Contact!
Blue Sun Armada, Book 4
Good morning, super readers!
Contact (Blue Sun Armada, Book 4) has been relaunched after a fresh edit from the staff and Variant Books. This was part of the deal to get the audiobook into production. I am super excited to see what you think.
Please dive into the final BSA installment and let me know what you think. This series is a bit like Battle Star Galactica meets Dune but with more mechs. Very character based, because that is just how I roll.
I dropped the first chapter in here as a sample. Enjoy!
CHAPTER 1
Fortune Marlboro completed her circuit of the Blue Sun Armada. Jon Nebs was a hundred meters behind and to her left. Stephan Star and Coriander Merles flew a hundred and two hundred meters respectively behind her other wing tip, completing the wedge formation. They maneuvered in silence, attentive to the flight patterns around each capital ship. Especially problematic were those belonging to House Spirit. The latter weren’t supposed to conduct stealth missions without advising central command, but who really trusted them? The last thing Fortune needed was to slam into an invisible squadron and create a scandal. Void fraking Spirit technology.
“I can’t get over the booster rings,” Nebs said, his voice filled with barely contained awe.
Fortune shifted her thoughts from House Spirit stealth ships to the technology that would allow the BSA to travel across the galaxy. The sight was truly amazing, almost as fantastic as the efforts the BSA engineers and work crews put into outfitting the new technology to ships large and small. The last completed was the Exactas Meridias, and the security of that behemoth was the purpose of her patrol today.
“Me neither, now let’s get to work,” Fortune said. “Deploy in a defensive formation above the EM. We will simulate other ships doing their part.”
Nebs responded for the entire unit. “Understood.”
Each pilot confirmed via HUD icon. Fortune glanced at the list and would’ve been amazed had anyone not been ready. They’d practiced this more times than she wanted to think about. How else was she supposed to spy on the giant station that was either the saving grace of this mission or its fatal flaw? What better way to be ready for the next big disaster than to loiter near the behemoth and watch for trouble?
Her mother took her below decks after the worst of the mutant swarm was dealt with, but the sight down there hadn’t been reassuring. Only five percent of the structure had been surveyed. Nearly twenty percent scouted, but that was hardly enough to ensure there weren’t nightmares lurking in the human-made world.
“What are we looking for?” Star asked.
“Anything unusual, pieces flying off for no reason. Unexplained ship movements.” Fortune gave the order, then set up her part of the defensive perimeter, facing away from the Exactas Meridias. That was the drill. The cameras and sensors on the rear of her ship provided all the information she needed about the station without seeming obvious. Several times a week, sometimes every day, they conducted a variation of this maneuver. She never saw much of a change. As an added bonus, they protected the BSA against surprise attacks from Bronc, Gerard, and even Spirit. Or aliens. A lot of people worried about that most of all.
Supply shuttles came and went from the Danestar-controlled docking bay—the center of all operations on the EM. Work crews lit up sections of the surface with flood lights and welding torches. Fortune thought she spotted Danestar Guards and Marlboro Heavy Infantry scouring the exterior in their extra vehicular activity mechs. That was probably an illusion because she expected to see them, despite the darkness and distance. Progress reports documented the governor was conducting surface inspections. The woman was thorough, and her people were motivated and loyal.
“The booster rings don’t fit so neatly to that thing,” Merles said, her voice harsh from a long weekend. Like many of the BSA fighter pilots, she was determined to live while she could, and that meant socializing hard and training harder when not on an active mission.
Fortune understood what the woman was talking about. The booster rings fit around most BSA vessels. Smaller ships, like the BSA Longwatch, looked like coffee beans in a swimming pool when compared to the rings. Only the largest warships and foundry vessels needed extension panels. A few of the freighters, not to mention the agricultural ships, the Garden Box and the Sunrise, also needed similar treatment. But the Exactas Meridias had issues on a whole new level. Everything that touched the giant vessel went horribly wrong.
There was a reason it had been saved for last, two reasons, actually. Cleansing the place of mutants and rescuing the odd pockets of survivors was an ongoing campaign. There hadn’t been a resurgence of attacks. Most of the BSA officers were cautious but hopeful that the mutant entity controlling the swarm was either dead or so badly damaged it could no longer function. Except hope wasn’t proof, not to Fortune Marlboro. She was definitely her father’s daughter.
The second problem was the sheer enormity of the engineering feat it took to expand the rings. The BSA and Zezner scientists were constantly innovating new solutions to stretch the rings to an ever widening diameter. The halo around the station was made from hastily constructed sections like links in a chain. She had to trust it would work.
