Contact: Niott Chronicles, #1

By C.A. Hartman

A mysterious ship. Clearly alien. But nothing like they've ever seen.

 

Two best friends, fresh out of the Space Corps academy. He's determined to rise in the Corps ranks, but he's half Korvali, and an outsider. She's longed to become a Corps physician since she was 12, but fears rooted in her past urge her to choose an easier path.

 

Both of their worlds upheave when the 5-world Alliance discovers an alien ship in a remote area of the galaxy.

 

Everyone scrambles to find out what—or who—is out there.

 

When Othniel and Jordan find themselves in new and unexpected territory, it ushers in a new era for them… and for the entire Alliance.

 

Contact is the first book in the Niott Chronicles series, and a sequel to the Korvali Chronicles trilogy. If you enjoy Star Trek or first contact/space exploration fiction, you'll love this series!

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.A. Hartman
• Release date: Jan 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9780998944586

Book preview

1

Those of us who have magnificent ships and the ability to travel to other worlds, we do not create such advanced technology because we can. No, we do so to explore that which we have never seen! A star system, a new life form, or, if very fortunate, a new people. Yet, such discovery leads to vital questions, yes? How shall this first contact take place? What will become of this new acquaintance? The possibilities are endless, as are the risks. Because whether two men or two races of people, we may become great allies… or bitter enemies.

- Gronoio Okooii, Suna

---

Ashan stared at the strange, gas-enshrouded planet from the safety of the ship. And his first thought was that its color was not in the least bit enticing.

Pink. That was what the humans called it. The Sunai had another word for the color, one he didn’t recall. It was not a color Ashan had seen before during his many interstellar travels. Although, admittedly, his travels tended to follow the same familiar routes.

The odd color was also not one seen on his home planet of Korvalis.

Admittedly, it wasn’t just the color of the planet’s atmosphere that he found off-putting. It was the gaseous nature of its appearance, dense and flat and lifeless, like one could get lost inside forever, never to be seen again. The one scientist allowed aboard this scout mission reported it was not a gaseous planet, but a terrestrial one with a gaseous atmosphere so dense even technology couldn’t penetrate enough to see what lay beneath.

A gaseous atmosphere so caustic that the ship had lost not one but two AI-operated explorer drones—one human and one Sunai—within minutes of penetrating the poisonous fluff.

Exploration indeed.

The crew of twelve—five Sunai, five humans, one Derovian, and himself—had been exploring this region of space as part of a 14-day scouting mission. It was day twelve, and Ashan was ready to return home. He’d been ready since day two.

From his perspective, they’d wasted a substantial amount of fuel and resources to power an FTL-capable ship at its maximum speed, countless person-hours, two solar panels that were destroyed by space debris, and now two state-of-the-art drones that cost more than most earned in a month… on any of their worlds.

All to see a region of space that had, thus far, produced only a series of unimpressive star systems with nothing in them other than lifeless balls of rock and gas and their equally unimpressive satellites. And, of course, the gaseous pink planet that corroded all that came near.

How he missed Korvalis.

Ekli. Swimming in the ocean on stormy days. And especially his garden and the trickling stream that ran through it. Events that took place long ago had rendered him the prime candidate for the role of Alliance delegate, a role he’d reluctantly taken and somehow managed to grow used to over time.

However, the role meant traveling to the outerworlds now and again. He had an appreciation for outsiders that many Korvali did not. Yet he was not one of the Spirited; like most Korvali, he valued the comforts of home more than any adventure.

He would never understand the thirst the humans and Sunai had for exploration. For charging into new territories, looking for the next phenomenon, the next artifact or discovery, or, in their wildest and most absurd imaginings, the next sentient species to turn their alliance of five worlds into six.

His people didn’t understand, either.

Before the mission’s departure, Fashal and the rest of the assembly had not looked kindly upon his accepting the invitation from the humans.

It is unwise, Ossal had said.

Ashan had closed his eyes for a moment. Maybe to avoid the stare of so many other eyes on him, if only briefly. Or maybe to allow himself to count the number of times he’d heard those very words. He could actually hear the sound of ocean waves crashing against the rocks below, had wished he were out swimming.

I told Captain Ziegler I would join them, was Ashan’s reply. Again.

