies could testify, he was often seen sleeping with it in his bed. He named it Miyn, after his mother, and in Chan’s mind, she too was an integral part of any of his assignments.

Ah ha! Found you, you naughty girl, Chan said in delight as he reached behind his dresser and pulled out a shiny, yellow yo-yo.

You’re mad at me, aren’t you?

Now, why would I be mad at you?

You tell me?

Christ, Ivan, grow up, Heather said as she wrapped a towel around her now dark violet hair. Steam rose from her arms and legs enveloping her form like an aura. The couple had returned to their pad in district four less than an hour ago. The ride in the rover was a quiet one. Ivan piloted while Heather sat silently staring out of her window. When they arrived back at their pad, Heather started sending personal communiqués to her friends and family, giving them sketchy details at best about her new assignment. Ivan sent one message of his own to his sister in Paris Nouveau. With his personal affairs in order, Ivan began watching his wife wash and dry her hair as he sat on the foot of their king size bed. The bed, of course, was not made. Making the bed was Ivan’s responsibility and, more often than not, Heather reprimanded him for his failure to do so. Though he complained, Ivan secretly admired his wife’s unflagging sense of organization, as opposed to his less conscientious temperament. He watched his wife’s milky white skin disappear into her uniform with a puckish grin.

You shouldn’t be mad. I didn’t do anything. I was just looking and there is nothing wrong with looking.

Ivan, what are you babbling about? Heather said flicking a damp strand of hair out of her face. She donned her uniform jacket, placed her hair into a tight bun and turned to her husband. Honestly, hun, I have no idea what has got you so upset.

I’m not upset.

Well then, neither am I, she said as she stood up to adjust her uniform.

Then why did you give me the silent treatment all the way home? Ivan said, refusing to give up. Heather laughed more heartily than she expected as she watched her husband cross his arms over his chest, pouting like a pertinacious school child.

It’s not that funny.

Ivan, Heather began in the voice she usually reserved for talking to small children, I wasn’t giving you any kind of silent treatment on the ride home. I was simply silent.

So, you’re not made at me for staring at those other women?

I thought you were just looking, Heather corrected, wagging her finger like a chastising mother. No, I don’t care about you looking at other women. You’re my husband and I trust you, she said as she picked up her duffle bags and backpack. Besides, it isn’t like I don’t look at other men.

Ivan relaxed as little as Heather walked out of the bedroom, then, suddenly; he jumped off the bed, grabbed his bags and hurried after her. What other men?

*     *     *

Excuse me, sir, are you lost? an elderly gentleman with a particle duster asked. Kiyla broke from her silent reverie and turned toward the man.

No, she said, then she turned her attention back to the transportation module, I suppose this is where I am meant to be, Kiyla said as she stepped into the TM. The old man just shook his head and returned to his janitorial duties. The doors of the TM closed with Kiyla inside and began to hum like a disturbed hornets’ nest as it ascended past the engineering decks and loading docks to deck twelve, hanger bay alpha 220. The TM slowed to a graceful stop, its hum replaced by the brief hiss of the doors sliding open. Kiyla took a deep breath and stepped out onto the metal terrace before her. With one hand firmly grasping the strap of the duffle bag hanging on her shoulder and the other holding on to the cold railing, Kiyla looked down some thirty feet to the main floor of the hanger and caught her first glimpse of her ship, the U.S.C. Halcyon. The gleam in Kiyla’s eye was matched only by the brilliant gleam of the hull. Designed in a modified oval shape, the Halcyon was a tightly packed and sturdy ship. Kiyla had memorized the schematics on her way over and was aware that the Halcyon housed only three decks—one for living compartments, crew’s mess and med-pad, one for the bridge and brig, and the last housed the engine and grav-drive. The bridge itself, she knew, had two EM-Pods, six stations and, of course, the captain’s chair.

Kiyla re-adjusted her duffle bag and quickly made her way down the catwalk to the metal ladder that led to the main floor. She climbed on to the first rung and began her descent.

Commander Ciari?

Yes? Kiyla answered as she slid down the last half a dozen rungs. She crossed the black bay floor and came to a stop in front of the bay officer who had called her name.

Your ship, sir, he said and then absently gestured to the main doors. Kiyla gave him a curt nod and approached the double doors. They immediately opened with their characteristic hiss and, after taking one final deep breath, Kiyla entered her ship. She stopped briefly by her quarters to stow her gear and then immediately headed to the bridge.

