Captain's Call Book Three

By Odette C. Bell

Matthew should be dead. Somehow, he’s survived.
For it to count, it must last. And Dark X Tech and James Hagar will do everything in their considerable power to ensure it doesn’t.
Yet Matthew isn’t fighting alone. Regardless of the unimaginable distance separating them, Misty will use every force she can to battle for him. Even if it means fighting James and his control of her mind.
But when Matthew and Misty face odds like this, they can’t win. Unless there’s a miracle.
....
Captain’s Call follows two captains drawn into the fight for a mysterious alien treasure trove. If you love your space opera with action, heart, and a splash of romance, grab Captain’s Call Book Three today and soar free with an Odette C. Bell series.
Captain’s Call is the 15th Galactic Coalition Academy series. A sprawling, epic, and exciting sci-fi world where cadets become heroes and hearts are always won, each series can be read separately, so plunge in today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Odette C. Bell
• Release date: Oct 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005788582

Book preview

Chapter 1

Matthew Armstrong

He floated there. Weightless. Half awake, brain elsewhere, body slowly fixing itself.

This wasn’t the first time he’d used Scarax regenerative armor. It was, however, the first time that he’d needed it to work so damn desperately. You could easily claim that the last time he’d worn this stuff – in the Scarax Galaxy, no less – he had equally required it to work as fast as it could. He’d been on the mission of his life. Back then, at least. Now he was on the mission of his life and potentially every other person’s life in the entire Milky Way.

The only thing he could think of as he floated there, arms limp by his sides, head tilted all the way back, eyes closed as the tingles of the regenerative force spread through his chest, was the fight with the pillar of light.

If it had gone differently, he’d be dead right now. He’d be one of the countless combatant bodies that floated above him in another beam of light. He was thankful that he’d gotten off that ride, frankly. Lord knows where it went. He could appreciate one fact, however. This place didn’t waste anything. In front of him, he’d seen armor sets being broken down. They’d started to mesh back together into different forms. Did they do that with bodies? Did they take a Merk warrior’s tusks, human eyes, and some other alien’s hands and slap them together until they’d created some Frankenstein soldier? Who cared at the end of the day, right? Everyone was in armor. They couldn’t see one another. Plus, no enquiring mind would hang around long enough to find out what was going on.

Except for Matthew.

And his enquiring mind cared about one thing. It was you, wasn’t it? he muttered aloud. With his eyes still half closed and his mind seesawing through various sensations, tingles, and memories, he tried to draw up as clear an image of Misty as he possibly could. He was now more certain than ever that she had somehow reached across the galactic divides, accessed the light, and fought it off.

Which meant she could do it again, right? He was no longer on death’s door, but that wasn’t his point. She should be able to communicate with him somehow, right? She should be able to influence the light bridge he was on, even though the light of it was qualitatively different from the rapacious pillars.

But nothing happened. Time ticked on. Matthew continued to float in these light bridges, alone and useless. Just when it seemed that one would take him somewhere outside of this cavernous room and beyond the control of his armor, he would leap to another. And yeah, he could jump now – thanks to the regenerative capabilities of his Scarax breastplate.

Hell, his armor underneath was doing better than it ever had before. It had already warned him that he would not be at 100 percent operating efficiency for several weeks. His body would be relatively okay. His mind, not so much.

Sure enough, just when he thought he glimpsed a moment of clarity and he assumed his sanity was returning in full, he suddenly tumbled back into the darkness and despair of this mess.

Out there, James Hagar would still be in control of the Coalition’s response to Curve tech. Or should Matthew say Dark X Tech? And if he was in control of their response, he was ultimately in control of everything.

For all Matthew knew, Misty might’ve been killed again. She could’ve arrived back in the Andarnian storeroom alone. He wasn’t about to say with no one to save her – because Lord knew she could save herself – but he still wouldn’t be with her.

And it would waste yet another precious opportunity to discuss what was happening.

So what could Matthew do about that? Nothing, of course. Once more, he uselessly sighed, flopped his arms behind him, and waited, eyes half closed, lips limply parted.

