Maisewith Goes to War: Book 3 of the Maisewith Four-Book Series

By Rachael Greeves

Maisewith Reems was adopted in infancy for experimental purposes by an ambitious couple who were trying to combine AI control with humans. After many years and many brain surgeries, Maisewith was deemed a failure, discarded, and left for dead on a distant moon when she was eighteen. After surviving inside a geodic cavern, she was rescued by beings from the planet Progcht. Having learned what her parents had done to her and others, she and her sister wish for revenge. When her mother infected Maisewith's former nanny with a virulent parasite and sent her to Progcht, it spread quickly, infecting other humans and Progchti citizens. Unless a cure is found, to stop the deaths, Maisewith’s mother, Jadith Reems, will succeed in wiping out the population and moving in to claim Progcht as her own. Maisewith convinces the Progchti government to send her and her sister to Costra, the planet where they grew up, and where her mother reigns as tyrannical dictator. Her mission is to find the antidote for the parasite and bring it back. Her secret goal is to kill her evil mother, but first to see her suffer as much as Maisewith’s nanny did. The government arranges a disguise and transportation. They will go as Jalsparians, the golden furred natives of Jalspar. The Jalsparian crew will go with them in the restored spaceship on which they came to Progcht. After landing on Costra, their plans must change, as the pills prescribed to keep their disguise from fading are stolen. They soon find themselves on the run, instead of confronting the enemy disguised as tourists. Maisewith and her friends' find unlikely allies in the displaced natives of the land. The Bzorks, gentle giants who were nearly wiped out and chased to the forests and mountains of the far north, take them in, hide them, and become their friends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raven Publishing of Montana
• Release date: Mar 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9781937849627

Book preview

Chapter 1

The surge of emotion I feel as I step onto Costran soil simultaneously weakens my knees and quickens my heart. When I found myself abandoned on the Ice Moon and realized I’d been left there to die, I didn’t think I’d ever see my home planet again. But here I am with a mission of enormous consequence.

I know without a doubt that my adoptive mother, Jadith Reems, never intended or expected to see me again. And I am here to kill her. But first I must find her secret that can save the Progchti people from the lethal parasite Jadith has loosed on the coveted planet.

My adoptive sister, Huitcrai, aka Kaltka, and I, along with the crew of DemPro-1, the spaceship we arrived in, have stepped out to get a breath of fresh air. It’s not so fresh though.

Yuck, Bornak exclaims in Jalsparian. Did we park next to a burning carcass?

Hmm, Orson observes, A planet where I can see the air.

And it’s true. Particulates of ash and the smoke float visibly.

Ah, I know where that’s coming from, Kaltka says. We’re parked between Kohl and the city power plant. An underground fire erupted in one of Khol’s mines a few years ago. Looks like they’re still trying to put it out. Smoke is coming from both the power plant and the coal mines.

Kohl, I explain to the others, is the site of the biggest mine on the planet. Coal, of which there is an abundance on Costra, is the main source of energy here, providing power to Imron City and outlying towns. I include Commander Zeraf, our sponsor by speaking in Progchti. She can hear me through a device she implanted at the base of my skull, the sound being relayed via the Progchti space station in Planet Costra’s outer orbit.

I look at my crew, all natives of the planet they call Jalspar. The Costrans call it X-2, and the Progchtis call it Demtol. They certainly look foreign to Costra, where the inhabitants are colonizers from Planet Earth. Jalsparians are furred creatures, structurally identical to the humans on Costra, except with purple-hued skin, covered in soft golden fur. Huitcrai, my sister, and I have been altered via hormone therapy to look just like them. We are all masquerading as tourists from the planet they call X-2, in the hope that this will get us into the capital and close to Jadith Reems without her knowing who we are.

Compared to Progcht’s pure, unpolluted skies, the air here, though breathable, leaves much to be desired. The odor of coal smoke is strong. Perhaps this was not an ideal place to park. Shall we move? Eskato, the ship’s captain asks me? Maybe the other side of the city would be more desirable.

While I’m considering this question, Orson puts a hand on my arm. Too late. Here comes a welcoming committee.

The large hovercraft swiftly gliding toward us, bouncing on a cushion of air, doesn’t look very welcoming. The four occupants wear helmets, are heavily armored, and carry huge automatic weapons.

