Placer: Second Rain

By Torin Crow Ingham and Tracy Ingham

This novel is a metaphor for what we as humans are endlessly searching for: what it means to be human.

Nikki Rae, author of The Sunshine Series

Rain is missing, and Captain Placer Cade is on a desperate hunt to find her. As the leader of a powerful mercenary group, he is confident there isnt much that can stand in his way. He crosses borders, confronts enemies, and chases every hint, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake as he travels throughout known space

When he encounters a woman from his past, however, he finds an obstacle he cant easily overcome. Isbeth was young when he saved her from a terrible fate. She has never forgotten, and now she wants only one thing in the universe: Placer. And when theres too much drink, too many memories, and faith in everything is failing, anything can happen. Placer sets his own boundaries and believes morals are a matter of opinion. He has to make tough choicesthe kind no one should ever have to make. But can he live with himself in their aftermath?

In this science fiction novel, a mercenary captain of an interstellar ship searches for a missing woman while managing a complicated relationship with a former flame.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Aug 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781480847026

Torin Crow Ingham

Torin Crow Ingham is a college graduate, martial artist, and metal sculptor with a passion for writing. Tracy Ingham is a father, artist, and writer who found canvases too small to tell the stories he wanted to tell.

Book preview

Contents

Foreword Nikki Rae

Preface

Acknowledgements

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

Placer Third Insight

About the Author

FOREWORD

NIKKI RAE

When you are a writer, you are a humanist, a scientist, a researcher, a philosopher, an anthropologist, a psychologist, and so much more. Internally, you are a chameleon, changing to what the work and audience demands. The world is a confusing, scary, and if we do it right, rewarding place. It is our job as artists to connect the dots from the real to the imagined and make it seamless. The reader should learn something without realizing, seeing themselves even in the most unrealistic of scenarios.

Torin and Tracy have accomplished all of this. Science fiction, in general, has been a genre that people turn to in times of confusion, fear, or if they are just searching for a good story about something so outside of themselves that it is on a different planet. The story of Placer is one of adventure, action, love, and discovery. It trails him and his team from universe to universe and we meet characters as rich in their personalities as appearances. It is a fun read, but also a poignant one. If the reader isn’t careful, they find themselves in Placer’s shoes, searching for Rain in much the same way as him—at any cost.

This novel is a metaphor for what we as humans are endlessly searching for: what it means to be human. It has been my pleasure to edit and revise this work because it is so rare that modern books explore this very basic theme, one that all fiction has sprouted from. It is my wish that many people read this and find themselves asking what they would do in Placer’s…well, place. What lengths would they travel? Who would they kill? At what cost is the goal?

I am delighted that the author has chosen to share this story with the world, and I sincerely hope that when and if it finds you, you are entertained, provoked to think, and if you’re anything like me, at the end of the book, you will want more.

PREFACE

For almost two decades I’ve heard about this character Placer from my father. I’ve watched him write thousands of pages about this person’s life and adventures. Mostly they came as short stories and pages of thoughts. Sometimes something would stir my father into writing how Placer would handle a situation or how he would react to a world event.

In 2011, it was suggested by friends that we put these stories together for the rest of the world to read. Six years later, a lot of late nights and too many rewrites to count, Placer finally gets to see the light of day, or the dark of space as the case may be.

We don’t claim the science behind Placer is flawless. This isn’t a physics text book. What the future holds many years from now may prove everything we know today is wrong. Then again, it may prove us right.

Hope you have as much fun reading it as we did writing it.

Torin

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

We would like to thank the following.

Our friends who have read all the different drafts through the years. Hopefully, it has only gotten better.

Our editor Nikki Rae for her invaluable insight and advice.

To the muses who offered Placer and his world to a manic-depressive mind looking for somewhere to escape.

Wikipedia and all those who have contributed to the sciences within.

1

FOR A TRANSPORT STATION this size, on one of the busiest trade worlds in the sector, Placer was unimpressed. Thousands of meters of glass and steel reached out in broad corridors in every direction. Ceilings loomed fifty meters overhead. Shops littered the main promenade with people pushing their trinkets, baubles and wares to everyone who walked by, in languages few understood.

Hundreds of cargo docks were loading and unloading. Restless crowds stood in long lines at boarding gates waiting to embark. For those trying to disembark arriving craft, the lines stretched just as far and the waiting was just as long. Patience grew short, with tempers even shorter. Every gender, race, species and color made up the masses, who all hurriedly tried to push their way to somewhere else.