The one good thing was that his armor continued to assess all of the light bridges around him. While he floated uselessly, it worked faster than it ever had before, utilizing its powerful scanners to derive more information about this mysterious place.

As he twisted around another corner on yet another bridge of light, watching objects slowly float above him like he was in some repository of half remembered dreams, his armor vibrated. It only ever did that when it wanted to capture his full attention.

He frowned. What is it?

We have now assessed what these bridges are and where they go to. And importantly, how to get off them.

He jolted forward. His armor had told him many times not to move too fast and certainly not to move when it was unnecessary. He didn’t want to delay the healing process. The faster the Scarax armor could regenerate him, the sooner he could leave here and do something meaningful.

But it didn’t snap at him to remain still this time.

He crunched forward, and it felt good. You want to know why? Because he had actual functioning stomach muscles again. Only… what, an hour or two ago – he’d had nothing but a glorified hole in his middle you could stick your arm through, let alone a finger or two.

He didn’t want to tear this chest plate off and start palpating his old injury sites, but he scrunched his stomach muscles again once more, practically sitting now, not that there was anything to support him from behind.

His pure will would be sufficiently supportive, trust him. You said we can leave this room? But what’s out there? More games? More pillars just waiting to digest people and split their armor open for parts?

No. As far as I can tell, while below this section is the museum, beside this room on all sides are empty corridors.

His nose scrunched up high, threatening to ram right out of the top of his skull. Sorry… empty corridors? What does that mean?

I have no idea what this place originally was. I am unsure what its current use is. But out there, my scanners have confirmed there are numerous empty corridors. There are no combatants. There are no pillars of light. There is no alien technology. Do you wish to go out there, stay here, or descend back down into the games?

Well, that was a hell of a question. Empty corridors hardly sounded inspiring. Heck, it sounded like a rather soulless maze. But as long as it wasn’t this place – and as long as it wasn’t the games – he would give it a try.

He looked around him, searching for useful objects he could take with him. What do you think we should bring with us?

There was a protracted pause.

The AI aboard his armor was semi-intelligent. It might’ve increased its capacity after connecting to the Scarax armor. Scarax technology and the Light of the Gods that ran it were infamous. Whatever it was, something had to account for just how protracted and significant his computer’s hesitation felt. It was the kind of silence that gripped Matthew’s stomach, curled up to his jaw, forced his eyes open, and made him wait on tenterhooks.

Why don’t you think it’s a good idea to bring any technology with us? It seems like this is the last chance we’re going to get to access it. Without this chest plate, he drummed his fingers on it gently, I’d be dead right now. I don’t know what’s out there, his voice dropped in grim certainty, but I can guarantee it’s not gonna be pretty.

His impassioned plea led to yet another protracted pause. Fortunately this one did not last as long and did not give Matthew the time to become quite as unsettled. We think they are traps, ultimately. Tethers, if you will.

No, he wouldn’t. Because he didn’t know what that meant. Not in this context, anyway. Tethers connecting one to what, exactly?

We cannot tell. We must return to the conclusion that we have no idea what this space ultimately is or where it is. And nor do we know how it functions. But each new gun or armor set you come across appears to alter you on a subspace level. It is a marginal, almost nonexistent effect for now. But our scans have confirmed it is there.

He balked, the same stomach muscles he’d been so proud of contracting previously suddenly becoming weak and unresponsive. Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?

Earlier, if you had reacted like this, you may have rejected the chest plate and failed to grasp the only chance to save yourself. Plus, the objects here are different from the objects in the pillars. Whether it is the pillars themselves or something else, the items you interacted with down on the museum level altered you more than the Scarax chest plate you currently wear. That said, we still do not recommend you take more than you need. This armor will be sufficient.

I don’t have a gun.

Scarax technology is infamous for being able to split off into programmable parts. Once the chest plate is done healing you, we will be able to create a rudimentary weapon. It is questionable whether you will need it, anyway. As I said. Out there, there is nothing but—

Empty tunnels. Right. He sighed. He closed his eyes. He opened them again. Show me how to get out of here.