“All right, let’s take our readings and wrap this up,” Fortune said. “I’m seeing no changes in the performance of the EM. I’ve got no detection of Bronc or Gerard incursions, and I still don’t see the Talgar fleet. Where the hell did their freaky ships go? Does anyone have anything different?”
“Negative,” Nebs said, then ran through his own observations in more detail. The rest of her flight did the same and waited for her order to resume their patrol.
“Can we at least go fast?” Star asked.
Fortune smiled. “Yes, we can. You might as well lead this time, Star.”
The pilot gave a whoop and hit the thrusters. Fortune and the others adjusted their formation as they might during a chaotic engagement with an enemy fighter wing. In combat, anyone could lead. Whoever found themselves in an inferior tactical position, was expected to take a support role and adjust accordingly.
Nothing grander than the sight of her father’s fleet—with a backdrop of stars—existed. Other than battle.
“Are we leaving the system? I mean, are we really?” Nebs asked privately.
“My father hasn’t decided who will be testing the technology. The only thing ship captains agree on is that we shouldn’t commit the entire fleet to the unknown without sufficient reconnaissance.”
“Sure, but when that’s done, we’re leaving our home system forever.” Nebs sounded guarded, like he wasn’t sure how he felt and didn’t want anyone guessing his emotions on the topic.
“We’ll see.” Fortune sent a complicated set of flight instructions to Star, just to see if he could react quickly enough to keep the formation together.
Star sent a perfect course change warning along with new vectors for everyone, and then hauled ass away from the BSA.
“Nice, Fortune,” he said. “You almost caught me off guard.”
“We might as well have some fun, and maybe we’ll run into a Bronc patrol out here,” Fortune said. “Get some trigger time.”
* * *
Ron took no one with him to the meeting. Not his wife, not his most trusted officers, and not Redion. That last exemption was probably the most reckless. Patricia had been the one to suggest he go alone, so he held minimal concern for her wrath. The Zezner, however, had more information about nonhuman races than anyone he knew and could trust. Though excluding Redion was dangerous, this was his responsibility alone. He prayed that he wouldn’t regret the decision.
Send them out to make the universe fit for expansion.
Ron gripped both sides of his head, teeth clenched against the pain, focusing on his feet. Dream images pushed away reality. The voice came often, but he rarely saw the speaker as he once had. What confused him was the beautiful blue world floating in the void—silent, waiting, promising hope alongside the threat of his death.
“Our goal isn’t a blue sun, it’s a blue world,” he muttered, forcing his feet to take one step, then two, walking steadily before someone thought he was breaking down.
The halls of the BSA Indomitable were empty. Captain Mark Echo of the Marlboro House Guard had seen to that. For one second, Ron considered including the man in this interview. On another occasion, he’d allowed Echo to see and hear everything during a particularly dangerous encounter with Duchess Stephani Spirit. Though that’d been a different situation entirely. Today’s meeting would probably kill him, if not now, then later.
Two of his best guardsmen waited at the door to Gio’s quarters. They saluted crisply, the heels of their polished boots clicking together, gloved hands stopping at the top of their red and black visored helmets.
He returned the gesture. “Gentlemen.”
They stood aside and he entered.
Gio kept the room dark, as Ron expected he might. The Talgi was accustomed to roughing it and had sensitive eyes—six in total. Ron had found the alien half-frozen to death in a cave two months ago. Layers of protective gear hadn’t been enough to completely protect him from the wrath of Jilix, but the alien hadn’t complained. Only when Ron’s people pried the stranger out of the rescue pod did they realize how deep hypothermia had set into their newest ally. Potential ally. He could not afford to make assumptions.
“You are the welcome,” Gio said. “Is that the correct form of address in this situation?”
“Close. We would just say welcome, or welcome to my home. You don’t need the word the.” Ron looked over the room for clues about his guest, not intending to pry. Violating privacy could be a cardinal sin. He couldn’t allow his guest to keep secrets, but neither could he afford to lose the stranger’s trust.
Gio’s expression grew thoughtful, his six eyes partially closed in thought. During an earlier interview, the Talgi explained this was one of the human mannerisms he’d been trying to learn because he thought it would put his hosts at ease during most conversations. “Thank you. I am eager to learn and be the polite.”