Continual, monotone voices blared in a dozen different languages over a communications system rendered almost useless against the drone of noise. People shouted. Infants wailed. Electronic horns blared. Sirens whistled. Bells, alarms and boarding signals sounded.

Placer glanced at Nash, his security chief and second in command. This is a damn circus without a ringmaster. Close behind, six of his crew and eight security personnel worked their way through the sea of bodies.

A young child darted between people and stepped on Placer’s boot trying to escape the clutches of a woman who chased close behind. The apologetic grin and beleaguered look she offered left little doubt it was the child’s frustrated mother.

Moments later, a large, heavily muscled, brown furred alien stumbled through the crowd. A shoulder from the creature almost sent one of Placer’s people to the ground. A string of deep, guttural sounds followed the collision. They may have been an angry insult or an apology, it was hard to tell.

"Next time someone wants to meet in a place like this, remind me to say no," Placer said.

Gladly, Nash agreed.

Several gates farther down and hundreds of annoyed people later, Placer got a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that stopped him in his tracks. Instinctively, his hand went to the weapon under his jacket.

What’s wrong? Nash asked. He’d seen that look on the captain’s face before. Usually followed by a lot of weapons fire and a body count.

Placer’s steel gray eyes scoured the masses. In search of what, he didn’t know. Nothing stood out. Nothing drew his attention. Until … for some reason, a lone woman caught his eye. She was seated, quietly waiting for an outbound shuttle. A simple traveler. Her clothes were understated and in muted tones. She tried hard not to draw attention to herself.

Could it be her this far out?

He had never seen her dress like this before. She had always been a woman who wanted everyone to know she was in the room, with a lot of colors and a little skin showing. Conservative clothing was out of character. Something had to be wrong for her to dress so matronly. Her hair was even darker than he remembered.

She looked up, almost nervously, to see if anyone was around.

At that moment, he saw the flash of bright green eyes.

Shit. Isbeth.

It had been at least two years since Placer last saw her. That was thousands of light years from here, and more memories ago than he wanted to recall.

The two of them had shared an on again off again relationship for more than ten years. Isbeth was now in her late twenties. Shoulder length, dark brown hair and bright green eyes. A beautiful woman, but not the kind many would consider elegant. Well-traveled, intelligent, charming, devious and manipulative. Placer learned long ago not to trust her for a minute.

When Nash saw the same woman his captain had seen, he mumbled to himself. Her again.

Placer decided they would pass by without a word, but before he could slip back into the crowd, Isbeth called out his name. With his head half turned, he watched her leap to her feet from the corner of his eye. The bag in her lap quickly became forgotten as it tumbled to the floor. She hurried down the aisle toward him, fumbling her way through the mob that separated them. When she closed the distance, she made an excited jump into his arms. With a girlish laugh, she hugged him tight. I can’t believe it’s you!

Placer put an arm around her and returned the embrace. Hello dear. Any other time he would be happy to see her. At this moment, in this place, his heart was not into their reunion.

After a minute of holding on to him, she leaned back, but kept her hands secure around his neck. It’s so good to see you.

His eyes met hers with suspicion. What brings you out here?

She cocked her head and her smile changed from one of joy to a familiar, crooked grin. She didn’t want to talk. When Isbeth didn’t want to talk, it was because she was running from something. That something, was most likely herself.

Let me guess, another lovers’ quarrel? Why he bothered with the question he didn’t know. He wasn’t going to get an honest answer.

No, she said. Just ready for a change of scenery.

Placer raised an eyebrow. Yeah. He pulled his hands away from her waist. "It isn’t like you haven’t said that once or twice."

Green eyes, with tiny flecks of gold, stared up at him. What can I say? A lady gets restless.

He locked his gaze with hers.

Isbeth let her hands slide down to rest against his chest. I could ask why you’re here, but I’m pretty sure I already know, she said with confidence.

Apparently, word of his search reached even her small, morally bankrupt corner of the universe. Then again, Placer would have been disappointed if it hadn’t. He practically overturned every rock, shook every tree and peered around every corner for the past two months. He threatened, bribed, tortured, maimed, and left behind a path of nightmares that would be told about in song and story for generations to come.

So, what have you heard? he asked.