Shall we run? Huitcrai asks. I think we could make it into the ship.

No. We’ve been seen, and if we run, they might shoot. Running would blow our cover as tourists. Let’s pretend to be happy to see them.

The open-air, bulky hovercraft sinks slowly to the ground. Hands in the air! one of them yells in English as he steps out of the hovercraft.

Huitcrai starts to raise her arm and I grab her hand holding it down, and say in Progchti Act happy to see them. To the armed men, I wave my right hand wildly and jabber happily in Progchti, We are friends, visitors. Take us to your leader.

Huitcrai speaks quietly in Jalsparian, Thanks. I almost blew our cover. It’s going to be harder than I thought not to respond to English commands.

The Jalsparians follow my lead, waving, talking, grinning, and walking toward the man with the gun.

Stop right there, he yells and fires his gun into the air. We all stop in our tracks. We don’t have to feign shock and awe.

Does anyone speak English? he yells, brandishing his gun. It’s the Universal Language, you dodos!

We look at each other as if in confusion, then back at the policeman. I’ll call him Macho-Gunner-1. I’m sure he gets his bravado from his fire power.

Orson speaks in Progchti, a language the Jalsparian crew learned and practiced on the month-long journey from Progcht, Sorry, sorry. We don’t understand you. We come in peace. See? No weapons, and he pats himself, as if to prove it and then shrugs.

Hands up! All of you, orders a second man climbing from the hovercraft and striding forward with an identical weapon. Two others step out of the back seat of the hovercraft and stand beside it, their weapons aimed at us. We talk in Progchti, but make no sign that we know what they are saying. When he shoots his gun in the air just over our heads, we all drop to the ground and cover our heads with our arms.

Idiots, Macho-Gunner-2 yells. To the first man, he says. Cover me. Striding forward, he grabs me by the arm and jerks me to my feet. When I say ‘hands up,’ I mean ‘hands up!’ He jerks both my arms into the air. Like that.

Huitcrai slowly rises to her feet, watching the man warily. He yanks her by the arm, and she puts her hands in the air. The other Jalsparians, now on their feet, hesitantly put their hands up, too.

That’s better. MG-2 steps back, looking pleased.

Tokran starts to lower his arms, and MG-2 jumps forward, sticks the gun in Tokran’s ribs, and yells, Keep ’em up. The message is quite clear, so we all remain standing with our arms raised above our heads.

MG-1 strides to the hovercraft and picks up a communication device. We have a bunch of ignorant, alien tourists, hairy as a bunch of apes. He pauses to listen, then continues. No. They speak gibberish and don’t respond to orders.

Put it on speaker so I can hear, too, shouts one of the macho men.

The reply comes over the speaker, loud and clear. Send them to Hotel Amerigo in Imron proper. Top floor. Give them food and adequate supplies, but lock them in. An interrogator will visit them later.

Good luck with interrogation, the guard says. They don’t speak a word of English.

We’ll deal with that. Just bring them in.

There are eleven, too many to transport in the hovercraft. We’ll need a bus.

I’ll send a police helicopter. Keep them contained until it gets there. Two of you will accompany them to the hotel.

My arms are starting to sag. Macho-Gunner-2 notices, yells, Keep ’em up, and shoots in the air again.

Don’t push these guys too far, Perlay. They’re trigger-happy, Orson warns. Half of his Progchti is impeccable and the shift into his native language, seamless.

We hear the chopper before we see it. As it emerges from the smoky haze, I’m amazed once again at the lack of technological development exhibited here on Costra. Earthlings learned to make spaceships to fly to a planet four light years away. But they can’t make sleek airbuses like the ones on Progcht? As we watch it land, I say in Progchti, It’s not much different from the troop carriers used in WWIII on planet Earth.

Maybe it’s the best way to utilize their fuel source, Orson says, in Jalsparian. The biggest difference the Progchtis made in our ship, is the fuel source. I’m not sure what they use, but on Jalspar, our ship was powered by refining oil, something we have in great supply.

Yes, Huitcrai says in Jalsparian, that’s part of it, but it’s also because those in power are more concerned with invading other planets than they are in protecting the local environment on Cos…

Careful, I warn as two of the men from the hovercraft urge us to move. Don’t say any names familiar to this planet. Botek, to you.

