Energy Wars

By Lionel Lazarus

Filled with romance, galactic polity, financial intrigue, brutal battles, violence and bloody death, Energy Wars, the two-part sequel to Project Anan, takes the reader on a nail-biting journey across galaxies.

'...I am an outlaw with the worst of them, hidden away on The Sixth's doorstep... Who would have thought t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lionel Lazarus
• Release date: Sep 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781916875715

Lionel Lazarus

With no academic background, Lionel Lazarus picked up his writing skills while working as a toolpusher on the oil rigs. Following a long career working offshore, Lionel returned to work on-shore in the health and safety profession. He recently retired to work full time on his writing. When not writing, Lionel loves to travel and to walk in the mountains. He lives in Ireland.

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Copyright @ Lionel Lazarus 2021

Lionel Lazarus has asserted their right to be identified as the author of this book.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First published in 2021 by Lionel Lazarus, Dublin, Ireland.

Available in Print and as an eBook

Paperback ISBN-978-1-9168757-0-8

eBook ISBN-978-1-9168757-1-5

Author Website;

www.lionellazarus.com

Email;

[e-mail]

Book cover design by DESIGN for WRITERS

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To Carol

Contents

BOOK 2 – PART ONE

Prologue

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

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

BOOK 2 – PART TWO

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Authors Note

BOOK 2 – PART ONE

Prologue

Company Structure

Anan Corp Ltd and Mack Investments Ltd are registered in New Zealand. Our offshore companies, Anan Holdings Pte Ltd and Aknar Investments Pte Ltd are registered in Singapore. The project, engineering and security managers – Robert Leslie, Thomas Parker and Niamh Parker (nee Sullivan) with Alan Phillips, Katherine Phillips and Janet Cooper – are principal shareholders. Directorship of the organisations falls to me, General Arie Machai of the House of Aknar, named as Mack Aknar on Earth’s legal documents. In my absence, on behalf of The Eight, the financial controller Alan Phillips, with company secretary Katherine Phillips, has overall control and day-to-day management of our Earth-based corporations.

• Extract from: Corporate Structure Representing The Eight’s holdings on Earth. General Arie Machai

*

New Zealand, Christchurch, Anan Corp Office, 2nd April 2027

Alan Phillips sat at his

desk and smiled as he scrolled through the latest financial statement his investment team had produced. To most, such pages would be lifeless but not to him and, he mused, not to Mack, the alien who had come calling with his mighty Overlord over thirteen months ago. Back then, Alan would never have imagined what was to come. Now, so much had changed, and from the reports he had finished reading, more change would arrive. The black box, the Anan investment computer the aliens had left in their basement, continued to work its enviable magic generating enormous profits for Anan Corp. Even after the immense costs of the spaceship Hela’s refit and the rebuilding of its base in Australia, their corporate accounts were flush with cold hard cash. At the very beginning, when he first plotted the potential profits the black box could generate, he realised that the real power would come with the money. Their black box was now a powerful financial weapon, wielding severe consequences for Earth’s major banks and industries. Between four corporations, their Overlord, The Eight – even while absent in a far distant galaxy – would soon control most of Earth’s financial assets.

Not before time, Alan thought, now browsing the darkness bleating from the planet’s news feeds. Not a wet week after the majestic Hela left, the work that The Eight had done towards global harmonisation was quickly consigned to the political rubbish tip. Those who he had left in charge of the U.S. and the Great Northern Union were sideswiped by opportunist politicians who stoked the fires of fear to further their own agendas. Theological battles raged. Are we to abandon our one true god based on the brief apparition of a blue demon from space? they spouted, waving their Bibles and guns. He watched the live feeds of bloody riots − fanned by Muslim and Christian differences − erupting across the Middle East and Europe. Sickened by it all, he turned off his computer, leaned back in his chair and sighed. War is coming again, he supposed, as he heard the phone in his sister, Katherine’s office ring.

A tired Katherine Phillips leafed through the C.V.s from the eager applicants submitting for Colony-2. She yawned – a deep Friday afternoon one – longing for a shower; she sat back and started to tease out her untidy brown hair. The day’s done, she thought, as she allowed her eyes and mind to play about on the office walls. As always, her gaze drifted to the pictures. The giant golden Hela – departing for the New World – floating above the base in Australia, dominated the far wall. Kath, as the Human Resource Consultant, had hired the precious cargo – two thousand five hundred human colonists. Where are you now, she wondered? Her eyes, with a mind of their own, followed a pre-ordered procession of admiration. On to the picture taken after the first meeting with the aliens that showed, Theia Aknar, Empress of Planet Anan and General Arie Machai (Mack) positioned on each side of Kath, with Janet Cooper, their receptionist, alongside Mack and Alan. Taken on her birthday in the kitchen of Kath’s house in Christchurch with Kath’s fiftieth balloons and streamers in the background, it had gained iconic status, fuelling the headline Aliens Crash Birthday Bash across the globe. And then on to Niamh Sullivan’s wedding; the photo of the beautiful bride with her new husband Thomas Parker and their Scottish project manager Robert Leslie all scrubbed up like new pins. Yes, where are you now? she wondered again … the phone rang. ‘Katherine Phillips, Anan Corp,’ she answered.

Kath put the phone down and sighed. It was not the news she expected on a Friday evening just before she planned a well-deserved exit. The Hela was gone three months, and now she was landed with this. She got up and walked into her brother, Alan’s office.

‘You finished for the day?’ he asked, as he tidied up his desk.

‘No, and don’t think you are either. I got a call from Picton, it appears Bri left something behind.’

‘He was never in Picton.’

‘No, but a girl he met in Queenstown is.’

Alan jumped up with the shock. ‘Ah shit, Kath, no. How?’

Leaning against the office door, she folded her arms and looked at him. ‘Remember when he escaped from the compound over the New Year?’

‘Yeah, I’ll never forget that mess!’ They had been looking for the young alien prince all over the South Island and he nearly missed the launch of the Hela.