You may change your mind, Fashal said. Ziegler knows we do not favor exploration. Leave the humans and the Sunai to their adventures. The word adventures came with a sneer.

An entire generation has passed since we joined this alliance, Ashan pointed out. We have not given enough of ourselves.

We have met the obligations we agreed to upon joining, Ossal said. We owe them nothing.

It costs me nothing to go. I am not needed in my delegate duties for a while.

The cost we incur is not that of time or resources. It is increasing the expectations of the humans, Fashal said.

It is a mere scouting mission, where they will search the void of space for fourteen days, then return home, their wanderlust satisfied.

For now, Fashal said coldly, and others murmured their agreement.

The goodwill my participation bestows will more than justify two weeks’ inconvenience and any increased expectations. We are part of this alliance, and need to act like it from time to time.

Fashal sighed, exasperated. I can see you will brook no argument. Very well. Go, if you must. But we cannot make a habit of this.

Ziegler and the other scout ship crewmembers were pleased he had agreed to join them, and knew nothing of the opposition he faced. He did not regret his choice. The Korvali had less need for the perks of the five-world Orion Interstellar Alliance than others did, but there was a time, many years ago, when that was not the case. It was unwise to take such relations for granted.

Now, Ashan stood near two human crewmembers, near enough to overhear their chatter.

We need to get eyes on that planet, came the scientist.

How? replied the helmsman. We’ve lost two drones. The atmosphere is basically acid, so I doubt there’s any life underneath that death cloud.

Death cloud or not, it’s a Goldilocks planet, the scientist argued. The only one we’ve found on this entire mission… and on the last three missions. Scans show intriguing signs. Temperate climate, possibly water vapor. There could be life.

The helmsman rolled his eyes. Seriously?

Yes! cried the scientist. It’s possible some life form could withstand that atmosphere.

Even if that’s possible, we’re not equipped. It’ll have to wait for a future mission. When the scientist scowled, he added, You know the captain’s gonna agree. We’re slated to head back to Suna in a few hours. Pinky can wait.

If we just get closer…

Ashan tuned out the bickering and returned his attention to the pink planet. It unsettled him, but for some reason he couldn’t keep his eyes off it. And that’s when he saw something.

Movement.

Something had moved in the corner of his vision—not near the planet itself, but near the pale gray moon that orbited the planet. He focused his gaze there, and… yes, he saw something. Something dark, hovering near the moon’s surface. It sat right at the moon’s horizon, and was quite small, making it difficult to differentiate from the blackness of space.

What is that? he whispered to himself.

What do you see, sir?

The scientist. The one who wasn’t sure how to address him, given his being the only non-military crewperson, so she defaulted to sir. She’d heard him.

The ship seemed to grow quiet then, and a few turned to face him. Before Ashan could answer, a Sunai soldier spoke.

By moon’s horizon, yes? he declared loudly in his guttural voice, his decorations clinking as he stepped closer.

Now all eyes were on the moon.

What is this? another Sunai shouted, more out of excitement than anger. The rest of the bridge crew stepped forward, until they were all crowded near the viewing window.

Magnify, ordered the captain.

The helmsman did, and a moment later the small moon appeared larger in the view screen, big enough that human eyes could see, and revealed what looked like… something.

Was that there before, sir? the scientist asked Ashan.

I do not believe so, Ashan replied. But I cannot be certain.

Ashan was no expert, but the object didn’t look like an asteroid or anything typically found in space. It was oddly shaped, and its surface didn’t appear smooth or shiny, as would something manufactured from metal or alloy.

Strangest of all, the object—if it was in fact an object—appeared to be changing. Shifting its appearance somehow.

Run a detailed scan, Ashan said. Now.

He felt the captain glance over at him, probably wondering at Ashan’s sudden commanding tone, and his violating the precious hierarchy the humans and Sunai so valued. He didn’t know himself why he’d issued the order.

Until he did.

The thing, whatever it was… vanished.

There was a gasp from the others.

Where’d it go? cried someone.

Take us in, the captain ordered.

They headed toward the moon, the captain issuing orders and everyone scrambling to this instrument or that station. Ashan stayed put.

Take a tour around the moon, the captain said. Full scans. Cover every square inch of this thing.

