Eric Flint's Blog, page 171

Alexander Inheritance – Snippet 35

This book should be available now so this is the last snippet.

Alexander Inheritance – Snippet 35

* * *

Dag was showing Alexander how to make a paper airplane, or rather a papyrus airplane. He had just tossed the airplane when the guard came in and it flew right past the startled man.

“Roxane wants you,” the guard said.

That phrase was familiar to Dag and he picked up Alexander — decked out in a black powder poultice — and headed for the queen’s sitting room. Dag now had a pouch at his waist with a grenade in it and a Zippo lighter loaded with lamp oil in his pocket.

When he got to the sitting room, Roxane held out the phone. “It talked English,” she said in Greek.

Dag walked across the sitting room and exchanged the toddler king for the phone and saw bars. He called up the phone function and found a recent call from the ship. He called back and got Captain Floden asking for a situation report. The conversation ended with, “We’ll be there in about three hours, Dag. Be ready.”

By that time, everyone was watching and apparently getting a bit impatient.

“The Queen of the Sea is coming to get us,” Dag said, looking around the room. There were half a dozen Silver Shields in the room, including Evgenij, who had apparently arrived just ahead of Dag.

“What about the fuel ship, the Reliance, you called it?” Kleitos asked, coming into the room.

“What about the Reliance?” Dag asked the phone.

“The Reliance is now in our hands,” Doug Warren explained. “Captain Scott has been given command and the remaining crew have agreed to the sale of the Reliance to the government of the ship people for a fee in ship’s dollars. It’s a pretty damn large fee, but not unreasonable, Ms. Kinney says. Dag, those steam guns are murder, absolute murder. You know how they talk about stuff being awash with blood? Well, the Reliance really was.”

Dag wished Doug were speaking Greek. It might persuade the locals to be reasonable. He looked over at Kleitos. Or…maybe not. If one thing more than any other had impressed him about the Macedonian mercenary, it was that he didn’t scare easily. That was actually something Dag liked about the man.

“They took it back from your pirates,” he told Kleitos.

“Not my pirates,” Kleitos said. “What happened to Metello?”

“What happened to Metello?” Dag asked the phone.

“That was kind of a mess, Dag,” Doug said. “The Rhodians wanted all this stuff in recompense for the Reliance being involved in attacking them. First they wanted the Reliance, then they wanted all sorts of promises about the Reliance and the Queen, then they wanted all the Macedonian troops as slaves, and on and on. Anyway, when Wiley heard about the slave part, he started screaming that he would not see free men made slaves. ‘It was hard enough to stand idly by while the horrible inequity was practiced.’ As though the captain would have done it anyway. And then…well, never mind. The captain finally had enough. He had Metello tried for piracy on the high seas and hung right in front of the Rhodies. And the passengers.”

“What did Wiley say to that?”

“Funny thing. He backed the captain right down the line. He’s still making speeches about it.”

Dag turned back to Kleitos. “My captain had him hung.”

“Your device said more than that.”

“Apparently, he did it right in front of the Rhodians. I’m not clear on the details, but they were making claims against the Reliance or something, and the captain decided to make a point.”

Dag was watching Kleitos as he spoke, and Kleitos was looking more grim at each word.

“The rest of the soldiers?” Kleitos asked.

Dag remembered Doug’s comment about awash with blood and started to feel a bit grim himself. But he passed on the question. “What about the rest of the pirates? I know they loaded up a bunch when they got here. You can’t have killed them all.”

“No. Mostly they decided that the soldiers were just following orders and not responsible. But there were a couple, the ones directly involved in killing Julio, that they hung. Most of the soldiers are on the Queen, disarmed and locked in, eight to a stateroom. The captain wants to put them off here, but not as slaves.”

Dag considered quickly. “What about the rest?”

“Dead,” Doug said. “Either in the fight or soon after. Like I said, those steam cannon are murder.”

Dag turned back to Kleitos and the rest. “A lot of your fellows were killed in the fighting. The rest will be returned after my companions and I have been freed. And, of course, the young king and the queen can come with us.” Dag wasn’t sure, then or ever, why he had said it. Something in Roxane’s expression, or maybe just something he wanted to be there. But the idea of sailing off on the Queen of the Sea, leaving her and little Alexander to the not-so-tender mercies of these hard men was more than he could face.

Right up to Dag’s mentioning Roxane and Alexander, Kleitos had been half nodding. But as soon as the suggestion about Roxane left Dag’s lips, his face changed.

“I have my orders,” Kleitos said. “Attalus doesn’t want Alexander to leave the island till he gets back.”

“I’m not leaving my son,” Roxane said instantly. Then she added to Kleitos, “But you have no authority to prevent me from leaving.”

Dag was looking around the room. The Silver Shields seemed of two minds about what to do. Then he saw Evgenij’s expression and somehow he knew. Evgenij was in on it with Kleitos. At any moment, he would give the order. Dag was sure. So sure that he turned away, put the phone in his pocket, and pulled the grenade out of its pouch. With his other hand, Dag reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the Zippo lighter.

“I have the money I was paid and Attalus’ orders. That’s all the authority I need,” Kleitos said. Then, apparently seeing Dag’s movement, “What are you doing?”

With a flick of his thumb, Dag opened the lighter and struck the flint. He turned back to Kleitos and lit the fuse. “Making a point.” Dag watched the fuse as it burned, then tossed the grenade. “Catch.”

As soon as the grenade was out of his hand, he turned, spread his arms wide, and pulled Roxane and Alexander to the floor behind the couch.

There was a pause and Dag though he hadn’t let the fuse burn down enough, that it was all going to end in disaster…then boom.

A boom and screaming. Dag stood up and looked around. Kleitos had been holding the grenade when it went off. He was dead and his right arm, the one that held the grenade, was gone to the elbow and shredded beyond that. Not that it mattered. The shrapnel, small bits of iron that were in the casing with the powder, had filled him with more holes than Dag could count. But the shock wave had probably killed him. There wasn’t that much bleeding.

Not from Kleitos, anyway. One of the Silver Shields had apparently stepped over to see what the grenade was. He was still bleeding and screaming. The rest of them were staring at the mess in a sort of shocked horror.

Then Evgenij looked over at Dag. “Stop!” Dag shouted. “That was what we could make in a few days while under guard. What do you think will come off the ship if you do us harm?”

Evgenij stopped and stared. By now the outer edge of the room was crowded with Silver Shields.

A voice from behind the Silver Shields came in “You want us to blow our way in, Mr. Jakobsen?”

“Hold what you got, Keith,” Dag shouted. Then to Evgenij, “Choose now, Commander, whose side are you on.”

Evgenij looked at Dag, then the mess on the floor. Then, oddly enough, he looked at Roxane and he wasn’t looking at her like his prisoner or his charge. He was looking to her for orders. Dag could see it in the old man’s expression. This was so far beyond his experience that a horse might as well have sung Pavarotti right there in the sitting room. Roxane might not be brave, but everyone knew that she was almost as smart as she was beautiful. Smart was clearly what was needed right now.

Roxane saw it too, and Dag wasn’t altogether pleased by the little smile that lit her face. It wasn’t a very nice smile. It was calculating. “The Silver Shields,” Roxane said, “are the royal bodyguards. They will remain loyal to me and my son.” A short pause. “Won’t you, Evgenij?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Very well,” Dag said. “Now for the important question, Roxane. Are you and little Alexander staying here or coming with us?”

For just a moment, the queen mother of King Alexander IV, co-ruler of the Macedonian Empire, stood like a deer in headlights. Then that little smile came back. It was still small, and still calculating, but there was a little less frost in it. The hint of warmth that might be there, hidden under the habit of fear and caution. “We will go with the ship people. That is the wisest course.”

“Evgenij, have your people let mine through.” Dag gave the order now, confident that it would be obeyed. “I’m going to let the ship know what’s going on.”

 

Chain of Command – Snippet 02

Chain of Command – Snippet 02

“I-I’m the goddamned executive officer of this boat! You can’t talk to me like that!”

“Am I to assume then, sir, that your direct order to speak freely has been rescinded?”

Huhn glared at him for several long seconds before shaking his head in disgust.

“Get out of my sight!”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Out in the corridor Sam paused and with trembling hands checked his bio-monitor, to see if he was in danger of a stroke, or perhaps a heart attack. To his surprise they registered almost normal. Well, he had only been following orders.

The broad and warmly lit corridor rose up and away from him to either side, and even though he was used to the optical illusion created by the rotating habitat wheel of the carrier USS Hornet, today it took on an unpleasant significance. No matter which way he turned, sooner or later he would end up back here. For a moment he felt dizzy, but he knew that was simply the coriolis effect of the habitat wheel’s rotation. Its hundred-meter radius was not enough to keep his inner ear from noticing his feet moving slightly faster than his head.

He took the four steps over to the opposite wall and stood at the broad “window.”  It wasn’t a window, of course. It was simply a smart wall keyed to show the view aft.

