Swarm: Voidstalker, #4

By John Graham

Evil sleeps until the unwary disturb it.

On an underdeveloped desert planet, a prospecting expedition unwittingly unearths something that should have stayed buried – something as ancient as it is malevolent.

Meanwhile, Colonel Gabriel Thorn has his own demons to wrestle with. The DNI insists on keeping their most capable operative on a tight leash. They already control his past and his present, and it seems they also have a hand in his future.

His wife Aster is growing frustrated with the control that the DNI has over their family. Their children are now well aware that they share their unique genetic gifts with their father and no one else, and they wonder what his superiors have in store for them.

But all of that pales in comparison to the peril emerging within Humanity's borders. When a distress call from a desert colony world is received, the DNI dispatches Gabriel to confront a threat that only he can face.

If he fails, the Swarm will devour them all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Graham
• Release date: Oct 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223107798

John Graham

We all know Star Trek and Star Wars, but my interest in science fiction really took off with franchises like Halo, Dawn of War, and Mass Effect. These are three of the richest science fiction universes I've ever encountered and although I do love to read fiction - especially science fiction - I make no apologies for drawing inspiration for my own books from video games. Who says great stories can only take the form of words on a screen or page? I'm not a full-time author, though – few of us are that lucky - I have a five-day-a-week job which pays the bills, including the book-related bills. I enjoy writing and science fiction as a hobby and an escape, and the result of unwinding at the end of every day, and over every weekend, are the stories I write.

Book preview

THE POSTING

Beyond the horizon in every direction was desert, a wasteland of searing hot dunes punctuated by sandblasted rock. The local star was a blazing eye of white-hot fire tinged green by the delicate layer of atmospheric ozone. Its rays were halted by the rock formations, casting long shadows across the desert.

Tiny critters shuffled about in the shade, congregating for safety in numbers as they searched for hardy desert flora on which to feed. A mighty winged predator circled high above them, keeping a sharp eye out for stragglers. Nothing else stirred except for little vortices of sand that danced across the dunes.

In the centre of the barren landscape stood a collection of hardy structures encircled by a protective, sloping wall. An enormous pylon with a gigantic signal dish on top towered over the settlement, the formerly shiny metal weathered down to a dull grey.

Something was approaching from the south. One minute the landscape was clear, the next it was obscured by a horizon-spanning smudge at the point where the sky touched the ground. As the sun began to set, the smudge grew larger and clearer until it was recognisable as a rapidly approaching sandstorm.

The storm front was at least a hundred feet high; a billowing, charging mass of sand and dust surging towards the settlement. The sand critters began scattering for cover while the great winged predator continued to soar above the landscape.

The fauna weren’t the only ones racing for safety. A pair of vehicles with flaxen hulls, sloping fronts, and humpbacked rears were speeding towards the settlement. They barely outpaced the storm, and the cloud of dust they kicked up was immediately swallowed by the roiling wall of sand bearing down on them.

A gate opened in the settlement’s protective wall, and the two vehicles gunned their engines for all they were worth. They manoeuvred into single file as they closed in on the gate, slipping through with barely a moment to spare.

As the gate closed behind them, the storm struck, engulfing the settlement in a pall of sand and dust, and blotting out the harsh rays of the setting sun. Street-level visibility dropped to zero as the storm covered the tops of the buildings. Even the great pylon disappeared, leaving only the signal dish visible.

Only the great winged predator remained unperturbed. It continued to circle the area for a while before flying away in search of new hunting grounds.

The walls were meant to be soundproofed, and yet he could still hear the storm outside. It howled and scratched at the shutters like a horde of demons conjured up from the desert, clamouring for entry. Anyone caught in the storm without adequate breathing equipment would choke to death in minutes.

The central display depicted the settlement as a blue dot engulfed by holographically rendered atmospheric movements. The average wind speed and particulate concentration were displayed in real time alongside the approximate time left before the storm passed.

