A New Beginning

By L. J. Stubbs

Deacon, the hero of the Rock in ‘After the End,’ returns in this novel titled ‘A New Beginning.’
The newly promoted Deacon Fortis is given command over the survivors of the asteroid that had been his lifelong home and must prove himself worthy of inclusion into his fellow human ranks. While Deacon trains, however, a new threat emerges, grows, and consumes its way toward him.
“A New Beginning’ starts where ‘After the End’ left off and delves even deeper into the oppression and hatred between species. Deacon finds himself in a struggle between two sides who see his very existence as disruptive and controversial. He remains stalwart as ever and teaches, through his example, that respect can bridge any divide.

• Language: English
• Publisher: World Castle Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Nov 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798891260795

L. J. Stubbs

L.J. Stubbs has always been drawn to futurism and the wonder inherent in ‘what could be.’ The possibilities are endless, and he loves contemplating the myriad paths humanity can take. L.J. Graduated from Brigham Young University in 2009 and married his lovely wife shortly after. They now have three rambunctious boys and live along the Snake River in Idaho.L.J. Stubbs enjoys writing full-time, which is a lifelong dream come true. When he is not writing, he can be found reading a book or working on an art piece that he uses to channel what he calls his ‘creative juices.’ L.J. is known for putting himself into his characters and takes pride in the connection that his readers make with those personalities.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Regardless of what Deacon said, the Marak insisted that he go to the ‘med-bay,’ and so he was carried aboard their ship. He was told it was called the Baychimo, and from what he saw on his journey to the medical room, he decided that it must be massive. The extremely large creature that had ripped its way into the Gorski and single-handedly destroyed a half-platoon of Tendari carried him in its furry arms.

Its fur, which had initially been black, was now mostly covered with drying Tendari blood, giving the creature an ominous brownish-green mottling. He still didn’t know what type of alien this was and turned his head to ask the question of the human Admiral who walked beside them. She had re-equipped her exo-suit but left the visor up, revealing her mature, but somehow not old, human face.

What is he? Deacon said, indicating the beast that carried him.

A Torg. The Admiral seemed the stoic type and returned her eyes straight ahead without elaboration. Deacon felt extremely woozy, but he burned with questions, and they won out over his discomfort.

What’s a Torg? Deacon asked.

A Torg is what you see when you look at that. The Admiral seemed annoyed by the question, but her face softened slightly when she looked at him, and she continued. Torg come from Proxima, a planet that was in dire straits when we came to their aid. You see, Torg are peaceful creatures, and when the Tendari came, Proxima was ripe for the picking, so to speak.

Deacon suddenly understood the phrase she’d used all at once, applying the word ‘ripe’ how Slopik, his farming manager on the Rock, had when talking about the vegetables.

Like a tomato. Deacon interrupted. The Admiral, what was her name, Vasquez…something like that, looked at him with a hint of surprise behind her eyes, maybe interest.

Yes…like a tomato, she said slowly.

They don’t seem peaceful to me, Deacon said, remembering the way the Torg had torn the Tendari to pieces.

Admiral Vasquez, believing the conversation had ended, had turned her head once more toward where they were going, imperiously ignoring his presence, but when he continued to speak, she sighed.

Laughter, at least Deacon recognized it as such, sounded behind them. Golith had insisted on accompanying Deacon to the med-bay, and his coughing, Tendari laugh seemed to startle the Admiral and the Marak Sergeant who kept a watchful eye on him. Their procession came to a halt.

Little Grak will kill you with his prattle if you let him, Golith managed between chuckles.

The Marak seemed, finally, to recognize Golith’s coughing for what it was and began walking once more.

Vasquez mumbled something under her breath. Deacon caught ‘Tendari scum’ in there somewhere.

Golith has saved my life multiple times. He is a better friend and ally than anyone could ask for. I would appreciate it if you would extend to him the same courtesy you have shown me. Deacon didn’t know where the short speech had come from, but he knew he owed Golith far more, so he didn’t shirk as the admiral stared at him with shrewd eyes.

We have already extended to him far more courtesy than is proper. Perhaps if you knew the history between our species, you’d understand our reluctance to accept one of his kind. Knowingly or not, she had imbued her words with the hatred that she obviously felt for her life-long enemy.