The carrier USS Hornet stretched over half a kilometer astern from the habitat wheels, terminating in the intricate lattice-like crossings and re-crossings of the interstellar jump drive generator, softly glowing and sparkling against the pitch black of deep space. Between the habitat wheels and the engineering spaces aft, a dozen black vessels clung to the carrier’s gray hull in three rows, like sticks of dynamite around the torso of a suicide bomber. One of those was his destroyer, USS Puebla. He waited until the rotation of the wheel brought it into view. Aside from the blocky low-contrast gray hull number, DDR-11, it was indistinguishable from the others.

Each one a hundred-forty-meter-long dart, the DDRs were austere, angular, and slab-sided to reduce radar reflection, built for battle and little else. The lack of an interstellar jump drive in the destroyers, and the subsequent need for a large ship to carry them from star to star, officially reduced them to the status of “boats,” as opposed to star ships, but they were dangerous boats.

They weren’t large enough to have their own habitat wheels, so in transit the crews lived in Hornet. Even with exercise, crews in prolonged zero gee began suffering from bone density loss and muscle atrophy within six months, but more serious were the effects of intracranial hypertension which began showing up in half that time, sometimes less. One thing a century and a half of space travel had made clear: gravity wasn’t a luxury.

The sight aft was spectacular and chilling at the same time. Sam found it hard to accept this massive ship and its deadly cargo–so cold and inhuman in appearance–as a work of man. He had stood here and looked often, and had gotten used to this strange mix of emotions, in part because he knew he did not have to make a lasting peace with it. He was a reservist, activated for a three-year hitch due to the current emergency. In a little less than two years all this would just be a strange memory, raw material for stories told at cocktail parties, and even now, looking out at the disturbingly beautiful jump drive and the deadly destroyer riders, he knew he would be unable to recapture this strange unsettled feeling later. He would remember that he had felt such a thing, he would remember the words he had used to describe it to himself, but the actual feeling would elude him.

Sam stood closer to the smart wall to let a squad of twelve Marines in PT gear jog past in formation. Trust the jarheads to be getting ready for a possible fight when everyone else had other things on their minds. As he stood there watching them move away and up the outside of the wheel’s curve, the smart posters on the wall chatted quietly to him about post-enlistment education and employment, and about destination resorts for his next liberty which were guaranteed to be romantic, exciting, picturesque, and restful–all somehow at the same time.

“I sure hope you guys are right,” he said to the posters,

*****

Several hundred thousand kilometers from where USS Hornet and its twelve destroyer riders continued their long approach toward K’tok, the uBakai heavy cruiser KBk Five One Seven coasted behind the cover of its thermal shroud on a converging course. Unlike Humans, no Varoki navy gave its warships names–a practice widely disdained as foolish and sentimental. Ships were simply inanimate pieces of machinery, and to think otherwise was evidence of clouded judgment.

In the cruiser’s fleet tactical center–low-ceilinged, crowded, and dimly lit except for the glow of the tactical displays–the access hatch hissed open and Vice-Captain Takaar Nuvaash, Speaker For the Enemy, what the Humans called a military intelligence officer, entered his admiral’s comparatively spacious office.  The admiral continued working, absorbed by the smart display on his desktop. Nuvaash examined him again, searching for some additional clue to the man who carried all their fates in his pocket.

Admiral Tyjaa e-Lapeela was of no more than average height for a Varoki, although a Human would still have to look up at him. His hairless iridescent skin gleamed in the lamplight and his broad, leaf-like ears for the moment rested back against his head, but not tightly so. Part of the skin on the left side of his face was discolored, remnant of a burn he had sustained during the failed military coup a year earlier. Most senior officers associated with the coup–those who had survived–had been retired or imprisoned. Nuvaash did not know how e-Lapeela had avoided a similar fate. As the admiral read from the screen, Nuvaash noticed the tips of his ears tremble slightly in relish.

The admiral nodded to himself as he finished reading the report and looked up at Nuvaash. He reached out his hand, palm up, and curled his fingers–long even for a Varoki–in summons.

“Come closer, Nuvaash. I have read your threat assessment. It is quite thoughtful. The inclusion of recent Human warship traffic near the outer gas giant of their primary is an imaginative gauge of their ability to reinforce their forward fleet elements on short notice.”

“Thank you, Admiral. I live to serve.”

“Of course, as do I.” e-Lapeela leaned back and gestured to the chair across the desk. “Please, sit. I see you have served as a liaison officer to several Human fleets. I once did as well. Did you know I also began my career as a Speaker for the Enemy?”

“Your public service record mentioned that, Admiral.”

“And as a conscientious Speaker, you learned what you could about your new fleet commander. I expected nothing less.” The admiral fell silent for a moment and shifted slightly in his chair. Nuvaash sensed that the conversational preliminaries were complete.

“Nuvaash, we are about to embark upon an undertaking of enormous danger, but also of historic significance. You understand that. You have read the plan for First Action.”

Yes, Nuvaash had read the plan for First Action–a euphemism for the surprise opening shot in the first interstellar war in Cottohazz history. What he could not understand was why? Why now? Why here at K’tok? Why risk tearing asunder the entire fabric of the Cottohazz, the stellar commonwealth which the Varoki had labored so long to assemble and maintain? What could be worth all of that?

The admiral nodded, as if knowing the unspoken question.

“You know our history, but take a moment to consider its grand sweep. Three hundred years ago we Varoki learned the secret of the jump drive and began exploring the stars. Every sentient race we found, we added to our Cottohazz as equals. We are not conquerors, Nuvaash. All that we have retained for ourselves is the secret of the jump drive, although we license it to the others. Our laws, and other tangible measures, protect its secret, but within those limitations it is theirs to use.”

Nuvaash knew all of that, of course, but he sensed e-Lapeela was laying the groundwork for something else. The ‘other tangible measures’ he had mentioned were the deadly anti-tamper devices which effectively kept anyone but the manufacturers from examining the interior of the sealed jump drive components, a so-far effective way of preventing reverse-engineering.

 

Iron Angels – Snippet 10

Iron Angels – Snippet 10

Jasper got out of the van and walked along the road, scanning the tall grass for any signs of activity and making his way toward the driveway leading into the animal control center. That would be the only way to reach the spot the vultures were circling that didn’t involving fighting his way through the grass — which in some places would be over his head. The buzzing and chattering of insects filled his ears for a moment when the sounds of man disappeared briefly, reminding him of where he grew up, Tennessee, and what people referred to as the country.

Northwest Indiana was odd, that way. It was basically a heavily populated residential area, with lots of industry and commerce in the mix. Part of the great Chicago metropolis, artificially divided by the state line between Illinois and Indiana. But there were country patches scattered all through it, some of them operating farms and others just stretches of wild prairie and woodlands.

The weeds and brush gave way to the long driveway leading to the animal control center, and he started down it. After a few yards, he came to a dirt road branching to his right. It was still a little soggy and muddy from the rain a couple of days earlier. He glanced up once more at the vultures and rather than continuing toward the animal control center went down the dirt road.

The back of his neck itched and a chill shook his body, raising the hair on his arms. Two days in a row.

A thrumming invaded the stillness that had overcome the road, as if he was nearing a nest of bees. But when he got closer he saw that it was a mass of flies, not bees, making that noise. About twenty-five feet ahead, lying in what appeared to be a puddle, was a large lump of something. At this distance, the thing was hard to make out. A dead animal of some kind, he figured. Big, but certainly not human. The shape was all wrong.

Jasper came forward slowly. After a couple of steps his hand moved reflexively to his gun’s grip, his thumb on the break, ready to free the weapon from the holster.

Something wrong was up ahead. Terribly wrong.

A mound of flesh lay in a puddle of light pink, as if blood had been mixed with water and mud. Bits of white poked through the flesh — pieces of bone, clearly. A horde of insects swarmed over the mound. Jasper swallowed and took a step back, but then two forward, attempting to overcome the fear and the repulsion of the scene. His heart thumped, and his chest felt hollow. Even the two men burning themselves into nothing the previous night didn’t match this horror. Sure, he’d watched them die, but it’d been swift and he doubted they suffered more than a few seconds. This, however — whatever it was — looked like a pile of uncooked, shredded meat. It was more pink than red, laced with bones, and permeated with shriveled organs.

The pulse magnified in Jasper’s ears, and his vision narrowed. He leaned over, placed his hands on his knees and took a few deep breaths. He’d seen horrible crime scenes over the years, but nothing quite like this.

He didn’t even understand what he was looking at. An animal? An animal killed by another animal? But if so, what kind? No animal he knew of had a shape like this. More than anything else he could think of, the bloody lump on the ground looked like a slab of halibut he’d once seen in a photograph hanging on the wall of a fishery — but it didn’t really look like that, either.

A curved piece of bone caught his eye. It took a couple of seconds before his brain could make sense of what he was seeing.

That was part of a human skull. The front half of one, missing the lower jaw. The edge was sharp, as if somebody — something — had cut straight down with a huge razor, separating the facial bones — what he was looking at — from the back of the skull.