Huitcrai nods. Thanks.

I start marching toward the chopper when I see Macho-Gunner-1 poke his gun into Rakar’s ribs. Get a move on. That’s your ride. He waves his huge weapon from us toward the chopper.

I make wild gestures, pointing to the ship, pantomiming carrying luggage, and saying in Progchti that we need to get our belongings first.

As Macho-Gunner-2 looks at me with a bewildered expression, the other pokes a gun in my side and yells. Get in the chopper. That’s all you need to know. If you think we’re going to let you go back for weapons, you’re crazy.

I put my hands up and march toward the helicopter with a little push from his gun.

I glance sideways at Orson as he reaches inside the front pocket of his space suit. When prodded in the back, he puts his hands in the air and keeps walking.

I climb into the chopper, find a seat, and look back to see if the men with the hovercraft have boarded our ship, hoping Eskato locked it. I hate leaving it, for fear they will not only disable it, but steal the technology and everything we’ve left there. But I don’t see it. I look out the window on the other side as the helicopter takes off, wondering if I’ve gotten disoriented. Nothing there. I look back and see the remaining two men. They’re just standing there, turning in slow circles.

Orson looks at me and winks.

The accommodations are not bad for alien prisoners. We’re on the 23rd floor of the biggest hotel in Imron City in two large suites that are connected by double doors. There are two king-size beds in each room and a fold-out sofa which unfolds into a queen size bed in each sitting area where there is also a table with two matching chairs, and some extra folding chairs stacked against the wall. It’s going to be crowded. I hope we’re not kept here long. Though the two bathrooms are large, they are definitely insufficient for eleven people. The windows look out over the large city and beyond to a broad plain strewn with smoke stacks, oil-well pumps, transmission lines, houses, and other buildings.

I shake my head. It’s sad how quickly the Costrans have repeated the same environmental mistakes they made on Earth.

There is a large electronic tablet on a desk in each suite. I hope they leave these, Huitcrai says in Progchti.

I smile and give her a thumbs up. Just don’t let our hosts see you looking at it. We don’t want them to know we’re able to read. I nod to a camera at ceiling level. It’s aimed directly at the desk. There are probably more cameras. I wonder if they spy on all their guests.

The door opens and two Costrans enter, each pushing a three-decker cart, laden with food. Here you go. Enjoy, says a blonde, teenaged girl. I see Macho-Gunners-1 and -2 just outside the door. I guess they think they need to keep an eye on the door lest we find a way to magically unlock it.

We’ll come back in an hour to retrieve the cart, the teenager’s companion, a middle-aged man, adds.

For us? Lukita asks, smiling as she gestures from the cart to place her hand on her chest. Thank you very much. All of this in rapid Jalsparian as she bows.

The girl shrugs and says, Yeah. Whatever.

Good smells come from the cart, and I’m suddenly ravenous. And I’m not the only one. Orson hands me a plate, and Tokran picks up two, one for him and one for Huitcrai. Eskato begins uncovering containers.

Wait, Rakar says, They wouldn’t poison us, would they?

I don’t think so, Huitcrai says. They’ll want to learn more about us before they decide our fate. That’s why we’re in a plush hotel with spy cameras instead of one of their prisons. Better eat up while we can.

She speaks mostly in Progchti, but fills in with Jalsparian when she comes to a word she doesn’t know. She and I move the tablets from the desks, placing them on a shelf underneath, to make room for dining. We hope, of course, that no one will think to ask for them if they’re out of sight.

We fill our plates with steaming vegetables, some kind of roasted meat, bread, and boiled sweet potato. One thing I remember about the Johnsons is that they loved the food they enjoyed on earth and insisted the same plants and animals be grown on Costra. They brought seeds and frozen embryos on the eighteen-year trek from Earth.

Perlay, Kaltka (aka Huitcrai) says, calling me by the Jalsparian name I chose to go with my disguise. "Why don’t you and Orson sit here at the desk?’

Why?

To block the view of the spy camera, she says.

I nod and stand for a moment between the camera and the desk as Huitcrai crawls under. Then Orson and I sit, side by side, close enough to hide her.

Talk, you two, in case this thing makes a noise when I boot it up.