I do know, and so does he. As a matter of fact, he told me the story himself. He knew that she didn’t believe him. Maybe she thought that he had been told a story, but not the story. There are good Tendari, just like I’m sure there are bad humans. I’ve never met any, of course, being as you’re the third human I have ever seen, but it must be true. People are as different from each other as the physical differences that separate, say…me and him. He pointed to the Torg who carried him. This seemed to appease Vasquez, at least for the time being, because she nodded in grudging agreement to his words.

He had explained their plan to Admiral Vasquez while they were still on the Gorski and told her about Elijah and his plan for the defense of the old human mining facility that the Tendari had taken over for the use of their slaves. He had tried to instill in her the need for haste. Deacon was worried that the Tendari platoons that the Tendari commander Grato had sent to the facility would be too much for his friend and mentor to overcome, but he was reassured by her that they already had teams on their way down to the asteroid.

Deacon thought of those still in harm’s way below. Well, he didn’t really know what direction they were in since there wasn’t really up or down in space. His brain was foggy, and he struggled to focus. The giant, in whose arms he sat, bent forward and sat him down on a bed or table of some kind.

He looked around and realized that they must have entered the med-bay. The room was large but full of equipment, the uses of which he had no clue. A large light on a telescoping arm jutted from the ceiling and focused its bright light on Deacon, more accurately, on his wounded shoulder.

Deacon turned his head, and his blurry vision finally focused on the wound in his shoulder. The energy bolt had pierced the meat and bone alike, leaving a wide, bloodless hole that looked altogether too big for the size of his shoulder. His stomach turned over, and he almost vomited.

Whoa there, little fella, a man said. He wore a Marak suit as well, but his was white with a large red cross on his chest. His visor was up, apparently taking the lead of the Admiral, allowing Deacon to see kind blue eyes that reminded him of Elijah.

The man steadied Deacon so that he didn’t topple from the cushioned table and called for a ‘vomit bag.’ A Guzonian assistant ran to comply and brought Deacon a bag. The Guzonian looked just as surprised as Deacon had at the human faces in the Marak suits.

I’m Doctor Zaitsev, and I’m going to be taking care of you. Let’s go ahead and lay you back. He guided Deacon backward so that he lay on the large table. The light automatically adjusted to refocus on the wound as if trying to emphasize to the doctor that what this patient really needed was a new arm, not a puke bag.

Now, let’s take a look at this. He leaned forward and examined the hole, then at the stump on the same arm where his hand had been before being torn free by Commander Grato’s razor-sharp teeth. He clucked his tongue in concentration.

Meperidine, please, he said to the…light. A slight whirring sound emanated from the light, and then a small door opened at the base of the light and dispensed something into the doctor’s waiting hand. This will help with the pain.

Hold on…human… Doctor…person, Golith grumbled. The Sergeant stirred next to him, ready to intervene if the Tendari made any sudden moves. He’s already had something for the pain. I’m not sure you should give him more." Golith was more deferential than Deacon had ever seen him. He apparently understood the precarious situation he was in among the Marak and was doing his best not to step on any toes.

Thank you…Tendari…person. It is a good thing you told me, or we may have killed our new friend here. What was it that you gave him?

A Tendari stim-jab. Are you familiar with it?

Lord above! A full one?

There was no way to reduce the dose, Golith said defensively.

Well, I am surprised that he’s still alive.

Honestly, I am too, but it’s not the first time he has surprised me on that front, Golith said.

The doctor turned back to Deacon.

Young man, I think we’re going to have to get you a new arm. Do you want a biologic replacement or a mechanical?

Deacon just looked at him, confused by the question. First of all, they were going to take his arm, and the doctor was so casual about it. Second, they had options on how to give him a new one. He had begun to imagine himself with only one arm, trying to prepare himself mentally for what he was sure would happen, but now the Marak was offering him a new one, no problem.

Uh…there are options?

Why, yes, son. Of course, there are, the doctor, whose name Deacon had failed to remember, looked shocked that he didn’t know this already.

Doctor Z, Deacon here is a Forsaken, Admiral Vasquez said in explanation, though it did the opposite for Deacon.

A Forsaken? Are you sure? The Admiral gave him the same look of annoyance she’d used on Deacon earlier. Of course, you are, of course, but…a Forsaken? How?