Ashan stood there and watched as the ship circumnavigated the moon. The moon’s pale gray surface had the occasional crater as well as a few clusters of odd bumps that appeared to be hills. They reminded him of the Ro’Poqq Hills on Calyyt-Calloq, which, according to Eshel, were merely deposits of some mineral that had proven more resistant to erosion over millions of years.

Those hills are interesting, the scientist mused, as if reading his mind.

After searching the moon, they did a tour around the pink planet as well. They found nothing. No sign of the object, and no signs of anything else that could possibly explain what they’d seen.

The captain spoke again. Did we get a scan of the object?

Only a partial, sir. Not enough time—

Let’s see the object.

An image displayed onscreen, identical to what they’d seen live. Then the questions began.

What had they seen? How had it appeared, and then disappeared? Had it seen them?

After that, they began to speculate.

It was a satellite or a remnant from a ship.

Space debris that had found its way here.

An optical illusion, possibly created from the combination of the pink planet’s gases and the magnetism between the planet and moon.

Or more outlandish: alien technology.

While the others talked and grew more and more excited, Ashan grew quiet, backing away from the others to give himself space.

He stared at the grainy image of… whatever it was. He was no scientist, nor a soldier, but even he knew there wasn’t enough there from which to draw any useful conclusions. The humans and Sunai would speculate endlessly on this, hold many a summit and have many a discussion.

In the end, unless that partial scan produced useful intelligence, they could conclude little more than having seen what appeared on that view screen: a dark blob of unclear origin.

Yet…

A dark feeling came over him then. One he hadn’t felt in decades, before his life changed forever. It was a feeling he could not describe, but it was one he knew well.

And that feeling told him that whatever it was they saw near the moon of that unpleasant pink planet, the world as they knew it, including the Alliance and its five worlds, was about to change forever.

2

When it came to other people, especially people he interacted with, Othniel Finnegan usually knew what action they would take even before they took it. However, when they came for him that day, he didn’t see it coming.

And why would he? It was his last day at the academy, he’d finished his final exams and defended his thesis, and he was slated to graduate and obtain his Space Corps commission within days. This day represented something he’d looked forward to for years, because it meant taking the next big step toward achieving what he wanted most.

But that had been his mistake. Focusing on bigger, better things and therefore letting his guard down, perhaps for the first time since he’d arrived four years ago as a freshman cadet.

There were three of them. One encircled his neck with a bony but strong arm, and before he could take the necessary countermeasures, another punched him in the gut while a third threw a bag over his head. Within a moment he was off his feet, bound by three sets of arms, and heading… somewhere.

Judging by their laughter and the stench of alcohol, Othniel knew. They were male, and they were human.

Of course they were.

Between the jostling and his thrashing, his hood began to fall away. He spotted a ring, the large, obnoxious sort worn only by the wealthy. He’d only seen such a ring on one person, Tate Cosgrove, who’d harassed him many times over the last four years.

The hood! a voice hissed. Someone yanked it down over Othniel’s face again, plunging him back into darkness.

He knew that voice. Steven Cosgrove. Tate’s twin brother.

Who was the third?

Let me go, you fucking idiots! he shouted at them, flailing about some more. He knew there was no point, but he hoped his shouting or wiggling would prompt one of them to make a mistake, to drop him or free even one of his arms for a moment, giving him the opportunity to strike. But they only gripped him tighter.

Over here, the same voice ordered, and he felt the shift as they changed direction.

Why hadn’t anyone seen them by now and intervened? Then he knew. He’d been walking toward the women’s dormitory to visit Jordan and see how her finals had gone. She’d been so anxious about them that he’d stayed up late with her, reassuring her she would do well on today’s exams and going over some of the more difficult concepts from her biochemistry and neurobiology courses. The women’s dorm backed up to a wooded area, and the crunching of feet on leaves and the smell of vegetation only confirmed it. No one would intervene because no one would see them once they entered the trees.

Othniel had no idea what they had planned for him, but that it would take place in the woods wasn’t a good sign.

He’d heard stories of what seniors did to freshmen cadets, especially if male, most of which was little more than pointless acts of humiliation. Stealing a freshman’s clothing and forcing him to walk home nude. Tossing him into the pool. Forcing him to pose in some lewd way with a cleaning bot while they took a picture.