In a hushed breath, she began to repeat a rumor of a woman who showed up more than a month ago, on a backwater world; in an all but forgotten system. She believed it could be the same woman he looked for.

How long has it been since you were there?

Oh, I haven’t been there, she replied. I heard it from some traders who passed through a few weeks ago. You know the old story. They get a little ass, too much booze and they get all happy. Next thing you know, they won’t shut up.

His eyes narrowed. What else you hear?

Name of a place.

Placer took her hand in his. Get your things.

Why? She knew Placer too well to be surprised by him. His eyes often said more than his words. This, as it turned out, happened to be one of those times.

You’re coming with me. His tone left no room for discussion.

She motioned back toward where she had been sitting. I have two bags. They’re both small. With a raised eyebrow of her own, she said, "I’ll even be a lady and let you carry them."

He gave her a look that made her chuckle, then he walked over and picked them up.

When he came back, he paused to hand the bags to his chief engineer, who had been doing his best to follow him through the horde of people. He was a thin man, one point eight meters tall, with a hawkish face. His hair was dark and unkempt. He looked like he had no idea what a comb was.

I believe you know Mr. Piper? Placer introduced.

Of course, Isbeth nodded. How have you been?

Wonderful, ma’am, Piper answered.

He’ll see to it you get quarters aboard ship. Placer gestured toward two of his security personnel, who stood close by. They’ll go with you.

And what are you going to do? she inquired.

Finish up business.

With that said, Placer turned and began to walk away from the group, but before he was swallowed up by the crowd, he called back to his chief engineer, If anything happens to us, burn this place to the ground, he said with a wink. Then the other half of their party, including Isbeth, disappeared into the flowing masses.

Hope they get her back without any problems, said Nash.

Placer’s brow furrowed. Would you feel better escorting her back yourself?

Nope, the security chief replied. Just thinking out loud.

The two men continued to navigate their way through the crowd.

Placer Cade only traveled with people he could trust. The first person on his list was Rose, who hadn’t made the trip to the station with him this time. She was captain of The Unforgiven, the Dragon’s sister ship. A smaller, heavier set woman in her early fifties with short dark hair, an olive complexion and an overly protective attitude. She had been a part of his life longer than anyone else he could remember. She was his confidant, his conscience and one of the few reasons he still had any sanity left, though it was hard to tell sometimes.

Another was Drew, his ship’s helmsmen. A young man who had proven he couldn’t be bought or bullied into selling out his friends. On today’s trip, he had the job of shuttle pilot. He was in his mid-twenties, one point seven meters tall, with short, light hair. Someone who always looked like he was in need of a good meal.

The large man to Placer’s right was Nash. A dark-haired man with touches of gray over the temples and, just under two meters tall. He was built like a chief of security should be, rugged and intimidating. His eyes were as dark as Placer’s but not as troubled. They didn’t hold the same irreverent, disregard for life.

I hope you know what you’re doing letting her onboard, Nash commented.

Placer grunted. Not really.

Some of the business Placer mentioned, was arranging for delivery of supplies he bought from local growers: fruits and vegetables that hydroponics gardens aboard his ship couldn’t grow. Things like melons that came from thirty-meter-tall trees and berries which only grew on the side of active volcanoes. There was also a variety of fresh meats and game, a staple of most of his crew’s diet. Many of them had never grown used to the taste of synthesized protein, no matter how much gravy the cooks put on it.

Everything loaded? Placer asked.

Almost, replied Nash.

Good, the captain said. Then let’s find our friend Mr. Newberg, finish up and get out of here.

Against the protests of a few, the two men parted company with the remainder of their group and headed for the far end of the transport station. Another forty gates of screaming children, rude aliens and unintelligible languages.

Did I mention how much I hate this place? complained Placer.

Yes, you have. Several times.

At gate ninety-six, they veered off from the crowd. Nash led the way to a secure access door, restricted to station personnel only.

You have the code?

Nash waved a card in front of the lock. The light went from red to green and the magnetic lock released. Ridiculous. He laughed. We have better security on our toilets.

At the end of a narrow hall, approximately fifty meters in length, was a loading dock. Boxes and crates from small to large were stacked almost to the ceiling. Four and five thousand liter canisters stood one atop the other in the middle like stone columns. There was barely enough room to walk through the maze of cargo.

Nash continued to lead, hand on the weapon beneath his jacket.

