Terminus

Book 1: Fringe Worlds

by Kevin Hardman

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Hard Science Fiction; Military Sci-Fi

Synopsis

Master Sergeant Gant Maker was a highly-decorated and well-respected Marine - until his last mission left him as the sole survivor of an encounter with a vicious race called the Vacra. Served up as a scapegoat and drummed out of the military, he has since lived a life of seclusion with only an adopted alien as a companion.

Now the Vacra have returned. As the only person to have ever faced them and survived, Maker is reinstated in the Corps and given the onerous task of finding this enemy on a world located at the edge of known space. Assisting him is an unlikely band of military rejects, including a blind sharpshooter, an unstable psychic, and a genetically-engineered killing machine who refuses to fight.

Given that the Vacra have superior weapons and technology, Maker recognizes that his team is at a distinct disadvantage. But Marines are nothing if not resourceful, and Maker has an audacious plan that just may level the playing field – if it doesn't get them all killed.

Release date: November 11, 2014

Publisher: I&H Recherche Publishing

Print pages: 320

Sample

Chapter 1

 

They were waiting for him when he got home. For Master Sergeant Arrogant “Gant” Maker, Galactic Marine Corps (Ret.), it was a day he had known was coming for years. Still, it was an odd sensation — to finally be vindicated.

He had been down at the practice range, firing off a few rounds as he did every day, when a blue light suddenly flashed on his left wristband. It was an indication that there was motion inside his cabin.

In the two years that he had been on Ginsberg, he’d never once had an unexpected visitor. In fact, he hadn’t had any visitors whatsoever.

It wasn’t that Ginsberg was a terrible planet. It was actually rather nice, with picturesque views and a rustic charm that was difficult to put into words. It was far enough out from the Gaian Hub that a retired soldier’s pension could go far, but close enough to have access to all the comforts of civilization.

Maker took his time going back to the cabin. Normally, he would have run the two miles between the practice range and his home, viewing the distance as an opportunity to get in a last bit of exercise. Instead, he decided to dawdle, walking along the wooded trail that led back at a leisurely pace. He had waited years for them; they could wait half an hour for him.

As he walked, he heard a familiar scrambling in some nearby bushes, and a moment later Erlen scurried onto the path and fell into step beside him. About the size of a large dog and looking like a cross between a salamander and a spider monkey (among other things), Erlen preferred to dash about on all fours. He could, however, rise up on his hind legs when necessary.

Erlen growled softly, a low rumbling that was easy for Maker to interpret.

“Yeah,” Maker said. “We’ve got company. We knew they’d come eventually.”

When the cabin came into view, Maker saw what he expected: a hovercraft bearing military insignia parked next to his own near the front of his home. As Maker could have predicted, Erlen ran ahead, making a beeline for the unfamiliar vehicle. When he got close, the alien made a surprisingly powerful leap, landing on the roof of the military craft. Then his tongue — a lengthy and supple blood-red appendage — flicked out as he quickly licked the vehicle.

This wasn’t surprising to Maker in the least. Erlen tasted everything; it was part of his nature. And it wasn’t just confined to inanimate objects, either. Erlen was just as willing to taste living things. Using his tongue, however, was just for show. Erlen’s paws — in addition to housing retractable claws — also contained papillae on their pads much like those on the human tongue (although his were dry). In short, the alien creature could actually taste objects merely by touching them.

Maker took another glance at the military emblem as he came abreast of the unfamiliar craft. Now that he was closer, he could see telltale markings that denoted the vehicle’s point of origin: Echelon. Maker couldn’t help being slightly surprised.

Gaian Space — that region of the cosmos primarily occupied and controlled by Homo sapiens — consisted of several discrete regions that branched out almost spherically from a central core. The heart of this expanse was the Hub — the multitude of worlds that served as the cultural, financial, and governmental nerve center of the human race.

Next to the Hub was the middle region known as the Mezzo, worlds that were generally considered the industrial arm of humanity, the suppliers of raw materials. Outside of the Mezzo was the Rim, which was typically thought of as two sections: the Inner Rim and the Outer Rim.