Let’s focus on not letting him die while you satisfy your curiosity, shall we? Vasques pointed at a trembling Deacon. He didn’t feel cold, but he was shaking again like he had right after losing his hand.

Right, right, the doctor said and looked back at his patient. There are options, lad, and you’d better make a choice soon, or I’ll make it for you.

Deacon was sure he didn’t know enough to make this decision, and he wanted to ask more questions, but he felt the weight of time pressing on him. His vision had begun to darken around the periphery, and he felt like he was drifting away, so he mumbled the first word he thought of.

Mechanical.

As darkness took him, he heard the sonorous voice of Doctor Z.

Good choice, lad. That’s what I would have chosen.

Chapter 2

He woke up to Nah-leesi standing over him. He felt a smile touch his lips even though he felt horrible. His vision, or brain, was foggy. He rubbed a hand over his eyes to try and dispel the feeling and felt cold metal smack him in the face. He pushed himself up in bed and looked around, confused.

It’s okay. You’re okay. Calm down, Nah-leesi’s sweet voice was followed by a warm hand on his shoulder. His right shoulder. He looked at her and then over to his left shoulder. He remembered the wound there and half expected to not see an arm there at all but was stunned at what he did see.

He had been dressed in a white smock that was cut off at the shoulder where his new arm began. The metal that they had used to construct the arm was shiny, like it was polished steel, maybe titanium. He lifted it experimentally from the bed and flexed his fingers. It was a surreal feeling, or rather it wasn’t.

Feeling was so ingrained in his mobility that it was extremely strange to see the thing work at his command and yet have no sense of it happening. He clenched his fist again and again, watching it work and yet not believing it.

Concern for his friends came rushing back to him. Nah-leesi was here, so that meant that they had been rescued by the Marak, but…

Where is Elijah? he queried. The fact that he wasn’t there worried Deacon, and the face Nah-leesi made at his sudden question said everything. He didn’t make it. It wasn’t a question. Her reaction was telling, but a certain degree of doubt required confirmation.

The old man seemed invincible to Deacon, and despite logic telling him differently, he had subconsciously expected Elijah to be there for the rest of his life.

He died while saving Janisar from his own stupidity, she said with feeling. Deacon hadn’t known her for very long, but impatience for stupid behavior was a characteristic that she wore on her sleeve. Deacon realized that the obvious anger that she felt at Elijah’s death was born of loss, not necessarily Janisar’s stupidity. He hadn’t thought that the two had grown close, but looking back, it was clear that, besides himself, Elijah was the one that Nah-leesi tolerated the most.

Deacon thought of his mentor and the many hours they’d spent together. He remembered the lectures and sparring matches that trained Deacon for a difficult life ahead. Elijah had not only given him tools that had served him and would continue to serve him in a universe filled with peril, but he had given him a sense of what it was like to be human.

Before Elijah, Deacon hadn’t known another human except his mother, who had been taken from him many years ago. She had, apparently, been allowed to teach him the basics like language, mobility, and love, but the Tendari took her from him when he was only a toddler, leaving him to survive or die alone.

He wiped a tear from his cheek and looked at Nah-leesi, unsure how she would take his crying. She seemed surprisingly sympathetic. Her forehead scrunched, and her lips pursed.

How many did we lose? he said, trying to change the subject.

Twelve, she said without hesitation. Not counting your team.

Too many, he said, remembering Torax.

Not according to the Marak. By the way, did you know they are human? A spark of unrepressed excitement told him what she thought about this.

Not until they boarded the Gorski and opened up those cool suits.

Have you seen the Torg? Nah-leesi said, her excitement ramping up a level.

Yes, I don’t think I’ll ever get that out of my head.

What do you mean?

The first one through the airlock was a Torg. He literally ripped the Tendari to pieces. Deacon shuddered at the memory.

Really? That’s interesting.

Why is that interesting?

Because I have always heard that despite their size, they are cuddly and extremely polite. My father used to tell of how the Torg were once fearsome warriors, but everyone seemed to accept the stories as little more than fairy tales.

The Admiral mentioned something like this. She said it was hard to get them to fight. All I know is that with them on the Marak’s side, the Tendari don’t stand a chance.

Maybe…Deacon…Why do you call them ‘the Marak’?

He was caught off guard by the question and realized he didn’t really have an answer.