“You didn’t offend me and neither would you offend anyone else. Don’t try too hard. Customs vary from city to city, ship to ship, or even clique to clique. To be honest, I haven’t met anyone who tries so hard to learn the traditions of others. I should be asking more about you.”
“What would you like to know?” Gio asked.
Ron smiled. “I have no idea where to begin. Do you mind if we sit?”
“Yes, of course. That would be pleasant.” Gio offered a chair to Ron, then took his own, pulling his feet near his body rather than resting them on the floor.
“Your people lived for generations on Jilix,” Ron said. “We talked about the unknown origin of the terraforming equipment, and that it probably came with the first near-human expedition.”
“You explained why and how your people left the planet Gildain,” Gio said. “That is a very great story that should be recorded for posterity.”
Ron considered where to take the discussion. There were more urgent questions than these. Maybe it was best to dive straight in. “I’m concerned with the Talgar’s motivation. You told me they’re enemies of your people, so I have to take what you say with a grain of salt.”
Gio made a curious face.
“I must take what you say with caution. You could deceive me, or paint the Talgar more negatively than is true,” Ron said. “I’ve gone over our conversation numerous times and still wonder what to think.”
“You feel a piece is missing,” Gio said.
“Is there?”
The alien shifted in the chair. It seemed he wanted to pace. Ron wished he could tell Gio to relax and just do what felt natural, but didn’t dare speak. A revelation was close at hand and he didn’t want to lose it because of an incautious word.
“What I told you is true. Our species have been constantly at war, but I did leave something out. I did not explain the story of the Oandi,” Gio said.
Ron waited until he thought his new friend, if that’s what the Talgi was, would stop there. “Who or what is that?”
“It is accepted that the Talgar and the Talgi were once the same people, and that we trained an elite army of warriors to defend us against a disturbing trend in the galaxy. Three times our home system was invaded. The strongest of our people became the Oandi and drove away the worst of the intruders.” Gio stood and swung his arms back and forth. If it was a human gesture, it would appear exaggerated and childish. Ron was oddly comforted when Gio gripped his own hands and remained motionless.
“So where are they now, the Oandi?” Ron asked.
Gio looked at him with all six eyes. “They were cast out and bade never to return. No one expected they would honor this agreement, because they are very fierce. When nothing was heard of them for many hundreds of years, it became a common belief amongst both Talgar and Talgi that the Oandi had met a terrible fate among the stars. This was somewhat confirmed when what you call the mutant swarm arrived in our system.”
“If you know how to eradicate that bacterial menace, I really do need to pick your brain. That’s just a figure of speech, by the way,” Ron said.
“Oh, that is a relief. The swarm is easy to deal with once you understand its limitations. You must commit to its total destruction and not confuse it with a sentient entity that has any reason or right to exist,” Gio said. “Pragmatically speaking, you must agree that I am correct and take immediate action.”
“I didn’t say you were wrong.” Ron reviewed the conversation, not wanting to go astray. This wasn’t the battlefield where speed, surprise, and violence of action often won the day. “Why didn’t you tell me about the Oandi before?”
“I assumed it would greatly offend you, because you are very much like them, a warrior class that must eventually outlive its usefulness,” Gio said.
“Just when I thought we were friends,” Ron joked. He quickly held up one hand to reassure his guest. “That was a jest. If you are around me for long, or my people, you will know we give each other a hard time when we like each other.”
“Perhaps it is best I stay in seclusion,” Gio said. “I have been studying your language constantly, even though I thought I knew every word. But the more I talk to you, the more I fear I do not comprehend it as well as I believed I did.”
“I need to know what to do next—where to go.” Ron’s words came out before he could stop them. He shouldn’t be seeking advice from this very unique stranger.
“You have choices, all of them hard. Should you seek your true home, or defend the only one you know? Do you risk being cast aside by your human creators like we pushed away the Oandi? Can you trust anyone?”
Ron didn’t like the look in the creature’s six eyes. For one second, there seemed to be nothing but malevolence behind that gaze. He reminded himself to proceed cautiously when interpreting alien body language. “Those are all good questions.”
“Let’s talk of the Zezner,” the Talgi said. “Their champion is beholden to you. Did you defeat them in battle?”
“What makes you think Redion is their champion?” Ron asked.
“Do you not know what his name means?”
“Apparently not.” Ron wasn’t ready to talk about the Zezner War or his relationship with them since leaving Gildain. He certainly didn’t want to betray his friend’s confidences to this creature.
Gio was fishing for information. Ron needed to do his research before continuing the interview.
“Can I get you anything? Is our food to your taste?”