‘Now we know what he was up to. I’m just off the phone from a doctor in Picton. A young girl came into her surgery today. Thankfully, the good doctor had the presence of mind to contact us. She’s keeping the girl until we get there. You need to get the plane ready,’ Kath said, as she turned and left his office in disgust.

He sat back down at his desk and shook his head before calling the airport. The antics of the young alien were now legendary. He had even absconded from the office for lunchtime pints in a nearby Christchurch pub after which, needless to say, his picture appeared on the web, threatening the security of their project. Brizo Sema, the young alien prince, heir to the Aknar throne and the future Emperor of Anan, a pisshead and a drug addict, were the unflattering thoughts that flashed through Alan’s mind as he dialled the number.

*

New Zealand, Picton

As the plane prepared to land, they could see the Interisland Ferry leave from the docks in Picton. Black smoke, from the cold diesels, revving up in its bowels curled up from the stack, drifting into the clear air above. The view, stretching before them, of the sparsely populated Marlborough Sounds, their turquoise-blue waters surrounded by green, orange and yellow covered mountains was breathtaking. Queen Charlotte and the Kenepuru Sounds sparkled in the bright autumn evening sunshine. Tourists paid lots to gorge their eyes on such sights, but Kath and Alan, preoccupied with their latest crisis, were oblivious to the stunning scenery. They quickly disembarked from their small plane and after that, it was a short drive to the surgery, located on a quiet street outside the town centre. They knocked on the door. It opened and a tall woman of about thirty stepped out. After the usual pleasantries, the doctor led them in to meet the girl.

‘Kath, Alan, this is Hana,’ she said, in a quiet voice.

Kath looked across the room at the young woman seated on the couch, warming herself beside a stove. As she turned to face them, her look of misery and dejection pierced Kath’s heart. She was dressed in a long dark-coloured skirt and a grey fleece, both worn and faded from wear. Her long black hair was matted, and her dark Polynesian face streaked with dried tears.

Her hands shook as she pitched a wary eye on the duo from Christchurch, not expecting much else. Boring old farts – typical office types, she thought. He looks like death warmed up, and she looks like she was just dragged through a hedge. Hana was right. Their end-of-the-week, nondescript appearance in dull office attire with Kath’s brown hair all over the place and Alan’s pale face and creased grimy shirt, didn’t do them any favours in the fashion stakes. As Kath approached, Hana turned away, looking with glazed eyes at the stove.

Kath knelt down beside her and took her hands in her own. In a soft voice, she said, ‘It’ll be all right, Hana. We’ll look after you. Whatever you want, we’ll get you.’

Her brown puppy dog eyes opened wide with surprise – not what she had expected. ‘I want Bri; where is he?’

Kath squirmed at the question. Yes, where is the little shit now? Pity he didn’t miss the flight, after all, she thought. ‘Light-years from Earth, I’m afraid, on the Hela. They should be near the New World by now,’ she said, full of hope.

Wiping a tear from her face, she turned to look at Kath and Alan. ‘He said he’d take me with him. He’s a real bastard.’

Yes, I bet he did, thought Kath. And he could have taken her to the New Colony, making a life together. She would have been the makings of him. Men! The same the universe over – alien or human. O Bri, how could you? Her thoughts waned and composing herself, she smiled across at Hana. ‘What’s more important now is you and your baby. We—’

‘I just want to stay here, near Picton. I want privacy – if the media find out, they’ll hound me. I’ll become a freak and so will my baby. They’ll call me the girl who shagged the alien. You know what they’re like. I want to look after my child in a safe place, that’s all.’

Kath smiled and nodded at the young woman. She’s smart, she thought, impressed with the girl’s forthright manner. ‘Not too much to ask, no not at all,’ she said, throwing a questioning look to the doctor.

The doctor grimaced, knowing full well what it would all entail, an alien pregnancy and the first of its kind on Earth. Still, she nodded her head and then smiled at the girl. ‘Yeah, I’ll look after you, Hana, but I’ll need help,’ she said, pushing some of it back on Kath and Alan.

‘Of course, we’ll help; that’s why we’re here,’ Alan said, his pale face etched with worry. We gotta keep this quiet, he realised. It isn’t right. Against the order of all things Anan, it is. He sensed a grave danger. What is that? he wondered, as he looked at the beautiful Maori girl. This was no ordinary dalliance, he realised. It was not just her beauty – she gave off a real sense of care and softness. There was an inner magnificence, a radiance that she extruded. And it wasn’t from the pregnancy. It was her. She had captivated the alien prince’s heart, and he would take that with him. Like a quake, the danger they were in, what the empirical accountant within didn’t understand, shook him to the core. Like thunder, it beat through his mind. Bri, Bri, what have you done now? You toerag, you must have known there might be consequences for your actions. How could you leave this woman in such a state? And humanity, what danger have you left us in? With such a sombre mood in the room, there was little else to say.

‘Come, Hana, we have rooms booked in a guest house near here. Doctor, I’ll be in touch tomorrow,’ Kath said, as she took Hana’s hand and lead her out.

*

The following afternoon a helicopter landed at the back of a discreet lodge on the shore of Kenepuru Sound. A transformed Hana, Kath and Alan stepped out onto the grass.

‘This place is cool,’ Hana said, smiling as she looked around at the lush forest enclosing the back of the lodge.

They ate a late lunch, looking out at the blue waters of the sound lapping on the nearby shore. Kath watched the young woman hungrily devour her food. She had enjoyed the shopping trip with Hana that morning. After the stress of managing such an unexpected event, it was a welcome break. At the top of the South Island and at the railhead, Picton is the main ferry port between the north and south islands. Kath loved the compact town centre, full of eclectic shops and, even in the autumn, buzzing with tourists on their way either to the North Island or coming from it. It was a busy morning in Picton − also the staging town for the Queen Charlotte Track. They took time to sit and watch the backpackers hurriedly making their way to the port for the boats that would ferry them out into the sound. Kath loved to sit, sipping coffee, in the broad deckchairs on the seafront and watch the toing and froing between town and harbour. She made the best of it with Hana that morning, cheering up the girl and bonding with her.