Sophomores and beyond were typically safe from such abuse. Othniel had been the exception to this unwritten rule, and he’d fielded his share of torment from the likes of the Cosgroves and others.

They’d never succeeded beyond verbal torment, however. He’d always seen their ploys coming, had easily fended them off. He’d spoken up as well, making his opinion of them quite clear.

They never liked that. Which Othniel found odd.

It was acceptable for them to haze him, have a laugh at his expense because he was different, to make it clear they didn’t care for his kind, so they should expect him to return the favor by lobbing his own insults, right?

A lot of good that sort of logic was doing him now.

Unfortunately, Othniel got the distinct feeling the men had something more in store for him than a dunk into the academy pool.

He then smelled moisture. Not the good kind, like that of the ocean or the Olympic-sized pool he swam in every day, but the earthy kind.

Finally, the jostling stopped. It was silent for a moment, and Othniel tried again in vain to fight against the grip of three grown men. Then one spoke. Tate.

We got you, you fucking mutant. We got you and there isn’t shit you can do about it. A pause, then, On three.

They began rocking him back and forth, and when they reached three, they released him.

He was airborne for what seemed like forever, and for a moment he felt a surge of panic, like they’d tossed him off a cliff to his death. But a flash of memory told him no such cliff existed anywhere near campus, and a millisecond later he landed face down with a squishy thud that racked his body, from skeletal system to organs to muscle.

The odor intensified. Wet earth and the stench of standing water with a planet’s worth of microorganisms growing in it.

Tastes: clay mineral, brackish water, blood. He’d cut his lip.

And sounds. Laughter and feet scrambling on the forest floor, running away.

As jarred as he was, he knew two things right away: one, he’d been thrown face-first into a bog. Two, he hadn’t broken anything.

Get up. Now.

Putting his shock aside, Othniel quickly rolled over and sat up, wiping the mud from his eyelids. There, he spotted the three of them running swiftly, their excited laughter coming between gasps for air.

Alvarez. Tony Alvarez was the third.

That one surprised him a little. The twins? Of course they would do this. But Alvarez had never been one to start trouble, or to say an unkind word.

However, upon thinking some more, he realized Alvarez was often nearby when Othniel had been harassed, following the lead of those who enjoyed engaging in such behaviors. Which made Othniel think even less of him than he did the Cosgrove twins. The twins may be wankers, but at least they weren’t cowards who followed some wanker’s lead.

He looked around. He stood in an area where no trees grew, where the ground was depressed and collected water, especially in springtime, when it rained often.

He blinked a few times to keep the dripping, muddy slop from getting into his eyes, then spat to remove the taste of it from his lips. He looked down, his cargo pants and academy t-shirt soaked and blackened from head to toe. Even his magenta woven bracelet, a gift from Ashan that he wore at all times, was soiled. He carefully removed his shirt. As hoped, he found a small patch of unsoiled fabric and wiped his face. He removed all but his knickers, folding his soiled clothing neatly and tucking it under his arm.

As he began the journey back to campus and to his own dorm room, he ignored the stares of passing students. His attention was focused elsewhere. It was focused on what would happen next.

And he already had an idea.

When the knock on his apartment door came the next morning, Othniel knew who it was even before checking the view screen. He could tell from the decisive nature of the knock—loud and no-nonsense—and from the timing.

Othniel threw sweats and a t-shirt on and opened the door. Captain Harlow, one of the academy deans, stood there in uniform, square jaw set and blue eyes staring up into Othniel’s in a way that didn’t bode well. The stare bore an uncomfortable resemblance to Othniel’s father, although not as cold.

Nobody had a stare like his father.

Othniel saluted. Captain Harlow, sir.

We need to talk, cadet.

Othniel immediately stepped out of the doorway to let the captain in, then closed the door behind him. Harlow took a brief look around Othniel’s place, probably noting that it was spare even by military standards, with little more than a bed, a cushion to sit on, and a large abstract print of the ocean that Jordan had given him.

Harlow gave the at ease signal, and Othniel took a seat on his neatly made bed, mostly to avoid towering over the man. Anything to put the dean at ease.