Following the Rim was the Fringe, the outermost edge of the Gaian Expanse and human settlement. It was an area that had garnered a reputation for attracting the wrong elements of society — unsavory individuals and men of questionable character — because of a dearth of law enforcement in the region.

Finally, other than those sectors known to be home to other sentient species, areas beyond the Fringe (most of which were uncharted and unexplored) were known simply as the Beyond or X-Space. Few people ventured Beyond without a very compelling reason.

All of this flitted through Maker’s mind as he mentally noted that his current home on Ginsberg was just inside the Inner Rim. Echelon, a planet that essentially served as a huge military base, was actually situated inside the Mezzo, but on the opposite side of the Hub. In short, his visitors had come a long way to see him.

A soft growl brought Maker back to himself as Erlen leaped from the vehicle, landing deftly beside him as he reached the steps leading up to the cabin’s entrance.

Unsurprisingly, there was a Marine standing guard at the door — a big, strapping fellow maybe fifteen years Maker’s junior. He wore beta-class body armor, which probably meant that he wasn’t really expecting trouble but wanted to play it safe. Of course, it was difficult to say since some guys wore their Class Bs all the time, as if they were afraid of some random stranger walking up behind them and shooting them in the back.

The young Marine’s nametag and rank designated him as Sergeant De Beers, and he quite likely served a double role as both bodyguard and driver for whoever was waiting inside. For a brief moment, Maker wondered if he was going to have trouble getting into his own home. The question was answered a second later when the sergeant suddenly came to attention and then stepped sharply aside.

“They’re waiting for you inside, sir,” De Beers said, his hand snapping up into a salute.

Maker returned the salute without thinking, the result of instinct ingrained by almost two decades in uniform. Even three years later after his last salute to anyone, the old habits died hard.

Oddly enough, the young man didn’t give Erlen so much as a glance as they passed, which meant that he was either highly professional or had already been briefed about Maker’s “pet.” Maker presumed it was the latter. He went inside and closed the door after Erlen dashed in.

There were three of them inside. He recognized the first: General Kroner — a highly decorated, career military man whom Maker had served under when he first joined the Corps. Tall and standing ramrod straight, Kroner was the walking epitome of a Marine.

The second person was a dark-eyed woman dressed in a black, full-length bodysuit. She was about average height, with pale, blond hair that fell down to her shoulders. A badge just above her left breast identified her as a civilian aide — some sort of civil servant.

Like the general, the woman had remained standing. In her hands she held a medical module — an advanced, interactive simulator typically used to allow medical students to practice surgical procedures in three-D. At the end of surgery the student would be given a grade and informed whether his patient would die, fully recover, etc. (A scaled-down version of the simulator was also sold as a game for kids.)

The module was one of several such devices that Maker owned, and he frowned upon seeing the woman holding it. He really didn’t like people handling his things without permission, but said nothing. The woman, clearly noting Maker’s displeasure, placed the module back where she had originally gotten it — a nearby bookshelf — next to similar simulators for other subjects such as chemistry and physics.

Maker’s final visitor was a wafer-thin man with a neatly-trimmed mustache. Outfitted in a gray business suit, the man was lounging in an easy chair, clearly having made himself at home. He exuded a self-important sense of authority and entitlement. Maker recognized the type right away — a bureaucrat.

Pompous jerk, Maker said to himself. As if to reinforce the notion, Maker noticed that the man had in his lap an odd headpiece that seemed to continually shift through the colors of the spectrum. A rainbow hat — the latest fad among the trendy and elite. Maker almost rolled his eyes.

“Gant,” said the general, walking towards him and extending a hand. “How are you?”

“Fine, sir,” Maker responded as they shook hands.

“I see you’ve still got Erlen with you,” Kroner noted.

“He’s been keeping me out of trouble,” Maker said as Kroner bent down to stroke the alien creature’s head. He was one of the few people other than Maker that Erlen allowed such liberties.

After a moment, the general stood up again. “Allow me to introduce my companions. This is Bain Browing.”

The man with the mustache tossed his hat onto an end table next to the easy chair, then stood up.

“A pleasure,” Browing said in an unconvincing tone as he pumped Maker’s hand. He cast a skeptical glance at Erlen, who was retreating to a corner of the room. “Uh, is your, uh, pet dangerous?”