With her new clothes, and after a leisurely shower in the guest house, the young woman now bubbled with life and enthusiasm. Gone was yesterday’s look of dejection and hopelessness. She’s incredible. The mother of a new race and a child for the house of Aknar, Kath realised, as she admired Hana’s long shining black hair, her dark eyes and soft brown skin. They sat in silence as they ate and feasted their eyes on the beauty of this isolated place and the mountains behind.

Finishing her food, Hana sat back and looked at Kath and Alan. ‘Where’s this place?’

‘We’re on the Kenepuru Sound. If you’re finished, we’ll show you where you can stay. It’s up the road,’ Alan said.

Ten minutes later, they stood on a dirt road outside the property. Kath and Alan stepped back as Hana ran up through the gate. As she went around the back, they could hear her squeals of delight. Then she suddenly appeared from behind the thick growth of plants and bushes that cloaked the beautiful cottage.

‘It’s fabulous! Who owns it?’ she said, running back down to them.

Alan smiled, his banker’s face had long since softened. ‘We do. If you like it, you can have it. We’ll arrange the transfer of ownership this week.’

‘You’re not serious. Are—?’

‘Hana, I wouldn’t joke about something like that. We need to protect you and your baby. This place is as safe as we can get. You’ll see. It’s so remote – your secret will be safe here. The only way in is by air, boat or a long drive on this dirt road. If you like it, it’s yours.’ He took her hand, and with Kath, led her back to the cottage door. As Kath unlocked it, he watched as Hana rushed inside.

Chapter One

Overlords

The event we know as the Big Bang heralded the arrival of our known universe. Before that seminal moment, matter, anti-matter, space, time and energy swirled together in a vast primordial soup. The bang brought order to chaos, separating matter and anti-matter, propelling it out on its never-ending journey through a freshly ordered space and time. Nothing, corporeal or entity, knows what fuelled that bang. But what a few powerful entities know is what happened in its wake. Fragments of a post-bang residue generated powerful energy called blue, giving birth to the universe’s first intelligence. On their long voyage, swirling through space and time, some of those intelligent entities learned to harness the blue energy they were born into.

In the same way that corporeal beings depend on oxygen, sugars, proteins and carbohydrates to live, that pure blue energy fuels those entities. They depend on blue for their very existence. Over many epochs they evolved into what we know as Overlords, gaining strengths, forging civilisations over many galaxies and gifting others with intelligence. After building an alliance of ten of their kind, their great triumph was the creation of the Intergalactic Energy Exchange. The Exchange forms a commercial hub for our Overlords and the inhabitants of their galaxies. It functions as a universal marketplace for all commerce. This vast structure, orbiting our Planet Anan, has developed into a city in space, where all energy, physical material and produce is traded.

• Introduction from: The History of the Energy Exchange Part 1. Theia Aknar

*

The Hela, Intergalactic Space.

EPTS (Earth Parallel Time Stamp): A137808

Soon they would arrive back

in the Anan Galaxy. What will we find? wondered the powerful entity known as The Eight. Where is The One? Am I too late? Will all the work we achieved in Project Anan be in vain? The questions swirled in his energy mass with the memories of how it had all started.

Leaving the Energy Exchange on the Hela for Earth, with Empress Theia and her cousin, Mack, General Arie Machai, was a last-ditch attempt to thwart The Sixth’s energy-grabbing troika. The Eight’s return to Earth, after such a long absence, was well timed. Verifying his decision to involve the humans, Project Anan was a resounding success. They had refitted the Hela on Earth and, led by Robert Leslie, transplanted two thousand five hundred humans across intergalactic space to a secret New World, rich in blue. While setting up their settlement and offloading the Hela, a small contingent of colonists had mined for his precious energy.

The fruit of the humans’ labour, his energy, was loaded on the Hela with a bonus commissioned by the Empress, a treatment and a cure for the purebreed’s sickness. Now The Eight returned to his home galaxy of Anan with the valuable energy for The One, his companion and the supreme leader of the ten Overlords. But he had heard nothing from him – and feared the worst.

The closer he got to their home galaxy, the more intense the foreboding feeling pulsed in his energy mass. Why has he not contacted me? What’s happened? I must risk it, he thought. Fearing their discovery as the Hela sped through space, faster than the speed of light, the preeminent entity, known to the crew as The Eight, focused his mind. Forming an invisible vessel of blue, he projected his thoughts out towards their destination. Dancing through the milieu of time and space, he probed for evidence of another. It was bleak – deserted – emptiness he had never experienced before. The total blackness added to his worry. Closer and closer, his consciousness travelled to the Anan Galaxy. But there was nothing; his companion, The One, lord of their kind, all trace of his presence had evaporated. He probed onwards, to a place they had shared, one of their many secrets, a site he had long forgotten. He would have used this place; returned here to replenish, he thought.

As the cosmic mists cleared, he peered out at a small asteroid. A ship, there is a ship there. How is this possible? Invisible to the biped purebreeds, he watched as they transferred the last of The One’s meagre supply of blue energy – his catastrophe hoard – onto a waiting freighter, the livery of The Sixth embossed on the hull. Probing for more, The Eight’s thoughts brushed against one of the precious canisters. The message his friend and companion had embedded in the energy exploded in his consciousness. Stay away; all is lost. Go, my friend, save yourself. For the sake of our kind, save yourself. As quickly as it appeared, it was gone. Faster than the speed of light, his mind retreated in shock, back across the voids of space and time. And then, like the sting of a million Uldonian microbes, he felt the pulse of a faint voice resonating out in the blackness. Eight, is that you? Where are you? Eight, answer me. I feel you …

The voice died away as he travelled ever faster and faster back to the safety of the Hela. Alone in his chamber on the Hela, his energy mass pulsed with a dark purple light. He focused his powerful mind, shutting out the strange feeling, something he had never experienced before – loneliness. I should not feel. I am an Overlord, he thought. Where are you, One? What manner of evilness has descended on this epoch? I will expunge you, Six, he vowed. As he tried to quell the purple pulsing, thoughts screamed through his energy mass. It was he, he felt my presence. He should never have been elevated, never, never, never. A mistake, one that may cost us our universe.

