Things Are Not As They Seem - Second Edition: Paladin Shadows, #1

By Aidan Red

Shara had dreams, bad ones, nightmares actually. After encountering the 'light' in the woods, her dreams came night- and day-mares, suddenly snatching her away from the realities of the moment, plunging her into horrible memories; memories she knew she never had. At first, she thought she was going crazy, and then the voices came.

 

Shara, as did most people in the lovely pine carpeted valley, lived an unsuspecting life in the foreground of a sinister, hidden world of deception and greed. Her life was as normal as anyone's with its usual mix of mysteries and trials. But when Shara's curiosity led her to question the people that had gone missing from the valley, the sudden death of her favorite great aunt, the accident that killed her beloved grandparents, her world took a suddenly terrifying and threatening turn. Then, after her indescribable encounter with the strange light in the forest, Shara's dreams, her nightmares, began to dominate her days as well as her nights, spreading guilt and fear with strange, horrifying, unremembered memories.

Even Shara's one piece of stability, her budding friendship with Greg, is threatened when he is named in an attack against her best friend. Then, as her life suddenly spirals into a dark abyss, when she felt it could not get any worse, the voices started coming

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red's Ink and Quill
• Release date: Oct 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781946039514

Book preview

THINGS ARE NOT AS THEY SEEM

Terran Assignment Part 1

Second Edition

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PALADIN SHADOWS SERIES, BOOK 1

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A Novel by Aidan Red

Copyright

Paladin Shadows Series Book 1

Terran Assignment

Part 1: Things are not as they seem...

Second Edition

Second Edition Copyright © 2021 by Aidan Red

All Rights Reserved

Second Edition Release Date 10/04/21

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This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without permission from the publisher.

This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, dialogue, locations, events and plots are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, alive or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published by Red’s Ink and Quill, Wichita, KS

For information on other works by Aidan Red, Science Fiction and Fiction, published or forthcoming, visit RedsInkandQuill.com or AidanRedBooks.com

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Softcover ISBN: 978-1-946039-52-1

eBook ISBN: 978-1-946039-51-4

✦

My many thanks to my

Second Edition editors:

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Content Editing by Trenda London,

http://ItsYourStoryContentEditing.com

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Copy Editing by Amy Jackson,

Copy Editing and Proof Reading, http://AmyJacksonEditing.com

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Cover by

Aidan Red

THINGS ARE NOT AS THEY seem...

Shara, as did most people in the lovely pine-carpeted valley: lived an unsuspecting life in the foreground of a sinister, hidden world of deception and greed. Her life was as normal as anyone’s, with its usual mix of mysteries and trials. But when Shara’s curiosity led her to question why people had gone missing from the valley, the sudden death of her favorite great aunt, and the accident that killed her beloved grandparents, her world took a suddenly terrifying and threatening turn. Then, after her indescribable, tortured encounter with the strange light in the forest, Shara’s dreams, her nightmares, began to dominate her days and her nights, spreading guilt and fear with strange, horrifying memories she knew she could not have.

Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Glossary

Preview

Books by Aidan Red

About the Author

Prologue

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For thousands of Terran years, societies had evolved and developed across the inhabited galaxy, some honest and forthright, searching to make lives better and to be more prosperous for their populations. Others, however, devolved into the lowest form of social development, preying on the weaknesses, lesser talents and capabilities of the not very prosperous, seeking to make their own personal wealth soar, empowering only themselves.

As the various cultures and planetary societies sought more and more markets for their products and wares, the Stellar Merchants Guild was established to provide at least one respectable trading avenue and to assist in normalizing the value of those items being offered, providing a fair exchange no matter where the transactions took place. But as millennia passed and the number of systems and races grew, other, smaller and less-reputable trade organizations evolved to support those who wished to trade in the more nefarious properties. Of these, were those trading organizations and black markets for the more illicit and unlawful materials and including, of course, those perishable bodies necessary to provide the labor to produce those material demands.

Observing the shift in the markets and the associated profits, some within the Stellar Merchants Guild quietly established a secreted arm of their organization to compete in the growing darker markets. To those involved, the arm was simply known as the Traders’ Union, or Traders in short.

