First Strike Book Two

By Odette C. Bell

There’s no chance First Strike can get out. But she doesn’t want to anymore.
She’s stumbled into a plot to destroy the Coalition. Which is what she wants. Right?
As she’s pulled deeper into the Argonaut’s troubles, she grows closer to Belinda, Harry, and Dale. She can’t help it.
But can anyone help the Milky Way? For there is a force out there ready to punch right through it. A force from old. A force that will wrap the galaxy up in its grip and squeeze.
First Strike was built to harm the Coalition, but now she’s their only hope.
...
First Strike follows a Barbarian psychic weapon and the cybernetic soldier sent to stop her fighting to save the galaxy from a powerful empire. If you crave space opera with action, heart, and a splash of romance, grab First Strike Book Two today and soar free with an Odette C. Bell series.
First Strike is the 22nd 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: Jul 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215232064

Book preview

Chapter 1

Cadet Harry West

Five Minutes Ago

I was standing in my quarters, ready to head out, ready for my first duty shift, even though my mind was elsewhere, when I saw the slipstream just outside the windows fracture.

I’d never forget the moment as long as I lived. It was just a glimpse over my shoulder, something I’d been ignoring the entire time I’d been pacing in my bedroom. But then that glimpse expanded like somebody punching a sheet made out of light. This black void spiraled around the side of the ship, forced its way through the hull, and caused an explosion large enough that I was thrown off my feet.

Fortunately my bed was just there, and I managed to twist in mid-air. I smashed face-first into my pillow, tumbled to the side, and struck the floor on my feet. I powered up just as a red alert alarm blared through the vessel.

The alarm usually came with a synthesized voice that told you precisely what was wrong. I didn’t need an explanation. I was facing the side of the ship where the issue came from. Though the word issue was so small compared to what I was actually looking at.

I had pretty good grades in engineering, but the part I really excelled at was propulsion. And our slipstream – the subspace pocket that enabled us to punch through the Milky Way at faster than the speed of light – had just ruptured. Think about it as a bubble. If a bubble ruptures – if any single part of it gives in – the entire bubble pops. But something was ensuring the rest of our slipstream didn’t break for now.

I’d read about situations like this but never seen them. How could anyone possibly survive one long enough to tell others what it looked like?

A crack suddenly shot across the wall right in front of me. I had the fortune of having one of the rooms that was right next to the outer hull. And when I said next to, I meant there were about 20 meters of structural supports in place, separating me from it. If you looked out the window, you’d think there was nothing but a single film of glass, but that was just a modified viewscreen.

20 meters of structural supports should be enough to save me, but it wasn’t, and the moment the crack forced its way across the wall, I realized I had to get out of here now, or I’d never get out of here. I’d be thrown out into space, but that sure wouldn’t be surviving.

I threw myself around on my foot and headed to the door. It was just as there was a fizzle in the room, suggesting that the power had failed.

I still got to the door, my little finger stretching out faster than the power failure could. The tip of my jagged nail caught the open button, and in a split second, it opened, but only halfway.

I had to grab it and force it open with the rest of my strength, then lurch into the corridor. I fell onto one knee as more disruptions struck this level.

The crack in my room expanded, and it did untold damage to the deck. Everything shook. If you were in armor, congratulations, but I wasn’t. I was in a standard cadet uniform. And while the fabric was technically nonstandard and sophisticated enough to save me from some of the most extreme dips in temperature, it wouldn’t be able to save my mouth from suddenly not being able to breathe. Or from suddenly having all of the air forced out of my lungs as the vacuum grabbed hold of me and popped me like a fat blood-filled bug on the pavement.

If you didn’t like that image, be prepared, because worse was to come.

I heard screams from far off down the corridor, but they were all cut short. The red alert alarm rose, getting more insistent, trying to tell everyone this was not a drill. This was definitely not a drill.

But just as the lighting strips above me and on the floor below illuminated, getting ready to lead me forward, even if there was a complete power failure, they fizzled out. It was like somebody simply pushed their hand in front of my face, closed their palm against my eyes, and decided there’d be nothing to lead me forward from now on.

All power failed a moment later, and I was left in complete darkness. But I knew my door was still open, and I could hear the sound of the hull cracking.

I knew this corridor. I either had to forge a path forward, or turn around, waste precious seconds, and close the door.

I knew it was pointless. Though maybe not completely pointless. It would buy me no time whatsoever. It would be smarter to run. But if I could close the door, it might buy this corridor maybe a second, maybe less. But it would be time. And if I spread it out over everyone on this deck, it would be significant.

There was only one thing I could do, only one thing my training let me do. I turned hard on the heel of my boot, the squeak sounding like a calamitous note from some orchestra getting ready for the final act.

And statistically, this would be my final act.

I think I saw the crack in the far wall, even though my room was now completely dark. The viewscreen had failed, so I couldn’t rely on the illumination of the slipstream beyond. But I still saw it, and I definitely heard it marching across the wall and deep into the supporting structure beyond.

I’d never stood on thin ice before, never watched it fracturing under my feet, but this had to be a similar feeling.

I still grabbed the door as hard as I could, grasping the raised latch used when the power was out to force it closed. I had to shove my shoulder into it until the muscles bristled.

I shut it just as that unnerving crack got so loud, it could signify only one thing. The outer structural wall had a second or two. Then it would blow. It would take almost no time whatsoever for it to yank through the door separating me from it. And then the vacuum would pull me out into space. I’d tumble for a second or two. And then? You didn’t want to know about then. You presumably had an active imagination.

For me, there was no time to imagine anything other than running.