I don’t know. Maybe it’s just too good to believe, he said, but the words weren’t convincing, even to himself. Where is everyone else? Are they safe? he asked.

Yes, they are surprisingly congenial. I would have expected them to massacre any Tendari, regardless of which side they claimed to be on. They had an unused barracks room that they put us all up in. It’s far nicer than the facility, though. Golith wouldn’t leave your side until I threatened him with violence if he didn’t go get some rest. He probably won’t appreciate you waking up while he’s gone.

We can pretend I didn’t if you’d like? What about our wounded? He thought of Anzark and Portex and all the others who had injured themselves in the crossing from the Rock to the Gorski.

The humans have amazing med-tech. I’d love to get the chance to poke around in the med-bay, she said wistfully. They ran everyone through, and most were healed within hours. The rest were ordered to bed rest for a few days, but everyone is expected to pull through.

Deacon lifted his metal arm again and looked at it.

I’m not surprised. This thing is incredible.

I liked the other one better, Nah-leesi said, somewhat sulkily. Be sure not to lose too much more of you, okay. You’ll start to look weird if you keep this up.

Just then, the Doctor that Deacon remembered faintly from his last fevered memories walked into the room. He was still wearing his white Marak suit, though his visor was up, and Deacon wondered if they always wore the suits.

How are you feeling, young man? Deacon did a quick systems check of his body, making a list of what hurt. It was just about everything.

Good, he said instead. He didn’t feel like going into great detail about his achy body, especially in front of Nah-leesi. He thought she would probably see it as whining. He had to agree.

I doubt that’s true. You haven’t had any additional pain meds thanks to the stim-jab. We can’t be sure just how much was given, so I’d like to get it all out of your system before we add to it. Now, have you tried using your new toy? He pointed at the metal arm.

Deacon lifted it in response and flexed the fingers.

Good! Doctor Z said excitedly. At least I hooked everything up correctly. He chuckled at his own joke, but Deacon didn’t think it was funny. It normally takes weeks for a patient to make that kind of progress, even with the biologic arms. Pathways, once broken, are sometimes difficult to get working again. Either you have an exceptional brain, or your youth has helped your brain recover. I suspect a smattering of both. He smiled at Deacon.

Doctor… He hesitated. He wanted more information about the arm since he hadn’t had an opportunity beforehand to ask his questions. In fact, he felt cheated that he hadn’t been able to make an educated decision about something so impactful on his daily life. Can you tell me about the arm?

Of course, of course. Let’s see… He came around the left side of his bed to be closer to the arm as he spoke. This is one of our latest models, the very pinnacle of Marak, well, uh…human biomechanical engineering. It really is remarkable. The entire thing, even the myriad gears and inner workings, are made of titanium. It has to be to survive the incredible force that the thing puts out. See, look. The Doctor grabbed a stainless steel cup that was sitting on the table next to Deacon and tossed the water into the sink behind him. He held the cup up in front of Deacon’s metal hand. Take it, he said.

Deacon reached out and grasped the cup, fumbled it, and used his other hand to put it back.

Careful! Doctor Z said. Until you get used to it, I wouldn’t put anything you don’t want to lose close to those fingers. And, as if to illustrate his point, the metal fingers crumpled the metal cup. Deacon, surprised, dropped the crumpled metal to his bed. He hadn’t even felt any strain in the act. But he had felt something, Deacon realized.

I…Did I just feel something? he asked, confused. He thought he could sense something in his fingertips, something that went away as soon as he dropped the cup.

Doctor Z laughed at his surprise.

Yes, my boy. Incredible, isn’t it. The feeling will be different from what you are used to for sure, but it’s remarkable, just the same. This model’s stats boast a seventy-percent increase in tactile function.

Deacon couldn’t help but smile. It was better than he could have imagined. He had had little time to truly mourn the loss of his hand and the probable loss of his arm, but he had convinced himself that life would never be the same. He had anticipated a negative impact, but now, he was beginning to hope for a positive.

The old models needed to be charged with either a port or proximity to a charging field. This one, though, converts glucose much like your body does, but because of the increased demand, you will need to eat more.

Deacon looked at Nah-leesi, who was hanging on the Doctor’s every word. She was, undoubtedly, getting more out of the Doctor’s lecture than he was. She probably even knew what a charging field was.