Little by little, he quelled his rage. Logical thought returned with the realisation that The One was gone and Six had nearly discovered them. Return to Planet Anan? No, not an option – for now anyway. I am too late. Time for a new plan, but what? he wondered.

*

The Colony. Fort Leslie, New World.

EPTS: A137808

Robert Leslie, the six-foot five-inch sandy-haired Scotsman, sat listening to the steady grinding of the blue energy rig as it poked its long curling tube into the craggy mountains behind their colony. Since arriving in this New World, he never tired of watching the hectic moments that would come up next. The drill would stall then break through the subterranean prison, exposing the precious energy they were here for. Then, planting the deep-hole packer riding behind the bit, they would vent the tubing of drill fluid and start recovering blue. So far, from his estimates, each of the small nodes they broached had yielded between fifty and a hundred barrels of the precious energy.

After the big bang, matter cooled and fragments congealed into solids, trapping blue as bubbles of pure energy. Over time, the dense prisons − burnished by heat and pressure − formed crystal nodes rich with blue. Floating within the young planet’s mantle, as prime continental drift shaped their New World, these nodes were uplifted back towards the sky they came from. Finally settling into the snow-covered mountains, the colonists were now mining. And there were more of these precious nodes trapped in asteroids, meteorites and the close-by planets. Looking up at the sky, Robert wondered at the New World’s two small moons visible today. More blue there − off-world mining, in space suits. Well, that’s for another day.

His gaze fell back to the Anan rig. Anchored to the platform, its colossal excavator arm had carved out the side of the mountain. This load would top up tanks on the rear of the rig. Then, back to Fort Leslie to transfer the cargo into the colony’s tank farm. With two rigs and one support platform, the on-planet mining of blue had gone without a hitch. Before they landed, scanning the planet from space, they had pre-mapped its deposits of blue. Robert focused his attention on what he called low hanging fruit. The vast deposits in the mountains behind Fort Leslie. It was the reason why they had chosen the colony’s location in the first place. The crews had made good progress, keeping the two rigs working while staying in the following accommodation platform. With the main storage tanks at the colony near full and no interstellar ship to export on, their work had come to an end.

But that wasn’t the problem. A far bigger one loomed, one never foreseen. Robert heard the noise change and die off, followed by loud shouts from the crew. From his perch on the side of the accommodation platform, he stood up and turned to watch. First, a low rumbling as the drilling fluid rushed back into its tanks through the two-inch tubing. Then, a more dramatic hissing sound as the blue energy vented up from the subterranean prison. The crew hurried around, watching the machinery as the alien auto-systems channelled blue to the near brimming tanks. The team were well schooled by now and soon had grav-powered air compressors lined up to scour out the last of the blue. Through toughened glass ports, he watched the strange energy swirl into the tank. The newer fresh batch flowed with a more in-depth blue colour, then curled into the lighter older stuff with an ever-changing hue. The process mesmerised him until a soft voice with a flat northeast brogue stirred his world.

‘We’re done, Robert. No more room for any more.’

He turned to face Shona. She had come over from her own rig, shut down and parked beside them on the big mountain platform, grey barren peaks rising behind it. ‘Aye, we are at that,’ he nodded. ‘You ready?’

‘I am. I’ll get the man. He can leave the crew to clean up here,’ she said, climbing up a ladder onto the working rig.

He watched, grinning, as a giant of a man on the prow of the rig scooped up the small woman and gave her a big kiss. Shona and Blair Hay, his workmates from a previous life in the North Sea and the European oil fields, now husband and wife, hell-bent on carving a life for themselves on the New World. He never forgot the ever-grouchy Blair was almost killed when they first started work on the Hela. She laughed playfully, fending off his affections. He put her down, turned, and after barking some curse words at his crew, dutifully followed his wife over to Robert.

Blair scowled. ‘Well, Robert, another fine mess you have us in …’

She hit him. ‘Shut it, Blair. Come on, we’ll save grav an’ take my rig back; it’s done here and needs parking back at Leslie.’

Jumping up to the controls, she soon had the grav-powered rig hovering up above the rocky platform. Turning away from the drill site, she drove the large, graceless machine with its yellow-painted grab, brown coiled drill tube and blue tanks, back through the air to Fort Leslie.

Robert watched the mountains recede behind them. The many sites, where they had dug platforms and bored down to recover blue, scarred the desolate grey mountain landscape. Mankind has definitely arrived, he thought. Looking to the approaching colony, Fort Leslie’s burgeoning size, behind a pristine golden beach, galvanised that muse. They had started to clear the surrounding forest. The town centre had grown with a proliferation of colonial-style wooden buildings, sprouting from the bounty the felled trees endowed them with. From this distance, the pods, the living accommodation transported from Earth, looked like giant white steps descending down the hill they were built on. The blue ocean stretched out into a dark cloudy sky from a long golden beach. The landing pads – their spaceport – built on the beach, cut that view in half. The wind freshened, buffeting the big grav platform.

‘Storm’s coming,’ Shona said, pointing to dark bulbous clouds on the horizon. She landed the rig on a pad beside the blue tank farm. And then, without another word, they made their way to the colony offices.

Robert took a seat at the head of the table. Looking around, he nodded at the people, a mix of the colony’s management, already seated: Janet Cooper, the planner, Thomas Parker, the security manager along with the chief colony engineer, technicians, doctors, zoologists, and the botanists. Leaning against the wall at the back was Alice, one of Tom’s soldiers, a wonder medic, now entrusted with the care of the Overlord’s catbears and the ever-silent Blair and Shona.

He looked at their sombre faces. ‘So, what’s all this about?’ he asked, knowing full well their dilemma and why the chief engineer had called them here today.

The chief spoke first. ‘Robert, I’m sorry, but from our calculations, at this burn rate, we’ll run out of the stuff. We’ve been here over three months and used a third of our grav stocks.’

With a face that could chop trees, he answered, ‘Did ya no think to check that before we left Earth?’