Images flashed across his field of view. They showed him the path he needed to take across the light bridges.

He didn’t wait around. He threw himself off the one he was currently on. It was a pretty strange experience. This wasn’t like using monkey bars or engaging in any ordinary gymnastics routine. He couldn’t technically hold onto the light bridges. He just had to shove a hand or foot into them and wait until they grabbed hold of him.

There was a hefty gap between some of them, too. And for one or two, he just had to take a running leap and take his life in his hands, hoping he’d reach them or something would rise up out of the darkness to grab him before he died far, far below.

But as he leaped across the bridges, he approached a dark mass that took him a few seconds to recognize as a wall. He’d glimpsed it once or twice as he’d floated around this room on the light paths. Now he got right up close and personal as his armor instructed him to jump off and grab it. To do that, he had to punch his fingers into it. It was quite a feat. Whatever the metal was, it didn’t react like ordinary solid material ought. It was spongy, yet the second he pushed his fingers in was the moment it became as hard as hell. It tried to thrust him back, but with a combination of grip and an electrical surge from his armor, he managed to keep his fingers in. For now.

He walked his feet up the wall, holding himself there as a single bead of sweat slid down the back of his shoulders. What do I do now?

Now you dig.

Fresh out of dirt here, he had the chance to quip.

You will dig, nonetheless.

He didn’t ask the armor to give him a comprehensive set of instructions on how it was exactly you dug through spongy but hardening metal. He shoved his mind into the task, thankful that there was something physical to do. It drew him out of his worries. But it couldn’t draw them away for long. Even now as he madly scooped his hands around and pulled out as much metal as he possibly could, he thought of Misty. She hadn’t contacted since saving him. Did that mean she couldn’t? What if by contacting him from across the galaxies, she’d done something to herself? Maybe she’d lost her memory? Maybe she’d lost her life one last time and she’d turned into an anomaly? He didn’t want to believe it was possible. All of his Coalition training and plain common sense told him there was no way it could happen. But if there was one mainstay of the modern galaxy, it was that strange things didn’t just happen – they now happened all the time. For heaven’s sake, he was currently in a storeroom located somewhere across the universe, crammed full of technology from every frigging race out there. He should expand his concept of what was possible and what was not.

It took an age to make progress. The wall kept trying to regenerate. But Matthew would not waste his newfound strength and stamina. He finally punched through the last section of spongy metal and ripped it out with a rollicking roar. It pitched out of his throat as he spread his fingers wide and finally reached the other side of the wall.

He smiled, this explosive move that consumed his lips, twitch by twitch, contraction by contraction as if it was teaching his mouth that yeah, he finally had something to grin about again.

You have no time for smiling. Move before the wall regenerates completely, his armor warned him.

He moved. He lurched through the hole, tucking his body in, using those newfound stomach muscles – using every single muscle he could to move as fast as he was capable of. Lucky, because the wall did regenerate completely half a second later, the metal regrowing with this hiss like steam slipping out of a split in a pipe.

Here’s the thing. By thrusting himself so unceremoniously through the wall, he abandoned his hold on anything. He sailed right through and had a split second to realize he was up high, high above the floor below. Up so high, it had to be about 50 meters.

His limbs started to flail, and he began to fall. He had just enough time to desperately ask his armor if he could survive this.

The armor didn’t bother to respond.

When he landed half a second later, an electric pulse distributed the force of the fall.

He survived. He rolled. He even punched to his feet. Then he had to stare around him at… blank corridors.

They were empty. Empty of everything. There were certainly no combatants. There was also no paint. There were no forms of decoration whatsoever. It was just Matthew and the walls. Hell, as he logged on to his sensors, he realized there was barely any dust. Before he’d come along, the corridors had been utterly pristine.

He reached out. He touched one of the walls. His fingers were understandably dirty from everything he’d been through. They transferred a little muck over the wall. For half a second, at least. Then this invisible pulse ran down the seamless plating. The muck disappeared as if tiny hands had fastidiously cleaned it from end to end.

He