Seven hours remaining, according to standard chronometry. The local time was also displayed, informing him that the time was 05:70.

The man’s face was bearded and his skin lightly bronzed, with two dark eyes set beneath a pair of bushy eyebrows. He gave his nametag an idle flick, causing the initials ‘H.M.D.’ to change briefly into ‘Hawking Mallory Davidson’ before changing back again.

The door opened, and another person entered, wearing slacks and a short-sleeved shirt. He was thickset and clean-shaven, with tattoos covering his arms and neck.

Staring won’t make the storm go away, the man remarked in a thick local accent.

What a stupid comment.

Not much else to do, Hawking said aloud.

Are you guys planning to go out again after the storm passes? the man asked.

Not right now, Hawking replied, trying to remember the man’s name, all viable ore deposits within a hundred kilometre radius have already been mapped out.

You corporates aren’t very popular here, the man smirked wryly, but as long as you make us all rich, we can tolerate you.

That’s why we’re here, Hawking laughed good-naturedly.

The laugh was forced. The locals disdained those who came from more...developed planets, especially those who worked for private companies – or worse, the government.

The feeling was mutual.

Hebel. That was his name. He was one of the local drivers employed to take them out on their prospecting expeditions. Driving through desert terrain was a skill for which Hebel and his colleagues were paid handsomely.

I’m still surprised you corporates left the cushy polar settlements, Hebel remarked, especially to come to a shithole like Pharan.

Hawking wrinkled his nose at the language, but it was accurate enough. Pharan had started out as a desert waystation before growing into a small town. The company had taken over the original facility and expanded it into a well-equipped forward operating base. Even so, the posting was far from pleasant.

You can’t get rich in the mining business if you’re not willing to go places that aren’t cushy, Hawking pointed out, besides, I’ve been to worse places.

He disagreed with his own words.

What’s the worst place you’ve ever been to? Hebel asked.

This planet.

Several contenders for that crown, Hawking replied, but I’d probably say Thalassa. It’s an ocean world in one of the core systems.

How do you mine an ocean world? Hebel wondered.

With extreme difficulty, Hawking answered, the planet has a spaceport near the only settlement, but the mineral deposits are scattered across or under the ocean floor.

Doesn’t sound as fearsome as Erebor, Hebel remarked.

Crushing pressure at extreme depths, dangerous marine life, and unpredictable ocean currents made it one of the toughest planets I’ve ever worked on, Hawking elaborated, I was there for four years and the mining operations there are only now turning a profit.

You guys have been here for a year and still barely gone beyond the polar perimeter, Hebel commented, sounding disappointed.

Yeah, so we’ll probably be here for a while, Hawking said, less than enthusiastically.

There was silence as the conversation lulled.

Well, said Hebel, turning towards the exit, I’m gonna go get some sleep.

He departed, leaving Hawking alone.

An icon began flashing, and the display shifted away from the storm and zoomed out to show a cross-section of the atmosphere. The icon was in geosynchronous orbit, moving at constant speed and position above Pharan.

Hawking tapped the icon, using his company authorisation to activate the satellite. It was lucky that Hebel had left the room when he did. As much as they needed local guides, they were a greedy and uncouth lot, and would be happy to sell purloined trade secrets for a few extra credits given half a chance.

Did they really need local drivers? Surely any decent AI could do the same job better. In fact, there were all kinds of equipment that would make their jobs out here ten times easier, none of which required native halfwits who might sell them out.

That wasn’t how the higher-ups saw things. Equipment cost money, more money than they were willing to sink into an expedition that may or may not turn up viable deposits. It was cheaper to use Human drivers, and it scored PR points with the locals.

Hawking frowned. The sooner the satellite produced results, the more likely it was that the higher-ups would increase their operational budget, and the sooner they could fire Hebel and the other locals. In the meantime, all they could do was wait.

He set the computer to transmit progress updates to his wrist-top. Then he locked the terminal and departed the control room.