Gio’s top row of eyes widened in perfect imitation of a surprised human. “Your meals are exceptionally rich, and often spicy. I’ve been eating what you might call field rations since I was weaned—bland is the only flavor I have known. Your table is quite generous. Soon, I will be very round.”
“I will have a new menu prepared,” Ron said.
“Thank you. I desire to rest. Please return when you can. We have much to talk about.” Gio returned to his bunk without fanfare and promptly went to sleep.
“I’ll show myself out,” Ron said, then stepped outside.
The guards saluted. “Duke.”
Ron returned the gesture. “I’ll be back in the morning. Keep up the good work, gentlemen.”
* * *
Ron returned to his quarters, intent on a long conversation with Patricia about what the Talgi shared. The lights were low, his wife asleep. He didn’t have the heart to wake her. She looked as tired as he felt. He pulled a chair near the bed and watched her for a long time, prepared to make a joke when she opened her eyes to find him lurking in the shadows.
But she neither woke nor moved. Only the rhythmic rise and fall of her back proved she was alive.
Ron slipped out of the ducal suite and walked the much-repaired halls of the BSA Indomitable. The ship would never be fully restored, but Marlboro and Zezner engineers were doing wonders each day.
“Gregory, are you awake?” he asked via his bio-comms and the ship antenna.
The delay between ships wasn’t terrible, especially since each signal had to hitch a ride on ship comms. “Absolutely. I’ve decided to give sleep up entirely. Amelia the Great is coaching me through the process, though I can’t understand her babbling.”
“Are you in a place where you can talk?” Ron asked, adjusting his stride so he didn’t meet up with a work crew coming the other way until after he asked the question. When they passed each other, he gave the men a friendly salute. Crew members weren’t required to salute first when they were actively repairing the ship. The encounter was lighthearted yet respectful, something he’d worked diligently on since boarding the Indomitable. Fleeters were a different breed he was slowly coming to understand.
“I am now. Just stepped into my ready room,” Gregory said.
“Your mother sleeps a lot,” Ron joked.
“Not how I remember things growing up,” Gregory said. “We’re spread out more than I like. Fortune always flying here and there. Peps playing with Zezner—I actually hear stories of their exploits from my post on the BSA Vengeance.”
“You should see them in action. Apparently, Zezner children don’t suffer the indignity of rules,” Ron said. “Captain Echo keeps an eye on her. So far their exploits have been harmless.”
Gregory paused a second longer than normal. Ron keyed in on the change of mood as though they’d been standing face-to-face. “Talk to me, son.”
“I want to lead the trial run of the booster rings. Jump to the next system. Run tests. Come back with good news,” Gregory said.
“That’s a job for Victor. You have other responsibilities. He’s my go-to for missions,” Ron said.
“Of course, but he’s still recovering and I need to lead. You commanded a mech battalion when you were my age.”
“You took the BSA Vengeance into the thick of every fight we’ve been in. I hear your name almost as much as Stephani Spirit’s.” Ron felt his argument slipping but wasn’t ready to relent. “I’m setting you up to take my place. Slow and steady wins the war.”
“I’m also the most qualified. You need data on large ships, not the after-action report from a crew of hotshots like Victor’s friends—Don’t interrupt. Hold on. You also need a battle-tested warship making the first jump. There could be a fight on the other side, or it could be stranded forever. In that case, whoever goes first will need the resources and the willpower to continue the Blue Sun mission without assistance.”
Ron forced himself to consider Gregory’s arguments.
“Victor could accompany me,” Gregory added. “Though I don’t believe that’s the best course from a family preservation perspective.”
Ron let out a long breath and turned in a circle, knowing his eldest son most likely guessed exactly what he was doing. Pacing was one of Ron’s most persistent habits, normally expressed when dealing with his difficult family.
Gregory could have called him out on the weakness, but he didn’t.
“You’re right. The mission is yours.” Ron fought down a wave of uneasiness.
“Thanks, Duke,” Gregory said. “I thought you were sheltering me there for a minute.”
“Is that what sending you into void battle is?” Ron asked, trying to keep his tone light.
Gregory chuckled. “When you say it like that… but you know what I mean. This mission is different. We could lose a ship with all hands, or worse.”
“Don’t even tell me what could be worse,” Ron said.
“I’ll make preparations. Thank you, Father.”
“Make me proud, son.” Ron replayed the conversation in his head, walked until ship-morning, and slipped back into bed ten minutes before Patricia woke up.