To support these changes in trading opportunities, the Traders surreptitiously worked with a team of bioengineers from Omerai One in the Kyddel System, quietly developing a genetically purified race of workers from ancient Terran humanoids. By the time the initial trials were showing success for the new humanoids, the Warlord Prince Kiese had ascended to the throne over the far-reaching Kyddellan Empire, continuing the former ruler’s evil reign. This change in command forced the Traders to quickly move their project to the secret laboratories on the planet Bersara, where they could adjust and evaluate the genetics of the new race without the new warlord discovering them.

Then, in the early years of Terra’s last century, the Traders placed a small colony of the new humanoids on earth, secreted in a remote pine valley in the western United States. They were named ‘Reeds’ so they could assimilate themselves in the Terran cultures and were identified as the ‘Family.’ As the Family matured, proliferation was closely controlled, and offsprings were allowed only of inseminated Reeds eggs to maintain the Family’s genetic purity. The Family developed a governing council from the older members, called the Council of Elders, and established a system to categorize the skillsets of each member as they matured, known within their family ranks as ‘the Rites.’

Occasionally there were surprises, and the less pure offsprings of matings outside the Family were sought for special needs. But when the need arose, the Family never accepted no for an answer.

The purpose for organizing and controlling the Family in this manner was ulterior at best, and based in the fact that Terran humans, due to their specialized skills and exceptional stamina, were becoming popular in the slave markets. The Traders plan was simple: selectively collect the Terran humans in groups small enough to go unnoticed and deliver them into the various slave markets across the galaxy, and especially the nefarious markets controlled by Warlord Prince Kiese. In the not so rare instances when the normal collection methods were unable to meet the market’s demands without raising unwanted notice, the Traders would call upon the Family to fill the shortfall by first helping to collect locally or, second, from their categorized offsprings. The Elders quickly learned that collecting locally also had the valuable side benefit of controlling dissenters.

With the economic evolution that brought different societies and cultures together came the need for a universal enforcement power to maintain order where a culture’s or society’s local laws and enforcement had no jurisdiction. The Galactic Peace Force served to fill that requirement and, among others, to protect personal rights and trade agreements, and to confront the reprehensible conduct of those that placed themselves above all others. Specialized equipment was created for the wars that would ensue and specialized undercover agents were trained to gather the necessary intelligence to maintain the peace, seek out the violators, and correct the various wrongs. Among these special tools were the Peace Force’s recondite corvettes, nicknamed Q-Ships or simply known as ‘heavy fighters,’ and the agents, Shadows.

After the loss of significant ships and agents in the near past, searching for proof that mining consortiums were using engineered humanoids crossbred with or using involuntary Terran bloods, the Peace Force knew they needed to change tactics. Terra, being far outside what were considered the inhabited regions of the galaxy, and being beyond the normal trade routes, was believed to be in no immediate danger. But that had obviously changed.

The continued losses in years of fighting had cast the Peace Force into disfavor among many of their supporters, and the demands for reduced authority or outright disbandment were heard in whispers. But it was this very disenchantment that forged the Peace Force Director’s determination to find a way to succeed. He focused on what was necessary and secretly had a small fleet of specialized, superior corvettes created, crewed with pilots selected from an elite corps of enhanced, battle-trained agents exhibiting certain special talents. It was this fleet, manned by the best men and women he could train, that would lead the newly strategized war against the Traders, and if necessary, the Warlord Prince Kiese himself.

One

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The Dai Horizon’s wiry astronavigator looked up from the navigational display, an intangible transparent sphere filled with numerous points of light positioned in front of his console. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he noted to the coms officer in Galactic Standard, Confirmed.

The coms officer, petite when compared to the massive males that comprised the bulk of the ship’s crew, some tall and lanky and others squat and round enough to challenge their restraining straps, sat surrounded by scanner displays and communication terminals. She nodded and pressed the earpiece against her head. Captain. She pressed harder, barely able to hear through the static that assailed her ears. She hated—no, despised—the antiquated systems on this continually revamped space discard Captain Arkir called a ship.