The engineer squirmed. ‘We had no idea, Robert. We trusted the Anan data and what we learned from the Pilot. Grav was a new energy; we hadn’t a baseline on consumption.’

With his rising rage, his arm started to glow a deep purple and, for the first time, hurt. The hairless blue limb was a gift from The Eight after Robert had helped him win the war on Earth. As it flashed and changed, he often wondered how much of a benefit it was. ‘We left all the diesels – fuel and engines – back on Earth. Grav fuels everything! Now you tell me we’re running out of it.’

‘Not quite, Robert. We took two emergency gennies and some diesel …’

‘Enough for a fart in the wind.’ What’s gotten us to this, only three months after the Hela has left? Robert wondered. They had intended to take diesel engines from Earth with tanks of the stuff along with equipment to reclaim fossil fuel from the New World. But, after finding a hoard of old grav machinery in the Australian base with grav from the Pilot’s family hoard, they had elected to abandon the use of fossil fuel in the New World. To power the colony, there were submersible turbines in the river and estuary and wind turbines planted on the hills. But for transport, running portable machinery, all the lifting and carrying, they relied on grav and believed they had enough for years. So prolific was their reliance on grav, they hadn’t even built roads, flying everywhere. Not the case now. ‘How long?’

The chief engineer looked down at his notes. ‘At this rate, less than a year.’

Robert felt a soft hand on his arm. The blue pulsing slowed, his arm quietened down and the pain subsided. It was Janet. ‘Robert, it’s not their fault. They didn’t have data to work with on Earth. We were training new grav drivers, using different grades of the stuff with no idea of its properties. You know that. It wasn’t until we got here and started to actually use it – in the machinery – that they could find out what we burn daily. Be reasonable,’ she said, her hands now open on the desk before her.

There was a pregnant pause. Robert got up and started to pace back and forth. Wearing one of his old kilts, he cut a sight, with his long sandy hair and kilt swaying as he walked up and down. They were well used to it, waiting in silence for the inevitable. She was always right, he thought. ‘Its survival now isn’t it?’

They nodded.

‘Alright, reports – give it up.’ He looked at the botanists. ‘You’re first.’ If enthusiasm could be bottled, in this world, those scientists had the patent for it. They had discovered new foods and developed a farming system that would have the colony near self-sufficient within months. Their chief gave a short report of where they were and the current food stocks.

Robert looked down at Tom. His men were providing an ample supply of fresh meat, enough for the colonists and their friends, the catbears. ‘We’ll no starve, will we Tom?’

Tom shook his head. ‘No, we won’t, but my guys will need grav for the security patrols and the hunting.’

The rest of the team leaders followed on with their brief reports. It wasn’t as bad as Robert first assumed. Surrounded by wood – cheap fuel and building material – they had food, shelter and electric power. On their own, they could make a life here in this New World. And before leaving, if what The Eight had told him might happen did happen, they may have to do that. He held that dark thought, that The Eight might never return, or that they may be discovered by The Sixth.

Smiling now, he looked at Alice. ‘The catbears, can we use them?’ he said, referring to the intelligent beasts resembling a cross between lion and bear, which lived in the forest. The strong five to seven-foot tree climbers, with green and brown stripes woven together for camouflage, naturally blended into the surrounding forest. As well as that, the dexterous catbears could stand on their hind legs and use their top claws as hands.

She shifted on her feet. ‘They help us now without prompting. You’ve seen them yourself, Robert. Fetching and carrying, pushing and pulling loads whenever they can.’

He rubbed his face in disbelief. ‘Bit utopian isn’t it, Alice – can’t be as easy as that!’

From her wide brown eyes, she stared daggers at him. Trying to hold her voice in check after such sarcasm, she blurted back, ‘Robert, you know perfectly well he spoke to them before he left. To them, the Overlord is a god. Their whole life has changed. They were facing extinction before we showed up …’ Holding her tongue, she pursed her lips.

He blushed; he hadn’t meant to sound so bitter. ‘Sorry, Alice. You’re right,’ he said, thinking about how bad these beautiful catbears had looked when they arrived. Mangy looking creatures, half-starved and covered with sores. With plenty of fresh meat from the planet’s wild animals – compliments of Tom’s guns – basic medicines and Alice’s minding, the catbears had come good, developing into the beautiful, strong beasts they were always intended to be. ‘So, you think they’ll help?’

‘Whatever deal he made with them, I suspect they will. They worship him, and they know their change of fortune is due to him. They see us as his instruments. That’s why they’ll work with us.’ She shifted her stance, placing her hands on her hips, addressing all in the room. In her firm no-nonsense voice, she continued, ‘They’re not slaves or to be abused or treated as domestic animals, you all hear that? They’re sentient beings, like us…’ They nodded, realising this was a significant change in how their colony would work. ‘It’s up to us to build a symbiotic relationship with them. Before he left, The Eight told me that they would make good soldiers for Tom as well. Go figure that one, Tom.’

‘So, it’s done. Park up the grav platforms, the lifters and all that stuff we don’t need. Luxury it is, one we can’t afford. By our own strength and the catbears’ help, we’ll build roads, wheels, carts and all the rest. Tom, you have what you need for security. Tanks are full. We stop the blue recovery.’ He paused as a thought burst through his mind. I cannae believe we have the most powerful energy in the galaxy, and it’s useless to us. ‘How’s that sound?’ he said, looking at the engineer.

He doubled down with his calculator and pen. After some hasty scratchings, the man looked up and for the first time, smiled. ‘We can make it last over three years at that.’

Robert clapped him on the back. ‘Go away and work on a usage program with Tom. If we have to wait three years for resupply, we’re on our own anyway, and we’ll have bigger problems. Good, anyone seen Mack?’ he asked, looking at Janet. She shook her head. The alien purebreed, General Arie Machai, The Eight’s representative on the New World, was ever noticeable by his absence. What’s wrong there? Robert wondered as he watched his team file out, all happy with the outcome.