He retched, but managed not to lose his breakfast.

A female voice spoke behind him. “Agent Wilde? Zeke Wilde?”

His heart raced and he jumped, nearly falling over. He swallowed and took a deep breath, then straightened and turned around.

A smartly dressed black woman stood about twenty feet from him. She was about five and a half feet tall, maybe a little less, judging from the low heels of her shoes. Solidly built; somewhere in her early-to-mid forties, at a guess. Her hair was closely cropped, and he could see a shock of white in the tight curls on both temples. Her skin was quite dark, as were her eyes. Her nose was broad and her lips were full; clearly African-American. She was attractive in appearance, if not exactly pretty. The Navy blue suit she wore matched her looks — well-made if not flashy; sober; businesslike.

Jasper moved a little, to block her view of the remains. She placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head.

“Agent Wilde, we need to speak.”

“What?” Jasper asked, nonplussed by the intrusion. “Zeke? No one calls me that, not even –”

“You received our phone call, did you not?” she asked. “Special Agent Ravel rang you earlier and informed you we’d be arriving today.”

Jasper remembered the phone call at his home. “Oh. Right.” He shook his head. “You mean that wasn’t a practical joke? You’re for real, then?”

“For real?” She had a rather ferocious frown. “Of course I’m for real. I’m Supervisory Special Agent Temple Black.” She stepped forward and offered her hand, but stopped when she got within five feet of Jasper. She’d finally spotted what was lying on the road.

“I’m not sure, but I think that’s the driver of the vehicle on the side of the road,” Jasper said.

She spun away and her hands flew to her mouth.

“And yes, I’m Jasper Wilde. Not Zeke. Now, what are you doing here exactly?”

A man appeared behind Black, carrying a large case. This would be Agent Ravel, he assumed, the owner of what Jasper had thought was one of the guys at the office doing an Indian impression when he had received the phone call late in the night. But Ravel was obviously of south Asian ancestry. Probably a first generation immigrant, from the trace of accent Jasper had detected.

“Agent Wilde,” the man said, moving past Black. “Vance Ravel, pleased to meet –” His cheeks puffed and his free hand flew to his mouth, except he wasn’t successful in tamping down his illness. Fortunately, he was able to turn aside before he vomited. He even had the presence of mind to hold the case well away from his body, so it wouldn’t get splattered.

“I kind of had the same reaction,” Jasper said sympathetically, after Ravel was done and Black had brought herself under control. “God-awful-looking, isn’t it? Now, will someone tell me why you’re out here? Where did you come from and what are you trying to accomplish? It isn’t often we get headquarters people out here on such short notice.”

“We…” Temple Black took a deep breath. “We need to speak somewhere else. I can’t be anywhere near that and think clearly.” She nodded stiffly toward the pile of meat, blood and bone.

“Fine,” Jasper said, “but I didn’t invite you over here to begin with. Did you see my partner, Pete Hernandez?”

“Is he an East Chicago cop? If so, he’s up on the road talking with his buddies.”

They moved away from the body and toward the driveway leading into the animal control center. Jasper helped Ravel by taking the case from him after a minor protest. The man was still obviously unsettled. “So, who are you guys?”

 

Alexander Inheritance – Snippet 34

Alexander Inheritance – Snippet 34

“I think I’d better go have a talk with them, Captain Floden,” Marie said. “The Rhodians were the England of the eastern Med at this time. As in ‘Rhodes rules the waves.’ They probably have more in common with our modern form of government than the Athenians do.”

“Fine, Marie. After Mr. Lang has secured the prisoners on the Reliance, I will have him provide you with an escort and one of the converted life boats to go chat with the Roadies.”

It took time. There were a lot of troops on the decks of the Reliance, nearly two thousand before the shooting started and nearly fifteen hundred after it was all over. After twenty-five percent casualties, there was no organized resistance, but Daniel Lang was taking no chances on people going there. And rightly so. There were two more shooting incidents when individual mercenaries from Tyre went berserk.

It was just on three hours later and approaching noon, when Marie Easley, Daniel Lang, and Officer Arti Young boarded the converted lifeboat for the trip to the Rhodian ship. It was fancy and sleek, if smaller than the warships, a ship of diplomacy.

“We will need to go aboard,” Marie told Daniel. This was less from her reading than from discussions with Atum, Ptolemy, Dinocrates and other merchants and military officers after they arrived in Egypt. Refusing to board was both an admission that you were afraid and an insult to the integrity of the other ship or people. That was why Atum had been willing to board the Queen in the first place. On the other hand, taking guards was just prudence.

* * *

Once they boarded, they were met by Nauarch Demaratos, who informed them that the ship — he pointed at the Reliance — had been involved in an act of piracy in the very harbor of Rhodes and was therefore the property of Rhodes. And, while Rhodes and its people were thankful for the aid, that didn’t entitle them to seize the property of Rhodes.

“We have a prior claim. The ship was taken by an act of piracy a few days ago and we have been following it to get it back. Many of the crew are still alive and were taken prisoner by the pirates and the captain of the ship was killed only a short time before we arrived.”

“So you claim. But there is no evidence, and even were it true, it doesn’t change the fact that the ship was part of an invasion attempt, and someone has to pay for the deaths of our people killed in that attack.”

Marie was not just a scholar anymore. She had been, of necessity, involved in the negotiations in Alexandria everyday, ever since their arrival…and she had learned. This was a starting position of negotiation, but the negotiations were going to take some time.

* * *

Anders Dahl looked out the bridge windows, down at the Reliance and its still blood-soaked deck. “With Joe Kugan dead the Reliance is going to need a new captain.”

“You want it, Anders?”

“No, I do not, Captain. With all due respect to the Reliance and even considering the new circumstances, captain of an articulated tug barge is a demotion from staff captain on the Queen. I was thinking Elise.” Elise Beaulieu was the first officer navigation, which was the senior navigation watch stander. While not next in rank after the staff captain, it was the next in line ship’s command. And with the loss of navigational satellites, her training in navigation was even more vital. Both ships had radar and sonar, so with care were unlikely to run up on the rocks. They had radio communications and shared observations and could sometimes get directional fixes. But both ships would be using clocks, sextants and star sightings to determine their locations, along with inertial and magnetic compasses.

“I will pass, mon capitaine.” Though French, Elise spoke with very little accent unless she was upset. “I will stay here on this large ship, with good food, clean sheets, and laws against rape.”

Everyone turned to look at Adrian Scott, the second officer navigation. “Hey, wait a minute, Captain,” Adrian offered. “This is ancient Greece. I have more to worry about in the rape department than Elise does.”

“Don’t worry about it, Adrian,” Elise said. “You’re no Johnny Depp.”

“I do all right, Elise.”

“I know, Adrian. I just don’t understand why,” Elise said. Then she turned back to the captain. “Still, Captain, if someone is going to be sent off to be raped by barbarians, I vote for Adrian.”

“Gee, thanks,” Adrian said to general laughter.

The laughter might have had a slightly hysterical edge to it. The deck of the Reliance was still covered in blood and gore, and the captain they were getting ready to replace had been murdered earlier in the day.

“Well, Adrian, do you want it, or do we send out poor Doug?”

Adrian looked over at Elise. “You sure? You deserve it, you know, and I don’t want to step on your toes.”

“I’m sure, Adrian,” Elise said.

“I’ll take it, Captain,” Adrian said. “We must protect Douglas here from the rapacious Greeks at all costs.”

Captain Floden nodded. “Thank you, Adrian. I hate putting you off the ship, but someone has to captain the Reliance. It’s bad enough that Dag and his people are sitting on Tyre while we negotiate with yet another group of rapacious Greeks.”

Tyre

October 20

Young Alexander had not liked losing his chew toy. He screamed himself hoarse and managed to develop a cough.

Roxane heard about Keith buying materials for a poultice, and after consulting with Keith about it, Dag agreed with the queen that a blackmud poultice would be good for Alexander. Just make sure it was kept moist.

For the next three days, Dag and Roxane used the translation app on Dag’s phone to discuss politics and their situation, with Kleitos looking on. Dag was six foot two, with blond hair and blue eyes. He had a square jaw and was clean-shaven when he could manage it, and with the money he had made from the sale of the phone, he could manage it. To put it another way, he was a handsome young man and Roxane was an acknowledged beauty. Maybe not up to Helen of Troy, but only maybe. They played with the baby and talked.

* * *

“Should we put a stop to it?” Evgenij asked Kleitos.

“What difference does it make?” Kleitos shrugged. “You know she’s going to be married to whoever wins.”

“That or dead. Sure. But a little blond bastard might confuse things.”

“We won’t let it get that far. It’s not like they have time alone.”

“Might not be a bad thing at that,” Evgenij said. “Did you see the size of that ship? And it was just the fuel tender for the other. Those ships change things.”

“No. Men are men. Always will be. Things stay the same.”