So, I say to Orson, Zeraf trusted you with technology for hiding the spaceship.

Yes. It’s amazing. She gave a controller to three of us so that at least one of us could lock the ship remotely and engage the shield in case of an attack.

How does it work?

"I don’t know.

Couldn’t you have employed it as we entered the atmosphere?

I did, but the ship still makes waves they’ll detect, if they’re watching on radar. Besides that, I was told to use it sparingly.

What happens when the cops bump into it as they try to figure out where it went?

They’ll probably be repelled, so let’s hope they don’t try. We don’t want that kind of attention.

I saw them looking at the sky, so maybe they assumed someone was still in it and flew away as they were marching us to the chopper. Will it remain invisible?

No, I’m sure it’s reappeared by now. The invisibility cloak takes too much power to keep it engaged all the time. The ship will gradually reappear unless reactivated.

"Was anyone able to lock it?

Yes. Eskato did, as soon as she saw we couldn’t get back to it. It should be impervious to any attempted break-in. I hope.

When we finish eating and stack all the dishes back on the cart, a different pair of hotel workers enter the room—just as Huitcrai crawls out from under the desk with the tablet in hand. Bad timing.

The woman notices and asks, Shall we remove the computers?

No one told us to, the man says. What harm can it do? They don’t know English, so they can’t learn anything. Let the interrogators deal with it.

You’re right, besides the tablets are password protected, and without even knowing the language, they’ll never figure that out.

Well, it’s in the back of the booklet on the desk, but if they can’t read, that won’t do them any good.

When they’re gone, I ask Huitcrai if she was able to get access.

She nods. "It wasn’t a hard password to crack. Give me a few days, and I’ll have access to Jadith’s secrets.

Let’s hope we aren’t here that long, I say.

Why? As long as they feed us, I’m happy here. I have access to their global network. I’ve just discovered a lab I want to hack into before they take us somewhere else. Who knows when they might let us go back to the spaceship where we have our own electronics?

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of, I say. If we’re unable to get back in the ship within a week, we’re in big trouble.

Huitcrai frowns. Why?

The pills. Kaltka. We left the hormone pills on the spaceship.

Chapter 2

Ignoring the banter of those around me, I sit in an easy chair, elbow resting on the window ledge, and chin in my hand. I survey what I can see of Imron City. I came to this planet as a six-year-old, after eighteen years of cryogenic sleep in which I aged not at all. I began my education on Earth and continued it here for ten years. Then I spent two years at Johnson and Reems’ Space-X program.

I can see the red roofs of the several buildings of the School for Astronomy, Bionics, and Space Exploration, affectionately known as SABSE. I graduated shortly before my sixteenth birthday, ready to join R and J Enterprises, which includes Space-X a program that focuses on the planet X-1, known by the natives as Progcht. I was to work as an intern, dedicated to supporting the cause, but first I’d have to prove my efficiency. I’m sure the cause included spying on and preparing to invade X-1. It didn’t matter, though, for I must have failed the efficiency test. On morning of my 18th birthday, I woke up on the surface of the Ice Moon, or X-1.M-2, one of the moons of Planet X-1, the planet I’m here to save.

It is to our advantage that my mother, who is now the tyrant dictator of Costra, never expects to see me alive. The same is true of Huitcrai, who was also dumped on the Ice Moon a year or so after I was. We were saved by finding entrance to a mountain cave that supports life.

Not Huitcrai. Kaltka. I have to get used to thinking of her by her chosen Jalsparian name, or I might slip up and give us away. Our disguise is our only protection.

We were adopted, like so many others before and after us, often newborns whose parents died in accidents. In the public eye, Jedd and Jadith Reems were the benevolent couple who rescued orphans. How noble of them! Especially noble and self-sacrificing, people believed, to take in a black newborn, me, and an Asian toddler, Huitcrai: two races greatly shunned by the racists on Earth and nearly nonexistent on Costra.

I burn with indignation at Jadith Reems masterful manipulation of public opinion. The truth is she is incapable of empathy or any kindness that does not directly benefit her. All of the children they adopted were to serve as lab rats for the development of human robots to be used in the invasion of Progcht, the crown jewel of this binary solar system

Tall of the accidents that killed the newborn’s parents had been carefully planned; I become surer of that, the more I learn. Those of us who did not perform perfectly, and I think that means were not completely controllable, were disposed of by dropping us on the Ice Moon for instant freezing, in case they wanted to resurrect us when Jedd improved his AI or could sell our frozen bodies for research, organ removal, or as cadavers for medical training. I have no idea how many were disposed of this way, but three of us survived.