Even when the weather was clear, everyone used a network of tunnels to travel between buildings in the facility. Hawking climbed down a ladder into the tunnel network, finding himself in a four-way junction, and headed towards the dormitory.

The tunnels were cool and well ventilated, and he shivered as an artificial breeze wafted through. He arrived at another four-way junction and climbed up the ladder, reappearing in the dormitory building and making his way to the breakroom.

The breakroom was brightly lit and arranged like an amphitheatre, with rings of seating around the centre. Some of his colleagues were already there, slouched on the shabby furniture as they idled away the time.

Any luck with the satellite? asked a burly man with a balding head and dark eyes.

His nametag read ‘William Stargazer’.

I’m no satellite engineer, Hawking responded as he took a seat, but it looks like it reached orbit without any problems.

Right, said Will, what are you again?

A geologist, Hawking reminded him, this is a prospecting expedition after all.

So how come you’re in charge of the satellite instead of Cathy? Will asked.

Because I’m a mining engineer, replied a surly woman with a purple ponytail and a nametag reading ‘Catherine Evergreen’, as I’ve told you a hundred times already.

And the satellite is a geological survey satellite with a ground-penetrating scanner, Hawking added, as you should already know.

We’ve been stuck for weeks in this fucking settlement, Will moaned, I feel like I’m forgetting everything, including why we even came here.

To make money! Cathy reminded him loudly and bluntly.

There was a chorus of assent and a toast in the general direction of the company logo.

And the satellite will reveal potential ore deposits under the bedrock without us having to drive around in circles scanning the ground ourselves, Hawking continued, meaning more money sooner and less trouble on the way to getting paid.

Sounds good, Will said nonchalantly, makes me wonder why they didn’t deploy a dozen of them when we first got here.

They’re expensive and take time to deploy, Hawking explained.

You say you’re a geologist, Will remarked as he pulled something out of his pocket, but you seem to know an awful lot about the satellites.

I have to, Hawking pointed out, I’m the one who’ll have to interpret the results.

Fair enough, Will said with a shrug.

He adjusted the object in his hand before taking a long puff on the mouthpiece and expelling a cloud of scented smoke into the air.

Those things are banned, Hawking reminded him, wafting the smoke away.

Says who? Will retorted, lying back as the chemicals took effect, And who's gonna run back to the polar settlements to tell the company? You?

I’m just saying, Hawking protested, that stuff’s contraband, and now that we’re all breathing it in, you could get us all in trouble.

Chill the fuck out, will you? Will retorted, his words beginning to slur, By the time the storm passes, it’ll be gone from your system. Besides, the company doesn’t really care what we get up to as long as we make them money.

Hawking’s vision turned hazy and a buoyant feeling of contentment encroached on the corners of his mind. Having inhaled a full dose, Will was nearly passed out while everyone else continued staring off into space.

Hawking made his way to the door, choking on the pungent smoke on his way out.

Hawking returned to his quarters and flopped down on the bed, then grabbed a flexi-tablet from the bedside table. His vision was still fuzzy and a woozy feeling of bliss still made it hard to think, but the effect wasn’t strong enough to mar his concentration entirely.

He began flicking idly through personnel profiles. He had been on this planet for a year now, and yet he hardly knew his colleagues.

There was William Stargazer, the base’s chief engineer, responsible for keeping all the equipment running. His profile photo had a toothy grin and a neck almost as thick as his head. Why a born-spacer would want to come down planet-side was anyone’s guess, since the man himself shared few details.

Then there was Catherine Evergreen, the cyberpunk fashion-dressing mining engineer. She had cosmic-themed tattoos snaking up and down her neck, and some on her chest and back. There wasn’t much for her to do until the time came to construct the mines. No wonder she looked bored and irritated in her photo.

‘Evergreen’ was an old surname, not one commonly found amongst colonials, let alone spacers. Maybe she was from one of the core worlds. She might even be a runaway from some rich family, looking for adventure on the frontier.