Queen of the Sea, Rhodes Harbor

October 25

Captain Floden smiled at the new captain of the Reliance. “You’ll do fine, Adrian.”

“Not a problem, Captain. Reliance and Barge 14 together are as seaworthy as the Queen,” Adrian Scott, the new captain of the Reliance said, and it was almost true. The ATB was smaller than the Queen, but it locked up tighter. Fully battened down, Barge 14 was as watertight as a submarine and constituted a massive flotation device that would keep the tug part of the system protected from the worst of any storm. It wasn’t the ocean that worried Captain Floden. It was pirates.

“How about the crossbows? You have enough?”

“One for every man in the crew and another twenty in the arms locker,” Adrian said. This time his smile was a bit twisted. Adrian was getting the worst of the malcontents from the Queen. Only about three hundred of them, but the really bad ones. They would be in tents set up on the hull of Barge 14. Those people would not be armed, except during designated practice times. And the reason for that was neither Lars Floden nor Adrian Scott trusted them with weapons. They weren’t prisoners, not exactly, but the choice to travel on the ATB rather than the Queen hadn’t been entirely voluntary.

“Stay well away from land as much as you can and don’t put into shore till we reconnect,” Lars said, knowing even as he said it that Adrian knew it all perfectly well. “We’ll probably be stuck here until you’re past Gibraltar, then we have to go get Dag and his work crew. I don’t know how long that’s going to take.”

Tyre

October 27

The phone rang and Roxane almost dropped it. She was playing chess against the computer and losing, not surprisingly. Dag had showed her the game only days ago. She barely knew how the pieces moved. It rang again and the little green symbol had a circle around it that was expanding. Roxane had been playing with the phone whenever it had enough charge since she had bought it, either using it as translator or playing games. She knew about tapping or swiping. She tried tapping first, then swiping. Swiping worked and a voice came over the phone. Not the voice she knew from the translation app, but a different one, speaking Dag’s English. Roxane had maybe ten words of English. She tried one. “Hello?”

“Hello,” then gibberish ending with “Dag Jakobsen” came over the phone.

“Roxane,” Roxane said. “Phone mine.”

Roxane turned to one of the Silver Shields who was always with her. “Find Dag and bring him.”

The Silver Shield nodded, but didn’t leave. Instead he gestured at another guard, who ran off in search of Dag.

 

The Amber Arrow – Snippet 02

The Amber Arrow – Snippet 02

There were quite a few Skraelings who were subjects of the mark. They lived in the extreme north of Shenandoah. There were also plenty of Skraeling traders who travelled up and down the Shenandoah and Potomac river routes dealing in tobacco, pelts, and cotton. These Skraelings were leagues away from either fork of the river, and thirty leagues from the mark’s northern border.

These were not men of the mark. She could tell by their dress, even by their walk.

This was the moment to decide whether she would kill them or not. The man was crossing in front of the old willow stump in the center of the clearing.

Ursel could make most any shot either instinctively or by taking careful aim. She wanted to cut this very fine. She eyed what looked like either a worn spot or a patch on his thrown back cloak. The cloak was flapping slighting in a breeze from the west. She was about twenty paces up the hill from the man. She was firing through a fissure in the outcrop.

Ursel drew the bow.

She used a pinch grip on the bowstring. She was good with all kinds of grips, and could adjust for conditions, but the pinch was the first grip she’d ever learned, and she often used it for accuracy and a hard strike.

Her eye came down to the bowstring. Her pupil aligned with the top of the arrow. Her face contacted the bowstring with a feather-like touch. She used a slight tightening of her cheek to align her shot left to right.

Ursel released.

The arrow sliced through the man’s cloak and sank into the old willow stump. The Skraeling man, who was taking a step forward, got yanked back by his own clothing.

He fell on his butt with a whump.

Chapter Two:

The Middle Name

“Askwiwan!” the man shouted. He quickly tried to pull himself up.

Bad move.

The cloak was pinned tight to the trunk. He fell back down again.

“Makwa ikwe!” he yelled to those behind him. Then he desperately tried to wriggle around the stump to take cover.

“Stop!” Ursel called out. “The rest of you. Drop your weapons or I’ll kill him!”

She spoke in Kaltish, hoping they understood. She didn’t speak a word of any Skraeling tongue. She’d hate to have to kill them for that reason.

She’d nocked another arrow without realizing it. She took aim and fired this into the ground next to the pinioned Skraeling’s leg. She must have caught a bit of his skin, because he jerked back from it with a cry of pain.

“I said ‘drop your weapons,'” she shouted.

The other men moved into the clearing. They looked to the man by the stump as if they expected to receive orders.

“We don’t have any weapons,” he shouted back in Kaltish. He sounded more irritated than frightened.

“Sure you do. Drop your bows and quivers,” she answered back. “All of you.”

“Those are for hunting.”

Ursel let fly another arrow. This one thwacked into the stump near the man’s head. She knew without looking that she had seven more arrows in her quiver. So that would have to be the last warning shot.

She hoped he’d gotten the idea that she would kill him if she felt threatened.

Because she would.

Evidently he had. The leader nodded toward his men. “Do it,” he told them.

They all slowly set down their bows on the leafy ground of the clearing.

“And tomahawks!” she called. “Don’t forget your tomahawks.”

“Why? Shooting like that, you’d kill us before we could scalp you,” the man called back.

“Shut up and throw down the tomahawks.”

Five of the men dropped theirs. A sixth, a very tall Skraeling, suddenly made a twist and launched his tomahawk with a roar of frustration right at Ursel. It clattered off the flinty rock she was behind, shooting out several sparks as it did.

That was one amazing throw, Ursel thought.

She instantly had the thrower sighted and could easily have put an arrow through him.

Maybe should.

But she let go of her draw.

“Tell your man he almost got himself killed,” she shouted.

The pinioned man yelled something at the thrower of the tomahawk. She couldn’t see his expression from where she was, but from the way he hung his head, he looked ashamed.

“Now state your business!” she called out. “Why are you tracking me?”

“We are looking for–that is, we have been sent to look for–a woman. A red-haired woman.”

“Who sent you?”

“The duchess regent of this land.”

“Oh yeah? What’s her name?”

“Duchess Ulla von Dunstig.”

“Wrong answer.”

“Ah, that’s right. The surname has changed. Not von Dunstig anymore. Ulla Smead.”

“Prove it.”

“I have a letter of introduction with Lady Ulla’s seal, and another letter addressed to the earl. Or actually to the earl’s retainer. This red-haired woman who is supposed to receive all messages for Earl Keiler. They call her Ursel. I don’t know her surname, if she even has one. She’s a commoner, I’m told.”

Ursel couldn’t help smiling a vicious smile. She so wanted to mess with this arrogant outlander.

“I may know her,” she called out. “And she has a last name. And a middle name.”

“All right,” the man said with a shrug. “What of it?”

“Her middle name is ‘Arrow-to-the-groin.'”

There was a pause as the man considered whether she might be telling the truth. His hand moved down, maybe unconsciously, to cover his privates.

“Very funny,” he replied shakily. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Her last name is Keiler,” Ursel said. “Keiler, like the earl. She’s his foster-daughter.”

“Oh.” A pause. “And you? Who are you?”

Ursel didn’t bother to reply to him. “You’re three leagues away from Bear Hall,” she said.

“We went to Bear Hall. But this secretary wasn’t there. The earl wouldn’t receive us without her. They said she handled castle business. So we decided to leave and look for her.”

“Without a guide in the Shwartzwald? Unwise.”

“We’re free men. We do what we want.”

“Right. Not in my forest.”

Ursel sighed. She had a feeling it would be a while before she would be able to get back to her original task. The wild creatures of the western forest would have to stay wild for now.

“We really need to speak to this Ursel.” The man pulled the arrow from his cloak and stood up. He turned so that she had an easy shot if she’d wanted to spear him through the chest. “My people are dying right now,” he said. “We’ve come to plead for help.”

He was brave. She’d give him that. Or arrogant enough to think she wouldn’t shoot.

I ought to put another one through his cloak for that haughty expression, she thought. Or through a shoulder. That would teach him.

But no. She did very much want to hear what Ulla Smead had to say. Ulla was the duchess regent, after all, and she was Ursel’s liege lord.

And Wulf’s sister.

Ursel felt the knife in her stomach twist yet again.

Blood and bones, I have to get that man off my mind.

“All right,” she called out. “Come here and show me the letter.”

 

 

Chain of Command – Snippet 01

Chain of Command – Snippet 01

Chain of Command

-Frank Chadwick

(Stars and Hard Vacuum, Book 1)

For Beth

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks first of all to my many friends and colleagues who read the work and offered both insightful criticism and generous support, especially Nancy Blake, Rich Bliss, Linda Coleman,  Craig Cutbirth, Tom Harris, Bev Herzog, Glenn Kidd, Jim Nevling, Bart Palamaro, and of course Jake and Beth Strangeway.  I remain enormously indebted to my three writing/critique groups. How essential they are to my creative process was particularly brought home by this project. The book which emerged from rewriting after their critiques and always thoughtful suggestions is immeasurably superior to the earlier version. I know, a lot of folks say that, but it’s really true here. Without meaning to slight anyone else, I want to single out Elaine Palencia and John Palen who consistently see what I miss and seem to know where I want to (or ought to) take a character before I do.