*

The Hela, Intergalactic Space. EPTS: A137809

Back on the Hela, even as The Eight suppressed his rage, the loss of The One was still a shock. Usually, there was a warning, some sign that an Overlord’s existence approached termination. With the critical shortage of blue, The Eight had known this could happen but when it did, he had felt it – feelings he hadn’t known before. It was a reminder that, although their existence could span aeons, it was finite. There were limits to their powers! He thought about how the humans had dreamed up mythical gods to worship when he had abandoned Earth. With the religious turmoil that ensued after his return, some had believed he was a god. Nothing could be further from the truth. He was another life form, existing on a different plain, an intelligence that fed on blue energy. Without air, humans die. Without blue, Overlords die. It was a simple logic he needed to accept, along with the rest of the physical and intellectual axioms that governed their existence. It still didn’t make it easier to bear, but to survive, he had to move on.

Using his logical mind, The Eight processed the options for a way forward. The first and most apparent was to return to the New World and hide away with his humans. Until an ever-strengthening Six would inevitably discover them. No, I think not. That is a slow path to my and the human’s extinction. And, I can’t abandon the Anan Galaxy. Or choose the more immediate instinctive reaction – ignore all rational thinking to return and confront The Sixth. He wouldn’t risk that trap. Six had his own fleet and a cast of followers. A direct fight between the two Overlords wasn’t an option either. The others frowned upon such contests. And there were risks; guaranteeing a successful outcome – to that – was a fool’s game!

Despite those negative notions, The Eight’s internal conflict demanded action. The Sixth could never be allowed to succeed with his unlawful coup. If The Eight deserted the Anan Galaxy, he would be abandoning all possible hope of ever reviving – his friend and companion – The One. Like siblings, they had roamed the galaxies for aeons and, as the oldest of the Overlords, had worked with the original creators of the Energy Exchange. Over time, The One had advanced, while The Eight was content running his own galaxies and assisting The One as a companion and confidant.

Moreover, he couldn’t discard the people who had served them both. Nor could he relinquish the valuable Anan Galaxy and the Energy Exchange to the troika. The prized possession of their known universe. And what of the remaining Overlords, not aligned to the troika? What of them? No, he couldn’t leave them to wither away in some dark corner of the galaxy. The Eight had to fight back.

He paused, allowing his blue-enriched mind to delve back into his hidden memories, far in the past, to the last intergalactic war. Led by their Overlords, the purebreeds and other biped races waged brutal and futile space battles. Fleets of star cruisers armed to the hilt pounded each other out of existence. It was the single greatest waste of resources and life forms ever recorded. And it achieved nothing. When a peace conclave convened, in the mists of space and time, none of the Overlords could remember what had started that war.

After those momentous battles, they agreed to an accord that regulated their group to a maximum of ten. Treaties were authorised that apportioned the known galaxies out amongst the Overlords. The group approved regulations governing the distribution of blue energy. Its core tenet stated that blue could never be hoarded or controlled by one single Overlord. The spirit of that rule ensured the Overlords shared their blue energy – a significant change in their ways. The accords and associated treaties laid the foundation for the Energy Exchange and the present galactic trading system. With one fell swoop, The Sixth had crushed the Overlord’s founding principles. No, he couldn’t get away with that. The Eight would see to it. But conventional warfare was not the right tactic. Leading fleets of starships into battle would repeat those historical mistakes. Nor could he ever get the resources to fight back in that way. Yes, he would have to fight battles but not on the scale of the past. The Eight would have to outsmart The Sixth and his troika on different fronts if his campaign was to triumph.

With the demise of The One, the order of governance in the Anan Galaxy had altered. To begin his new project, The Eight needed intelligence on the extent of that change. His energy mass glowed with white light as to-do lists flowed through his memory: a project plan, his own fleet, crews and a channel to sell blue from the New World at the Energy Exchange. However, he couldn’t build his own fleet of ships exclusively on Earth. Intergalactic ships were a mix of technology, elements and compounds from different worlds. Earth didn’t have all the resources. The ideas hammered his brain – he badly needed those vessels and crews to combat The Sixth. The humans were one part of the solution but he needed much, much more to wage a smart-war on The Sixth.

The way started to form in his enriched blue mind – the Borea resources, supposedly hidden away since the demise of that outlawed family’s fortune. Demard had given him a data package of it when leaving the New World, part of a proposed deal between the Pilot and The Eight. Hidden away for a generation and guarded by him and Zaval, the Pilot, it catalogued the extensive resources the family had controlled. It was a myriad of all things a multifaceted intergalactic energy corporation would hold and included illegals. Yes, Zaval, time to sort that mess out. What secret gadgets, tech, tools and devices you shouldn’t have do you and the family control? What is still on your bases? From Demard’s data, he knew sensors protected those assets from discovery, and the penultimate invasion by an Overlord. They worked by recognising blue and applying some simple logical questions. Is it moving freely through space, on a specific course and not contained in a vessel, pipe or tank? And What size is it? The computer’s logic determined the threat level and sounded an alarm. If, as would be the case now, the base was not occupied, the controlling computer would detonate pre-placed grav charges destroying the facility. Smart, he had thought, when he first reviewed the data.

He pondered the imponderable: uncharted waters and too many variables. But a bolt hole, a secret base, at the edge of the Anan Galaxy with resources and ships perhaps, to aid the ascension of Earth and my New World’s power. A chance to gain a staging base for transhipment of blue to the Energy Exchange. No, a situation not to be merely dismissed. He also believed there was an illegal device there, for covert links with Anan.

Such decisions always lead to a logical outcome. Or if not, prompt further discussion with The One or the group. Not now; I am on my own. This is my end game. No guaranteed result forced The Eight to look at advantage and opportunity for success. He must strike now, before The Sixth cemented his grip, gaining control of the Anan naval fleet. It was holed up at the Exchange’s space dock when The Eight last departed it on Hela. If Six can ever get a loyal crew and enough blue to fuel our own fleet, all is lost. He will control the known universe. There is no choice, I must act now. He flashed an order to the bridge. ‘Captain, I need you now. Come.’