I heard a scream from beside me and watched as a cadet desperately tried to get out of the door of her room. It had only opened a crack. I could see her outstretched fingers. I only saw them, because she had an independent power source in her room – a holo pad. It was throwing illumination up against her leg. She’d presumably dropped it the second the alarm had shrieked at her and the wall behind her had started cracking like an overcooked meringue.

The light was eerie as it played up her struggling leg, caught her elbow as she desperately forced her fingers forward, and illuminated just a fraction of the side of her face. It was enough to see sweat mixed with tears glistening across her skin.

I made another quick mental calculation. Help the cadet, and I might be able to get her into the corridor, but I’d never save her life.

That structural wall had seconds now. It should have already broken, but maybe something had bought us time – some miracle. But miracles don’t last, and if you build your future on them, it’s like building a castle on sand. Waterlogged sand.

I still shoved my hand through, forced my fingers to squeeze beyond the door and the jamb, even though I skinned my knuckles, and gave it everything I had.

Technically there was an easier way to manually open a door. I could pull back the panel beside it and use the flywheel meant for situations just like this. The flywheel had extra mechanical force and leverage. But I didn’t have the time. So I almost popped my shoulder joints, and they bristled against my royal blue uniform as I finally forced the door open enough that the cadet spilled out onto the floor beside me.

She looked at me once, mouthed the words thank you without being able to say them, and hesitated. But I shoved her in the back and screamed, Run.

I went to run myself, but I was smart enough to drop down to one knee, scoop a hand forward, and grab up the data pad.

Never in my wildest dreams had I thought I’d need a data pad to illuminate my path forward. But fortunately other cadets were spilling into the corridor, lucky enough to open their own doors manually, and they had independent light sources, too.

Light sources that would be able to lead us where exactly?

Down the corridor to the lifts? Then where?

The drive had malfunctioned.

This ship would explode.

And if it did explode, it would take everyone aboard with it. Including Belinda.

Sweat dripped down my brow as I thought of her, and my fingers unconsciously gripped hold of the data pad harder, grinding the bezel edge into my palm.

For a stupid moment, my brain told me it was Belinda’s hand – it probably cooked up that sensation in a desperate attempt to get me to move. And I did. I jolted forward, grabbing a cadet as he tumbled to his knees in the dark. I yanked him up by his elbow and forced him forward with my shoulder. It was just as I heard that crack.

Heard it and saw it. I ran past another open doorway, and it led into a cadet’s room that, like mine, was on the outer edge of the ship.

There was a 30-centimeter-deep crack in the wall. I could see it, because clearly some of the conduits in the wall still had residual power. They crackled and sparked, looking like the electrical equivalent of blood as somebody split a vein.

The door was open. You knew that. That’s how I was seeing the wall.

There was no time to close it, just time to stare as Death lifted its scythe.

But just as the crack pulled wider apart, just as I waited for that single moment where the hull would fail and we’d all be pulled out into space, the red alert klaxon switched on again. It blared around us so loudly, I got a nervous jolt that came straight from my amygdala, bypassed reason, punched my kidneys, and let out a surge of adrenaline.

But fortunately I didn’t need to do anything. As the red alert klaxon rose, so too did the lighting and, more importantly, the power to this section. Before the crack in the wall could widen, a shield appeared. Shimmering blue, looking like a cross-section of some tropical ocean, it shot across the wall.

Shot across it, but for just one second, as that crack widened beyond, I thought I glimpsed something.

It was a hand. Crazily, impossibly, it was the palm of a hand and two groping fingers accompanied by a large thumb articulated all the way to the side. It was the kind of grip you would use if you were about to grab something so big, you could only just fit it in the palm of your hand.

But the image disappeared as soon as the shield was erected. And it was an image, right? It was just the ramblings of a mind jacked up on adrenaline, fear, and certain death.

I still froze, even as an officer came barreling down the corridor after appearing in a phase lift. He grabbed my elbow and tried to pull me out of the way, but I was taller and stronger.

I stared at that section of the wall, willing the image to return, but it didn’t.

The guy soon hollered in my ear, "Get out of this corridor. It’s been badly damaged. Everyone to the phase lifts. And if they are full, get to the real elevators. Now," he roared again.

He made eye contact with me, slowing down to recognize me, and I recognized him, too. He was one of the security chiefs. And his gaze told me he expected better from me.

Finally convincing myself I hadn’t seen anything at all, I twisted, removed myself from his grip, reached a door to my left, and pulled it open. It was open just a fraction, and I really skinned my knuckles this time, but the blood that soon slid down the outer side of my palm was worth it, because I saw a comatose cadet blacked out near his bed. He must’ve struck his head on the wall.

I lurched in, and the security chief grunted, Get him to the lifts. Fast. We think power is only going to last in this section for five minutes.

Got it, I grunted back. But as I skidded down to one knee and easily forced the guy over my shoulder, his limp hand banging against my thigh, I quickly swung my gaze to the wall.

This room wasn’t on the outer hull. There was no crack. Nothing to see. There’d never been anything to see. It was just in my—

I went to conclude it had just been in my head, but it was like the specter of Belinda rose.

I’d spent all morning thinking Belinda’s strange behavior was in my head when I should have gone immediately to my supervisors. Would I make the same mistake again?

I twisted, powered out the door, and met the security chief. He’d found another comatose cadet. Head to the lifts— he began.

The sound of something massive cracking met our ears. It came from my right, presumably from the outer hull, and presumably it meant that the shields weren’t working

"Now. Now," the security chief bellowed at the top of his lungs, spittle splashing onto his chin. Everyone get to the lifts now.

The whole corridor full of cadets and officers surged forward. We were all trained, though, and none of us fought. We split into