Above all, I am most indebted to Tony Daniels and Toni Weisskopf at Baen Books who put their collective editorial finger on exactly what was wrong with the original manuscript of this book. That insight not only produced a superior book, it made me rethink how I was writing.

A word about science: aside from the interstellar jump drive itself, most of the differences between our universe and the fictional one of Stars and Hard Vacuum stem from engineering advances, not breakthroughs in theoretical physics. That notwithstanding, this novel at its heart is more space opera than hard science fiction, but  I’ve never felt that authors of space opera needed to check their brains–or their hearts–at the door. Nor should their readers be expected to.  In keeping the physics within what I consider the bounds of willing suspension of disbelief, I am indebted to Rich Bliss, Jim Lenz, and Jim Nevling as well as several enormously useful books by Ken Burnside of Ad Astra Games. That said, none of this should be considered an endorsement of the physics of the book by any of them.

But war’s a game which, were their subjects wise,

kings would not play at. Nations would do well

T’extort their truncheons from the puny hands

Of heroes, whose infirm and baby minds

Are gratified with mischief, and who spoil,

Because men suffer it, their toy the world.

-William Cowper, The Task, 1785

Chapter One

15 November 2133 (thirty-six days from K’tok orbit)

Seventeen days before the course of sentient history changed irrevocably, Lieutenant Sam Bitka stood at attention in the office of Lieutenant Commander Delmar Huhn, executive officer and second-in-command of the destroyer USS Puebla.

“Why are you being so stupid?” Huhn demanded.

Sam thought about that. It wasn’t a bad question; it just didn’t go far enough.

Tension had been growing between Human and Varoki colonists on the planet K’tok, so the US Navy’s Second Destroyer Squadron–including Sam and his shipmates–had been sent “as a precaution.” When they emerged from jump space earlier that day, the Varoki heavy cruisers in the K’tok system had immediately gone into low emission mode. Now everyone found themselves trembling on the brink of what might turn into the first all-out interstellar war in the history of all six known sentient species.

And the only thing Lieutenant Commander Delmar Huhn had on his mind was a sexual encounter between two petty officers in Sam’s tactical department. Why was everyone being so stupid? But Sam didn’t say that.

“Um, stupid, sir?”

“You call this disciplining these two? Why, it’s not even a slap on the wrist.”

“I informed petty officers Menzies and Delacroix that their fraternization constituted an infraction of Navy regulations concerning conduct injurious to order. Any repetition would result in more serious disciplinary action which would show in their permanent records. As per your orders, I altered their watch and duty assignments so they would neither work together nor have significant overlapping off-duty time.”

“And what’d they say to that?”

“That they intend to marry upon completion of the deployment, sir.”

Huhn’s mouth twisted at that and he looked as if he wanted to spit. “Marry! Navy won’t let a married couple ship out together. They’ll get different assignments and replace all this enforced intimacy with enforced separation. That’s why these shipboard romances never last, that’s for damn sure. Did you tell them that?”

“As part of my counseling I acquainted them with the relevant statistics, sir.”

“And what’d they tell you?”

“That they were not statistics.”

Huhn looked at Sam and softly tapped the Annapolis class ring on his left hand against the surface of his desk, the ring that was a constant reminder of the gulf which separated the academy professionals–like Huhn–from Naval ROTC amateurs–like Sam.

Lieutenant Commander Delmar Huhn was slightly older than Sam, in his mid-thirties, but he looked younger when he smiled and older when he scowled–which was more often the case. Between his height of five-six, spindly arms, and the start of a middle-age paunch, the executive officer was not physically impressive, but he somehow managed an intimidating presence despite that. He shaved his head and, because his sparse eyebrows were a light blond nearly matching his skin tone, he had a pale, hairless look which Sam found vaguely unsettling.

“I can see this doesn’t sit well with you, Lieutenant Bitka. Your heart’s not in it. What’s the problem?”

“No problem, sir.”

“Sure there is. I can see plain as the nose on your face.”

He leaned back in his desk chair and switched to simply fingering his ring, moving it back and forth with the tip of this thumb. “I know the way we do things in the Navy takes some getting used to, especially for you reservists. They pull you out of nice civilian jobs back home in the United States of North America and stick you out here with a bunch of hard-charging warriors. Let me know what you’re thinking. You have permission to speak freely. In fact, that’s an order.”

As if to emphasize this new familiarity, he smiled–a broad smile as full of small off-white teeth as it was of professed warmth.

In his seven years in the civilian corporate sector Sam had several times been told by superiors to speak freely, but they had never meant it, any more than Lieutenant Commander Huhn meant it now. But this was different. This was the Navy, and an order from a superior officer here carried the weight of law, or at least so Sam told himself.

“Come on, Bitka, spit it out.”

Sam’s heart beat faster and he took a breath.

“Well, sir … I think this is exactly the sort of chicken shit that makes people hate the Navy.”

For a moment Huhn froze. Sam expected his superior’s face to redden, but instead it lost color–a bad sign. Huhn slowly leaned forward and placed his hands on his desk, palms down and fingers spread.

“Chicken shit? You think maintaining proper order on deployment is chicken shit?”

“No, sir. But there are two sexual liaisons going on among commissioned officers of Puebla’s wardroom, including your protégé Lieutenant Goldjune, and every man and woman on this boat below the rank of ensign knows it.”

“How do they know it?” Huhn demanded.

“A destroyer’s a small boat, sir. Hard for anything to go on and nobody notice. You want to make a point? Come down hard on the officers. The enlisted personnel will get the message loud and clear.”

Huhn slowly stood and leaned forward, the knuckles of his tightly balled fists resting on the desk top.

“Larry Goldjune is one of the most promising young officers I’ve ever served with. You wouldn’t understand this, Mister Bitka, but the Navy’s in his blood. His father Jake is a rear admiral in BuShips and his uncle Cedrick is in line to be the next chief of naval operations. If you think I’m going to blemish Larry’s career with a reprimand for something like this, you don’t know the United States Navy.”

Sam was pretty sure he did know the United States Navy, but he did not say that, either.

“Have it your way, sir. But if you make me come down on my enlisted personnel for doing what you’re winking at among officers, they will despise us, and they will be absolutely right.”

 

Alexander Inheritance – Snippet 33

Alexander Inheritance – Snippet 33

Chapter 11

Queen of the Sea

October 20

Captain Lars Floden felt like a coward and a traitor as he turned the Queen to go after the Reliance. But he had a responsibility to the passengers and crew of the Queen. They needed that fuel. They couldn’t afford the chance that some accident in the battle at Rhodes would leave the Reliance aflame and all her fuel up in smoke.

So he did what he had to, hating himself all the while. The Reliance left on the route to Rhodes almost twenty-four hours ago, which put the Queen well behind. It was going to be close, even with the Queen’s higher speed.

Reliance

October 21

Rhodes was in sight and the Reliance had clearly been seen. In the dawn’s early light, the Rhodians were putting to sea. Three triremes were heading out to meet them and Joe Kugan wondered where the rest were. Metello was sure there would be a bunch here.

“Run them down, Captain,” Metello said. “Steer straight for them. My men will deal with any of the crew that manage to board.”

Joe did as he was told. The Reliance, with Barge 14 attached, wasn’t exactly spry. She had powerful engines and controlled thrust, but a barge full of fuel wasn’t easy to shift. She was close to as fast as the triremes, but she couldn’t maneuver like they could.

So what followed was a slow-motion game of tag. The Reliance would head for a trireme, and the trireme would turn and race away, then try to come at the Reliance from the side or rear. One unfortunate trireme managed to close on the Reliance and found out what the backwash from eleven thousand horses did to the local currents. It survived but lost about half its oars, and was out of the fight for a while.

“Reliance, this is the Queen of the Sea. What are you doing?”

It blared over the speakers in the pilot house, and Metello went a little white. He had no idea what was said, but he had to know what it meant. Joe checked the radar and there it was, big as a mountain rising out of the southwestern sea. Still half an hour out, but coming on.

Joe still didn’t have much Greek and he wasn’t of a mind to try just now. He turned to Metello and said in English, “You’re toast, sucker!” Then he grinned like an idiot through his busted lip and missing teeth.

“Go there!” Metello pointed at the harbor, where until just a few years ago the Colossus of Rhodes had stood.

Joe started to comply. He was cowed by this bastard, as much as he hated to admit it. But an ATB the size of the Reliance doesn’t do anything fast. There was time for Joe to consider the consequences. He realized that if the Reliance grounded Barge 14, there would be no escape. In desperation, he hit the emergency stop, and the engines came to a stuttering halt.