*

The mysterious Pilot, his real name Zaval Borea, sat in the captain’s chair of the Hela. The dim lights of the bridge hid his anxious face as he watched his niece Siba work the nav-con. What sort of a future would the family have, he wondered? Would The Eight honour his promise? His eyes wandered to the curved display that dominated the forward section of the Hela bridge. Suspended from the ceiling by translucent rods, it looked to be floating in the air. Straight in front, the bowed toughened glass windows looked down on the forward shuttle landing platform and out into infinite space. Approaching the Anan Galaxy, the black blurring of their faster than light speed prompted his mind to wander. He put his hand in his pocket and fingered the data crystal his father had given him long, long ago. As his fingers gripped it, his thoughts drifted back to those dark family secrets his father had told.

Generations ago, the Borea family were one of the largest Charters in the known galaxy. They were dealers in all types of energy with their own fleets, shipping bases and also, they designed and built their own vessels. They were among the very best at that time and possessed a cloaking technology no others could breach.

The family were rich in assets until the one who became known as the gutless wonder believed it a good idea to invest in an intergalactic bank. The Pilot closed his eyes as he recalled how his father had whispered this grim tale. The misguided youth convinced the then head of the family to branch out from their core business and get the bank. They bet vast sums at the Energy Exchange to buy a controlling interest in it – until disaster struck. A brief shortage of blue – not unusual at the time – stifled intergalactic trade, lowering profits and general asset values. Unbeknown to the Borea, in cahoots with an Overlord, the bank’s value had been carefully groomed by a rival Charter. Surprising many, the worthless bank failed. It was too big to fail all and sundry wailed. But fail it did, on a grand scale never experienced before, sending shock waves through the intergalactic financial system. Recriminations flew backwards and forwards, with everyone blaming each other.

But it was the Borea, caught long with a worthless wager, who were left carrying the can. Their burden hid their guilty rivals and Overlord from retribution. The debt was called in by the Energy Exchange, bankrupting the Borea family. Assets were confiscated, but not enough to pay back the debt. Faced with losing everything, there followed ructions within the family. In an orgy of violence, a degenerate faction rose up. They decapitated the head of the family and while he was still alive, ripped the innards from the misguided youth, the architect of the whole mess. He was forever known as the gutless wonder. Taking advantage of all that infighting, the Pilot’s great-grandfather seized control of the family.

Throughout the ages, the Borea had always maintained a cache of hidden assets. Depots in different galaxies with ships secreted amongst them. Assisted by his son and nephew, the Pilot’s great-grandfather started to build a criminal network using those bases, smuggling goods and energy between the outer worlds. The older man reigned in the violent revenge that the younger ones wanted to exert on the establishment. Yet, when he died, control passed to his son, Zaval’s grandfather, who, with his brutal cousin by his side, ruthlessly expanded into piracy. With one of the most advanced ships in the galaxy, they waged war on anything or anyone who got in their way. It was robbery and terror on a scale never seen before. It took a fleet from the Anan Navy and two Overlords to finally defeat the Borea pirates. Those of the family left alive scattered. Like the Pilot and his father, some earned honest employment in the outer worlds as ship’s crew while others made a living on the edges of society. Others rebuilt old criminal networks, trading drugs and any contraband that turned a profit.

The Pilot shook as he remembered the stories told about their grandfather and his younger cousin. Violence, rape and pillage were their perverse pleasure. It was said that the younger cousin, their grandfather’s personal enforcer, was the worst of all. An evil monster who had bubbled with malevolent rage. Rumour said it was he who had led the attack on the clan leadership. Wielding a curved baharian blade, he slit the throat of the family’s leader, dragged his bleeding body across the man’s own desk and hacked through his neck to sever the head. He then turned his wrath on the young financial architect. With a quick flash of the blade, he slit the poor youth’s abdomen and thrust his bare hand inside. Grabbing the screaming youth’s bloody guts, he ripped them out, flinging them at the rest of his pleading followers. That was the monster they called Frike Borea.

But the stories stopped there – it was a mystery where their grandfather and his brutal cousin had disappeared to. No one in the family knew. The Pilot’s father suspected that in the end, they both fell out. And that was why he had been given the precious data crystals that held details of the family’s hidden assets. Zaval fingered his one, another – a copy – he had passed to Demard. His closest relative and friend possessed his own cherished data crystal with more invaluable info. They both had worked tirelessly for The Eight, sharing their family secrets to expunge their debt. It was their time now …

A message from The Eight flashed across the bridge screen. Eyes wide open, the Pilot sat bolt upright in the captain’s chair. Decision time, he realised, as he jumped up and left the bridge.

*

‘Come in. Time to discuss your proposal,’ The Eight said, resting in his silver spoon-shaped container at the front of the chariot that served as his throne.

The Pilot entered, gazing in admiration at the mighty looking Overlord. It was the chariot that Niamh made for him on Earth that did it. An engineering marvel, containing memory banks, The Eight’s energy mass and his blue energy tanks. The whole affair was mounted on a small grav platform, allowing him to move anywhere without using blue. The Eight could store and access his old memories and hibernate in his glass container, reducing his power needs.

The chariot, adorned with woven golden cables and silver panels mounted with rare blue pearls, appeared as a floating throne, shining with gold and shimmering with his blue light reflected in the silver and the pearls. He looked all-powerful as the fresh blue energy from Fort Leslie, the first human colony, flashed in his energy mass.

‘Overlord,’ the Pilot said, kneeling in front of The Eight, ‘you reviewed the data and our suggestions?’

‘Yes, Pilot, I did. I am not sure I trust the others in your family.’

‘They will serve you as I and my close family on the Hela do.’

‘You must understand my concern. Your family are outlaws. I have not met them. You and your crew, your niece and nephew, came aboard the Hela when we first left Anan. Then, I had nothing to lose, but now it is different. There is a full cargo of blue and the cure for the Anan sickness on board – a tempting prize.’