Nah-leesi looked over his shoulder past him and the Doctor. Deacon turned. Admiral Vasques entered, followed closely by two Tarpin. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he recognized them.

Torax! Torlig! I was told you two were dead and gone, Deacon said.

Tarpin are famous for surviving what should kill them, Torax rumbled.

We picked these two up, spinning their way out of the galaxy just before we boarded the Gorski, Vasquez said. I thought that you might like to know that they were still alive, though how any of them survived the crossing with the equipment they had is beyond me. There was a degree of respect in her tone that was impossible to miss. When you are well, I would like to see you. We need all hands on deck, and you have proven yourself capable. It will soon be time to put you to work, she said to Deacon. Then she left the room. The Marak talked weird, and he didn’t understand everything that they said, but her meaning was obvious. He sighed. He wondered if he would ever have time in his life to rest.

Chapter 3

It wasn’t long before Doctor Z released him from the med-bay, but he was supposed to ‘take it easy’ for a few days. Deacon didn’t know exactly what that meant but agreed nonetheless. He was shown to his new quarters, surprised that he had been given a room of his own with a real bed. Deacon had never laid on anything so soft and wondered if he would ever, really, be able to fall asleep in it. Just sitting on it felt a little unnerving. The cushy surface sagged with his weight, and he fought the urge to catch himself from falling.

Next to the bed was a small brown table with a drawer. The entire thing was made from a strange fibrous material that felt lightweight. In the surface of the table, Deacon could see veins of darker material that all ran, generally, in the same direction. In the corner, there was a large set of doors made from the same material. He went to the doors and pulled them open using twin gold-colored knobs. Inside hung several changes of clothing. Though there were several sets, Deacon noticed that they were all the same and resembled the Marak uniform that he had seen on the Admiral when she was free of her exo-suit.

His attention went back to the doors and the strange material that was used in their construction. He was engrossed in his investigation when someone entered.

It is wood, a deep voice claimed from the doorway.

The man in the door was human and devoid of the customary Marak suit. He stood only a few inches taller than Deacon and sported a beard, but unlike Elijah’s, this man’s was neat and only a half-inch long or so. Despite his short stature, the man looked…solid. There was no other word for it. His shoulders were very wide and rounded with muscle that his uniform could not entirely conceal. He had light skin like Elijah but had black hair that was shot through with streaks of gray at the temples.

May I enter? The man’s hands were behind his back in a gesture that seemed simultaneously formally rigid and relaxed. Deacon had never had a room of his own. Nonetheless, he was surprised by the question. It was the Marak’s ship. Why was he asking him?

Uh…Yeah. Come in. Awkwardness made the words thick in the air.

The man stepped in and smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

So, you are the Forsaken. It was not a question, and Deacon did not answer. Instead, he asked his own.

What does that mean? Forsaken. I think I remember the Admiral using that word earlier.

The man looked a little put out by the simple query.

Never mind for now. I am Lieutenant William Archer. I was told to come and collect you for the Admiral. Deacon was confused by the two names but didn’t say anything. Archer didn’t seem the type that would put up with his infamous question asking.

She doesn’t waste time, does she? Deacon said. Archer scowled at him, clearly upset with the familiar way he spoke of the Admiral.

The Admiral is very efficient, yes. I will forgive the way you speak of her once only because you know no better, but Marak of her rank should be afforded the respect they have earned. Do you understand me?

Uh…Yeah…I mean. Yes.

Yes, what? Archer growled. He stood silently glaring daggers at Deacon, clearly waiting for something else, maybe the respect that he spoke of. Finally, after an eternity, Deacon came up with something.

Uh. Yes, exalted one, he said. The man’s eyes lit up as if they were on fire, and Deacon was scared Archer would hit him. Then, he noticeably forced himself to calm and sighed deeply.

I see we have our work cut out for us. Sir. SIR is how you address anyone of higher rank than yourself, which, for you, is everyone. Understand me?

Yeah… Archer cleared his throat. Yes, sir, Deacon said, and tried to mimic the man’s stiff posture as he said it. This seemed to appease Archer to a small degree because he nodded and turned for the door.

Come with me, he said.

Deacon followed. He’d hoped to be able to lay down on his new bed, but apparently, that luxury would have to wait. He didn’t know how literal Archer was when he said to ‘follow,’ but the man didn’t seem to be the