Harlow folded his arms across his chest and eyed him. You know why I’m here?

I don’t, sir.

He did, but admitting that would be stupid.

Cut the shit, Finnegan. You attacked Alvarez and the Cosgrove twins with something that would make them shit themselves and vomit for a few hours, correct?

A pause. Correct, sir.

Harlow let out a breath. A bioweapon, I presume.

A crude one, but yes. Sir.

Harlow shook his head, eyes narrowing. You know by now it’s against academy policy to use biological agents for anything other than class assignments, and that doing so can mean expulsion.

I know the policy, sir. I did not obtain any of my materials from the academy, nor did I use academy property to construct the devices, including this room. He was careful to use the word devices rather than weapons, despite them being the latter by any definition the Space Corps cared about.

And where did you obtain them?

I cannot say, sir.

Captain Harlow’s thick jaw set. This isn’t the time for your bullshit, cadet. The source, now.

I offer no bullshit, sir. I obtained them from a dealer during my freshman year, when the hazing began, and I have lost contact with him. Othniel felt himself grow defensive. Also, sir, I did not attack them unprovoked. They—

Harlow put his hand up. I know what they did. It’s no excuse.

Othniel wanted to snap back, but pressed his lips together to avoid making his situation worse.

You got a problem with what I just said? Harlow taunted, taking a step closer.

Permission to speak freely, sir.

Harlow nodded.

Othniel stood, wanting to pace, but his room was too tiny to do so, so he sat back down again. "Those cadets, and others, have harassed me from the moment I arrived here. Called me mutant, abomination, and a host of other slurs I will not repeat, even tried to haze me. I’ve been hassled for being too bold, for being too quiet, for being too tall, for refusing red meat, which I cannot digest… For being… different. I’ve had to watch my back for four years, and the day I should be free of this, they come and—"

Enough, Harlow barked.

Othniel went silent.

You keep up that whining, you’ll never be worthy of that commission, assuming you haven’t pissed it away with your stupid revenge plan.

The sting of Harlow’s rebuke tasted far worse than any mud he’d eaten earlier. Fear hovered in the background, that maybe his actions would harm his career rather than merely result in some sharp words and a few sessions cleaning the latrine. But anger overpowered that fear, just like it had every time one of the Cosgroves hassled him.

You got a problem with what I said, cadet? Harlow taunted again.

Yes, he had a fucking problem with it. But Othniel took a breath and calmed himself. I don’t understand why I’m a ‘whiner’ for not wanting to be harassed, kidnapped, and thrown in mud, merely because I’m different. Nobody wants such treatment.

Why are you here, Finnegan?

Here, sir?

Harlow pointed around them. Here. At the academy. Of all the choices you had, why here?

To obtain my degrees, and my commission, so I can serve in the Space Corps and continue to advance our science and technology.

And rise in the ranks so far that every idiot I’ve ever dealt with will have to take orders from me and call me sir.

How bad do you want it?

I’ve never wanted anything more, sir.

Harlow yanked the nearby cushion over and sat on it, stare boring into Othniel. Then quit this shit. Just quit it. Life in the Corps means dealing with a lot of crap you don’t want to deal with. Some of it completely unfair. You can either whine like a toddler who didn’t get his nap, or you can rise above it like a grown-ass man. Because only the second one will make it beyond lieutenant in the Corps.

Othniel hated the analogy, but kept his expression neutral. Yes, sir.

Those who rise also know how to accept punishment, fair or not.

I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit, sir. I’ll even apologize to the Cosgrove twins and Alvarez.

Harlow waved him off. No need. What’s done is done.

Then I won’t be punished?

Of course you’ll be punished. Those latrines could use a good cleaning, from what I could tell.

Yes, sir, he said, suddenly glad to be assigned a job he hated. Thank you, sir. And I apologize—

Save it. Harlow stood. Listen to me, kid. You’re about to leave the nest and enter the real world. Whoever you end up working for won’t be so lenient with you, Finnegan. One fuck-up and you’re done. He paused. "You finished two degrees in the time it took the rest to finish one, and you’re one of the brightest students we’ve ever had. You’ve got a promising career ahead of you, if you don’t ruin it by letting a big ego make decisions for you."