Metello looked at Joe, and Joe looked back. Metello reached for his sword, and Joe lunged. He was desperate, but Metello was just that much faster, with reflexes honed by years of combat. Joe never laid a hand on him as Metello sidestepped and brought his kopis down on the back of Joe’s neck.

With the ship stopped, the Rhodians saw their chance and pulled alongside to board. But they didn’t have it all their own way. There were two thousand troops camped on Barge 14, and by now they were at least fairly familiar with the hardware that dotted the hull, making defensive works.

By the time the Queen of the Sea actually got there, the Rhodians had been pushed back to their ships, with considerable losses on both sides.

Queen of the Sea

October 21

“Are there any of our people in view?” Captain Floden asked Staff Captain Dahl.

“Not that I can see, Captain.”

“Fine, then. Clear that deck, but keep the muzzle velocity low. We don’t want any of our shells poking holes in the Reliance.” One of the nice things about a steam cannon is that, to an extent, it has a modifiable muzzle velocity, and therefore adjustable penetrating power. The power a one-pound lead bullet needed to pulp a human chest, even an armored human chest, is considerably less than the muzzle velocity necessary for that same shell to punch through one-eighth inch steel plate.

The crew of the Queen had made lots of bullets for the steam guns.

Two thousand armed and armored soldiers crowded onto the Reliance. They couldn’t have spread out if they wanted to and they didn’t know enough to want to. They clumped together to provide mutual protection and support and the one pound rounds of the steam cannon went through two or three men to finally lodge in a fourth.

It didn’t take long for the deadly rain of lead bullets to have their effect. People started screaming that they surrendered. These were tough men who would readily face other men in battle with sword and shield, but invisible death that ripped a man in two and sounded like Zeus on a rampage…? That they weren’t willing to face.

* * *

They surrendered, but could that surrender be trusted? Could Lars send people across to the Reliance without knowing that?

“We’re ready, Captain,” came Daniel Lang’s voice over the speakers.

“All right. Pull us alongside.” Then, into the mike, “Dan, don’t take any chances. If any of them give you any trouble at all, just shoot them.”

“Right, Captain. Police brutality coming right up.”

The Queen came up alongside the Reliance and a massive porthole opened to reveal men in glowing white uniforms with little metal things in their hands. The little metal things looked harmless, and the only ship people these men had contact with till now were the unarmed crew of the Reliance and the equally unarmed work crew. They didn’t know. Still, the rain of death from above kept most of them in check.

Most of them.

Daniel Lang would never know whether the Macedonian soldier who charged him was desperate or just saw an opportunity. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. Dan had done twenty years as an MP and another ten as a cruise ship cop, and never even drawn his gun in anger.

Didn’t mean he didn’t know how.

The gun came up, he hollered half in Greek and half in English. He’d been practicing. The man didn’t halt.

Dan fired. Blam, blam, blam! Three in the chest. They punched right through the guy’s bronze armor. That halted him and more. He went down on his back. It was close enough to what had been raining on them, louder even. Now they knew.

The order to drop their weapons was given again. Those who hadn’t already done so dropped their weapons.

* * *

Goran looked at the men. Wait! Is that a woman? Yes, it was. Dark-skinned, long black hair tied back, wearing the same whiter-than-white clothing as the rest. And holding death in her right hand, just like the men. But she had tits. Nice ones too, best he could tell. And no man had a waist and hips like that.

His observations nearly got him killed. Not because the woman was offended, but just because he was so busy staring that he almost missed the order to get on his knees. Fortunately, they were repeating the orders twice before they killed people over them.

Goran got to live. He went to his knees on the decking wet with blood and waited. He put his hands behind his head and interlaced his fingers just as the voice from nowhere told him to, and as he did he realized that it was an effective method of restraint. Not because you couldn’t unlace your fingers, but because it took time and was pretty obvious. These people must be great slavers, they were so practiced at restraining captives.

He looked over at the woman. By now he had seen other women among their captors, but he thought of her as the woman. She had a set of bindings and was going along behind the kneeling men, taking one hand and binding it behind their back to the other hand, while a man with death in his right hand held death pointed at the captive.

Goran let his hands be bound. She wasn’t gentle about it, but neither was she vicious. She was just efficient.

There was a shout in their tongue, and then what sounded like orders. About half the white suits went off to do something. Goran considered. Probably they had found the crew. Goran had come on at Tyre, so he hadn’t had much to do with the crew of the little boat that pushed the big boat.

* * *

“Captain, we have a ship. A galley, but only two rows of oars. It’s heading for us and there is some guy in the front waving some branches at us. I don’t know if he’s suing for peace or trying to drive off evil spirits.”

“I’m not entirely sure, either, Captain,” Marie Easley put in. “I would guess suing for peace. I think those are olive branches.”

“Talk to them, Professor Easley,” Captain Floden said. “Tell them to stand off while we deal with the Reliance. Tell them we’ll send a boat to talk to them after we’re done.”

Marie waited for the comm officer to cue her, then spoke. The ship stopped, but the guy with the branches started yelling. It was too far and the accent was weird enough that she wasn’t sure what the guy was yelling about, but it seemed urgent. Or at least, he seemed to think it was urgent.

 

Iron Angels – Snippet 09

Iron Angels – Snippet 09

Chapter 6

In the full light of day, the Euclid Hotel looked just like all the other abandoned buildings in the northwestern part of Indiana. Not crumbling — they were mostly made of brick and solidly built — but forlorn; the brick faded, and black lines streaking from letters in the masonry.

Crime scene tape had been placed across all the obvious entrance points. They went around to the rear, where they had entered the night before. Jasper pulled back at the sight of two East Chicago police standing guard.

“There’re still people in there going over the crime scene?” Jasper asked. They stared back at him blankly.

“Guys,” Pete said, appearing through the trees, weeds and bushes, “answer the man. He’s not exactly one of us, but he’s Bureau.”

“Oh, sorry, sir,” one of the young policemen said to Pete. They looked so impossibly young, reminding Jasper of the young Marine guards at Quantico where the FBI Academy was housed. He’d been one of those Marines once, but had he ever looked so young and green?

“Don’t call me ‘sir.’ Just tell us what’s going on here.”

“We’re the ones who rescued that girl last night,” Jasper said.

“Down there.” Pete glanced at the ground, as if the girl had been in hell, and perhaps she had.

Their radios clicked as one of the police opened his mouth:

“Abandoned vehicle on Gary Avenue near Cline, possibly stolen. Requesting one unit to investigate the scene. Vehicle is an SUV parked along the south side of the road near the animal control facility. Dark-colored, late model, exact make unspecified.”

“Hey,” Pete said, “want to check that out? It’s close by.”

Jasper shrugged. “Sure.”

“Advise dispatch we’re checking it out.”

Both policemen nodded.

Jasper and Pete rolled to the scene of the abandoned SUV in their respective vehicles in less than five minutes. They passed by the tank farm and most of a nearby asphalt plant before they reached it. The SUV was on the opposite side of Gary Avenue from the asphalt plant and just before the entrance to the animal control center. The center was down a driveway, across a railroad track and behind a screen of trees and tall grass. It was barely visible from the road.

The abandoned vehicle was a dark green 2012 Chevy Equinox bearing Illinois tags sitting off the road and well onto the shoulder. The driver’s side door was open.

Jasper got out of his bucar and approached Pete’s driver’s side window, which was already down by the time Jasper reached the door.

“Just called in the tags,” Pete said.

“Think it was stolen? Joy ride perhaps?”

“Possibly.”

The radio clicked, and dispatch reported the vehicle was not stolen and the owner of the vehicle had not yet been reported missing.

“Let’s check out the vehicle first,” Pete said, scratching his chin. “Maybe the owner or driver got sick and wandered into the woods over there.” He nodded toward the animal control facility.

Jasper didn’t have high hopes for finding the owner of the vehicle nearby. He figured the vehicle had probably been stolen, just not reported yet. He and Pete approached the vehicle, each with their hands resting on their service weapons. That was somewhat unusual, but the previous night had left them both jumpy.

They peered into the vehicle and saw nothing outwardly suspicious or any sign of foul play. A sport coat lay draped across the passenger seat, folded in half lengthwise. The keys were still in the ignition. A few miscellaneous CDs were in the console along with a few pens, lip balm, a pack of tissues, and curiously, an MP3 player. The vehicle had obviously not been stolen. Neither the coat nor the MP3 player would have remained if that had been the case.

In fact, Jasper was a little surprised, given the proximity to the rougher areas not too far away, that some random passerby hadn’t stopped and looted the vehicle. Gary Avenue didn’t get a lot of traffic, especially on weekends. He didn’t think the animal control center had anyone working today, either. The gate leading into the facility was closed. He wasn’t sure if that was true of the asphalt plant, but if there was anyone over there they weren’t visible outside.