Kaltka interrupts my reverie. We should get some sleep, but first we have to decide who is sleeping where. We’re going to have to double up on the four beds and two sofa beds, six beds for eleven people. Orson has put first dibs on one of the sofa beds, but only if he can share it with you.

I smile. Good choice, for it will have a little more privacy. I’m like a giddily love-struck by this handsome, hairy, Jalsparian male. The group now takes for granted that Orson and I are a couple. He knows I’m pregnant and not by him. So far, none of the others, except Huitcrai, know, as I’ve barely started to show. I’ve told Orson all about my mate and lover in Laeperia, who died of a heart attack after making love to me while we were in hiding, having escaped execution with the help of friends. I miss the father of my baby, of course, for I loved him dearly, but that hasn’t stopped me from crushing on Orson, like a lustful teenager even though I’m in my mid to late-twenties. (While living inside Laeperia, a community inside a geodic cavern in a mountain on a frozen moon, here was no way to keep track of time accurately. Laeperians are descendants of astronauts from Jalspar who crashed on one of Progcht’s moons.)

When the interrogator, whomever that might be, hasn’t shown up to talk to us the next two days, we are all getting a bit stir crazy. I want to get back to the ship and retrieve the pills that will maintain our disguise.

I’m getting nervous. I don’t want to be missing when the interrogator comes, but I don’t want to be hairless, either. Will Jadith come? Or will she consider this bunch of tourists, from a planet she has written off as undesirable, unworthy of her precious time—time better dedicated to using and destroying people for personal gain? I’m guessing the latter. But I’m pretty sure that if the interrogator finds two former Earthlings among the supposed non-English speaking humanoids from another planet, Jadith will show up pronto. Jadith, the only mother I’ve ever known, must have been terribly disappointed in me to leave me on a moon so cold that a live human would freeze solid in minutes. Won’t she be surprised to see me!

If you manage to escape, it will take time to get to the ship, retrieve the pills, and get back, Kaltka reasons. I don’t see we have time to wait. Kaltka, a computer genius, was sentenced to abandonment on the Ice Moon because she was caught hacking into top secret files. They did equip her with a way to stay warm, and a spying device, which was found and dismantled before it was of any use to them.

And if they come while we’re gone? I ask.

We? I’m staying here to get as much information as I can and send it back to Progcht. I’ve just hacked into the Library of Records at Reems and Johnson.

No you. Orson insists on going with me. I’ll have to hurry back before you start shedding.

Kaltka starts to say something, a protest to the idea, I think, but changes her mind. The point is, we don’t have time to wait. If they come while you’re gone, we’ll cover for you. Make it look like you’re in bed and tell them you’re sick.

"Tell them?"

I’m good at pantomime. Don’t worry.

Okay. We have to figure out a way to escape, I say.

Every time food has been delivered to us, armed guards have stepped into the doorway, guns drawn, making sure we don’t try anything. The doors to the balconies are not locked. No need for them to be when we’re twenty-three stories above a concrete jungle.

Orson presents some ideas. Some we laugh at, others we discuss and promptly shoot down. That won’t work. or That’s too dangerous.

I know, Orson says, after we laugh at his to proposal build hang gliders out of bedsheets stiffened with candle wax.

"There aren’t that many candles here," Rakar scoffs.

I wasn’t serious, you idiots, Orson says, but I think making a rope by ripping up the bedding and tying strips together would work. We could lower ourselves to the next balcony below, then the next and the next by making it long enough to double and loop over the railing.

You’d be seen and reported before you were halfway down. Lukita says.

I think she’s right. It gets darker here than it does on Progcht, but with the distant sun, Xiri, still shining after Cori sets, night is always as bright as a full moon night on Earth. Sometimes much brighter when the wayward planet, Wobbly, adds reflected light.

People don’t look up. We’d make it to the ground before anyone saw us, or almost.

Almost is not any better than halfway down. They’d take you into custody, Eskato says. "And what about