He was obsessed with his love affair of gutting, stripping, and refitting this relic of the Talton Wars with rueful glee. He personally oversaw the expansion of the freighter’s holds in width and length until they finally reached the very pressure skin, allowing for another one or two environmentally conditioned shipping containers—‘envirocubes’ to those in the business of illegally transporting unwilling passengers from collection to market.

Captain Arkir maximized the ship’s bulk handling and hauling capabilities with maniacal zeal, tuning and retuning the drives before each lift. He gave scant attention to the outdated, fickle systems they relied on to perform their duties, even ignoring the engineer’s demands for repairs in Life Support. The only new systems he cared about were the cloaking transmitters he had secreted deep in the dingy bilge holds, sealing them away from the Port Authority inspector’s prying eyes.

At the squeal in her ear, the coms officer jerked her head, banging it against the display panel suspended beside her. The closet-sized Bridge crammed all seven crew stations into the narrow nose of the ship. Only the area around the captain’s chair, ominously perched on a dais in the center of the compartment, and around the astronavigator’s display, immediately forward, were large enough for stand-up access. She cursed, slapped the panel, pushed her straight amber hair back, and rubbed her temple.

The squeal died with the uncomfortable strain of acceleration, slowly easing as the suffocating howl of the drives diminished. The coms officer’s eyes watered in relief and her shoulders ached. This lift was just another launch from Antheria’s heavy gravity well. Another painful launch into the blackness of space with another descent into another heavy G touchdown in another somewhere.

Captain. The coms officer looked past the Systems Support console, just able to see his boots in the stirrups of the cushion chair, raised to push his head up inside the hemispherical portal. She knew his piercing eyes, set between bushy brows and stubble beard, were searching the void ahead, even though two crewmen accomplished the same task on every lift. We are clear of the ascent corridor. We have clearances for departure.

Anyone watching?

Negative. No signs of Peace Force ships. Nothing unusual, the support officer said as the coms officer watched him study his console. He knew what she was asking.

His title was an alias, a legitimate billing for the Merchants Guild and the ship’s logs. The support officer, trained as a weapons specialist while serving in the Warlord Prince’s Royal Knobaalian Navy, monitored the passive surveillance and counter-measures display that replaced the standard Support screen immediately after lift. He touched a place on the screen and noted the cloaking transmitters’ indications for ‘Friend or Foe.’ All IFF codes are regular haulers and a few Port Security cruisers, he said. Nothing unusual. No Peace Force patrols obvious in this quadrant.

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CAPTAIN ARKIR BLINKED and let his shoulders relax. He was pleased that everything was on schedule and the Dai Horizon had a clean launch. No Peace Force Shadows, no questions, just a quiet exit. To an enquiring eye, if there were any, they were another normal freight run for another nondescript contract vessel.

The Stellar Merchants Guild always commissioned contract vessels for the less profitable or more dangerous runs, but for this trip, the flight plan was simply to pick up a load of ore containers and deliver them to Pico-3. It was entirely the captain’s discretion where else they went before arriving at the mining port.

We have clearance direct to R-Victor 903, kink-Charlie, the coms officer said, referring to the third intercept with the published navigational route to Pico-3.

The captain nodded and the helmsman keyed the information into the guidance computer. Instantly, the ship adjusted power and heeled into the course correction.

Captain Arkir watched in silence as the freighter Dai Horizon left orbit and crossed the distance to swing around Rhor, the smallest of Antheria’s four moons. At kink-Charlie, they gathered with other freighters in a loose group along the outbound lane of R-Victor 903. The visually magnified images of the ships around them, projected on the inside of his observation dome, reported every change in position and speed. Together, in a loose formation, the small gaggle of ships accelerated.