Whatever had happened here, in other words, it was quite likely there’d been no witnesses — or if there were, it would have been someone driving by who didn’t pay much attention to a vehicle on the side of the road. The SUV had obviously sat here for some time. The engine was cold, and there were no rattles, ticks, or taps emanating from the mechanical systems cooling. The ground beneath was dry — any drips from the air conditioning system had disappeared.

“Not stolen,” Pete said.

“At least not the typical stolen vehicle,” Jasper said. “But yeah, now I’m thinking this wasn’t stolen. Maybe you’re right, the owner or driver got sick.”

Pete shrugged. “And maybe it broke down and he had a friend pick him up. There are a lot of possibilities.”

Jasper sat behind the wheel and turned the ignition. The vehicle started without hesitation. “It runs nicely. Any flats?”

Pete walked around the van. “Nope.”

While he checked the tires, Jasper opened the sport coat and checked the pockets. A wallet, pen, more lip balm, and another set of keys. “Our friend is a busy guy,” Jasper said. “Or maybe just an optimist.” He tossed a pair of unopened condoms he’d found in a small inside pocket at Pete, who stepped back reflexively allowing them to hit the ground.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“They’re not used.”

“I don’t care.” Pete scrunched up his face. “What’s in the wallet?”

Jasper opened the black faux leather wallet. “Typical credit and debit cards. A few rewards cards, all bearing the registered owner’s name. There’s a couple hundred in cash.” He checked the slot where pictures would be kept and pulled out a driver’s license. “Great photo,” he said and shook his head. He handed it to Pete.

“It’s like a villain from that old detective comic strip.”

“Dick Tracy?”

“Yeah, that one. This guy would be rubber man or something.”

“I’m surprised you know those books, Pete. Shoot, I’m surprised I know.”

“I came across a stack of old papers one time, and snuck them whenever I could.” Pete laughed.

Jasper had been examining the photo while they bantered. “You’re right about the picture. He is sort of rubbery looking. What they call ‘non-descript,’ too.” He frowned. “He look familiar to you, Pete?”

“Should he? The answer’s no — never seen him before.”

“I can’t place it, but there’s a familiarity there.”

“He could be anyone. We’ve arrested how many people over the years?”

Jasper sighed. “Doesn’t matter, I suppose.” He tilted his head back, and ran the image through his memory. But Pete was right, they’d arrested hundreds of people and interviewed hundreds more. After a while, names and faces ran together. But this man was so average, and so bland that now he stood out to Jasper.

The sun had climbed higher into the open sky, which was a dingy blue today. The morning heat threatened misery in the afternoon. Two turkey vultures appeared, or perhaps they’d been up there all along, their black wings forming a shallow vee as they circled a spot closer to the animal control center.

“You see that?” Jasper asked. “Something is dead or dying over at animal control.”

“Yeah, maybe the driver is close by after all. Start looking. I’ll call this in and get a squad car over here to assist. Perhaps an ambulance.”

 

The Amber Arrow – Snippet 01

The Amber Arrow – Snippet 01

The Amber Arrow

Wolf’s Saga

Tony Daniel

PART ONE

Chapter One:

The Archer

Ursel Keiler was thinking about him again.

Lord Wulfgang von Dunstig.

Third son of Duke Otto and Duchess Malwin.

Wulf.

Her . . . what? Friend? Maybe not even that.

Acquaintance?

Obsession?

She hoped not. What she felt was real.

Wasn’t it?

Ursel prided herself on being the sensible sort, the kind of person who didn’t give in to impossible dreams. She’d known when she was young that she would never have the muscles to shoot an arrow three field-lengths. So she’d concentrated on accuracy.

Then just before she’d turned seventeen last year, she’d found she did have the strength. And, because of all her hard work, she also had the skill to hit a moving target at that distance.

But persistence could only take you so far in love.

It was either there or it wasn’t.

On Wulf von Dunstig’s side, it definitely wasn’t.

Meanwhile, here she was out in the middle of the Shwartzwald Forest–a forest that was going to belong to her one day. She was on a task important to her father, the earl. Important to the entire Mark of Shenandoah if what she suspected was true.

But what was she doing?

Feeling like a lovesick idiot.

Picturing his blue eyes. Intense. That cowlick that wouldn’t let his hair fall over them.

His arms. His torso. She’d seen him naked–at least from the waist up. He looked like a guy that had been forced to exercise a quarter-day every day since he was six-years-old was going to look. Wiry. Muscled.

And what was even more attractive, Wulf didn’t even care what he looked like. The fact was that he really was more of a scholar than a warrior. He quoted the skalds from memory. He had carried her scarf into battle because the heroes from the sagas did things like that.

He was . . . exactly what she wanted.

And Ursel?

One kiss. That was all they had shared. Or would.

He’d made it clear Ursel wasn’t going to be his choice.

Her foolish heart was the last thing she needed to be worrying about at the moment. But she couldn’t help it. She’d felt this way for months. It was like she was carrying around a knife in the pit of her stomach. For a while the knife would float there. Then it would twist and stab her with another painful flash.

The pain was one third intense desire.

One third gloom.

One third stupid pointlessness.

I have to get over him, she told herself.

But doing it wasn’t as easy as saying it. She hadn’t seen Wulf for two months, curse it to cold hell. Hadn’t seen him since her last visit to Raukenrose. And her feelings had gotten stronger, and everything had gotten worse.

It wasn’t so bad when she was with him. Then she could see him with her, the beautiful immortal one. Saeunn. In those times, Ursel actually felt more at peace.

How could she compete with Lady Saeunn Amberstone, after all?

The yearning died down, and she felt silly for even having this . . . silly lovesickness–or whatever it was.

It was when she was apart from him that the knife plunged back in. It twisted inside her at the weirdest moments. Like now, when she might be about to kill a man.

The knife cutting into her soul.

Her heart.

Her destiny.

I’m not going to let that happen. You make your own destiny, Ursel thought. Like these idiots who are stalking me are making theirs.

Ursel had told everyone she was going hunting, and that’s what she was doing–in a way. Strange and dangerous creatures had been reported from the far west woods. She was tracking them. Normally the earl, her foster-father, would have dispatched his trappers to take care of a problem with wolves attacking livestock or a bobcat threatening children in a forest village.

Ursel had decided to act on the reports herself. She suspected that the strange creatures were not animals at all. She didn’t want them killed, even though they had been feeding on farmers’ livestock and making a nuisance of themselves.

They were dangerous. They had to be dealt with. But not destroyed.

So she had decided to find the creatures herself.

She’d been very close.

Then the creatures had caught wind of men. Ursel’s pursuers. They scattered and fled.

Her plan was spoiled.

These men following her, whoever they were, had spoiled it. And now she had to deal with whoever had decided following her trail was a good idea.

She was in a very bad mood.

Ursel reached for an arrow to nock to her bowstring. She didn’t take her eyes from her man-quarry, but trusted her sense of touch to choose the right arrowhead. Her fingertips brushed the goose-feather fletching of an arrow in her quiver. One of the feather vanes had a small notch cut in it. Her fingers instantly reacted to this. The arrowhead was a bodkin.

Punches through metal. Didn’t stick, though.

Not what she wanted here.

She moved to the next arrow. It had smooth fletching.

Swallowtail arrowhead. All-around messenger of death.

Yes.

Her fingers chose this one. It was in between the bow guides in an eyeblink, nocked in another blink.

Her target was a man. She knew he was with a group of six or seven. They were quiet. Probably thought they were completely silent, but she’d spent her life listening to this forest. She knew when something didn’t sound right.

They believed they were still following her. They were mistaken. She’d doubled back and crossed her own path, while they passed her by and kept going. They were following sign she’d left early in the day–before she’d realized there was someone in the deep forest tracking her.

Now she was stalking them.

Him, the leader.

She was sure the others were following one person. It was what the sign on the ground and bushes told her. A broken twig here, a footprint scuff there. These told her that somebody was taking point position, and the others were following his lead.

They were walking along a game path she often used. She knew they’d stay on it if they could, since it was easier going. She’d trailed them for a watch or so, then taken a shortcut over a ridge and moved ahead of them to a spot where she knew the game trail would lead.

She’d waited for them to come to a clearing beneath a flinty outcrop. There she had both a totally unblocked line of sight on them, and cover for herself. The man moved into the clearing. Then a few eyeblinks later, his companions came from the forest. They were spaced about ten paces apart on either side of him.

Yes, six of them–which made seven including the lead man, her target.

The man was copper skinned, with a broad face and sharp features.

Young. Handsome, if she’d thought about it.

High cheekbones that made him look overly proud.

He was the leader, or at least the person walking in front as they made their way through the forest.

And he was a Skraeling. His ancestors were the first men in Freiland. Some said they’d been there even longer than the elves.

 

Iron Angels – Snippet 08

Iron Angels – Snippet 08

Chapter 5

Buzzing awakened him. Jasper’s heart thumped and he sucked in a quick breath. He glanced over at his clock, the red numbers seeming angry as they displayed four o’clock AM. So, it wasn’t the alarm buzzing.