Hawking pulled up Hebel’s profile.

The man was thickset and thick-skulled, a native Ereboran born and raised in the polar capital. He had a knack for driving through dunes and other rough terrain, but that was his only noteworthy skill. He had completed mandatory basic education through to adulthood, but had no tertiary education to speak of.

Still, his skills were useful, at least until the company deigned to assign some AI-driven vehicles to the Pharan facility. That wouldn’t happen until they had something to show for their efforts – hopefully the satellite would make their idiot local guides redundant.

The door opened and his bunkmate staggered in.

...I feel...pretty good... she announced with a gleeful slur in her speech, stumbling towards the bed, ...how...about you...?

Did you try Will’s vapour-pen? Hawking asked, turning to his bunkmate’s profile.

Dr Leonora Lux, their resident hydraulic engineer and the woman to whom they owed their supply of drinkable water. She had purple eyes, short blond hair, and a cheeky smile. Unseen in her photo was the water goddess tattoo between her breasts.

...I sure did... Leonora replied, trying to get her foot on the ladder.

It sounds like you had a bit too much, Hawking remarked.

Nonsense... Leonora slurred back, ...I feel...just...great.

She gave up on the ladder and flopped down on top of Hawking.

This isn’t your bed, he informed her.

No...you are... Leonora mumbled drowsily.

She dozed off into drug-laced dreams and he swiped to the next profile.

Thaddeus Zebulon had pale skin, coiffed hair, a thin nose, and an imperious scowl on his face, as if he disdained the very idea of posing for a photograph. As the outpost supervisor, he was the highest ranked company representative in Pharan, a post he considered to be the equivalent of corporate exile.

Hawking didn’t blame him. He and the others were out here because they were paid well to be here. Supervisor Zebulon looked like he belonged in a flashy corporate office, and clearly that was where he would rather be.

His wrist-top buzzed. Sure enough, there was a message from Zebulon requesting that he come to the communications room immediately.

Carefully extricating himself from underneath Leonora’s sleeping body, Hawking put the flexi-tablet away and left the room.

Whereas much of the outpost had weak soundproofing, the corridors inside the signal tower had no soundproofing at all. Hawking could hear the groaning of the girders through the screaming desert wind. He also swore he could feel the tower swaying under his feet, so much so that he wondered if it was about to keel over.

He made it to the top and stopped outside the door to the communications room to catch his breath, wondering why the engineers couldn’t have installed a simple elevator.

The communications room was a poorly lit booth with a computer interface. Thaddeus Zebulon was already there, struggling to conduct a business call over the static-filled line.

The satellite should be up and running by now, he insisted.

"...long will it...to get usable...from the satellite...," demanded an impatient voice.

A thorough scan of the region will take days, Zebulon replied, or so I’m informed.

"...LGREV Mark 1...ready in two...had better be...thing worth...up from the...so you’d better...some damn good...before then," the voice crackled over the comm.

Understood, sir, Zebulon said respectfully while gritting his teeth, we should have preliminary results by the end of the next day.

"...hold you to...words," said the voice on the other end.

The link was terminated, and Hawking entered the tiny room.

Zebulon was dressed in a cape-like coat with a high collar totally unsuited to the desert. He looked almost exactly as he did in his profile photo, right down to his coiffed hair, but with his usual haughtiness crinkled by frustration.

Is the satellite working? he demanded.

Yes, Hawking confirmed, I initiated the scan as soon as it reached orbit.

Good, Zebulon seethed, not sounding especially relieved, two days. That’s how long we’ve been given by the higher-ups.

By Erebor Ventures? Hawking asked.

No, Zebulon responded, the parent company Blue Star Mining, not the holding company we work under. The LGREV Mark 1 will be ready to deploy tomorrow, and they need some mineral deposits to dig up by the time they get here.

I thought we were going to build physical mines? Hawking asked.