With all due respect, sir, Earth history is littered with leaders that had giant egos.

True. But they weren’t half Korvali.

Othniel went silent at that. As much as he hated it, Harlow was right.

Harlow went on. Now for the other reason I dropped by. Othniel would have been concerned, but the way Harlow’s eyes brightened, something told him it wasn’t bad news. Your father has arrived. He’s summoned you to his quarters.

His father was here? Yes, his parents had planned to travel here from England to attend his graduation, but that wasn’t for another two days. Nothing tore his father away from the institute unless absolutely necessary. Something important had happened.

Big news, cadet. Harlow actually gave a rare smile. The kind of news we live for in the Corps.

What, sir?

Harlow hesitated for a moment, but then he shrugged. Word’ll be out later today anyway. Keep it to yourself until then. That’s an order.

Yes, sir.

The scout mission we took to the Roseus System with the Sunai? They found something.

Something, sir?

We don’t know for sure yet, but evidence points to it being a ship. An alien ship.

3

Jordan Kingston-Trujillo took another deep breath, but she couldn’t breathe away the truth.

She was going to fail.

Yes, she was going to get a big, fat F on her biochemistry final, which would ruin her grade for the course. And that would ruin her plans to begin medical school this fall.

She sat in the classroom, at the far end of the top row, staring at the chemical structure on the screen in front of her. It was an amino acid, but which one? Glutamine? Cysteine? Asparagine?

She knew this. She’d studied this! So why did the structure look like she’d never seen it before? Why couldn’t she think straight, damn it?

Jordan glanced below her at the other students taking the exam. They stared down at their protected screens, selected their answers, and swiped to the next question. Stare, select, swipe. They all knew the answers. Why didn’t she?

She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. That’s what they told you to do if you got test anxiety. She wasn’t sure it did anything, because when she opened her eyes and looked at the screen again, she saw a structure with an amino group and a carboxyl group, but had no clue what it was.

She selected an answer, feeling even worse.

By the end of the exam, she was one of only two students left. The other was Rina, a Derovian cadet she’d befriended during their freshman year. Rina hadn’t grown up learning science—the Derovians focused on other pursuits—and English wasn’t her primary language, so she always took longer to finish. But she’d always managed to pass the tests.

Unable to stand the sight of that lecture hall and Professor Chavez’s stern face a moment longer, Jordan grabbed her bag and hurried out of the classroom. She would wait for Rina outside, where she could at least breathe fresh air while basking in her failure.

It was a beautiful spring day. The grass was freshly mowed and the dogwood trees were in bloom, casting a light scent in the air. Everyone loved springtime, but especially her because it represented rebirth and new life.

But Jordan barely noticed any of it. Instead, her thoughts raced.

She’d just failed her biochem final.

They would revoke her acceptance to the University of Virginia’s medical school, which was contingent upon her completing this semester’s exams with an A or B.

Her parents and twin younger brothers would all look down on her for failing in her lifelong dream to become a doctor. It was bad enough she wouldn’t be serving in the Space Corps like her parents had since long before she was born.

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it.

She engaged the earpiece embedded into her ear, then heard the notification that her phone was ready for business.

Call Othniel.

She waited, hearing ringing on the other end. Othniel would understand. He knew how nervous she’d been about her finals, how much this had meant to her. He’d helped her with the amino acid structures, for crying out loud!

He couldn’t solve the problem of her failure, but he would have some useful words for her, something helpful and reasonable, even ideas for a different career for her. Well-reasoned words and great ideas were two things Othniel excelled at.

But the call rang and rang, and then went to voicemail.

That was strange. Othniel always answered for her, unless he was in class or in the pool. And she knew he’d finished his finals by now.

Jordan sighed. He was probably celebrating finishing up four years of hard work—where he’d completed the requirements for both his bachelor’s and master’s degrees—with a long swim. Swimming was his favorite pastime. And passing tests—acing them, actually—was no problem for her oldest friend in the world.

Lucky him.

Despite envying her best friend’s intellectual prowess, she was excited for Othniel. He hadn’t had the easiest four years since they’d begun at the academy together, and his stellar academic record—and the career that would follow—was his compensation for that. He had big plans, and deserved every