Status report, Kiyla ordered as soon as the doors opened. She stepped out on to the bridge and looked around. Several multi-system stations lined the circular wall of the bridge. A few feet from each station was a rail that circled around leaving four access points to the center area. At each break, two steps that led to the slightly recessed operations area. Here there were three stations: navigation, tactical and science, each with a gray reclining seat and semi-circular panel with a recognition panel in its center. Within this smaller circle and behind these stations sat the captain’s chair, flanked by panels that could easily access any station or system operation assuming the correct access code could be given.

Navigation is green across the board, Lt. Ivan Kree reported.

All preliminary diagnostics are reading five by five, science officer Lt. Ayanna Mangai reported from her station behind Kiyla. Heather made some quick keystrokes as Lt. Lao reported.

Fusion pulse cannons, online. Phased energy cannons, online. Dark matter torpedoes, online. Chameleon shielding, online and standing by.

Lt. Kree, report, Kiyla ordered. Heather made some last minute taps to her panel. Then turned to her commander.

Ready here, sir.

I think it’s time we stretch her legs, Kiyla said taking her seat in the captain’s chair. Let’s take her out.

Aye, sir, Ivan responded. The ship slowly pulled away from its moorings and began to gently slide past the station’s large bay doors. We’re clear, sir, Ivan said turning to Kiyla with a large grin. Kiyla couldn’t help the same smile from creeping over her face as well.

Prepare to phase jump to sector Bravo Tango 84 Delta.

Aye, sir. Course is laid in, preparing for phase jump in 3… 2… 1.

The ship lurched forward and the space around Kiyla seemed to slow down and stretch itself like putty as the very molecules within them and around them moved out of phase with their place in the universe. It was a feeling Kiyla had never gotten used to; the warm tingle in her extremities, the sensation of her stomach being left light years behind her, but the cold fog creeping up her neck was new. Kiyla tried to assess the new sensation, but her thoughts were interrupted by an alarm from Ivan’s console.

Sir, I’m picking up a distress signal from coordinates 29.3.12.

29.3.12? That’s Veran space.

Yes, sir. The message is not being broadcast on common Veran channels and is audio only.

Well, Kiyla said leaning forward in her chair, let’s hear it. Ivan tapped a few buttons on his interface and a static-ridden voice played over the bridge speakers. Kiyla and the others strained to make sense of what they were hearing, but the distortion was too great. Kiyla shook her head.

You can’t clean that up any?

I’m trying sir, Ivan replied. He had been furiously making adjustments since the broadcasting on the bridge began, but was having little success. Finally, a voice began to cut through the static.

 . . . is out there… if anyone can hear this. I am an Ukatmahran refugee on the Veran ship Ayncom. I have managed to overpower the crew, but the ship is badly damaged. All systems are failing. I need immediate assistance, please help me! Einaw zaylok eech na brein, zaylok eech ru han,

It repeats the same message once in English, once in Ukatmahran and once in Galloscan, Ivan said as he terminated the playing of the transmission. Kiyla leaned back in her chair, her brow creased.

It’s not possible, she muttered. Ivan swiveled in his seat to face his commander.

Sir?

Nothing, Kiyla said physically shaking off her momentary stupor. Maintain current course, for now, she ordered as she stood up and headed toward the TM doors. Lt. Lao, you have the bridge. I’ve got a call to make.

*     *     *

Cyon, put me through to UCIP Command, Admiral Lockstaff, Kiyla said as she entered her quarters for a little privacy. She took a seat at the small desk by the starboard window and activated the wall console.

You have a secured line, Cyon, the ship’s artificial intelligence answered in a cheerful feminine voice. Admiral Lockstaff’s face soon replaced the rotating UCIP insignia featured on the dormant screen.

You were instructed that you would receive further orders upon reaching Ukatmah, Commander.

Yes, sir, but something interesting has come to our attention, Kiyla began. When the admiral didn’t immediately respond, she continued. We’ve received a distress signal from a Veran ship disabled near the Veran home-world.

And?

And, Kiyla pressed on, it’s been commandeered by the Ukatmahran prisoner it was transporting. Given the nature of our mission, it would seem appropriate that we,

Do nothing, the admiral said, cutting her off. Kiyla’s brow furrowed a bit.

Sir?

Ciari, the admiral began, perhaps it’s time to share the details of your mission with you. I informed you and your crew that our position on Ukatmah may have changed and now I’ll tell you why. UCIP has sufficient reason to believe that the Rell is close to developing a powerful biological weapon which he intends to use on the native populace of the planet.

Genocide? Kiyla barely more than whispered. The admiral nodded his gaze grave.

As you can understand, politics aside, we cannot allow that to happen, not to mention if he sets his sights beyond Ukatmah…

UCIP is concerned he would use it against them, Kiyla supplied.

You mean us, Commander.

Of course, sir, Kiyla answered quickly, mentally kicking herself for such a careless