We will, Zebulon growled, once we prove there’s enough ore worth digging up.

The company will have to fork over the investment at some point, said Hawking.

And that point has not yet arrived, Zebulon answered sharply, building the mines and refineries, not to mention the transport infrastructure, will cost billions. The LGREV will make this project viable until the board deigns to open the company wallet again.

Here’s hoping it doesn’t break down in the desert, Hawking joked.

If that happens, this whole project could be delayed by months, Zebulon pointed out, unamused, it might even be cancelled.

Hawking’s humour faded. If that happened, no one would get their commissions.

With all that said, Zebulon concluded, I seriously freaking hope you can find some useful deposits with that satellite of yours.

I’m sure it will, Hawking assured him.

Zebulon nodded silently, still looking unconvinced.

One other thing, he said, that Ereboran driver, ‘He-bull’ or something.

‘Hebel’ as in ‘pebble’, Hawking corrected him gently.

Whatever, Zebulon said dismissively, I’m more interested in why he’s still here.

There’s a sandstorm outside, Hawking reminded Zebulon, he’s stranded here with us. Otherwise, he’d have gone home by now.

He’s an outside contractor at best and a filthy local at worst, Zebulon responded with palpable contempt, "he is not a company employee and he has no business wandering around company property unsupervised."

It’s only for the night, Hawking insisted, he’ll go as soon as the storm clears up.

Even so, keep him away from the operations room and any other sensitive locations, Zebulon warned Hawking, If he steals anything, I’ll hold you liable.

Understood, Hawking replied.

Everyone hated Thaddeus Zebulon. His arrogance, his impatience, his raspy off-world accent, and the way he shunted – or threatened to shunt – blame for whatever went wrong onto others. However, when it came to locals like Hebel, Hawking agreed with him.

It was tempting to think of the colonials as backward and unsophisticated, but that didn’t mean they were stupid. Corporate espionage was just as rife in the mining sector as in any other industry, and it wouldn’t be beyond them to hire local contacts as spies.

Hawking wended his way through the underground tunnels until he was back in the dormitory building. It was technically night-time now, so most of the outpost crew would be asleep, but there was still a light on in the breakroom.

Will Stargazer and Cathy Evergreen were still there reclining on the seats, keeping a chaste distance between themselves. The air still smelt of whatever drug Will had been smoking earlier, and Hawking wrinkled his nose as he entered.

Back for more of the good stuff? Will asked, watching him with droopy eyes.

I just spoke with the supervisor, Hawking answered as he took a seat.

Zebulon? Cathy mumbled, What’s he bitching about now?

He says we have two days to find promising deposits or else, Hawking reported.

Or else what? Will asked.

Or else the LGREV Mark 1’s crew will be extremely disappointed, Hawking replied.

So it’s finally up and running, is it? Cathy remarked derisively.

You sound pissed, Will observed.

It’s a 50,000 tonne boondoggle, Cathy responded dismissively, as if the idea hasn’t been tried before. I guarantee you it’ll break down before it gets here, either from the desert heat or sand getting into the machinery, or both.

Sounds like someone’s feeling a little threatened, Will chuckled.

Fuck you, Cathy retorted, even if it can extract ore in the way they say it can, it’s only good for strip mining, or so our resident geologist once informed me.

She punctuated the last sentence with a pointed glare at Hawking.

With that in mind, Hawking spoke up, they’ll still need to build mines to access the deeper deposits sooner or later, not to mention the infrastructure to refine the ore and transport it back to the polar capital. So don’t worry about losing your commission.

Did Zebulon tell you that? Cathy asked snarkily.

He’s under the same pressure to show results that we are, Hawking pointed out, why would he lie about something like this?

He’s probably afraid of getting shot like the last guy, Will remarked casually.

Huh? exclaimed Cathy, sitting up.

You never heard this story? asked Will, raising an eyebrow.

I heard his predecessor was shot in some kind of accident, said Hawking.