Less than a hundred meters into the bay, a man stepped out unexpectedly from a row of boxes.

You made me wait, he said.

Out of reflex, Nash went to pull his gun, but was stopped by Placer’s hand on his arm.

Since I’m the one paying you, I can be late, the captain corrected.

The gentleman who had been waiting, was in his early to mid-thirties. Finely dressed. Clean shaven. His hair was dark, almost black and well groomed. Obviously, Newberg was a man with taste.

You bring me a present? inquired Placer.

You bring me money?

Placer took a DNA data card out of his pocket. Two hundred and fifty thousand credits.

When Newberg was satisfied with the amount, he motioned them around the corner to a long, featureless metallic crate. He bent down and touched the rim of the box. Like thawing ice, the top and sides of the crate melted away. A man in his late twenties, half blinded by the light in the cargo bay, raised himself up onto his elbows. He was dressed in a dark suit that appeared to be far more expensive than his station in life should allow. It was terribly wrinkled and urine stained, according to the smell. He had several days of whisker growth on his ashen face.

He pissed himself before I put him in here, I swear, Newberg attested.

Nash smirked.

Representative Abura. Placer said, kneeling down beside the darkly clad man. I must say, you’ve looked better.

What the! he stammered. Who? Where?

I told you we were going to meet again.

What the …! Abura’s eyes grew wide. You …You did this?! His words tripped over themselves trying to get out. I … I …

Placer looked at him with a snide grin. The esteemed Abura of the Osterium Republic. Not so arrogant now, are you?

Screw you! the politician shouted. You will take me back to Osteria at once!

With a laugh, Placer stood up. No sir, I don’t think I will. He pulled another data card from his pocket and tossed it to Newberg. Find a mining colony on the outer rim and drop him on it. Let him dig ore for the rest of his life.

Newberg examined the card, then nodded.

Placer and Nash bid their associate farewell and walked back to the narrow passage.

Send a man who’s never worked a day in his life to a mining colony? That’s cruel, Nash declared.

Without looking back, Placer replied, Guess he should have thought about that before he started a war.

He’ll be dead in a month, the security chief said.

That’s too bad.

57744.png

When Placer stepped onto the bridge of the Dragon, the crew began the cycle for its jump to interspace.

The command center of the fleet was oval in shape; fifteen meters in length and eleven meters across. Not huge by any means, but it did the job. Twelve stations made up the outside ring of consoles. Operations, tactical, navigation, science, communications, engineering and sensors were the primary ones. The others became whatever they needed to be.

In the middle was a command chair, which afforded whoever occupied it, a three hundred and sixty-degree view of the room. The walls were ringed with monitors that permitted the crew to watch over every square meter of the exterior of the ship and every square meter inside, if the need arose.

Every effort had been made to make the bridge as comfortable as possible. The floor was covered by a dark gray, insulated pad to protect the crew from electrical charges. Walls were colored light gray with black trim. The ceiling was transparent, ringed with blue lights and enhanced by advanced optical panels. The view of the stars was rivaled only by that of the observation deck.

All ships reporting ready, sir, announced Drew, the helmsman. Waiting to lay in a course, sir.

Do you have coordinates for a system called Haith?

With a few quick finger taps on the console, Drew answered, Yes, sir.

Then point us toward it and get our asses moving.

Within moments, shields flared brilliantly as Mason field generators accelerated h-boson particles in concentrated beams kilometers ahead of the ship. It allowed holes to be punched through the very fabric of normal space. One by one, the ships of his fleet entered the strange emptiness between dimensions that allowed them to fold the universe over on itself. They could travel greater distances in much shorter amounts of time than any technology outside of interspace was capable of. There was also no danger of running into objects or encountering gravity wells in a corridor, because none existed. Anything not surrounded by a Mason field was unable to pass through the barrier that separated the two dimensions. Without a sustained field or sufficient velocity, the corridor, as it was mistakenly called, would collapse and vessels would be thrown out, often with catastrophic outcomes.

The field generator was a level of quantum physics Placer didn’t completely understand. Then again, he wasn’t an engineer; he didn’t have to understand. All he needed to know was it got him where he wanted to go without taking years off his life to get there or worse, as earlier humans did, putting themselves in cryostasis to sleep away the years of sub-light speed travel.