Of the many times he had hauled for the Traders’ Union, the less public trading arm of the Guild, Captain Arkir had never questioned their Guild connections or the legality of the Traders business. It wasn’t healthy to know too much. The commissions were always well defined, usually lifting some highly sought rare minerals or chemicals. But occasionally the contract required a more delicate, undetected touch, and the captain had a knack. This was a simple repeat trip to the other side of the galaxy—his third since the Traders established their new Terran facility. The terms were explicit, though he felt unnecessarily clandestine: slip through the net of satellites unnoticed and arrive without being followed, deliver the diplomatic pouch, collect the reply, and then transport a cargo of five sealed envirocubes discreetly to Wiko Prime, the spaceport in Angrilat on Miseri-3 in the Kyddellan System.

He had demonstrated this knack on many occasions, but this time it was different. They quietly told him that if he were successful in delivering both the pouched documents and the cargo of envirocubes, the Traders would consider a ‘special’ commission for Knobaal in the Cellystoan System. The prince himself!

It was not hard to figure what made the commission ‘special’ and the reason that it had to arrive at a specific time. He had heard the whispers that implied the Traders had identified an empathically talented humanoid woman and the prince expected to have her in marriage. He smiled. ‘Marriage,’ if that was what he wanted to call it, would only be to promote his political posture and tyrannical power.

But what did he care if the prince’s ‘mate’ would actually be a slave in chains? It was the prince’s need of her talents that mattered. And if the stars permitted, the commission would satisfy both requirements and he could return to Knobaal a wealthy man, in time to enjoy the festivities demanded by the ‘surprise’ announcement of the prince’s pending marriage. The entire planet and half the systems would be celebrating the marital fall of the high regent from bachelorhood. For that, the captain knew he would celebrate doubly. But Peace Force boardings and a certain promise of a cold exile to the prison on that icy planet Nuth made succeeding an even greater trophy.

Then the captain wondered why the Royal Knobaal Ambassador’s private aide had entrusted the sealed pouch to a lowly merchandise transporter, the lowly captain of a worn-out freighter, and why was it being delivered to the Traders on Terra? He also wondered if it had something to do with the humanoid woman, but again, he knew better than to ask.

Twenty-one millipars to the first jump, Captain. The astronavigator’s voice crackled in his earphones, noting the Standard Galactic time units that remained before they reached the outbound jump point. Pico-3 in one?

Negative. Their silence told him they had not anticipated his plan. Point Obscure in two.

Point Obscure? the astronavigator asked, and a soft chuckle lingered in his voice. We did good for them to ask again. In two?

In two, Captain Arkir said, turning to the star chart. Use the third star coordinates from the last trip for your mid-course and program to jump on the point. Start your count at three. Shadows? He looked at the support officer as his chair lowered to the dais.

Peace Force channels are clear. Normal traffic. All transponder IDs are still non-Peace Force.

Good. He nodded to the helmsman, pointing to the images on the computer-enhanced transponder map. Maneuver between the two ships ahead. Activate cloaking half a millipar from the jump.

On the numbers, Captain.

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LOOK AT THIS. THE Rhor traffic control lieutenant tapped his message screen as he turned to look at the traffic status map dominating the center of the sector control room.

The watch deputy lowered his suspension chair for a closer look.

A security cruiser just reported an unusually high post-jump swirl at kink Fox, R-Victor 903.

Any ID?

He adjusted the screen. Three freighters jumped in sequence. Two were flight-planned for Cargrit and one for Pico-3.

Swirl density?

Near twice the amount for three, the lieutenant said.

Hmmm. Could be a deteriorating drive.

Possibly. They are all old registry. Second generation drives and lifters.

Any port complaints?

The lieutenant keyed another monitor. None filed. Clean departure. Odd. They would have noticed a bad drive. Maybe we should report this one.

I thought the Peace Force quit watching routine traffic reports.

That’s the official posture, the lieutenant admitted, and tagged the identification. He sent it to the security computer without waiting for a directive. But some of the die-hards still think they should. And who are we to disagree? If they want to watch, that’s their business, he said, and then changed the subject. Who won the game last night? He maneuvered his suspension chair back up to the observation screen.