His cell phone buzzed and rattled on the nightstand. He licked his lips and rubbed his eyes.

“Why?” he asked the ceiling, and reached for the phone. The call had to be about the girl’s abduction. Probably his boss’ boss. It seemed the higher one climbed in the bureaucracy, the more obtuse they became.

He hit the talk button.

“Yes?”

“Z. Jasper Wilde?” a male voice asked. There was a hint of English as a second language in the accent, but he was too tired to think about it.

“This is Wilde,” he said, draping a forearm over his eyes. His friends called him Jasper, so this call could only mean more work, unless it had something to do with his ex-wife. But that wasn’t likely given the late hour.

“Ah, very good.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. Your report, it –”

“Hold on. Hold on. My report? Which one?”

“Oh, of course, I’m very sorry about the early call,” the man said. “You were up quite late, yes?”

“You mean the one I drafted a few hours ago now?” Jasper sat up. “Who is this?”

“I am Agent Ravel, out of Washington, and –”

“What sort of agent? FBI? And if so, then you’re calling from the District. Hoover building or Washington Field Office. Which is it?”

These things mattered. If the man said Hoover, then he was some headquarters zombie, but if he said WFO, then this could be case-related, or a lead of some sort. But really, four in the morning? It was only five on the east coast.

“I am FBI, and calling from a secure location, an offsite if you will, but I prefer not to give away those details.”

“Great, what do you want?” Jasper scratched the back of his head.

“We are flying out there. Your report contained some interesting items. We want to –”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jasper said, and he felt his irritation level rising. “We? You’re coming out here? Why?”

“Yes, however, I cannot talk on an open line about this. But my partner and myself will be seeing you later today.”

Jasper shook his head. This was a joke. It had to be. Someone at the office — his office — had read the draft report. He just didn’t understand how it was possible.

“Congratulations,” Jasper said, “have a great flight.”

“But –”

Jasper hung up on the agent pulling the prank on him. Someone had gotten up early and perhaps found his draft of last night’s events on the printer.

But he hadn’t printed it, had he? He’d been tired and anything was possible with the Bureau’s computer systems. Maybe his boss had — But, no, that didn’t make sense. The boss wouldn’t be working on the weekend, let alone a Saturday morning during the summer. Not a chance.

He drifted, but never retreated into slumber. That ship had sailed. Finally, he got up and searched the internet for any mention of last night’s rescue. But so far only a local paper had printed a bare bones account. A story like this had a slim chance of making national news, especially if the fantastic and gruesome nature of the perpetrators’ deaths got out. Pretty soon the big shots at the office would be holding a press conference — but that might be put off until Monday. He didn’t bother turning on the television; it was likely too soon.

The prank pushed itself forward, demanding his attention. Who at the office did impressions, and specifically who was capable of pulling off a decent Indian accent? Well, Indian or Pakistani: a person from the south Asian subcontinent.

He shook his head. His report had been fantastical in some ways, but it clearly laid out the facts, and he hadn’t even mentioned the strange wispy, dragon-like fog that had appeared alongside the building. The deaths were crazy, but not prank-worthy.

The timing was odd, too. Pranks usually took days or even weeks to develop. This had just happened.

He got dressed and got in his bucar, heading for the office, feeling as if he’d just been there. After getting off I-65 on U.S. Route 30, he picked up a cappuccino at a Starbucks.

He had to drive a little out of his way to do so. Northwest Indiana was not Seattle or San Francisco. You could find a few gourmet coffee places in Lake County, but you had to be willing to hunt for them. There were a couple of Starbucks in Merrillville, along with a coffee house from a smaller independent chain, one in Schererville, and one in Crown Point. The Target store in Munster on Calumet Avenue had a Starbucks inside also. But so as Jasper knew — and he’d looked; he was partial to cappuccinos — there were none at all in the more northerly towns in the county.

That wasn’t surprising, of course. The rule-of-thumb when it came to the demographics of Lake County was that the population got whiter and more well off the farther south you went. It was only a rough rule of thumb, granted. The northernmost of all the towns in the county, Whiting, was almost all white — but it was also very working class. Dunkin’ Donuts territory, not Starbucks-land.

When he pulled into the small parking lot of the Merrillville office, he saw that a few more lights were shining through the tinted windows than when he’d been there earlier. That was likely to be support staff putting in some overtime. Jasper rarely entered the building before eight, and he was out in the field investigating as much as possible — an activity that was becoming a bit of a lost art in the Bureau these days due to the avalanche of administrative folderol. Agents spent a lot of their time at their desks tapping away at their keyboards.

He checked his work email and calendar, more out of habit than anything else. There’d be no meetings, no mandatory virtual training, or other nonsense on a Saturday morning to keep him in front of the computer and off the street today. He had a few follow-ups to yesterday’s events he wanted to tackle. He gave the report he’d written last night another read, seeing nothing prank-worthy, and then sent it along for approval to his supervisor. He’d seen his share of embarrassing emails pass throughout the Bureau — acrimony, incredulity, and downright hilarity contained within and forwarded on and on. A few of those unfortunate creators of the offending emails resigned or got laughed out of the Bureau.

Jasper escaped the air-conditioned administrative confines of the FBI building and entered the air-conditioned freedom of his bureau vehicle, his bucar, still safe from the sweltering August heat and oppressive humidity. He drove northwest into East Chicago and hooked up with Pete at a local diner.

Pete had willingly accepted a chance to work some overtime. Jasper was the only one not making any extra money on this. Special Agents only made overtime on extremely rare occasions, and were expected to be available at all times.

“You up for a source meet?” Jasper asked, taking a sip of coffee. The stuff brewed by the diner was decent, if not up to Starbucks standards.

Pete was still visibly shaken from the previous night. His skin seemed more ashen than tan, as if his pigment had soured overnight.

“I can’t get that scene out of my mind,” Pete said.

“The men going up like human sparklers?”

Pete shook his head. “No. The girl. Lashed to a stone slab. Jesus, it was like something you’d see in a horror movie.”

Jasper gazed down at his half-empty cup. “They were going to kill her, for sure. It was some kind of weird sacrifice, at least that’s my belief. I don’t think they were going to violate her –”

“And killing her isn’t a violation?”

“Come on, Pete, you know I didn’t mean that. I ‘m just trying to make some sense of it.”

“Yeah, I know. But the older I get the less interesting this work is becoming.” Pete covered his eyes with one hand and dragged it down his face as if attempting to wipe away a layer of filth. Hernandez was older than Jasper. Not elderly — he was still in his fifties — but he’d been doing this sort of thing for more than thirty years now. By comparison, Jasper was a total newb with his nine or so years with the Bureau. Even if he counted his time in the Marines he came nowhere close to Pete’s experience and time dealing with monsters and staring into the face of evil.

Jasper shivered, despite the intense morning heat. Maybe the air conditioning in the diner was set too high.

“You okay, Zee?” Pete asked.

“Yeah, just thinking about how long you’ve dealt with the dregs, and all the shit you must have put up with over the years.”

“Don’t think it’s all been bad. We rescued a girl, didn’t we?”

Jasper laughed and sat his coffee mug down with a heavy clunk. “And here I thought I was consoling you.”

“It’s a long career. I’m winding down, but you’ve still got quite a bit of time left. This is a marathon, my friend, not a sprint.”

“I’ll remember that,” Jasper said. “I just hope we don’t have any repeats of last night, at least not for quite some time. Give me bad guy on bad guy killings, any day. Those aren’t victimless crimes, but…”

“You hear yourself?” Pete asked, finally smiling. “You’re beginning to sound like the news, or the ass-covering executive management we all have. Knock it off.”

Jasper smiled back. “I have the information on the man who tipped us off to not only the van, but also the Euclid Hotel. I want to know how he knows so much. And speaking of the Euclid, I want to go back there and look it over again. It’s still early, and I bet we can get in there before any of your CSIs or heaven forbid Morris and the Bureau’s ERT get on scene.”

“Bad news, the department isn’t all that interested in evidence collection right now,” Pete said. “But you still know how to process a scene, right?”

Jasper sighed. “Yeah, but I’m not even sure what we’d get out of it after giving the incident some thought this morning. I’m hesitant to use any of the ERT gear stored at the office.”

Pete arched an eyebrow.

“Fine, Morris tried to get me fired.”

Pete sipped his coffee.

Jasper sighed. “Fine. It isn’t much of a story, really. I called him an oxygen thief and he got me kicked off the team.”

“That all?” Pete shook his head. “That’s nothing. But is that why you want to get to the scene early? To avoid him?”

“Personally, I don’t mind being around him if there is a need, but he can’t stand me.”

“Gee, I can’t for the life of me figure that out,” Pete said. “So we’ll go the hotel first?”

Jasper nodded. “I already called the source. He agreed to meet us this afternoon at three o’clock.”

“A full day.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll make up for it some other time.”

Pete chuckled. “Oh, I’ve made up for it already. Don’t forget the overtime your FBI pays me for being on the task force and working a weekend.” He winked.