‘Overlord, you forget Demard—’

‘No, I do not forget the computer technician. He served me before I met you, recommended you and your crew for this voyage. He was right about you. Unlike the others of my kind, I honour my agreements. You, your niece and nephew serve me well. You should not suffer for the sins of your ancestors. Your family debt is paid. Times are changing, Pilot – those who do not change will be left behind. From now on, you will be known as Zaval Borea. And I will allow limited dealings by your Charter.’

Wide-eyed with gratitude, the Pilot bowed his head. He had never believed he could get such a decision from an Overlord. The family name restored and the ability to trade, albeit limited, was much more than he expected. In a haltering voice stung with emotion, he said, ‘Overlord, thank you, thank you. By my word, the family are bound to serve you for this.’

‘Such statements are nugatory. You cannot bind the others – who are absent. I am not wholly convinced. Do they still have access to illegal technology, devices we banned?’

‘No, such things should be concealed at our proposed destination.’

Should, he says, not so convincing. But no other choices left, The Eight thought, replaying his previous analysis in his mind. ‘Show me the route,’ he said, as he projected a map of space into his chamber.

‘With Niamh’s help, I’ve plotted a course to the edge of the Anan Galaxy, away from the main shipping lanes. We’ll arrive at the destination within fifteen cycles,’ he said, pointing it out on the map.

‘What about access?’

‘It’ll be a problem. Demard and I don’t have all the codes.’

‘You did prepare me for that, and I have a solution. You want more?’ With impatience, his energy mass pulsed – near to purple.

‘Overlord, my other suggestion?’ he asked, referring to plays on the future price of blue.

‘I will think about it. Pilot, you inherited the family gene. Only reprobates and gangsters would suggest something as audacious. Go now and tell Niamh to visit me at the end of her shift.’

He watched the Pilot go, grinning with the knowledge that the family name was restored. Such a simple deed, he thought. Oh, but if it were all so simple. Soon they would arrive back in the Anan Galaxy. Time to prepare Niamh.

Chapter Two

Blue Energy

At the top of the energy tree, blue – the purest form of energy – is the first choice for fast intergalactic travel. Two other energies – fusion and gravity – although slower and inefficient over long distances, also provide power for space travel. Only blue, when compressed by a dodecahedron rotor, can release the tremendous, focused energy burst required to generate a fold in space. Binding matter together, blue is the building block of our universe and is the energy that feeds our Overlords. In its concentrated form, it is visible as deep blue coloured gas and is sometimes (wrongly) compared to electricity in a gaseous form. It exists dimensionally above the common electromagnetic spectrum. After the big bang, it existed in vast clouds floating freely through space. Over time, as matter crystallised, blue was trapped within dense mineral matter and carbon crystal nodes, in some cases, saturating those crystals with blue energy. Light, high-density phaenian steel is the preferred compound for blue energy containment. The low void fraction of this metal makes it the most suitable substance to manufacture blue containment structures. The energy will leak through less suitable microporous assemblies. Spills or contamination may be contained with a simple matter depletor or cleaned by Uldonian microbes that are attracted to its colour. Those endowed with the navigation gene can manipulate this energy by use of brain generated, gamma waves.

• Principals of Energy from: Fundamentals of intergalactic travel. Zaval Borea

*

The Hela, Intergalactic Space. EPTS: A137812

The Eight gazed at his

protégé: Niamh Parker, nee Sullivan, the smartest of all the humans he had encountered. Dressed in a grimy ship garb, with her red hair hanging untidily down over her shoulders, the engineer, now a navigator and pilot as well, looked tired after her watch on the bridge. ‘My child, how are you?’

Despite her tired body, her blue eyes still sparkled with enthusiasm. At an average of five-foot-eight, she was level with his energy mass as he lounged in his chariot. ‘I’m fine,’ she lied, knowing full well he would know.

‘No, you are not. I sense your loneliness. You miss Tom,’ he said, referring to her husband, the project Security Manager who she had married on Earth.

It must be about three months – how are you now, Tom? What goes on in the colony? she wondered, frowning at the memory of such an emotional departure. He had reassured her, telling her she must go and do what was needed. Now it seemed but a distant image in her mind. ‘I do, but work keeps me going.’

‘I want to teach you something. It will help you in the future, enhancing your abilities. Do you want to try?’ The Eight asked.

She looked intently into his deep blue pulsing energy mass. ‘Of course, I’m intrigued,’ she blurted out.

‘I want to teach you how we moved through space – by folding it ourselves.’

‘Without a blue drive? How’s that possible?’

‘It was always possible. My kind travelled through space without ships in the past but what I will teach you is not as magnificent. Just to move small objects, you will need your own portable tank of blue.’

‘And where will I get one of those, out here in empty space?’

‘Make one – you have crafting skills, use them. In the area you call the old stores,’ The Eight said, referring to a compartment where Niamh had gathered all the old parts they had found lying around the Hela, ‘there are spare flow-ports.’

‘Yes, yes there are,’ she said, wondering what he was about.

‘Also, there are phaenian steel pipe parts, and you have gelatinous sheets.’

She nodded her head, wide-eyed with curiosity.

‘You will make a blue energy tank with them. I have sent the drawings and specifications to your computer in the area you call the workshop. Go now, my child.’

Intrigued, making her way straight to the workshop, Niamh couldn’t wait to open the drawings. She hardly noticed the treasured machinery she had fitted the place with before they left Earth. When he had seen the weights of it, there were full-on arguments with Tom, as usual, wanting more weapons. But Robert, knowing full well how isolated they would be, approved her order.

‘If things break down, we’ll no be able to call the supplier. No, we won’t. You’ll have to fix it yourself Niamh,’ were his wise words.

She opened the file, and yes, it was a small marvel of engineering The Eight had designed. Next, she raced down to the old stores for a quick rummage. She found the four slim alien flanges first, threading her hands through them to check their size and then, on a shelf below, a flow port. The oval flow port, constructed from phaenian steel and toughened glass, was used to monitor the flow of blue energy into the hybrid engine feed. Adapted with pipework nipples, it was perfect for making the small tank. Bringing her newfound treasure back to the workshop, she retired for the day.

After her next shift on the