And you heard that from the official communique about the incident, Will replied, but rumour has it he was murdered by a gang of locals after a dispute.

A dispute? Hawking asked sceptically.

Don’t ask me what it was about, Will answered with a shrug, it’s just a rumour. Although, there’s another rumour that the company found out he was spying for a rival firm and paid some locals to assassinate him rather than embarrass the company.

That’s much more exciting than anything happening around here, Cathy commented, at least until the mighty LGREV shows up.

You just spoke to him, said Will, turning to Hawking, do you think he’s paranoid?

He does seem pretty suspicious about the local contractors, Hawking noted, he told me we shouldn’t be allowing them to wander around the outpost.

Technically, it’s against regulations, Will noted.

Says the guy who smokes narcotics on company property, Cathy snorted.

This is harmless, Will countered, the same can’t be said for any colonial who just happens to be stranded here during a convenient storm.

There was a lull in the conversation, broken only by the moaning desert wind.

What if it’s xenotech? Will said suddenly.

Huh? said Cathy.

The company signed a multi-billion credit prospecting lease for a slice of apparently barren desert and even set up a holding company to do it, Will reasoned, that’s a lot of trouble and investment to pour into one venture, even if it is a mining venture.

You think anyone could dig up alien technology without the government finding out? Cathy pointed out, How would anyone know there’s something here in the first place?

I’m just saying, Will said with another shrug, maybe the company is actually digging around for artefacts buried in the sands.

Rubbish, Cathy said dismissively, the government would pulverise the company and the spooks would haul everyone involved off to prison.

You don’t think it’s at all possible? Will asked.

"I think it’s possible you’ve had too much from that vapour-pen, Cathy retorted, but no, I’m not even sure aliens exist."

Hawking was about to leave when his wrist-top buzzed with a new message. His expression tightened when he read it.

Well, I’m heading out, he announced, heading for the exit.

Have fun jerking off until the storm passes, Will said with a smirk and a wave.

That’s disgusting, Hawking said with distaste.

I’m too high to care, was the reply.

‘Anomaly detected.’

It was from the geological survey satellite’s data feed. He hadn’t been expecting results this soon, and yet there was the notification.

Hawking almost ran down the tunnel towards the control room. When he arrived, he unlocked the terminal and saw the same notification flashing on the screen. Tapping the icon, the holographic display zoomed in on a patch of desert to the southeast.

The desert landscape was represented as an undulating expanse of orange, while Pharan appeared as a cluster of yellow buildings in the corner of the map.

The anomaly was shaded cool blue, which meant that it was colder than the surrounding desert – much colder. Adjusting the display, Hawking saw that it was located about a hundred metres below the surface, and connected to a naturally occurring tunnel network.

The anomaly itself was the size of a small building and was clearly not a vein of ore. Its geometrically precise shape made it look artificial.

An artificial structure under the desert sands?

Hawking opened the data feed and selected the anomaly. A moment passed as the information was loaded, and then a message appeared:

‘No data available.’

Hawking blinked and reloaded the data feed, then selected the anomaly again.

‘No data available.’

He ran a diagnostic process, but the computer reported that there was nothing wrong.

The cool blue shape resembled a sphere with a long neck extending from the side, but its interior was impervious to the satellite’s scans. The planet was geologically stable, meaning that the anomaly had lain undisturbed for a very long time.

Was Will right after all?

There was no reason to believe the company could have known about this before the satellite launch. That being the case, the crew of the LGREV would have access to the satellite’s data once it was underway, so they were bound to find out.

How would the company react? They might cancel the project, in which case everyone would lose their commissions. Or they might secure the site and get rid of anyone who knew too much. Better a few dead bodies than a catastrophic drop in the share price.

Hawking closed the data feed and password-locked the terminal. Whatever the anomaly was, he had better keep it to himself.

Hawking returned to his room and lay down on the lower bunk, moving the sleeping Leonora’s arm aside to make space