Placer had limited patience when it came to trading a day of his life to travel nine hundred and eighteen light years. At times, he still bitched about how slow ships went. He knew he couldn’t do anything about it, but it made him feel better.

Estimated time to arrival … ten days, Drew reported, followed by a pause. Captain, any intel on where we’re going?

Placer peered over at him as he anxiously rubbed his eyes. According to Miss Isbeth, it’s called Gan Haith. I’m told it’s a burned-up desert filled with people who don’t matter. Beyond that, I can’t tell you.

Drew let out a heavy sigh. Sounds like fun.

Placer would have taken his seat in the command chair, but he promised Nash he would meet him in the gym for self-defense demonstrations. Evidently, some of the security personnel wanted to see if their captain could still take them. He didn’t train hand-to-hand much anymore and he wanted to see if they might be right.

Six levels down and half-way across the ship, two dozen people stood around low-gravity mats waiting for the captain’s arrival. Nash already had everyone warmed up by the time he got there.

Nice to see we have so many devoted people, Placer commented as he walked around, studying each and every one of them; their height, their weight, their stance.

Without warning, he stepped up and took hold of the biggest man’s wrist. He rotated it clockwise half a turn, stuck his thumb in the back of his hand, and proceeded to force the younger man to his knees with almost no effort.

And that is what pressure points are for, ladies and gentlemen, Placer announced as he let the trooper back up. Everyone here knows what pain compliance is. What you’re still learning is how to use it. I would tell you we use this for disarming people, but that’s not true. If your opponent has a weapon and you don’t, you screwed up. You weren’t paying attention or just got lazy. You’re probably also dead. He took a deep breath, then let it out gradually. Pain compliance is to force someone to do what you want them to do. Sit down. Stand up. Roll over or tell you where the money’s at. Take your pick. He started to walk around the circle. He made eye contact with each person, as if talking directly to them. You can even use this on your boyfriend or girlfriend if they get a little out of hand. He glanced around at mostly unfamiliar faces. On this ship, that has been known to happen.

Next, Placer pulled his firearm from its holster. He appeared to study it for a moment. Everyone here is familiar with one of these, he said thoughtfully. You understand this was designed for two reasons. The first and most important is to defend yourself. The second is to kill your opponent. He peered at those watching him. These things were not invented to scare or maim or make loud noises. You don’t wave them around in the air while you yell and scream hoping to make someone crap themselves. In order for these to be effective, you have to be able to hit what you’re aiming at with accuracy. The only way for that to happen is if you spend time in the shooting range. Feel free to spend as much time down there as you like. After all, the person you use this on, may be the one who has me in his cross-hairs. And if you miss … I’m going to be pissed.

He watched the reactions on their faces before he continued. "For those of you who don’t know me very well, you will not hear me use the word enemy around here much. I don’t like that word. Why? He continued his stroll among them. If I met my enemy in a bar instead of across a battlefield, we probably would have drinks, get to know each other and become friends. And since I’m such a lovable guy …"

Nash let out a chuckle.

Placer gave him a sarcastic smirk. Long story short, your enemy does not know you and you do not know him. Presume nothing. You stay alive longer that way. He paused. The corner of his mouth turned up in a wicked grin. Mr. Nash will tell you a lot of things. Don’t listen to half of them. The other half, you better believe. He walked up behind one of the women and threw an arm around her neck. He grabbed his own wrist as he locked her in a choke hold. She in turn seized his wrist, took hold of his thumb then proceeded to pry back until his grip broke. She swiftly twisted her hips, stepped back with her left leg and slid under his arm. A split second later, she had his arm secured in a hammerlock behind his back with just enough torque to make her captain uncomfortable.

Nice job, he praised. Gentlemen, you paying attention?

The hold was quickly released.

He turned to the young woman, who looked barely old enough to be his daughter, if he had one. What’s your name?

Sabrina Truman, sir, she answered, standing straight, with shoulders back.

Ms. Truman survived because instinct told her what to do, he said, as he stood beside her. She didn’t stop to think about how to react or take time to make a plan. She let intuition and training lead her. He stepped to the center of the mats. If you can’t react with the same efficiency, I will be leaving your dead ass on a dirt pile for bugs to pick over on a planet I won’t bother to learn the name of. Is that clear?

All heads nodded.

Good, he said. "I will not risk a single life to recover a corpse because your mother wants something to bury. Now, let’s work on keeping your asses