Within moments, as the controllers sparred over the outcome of the previous night’s game, the Surveillance Division’s computer network silently alerted Peace Force Cruiser Control. The PFCC computer routinely classified the freighter’s ID as a ‘Traveler’ and four GPF ships on deep patrols received the transmitted departure data.

The routine patrols were guised in keeping with the newest Peace Force operating policy, but the selected four Q-Ships waited on a director’s hunch at points deep in sectors far outside the normal trading routes. At previously witnessed course change coordinates, the Force’s ‘Watchers’ waited.

The freighter’s long first jump took fifty-one pars, enough time for the Watchers to analyze their trail of past presence, their wake. Two Watchers reported no contact, but one collected a data bank full as the Traveler decelerated, verified its position in the star field, and corrected for the outbound jump. Unbeknownst to them, their nefarious venture was no longer secret.

Among widely spread planets orbiting a small Class G star in the distant seventh arm of the galaxy, a small mottled blue and brown planet circled. Stabilized in orbit on the dark side of its single moon, the fourth Watcher waited. Its two-man crew noted the arrival as the Traveler entered the atmosphere near the planet’s frozen white polar cap. They observed the Traveler as it jinked its course and headed across the smaller of the two prominent landmasses in the planet’s northern hemisphere. It disappeared beneath an extensive cloud cover on the dark side that concealed most of the continent and obscured the exact global coordinates of its destination.

The Watcher tabulated the surveillance data, plotted the last known course on the topographical overlay, and reported the Travelers’ arrival and estimated a departure time as they settled down to wait and listen. Galactic date was the year 3482, day 285.

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Thursday, September 29

C.3482.291

Terra, six days later

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DIDJA SEE THE PAPER today? Paul Hawkins asked.

He stretched his aged, lanky frame, twisting slowly on the bench’s hard wood slats, watching a group of college students. They had stepped out of Dawson’s Drug Store just to the left, south, of the Stop ’n Shop fueling station and convenience store directly across Riggins’ Main Street from their chosen bench. He glanced up, waiting for a response.

Of course. Which part? Harry Woods asked as he dusted a spot from the leg of his creased slacks, then looked at him.

Looks like we lost another’n, Paul continued, looking back to the students wending their way along the sidewalk back toward town.

Did not see that article, but we are always losing some in the fall. Harry sounded disinterested. Kids come back from summer break and forget everything they have learned about the wilds.

Sure do. Said the fella went hikin’ and hasn’t come back yet.

The group of students entered another store.

How long has he been gone? Harry pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket, but did not light it.

Few days, I think. Paul sighed and flicked his eyes at Harry without turning his head. Not enough to get in a real fuss.

Was he from around here?

Jordan’s place, out south. A visitin’ nephew or some such.

Well, Bob used to check things out first, but you know how some families are. He has been funny since Darcy left, and this nephew probably just got lost. He will show up in a day or so with a whopper of a tale to tell.

Darcy’s gone, Harry. Paul’s tone was suddenly heavy. "You know as well as everyone, she didn’t leave. She died! Sudden! Kinda like when Nancy—"

Harry quickly pointed across the street, interrupting and changing the subject. Now, there’s a very good looking pair, Paul.

Following Harry’s gesture, he let his agitation cool and smiled. A flashy red convertible two-seater had stopped at the Stop ‘n Shop and an attractive young woman wearing a tight T-shirt top and jeans to match accessed the fuel pump. Sure are. I’m gonna miss the view when the weather finally changes.

I know, Harry admitted, but Paul did not look at him. There was something odd about Harry today and he could not put a finger on it. At least, not yet. Here we sit. It is the end of September and it is still balmy. Cannot last, but I would vote for a few more weeks like this before the snows come.

I could sit for that. These old bones don’t stand the cold the way they useta, Paul added as the woman got into her car and waved as she sped up the street past them. He waved back, admiring how the widow Clark’s daughter had grown. Maybe winter’ll be mild after all.

He leaned back and stretched gently, again sensing the subtle uneasiness that still bothered him. It had most of the day. Could just be remembering Nancy, he thought, but this seemed more than a mood or a thought. Something was touching his senses,