“He’s not a pet,” Maker announced flatly. “And yes, he’s exceedingly dangerous.”

Browing looked slightly nervous and appeared on the verge of making a comment, but Kroner cut him off.

“And this is Dr. Ariel Chantrey,” the general said, nodding towards the woman.

“So nice to meet you,” the woman stated, although Maker wasn’t sure it was nice at all.

“Doctor of what?” Maker asked, dismissing with the pleasantries.

The woman cast an inquisitive glance at Kroner, who gave no indication of what he was thinking.

“Psychology, for one,” she said. “But also, psychiatry, psychobiology, behavioral science and cognitive science.”

Maker raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Dr. Chantrey waved a hand towards the modules on the bookshelf. “I hope you’ll forgive any discourtesy I may have displayed in–”

“Don’t worry about it,” Maker said, cutting her off. She was obviously curious about the simulators, but — after a moment’s silence — chose to change the subject rather than pry.

“Your, uh, friend,” the doctor said, nodding towards Erlen. “What type of creature is he?”

“He’s Niotan,” Maker replied. When a perplexed look came across the doctor’s face, he added, “From Niota.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve never heard of it. Where’s it located?”

Maker shrugged. “Beats me.”

His response caused an even deeper frown on the doctor’s part, but she said nothing.

“Anyway,” Maker said, addressing all three of his guests, “I’m sure you good people didn’t come all the way to Ginsberg for a social call, so what can I do for you?”

There was a moment of silence, as his directness seemed to have thrown them off their game plan.

All of a sudden, General Kroner chuckled. “That’s a Marine for you — straight to the point. Alright, Gant, we won’t waste your time.” He nodded at Browing.

“There’s something we’d like you to look at,” Browing said, taking his cue. “But first, can you tell us how you came to leave the Corps?”

Crossing his arms, Maker snorted derisively. “Let’s not play games. We both know you’ve seen my file. You already know how I ‘came to leave’ the Corps.”

“But we’d like to hear it in your own words,” the woman chimed in. “So could you humor us?”

Maker frowned. He really wasn’t in the mood to humor anyone — hadn’t been for years. Still, it was evident that this was a tit-for-tat situation: they weren’t going to tell him anything until he told them something. Oh well…what could it hurt? Maker took a deep breath, then started speaking.

“We were on our way back to base — my unit, that is — from a mission,” Maker began. “We were well outside the Fringe, deep into the Beyond — at least a dozen jump points out.”

“Wait,” Dr. Chantrey interjected. “Did you say you were a dozen jump points out?”

“Yes,” Maker replied.

“Hyperspace jump points?” she asked.

“Is there another kind associated with space travel?” Maker retorted in exasperation, answering her question with a question.

She flinched a little, and he realized he’d probably responded in a sharper tone than necessary. After all, any surprise on her part was to be expected; going twelve jump points into the Beyond was unfathomable to most people. There just wasn’t a reason to penetrate that deeply into the unknown. Still, he’d found the woman’s question irritating, since it seemed to imply that he didn’t understand the rudiments of hyperspace travel.

In essence, entering hyperspace allowed you to traverse great distances in just a fraction of the time that it would take in “normal” space, but it was not without its perils — the greatest of which was miscalculating the point of egress. Failure to accurately calculate the proper locus for exiting meant that a ship could come out anywhere, and plenty of spacecraft had been lost over the years because of it, particularly in the early years after hyperspace travel became possible.

However, it was quickly discovered that the odds of a mishap decreased astronomically as the distance between the start point and final destination of a journey diminished: the shorter the distance, the safer the trip. Thus, jump points — specified distances that a ship could safely travel in hyperspace — were established.

A person of slightly above-average intelligence was capable of calculating one-point hyperspace jumps. Someone with extensive training and perhaps experience as a ship engineer or navigator could calculate a two-point jump (that is, a distance that encompassed two jump points). Computers and navigation systems could calculate three- and four-point jumps. Anything greater than a four-point jump was considered foolhardy and dangerous, as the numbers, formulas, and algorithms became too difficult and complex at that stage for even the most advanced AIs to produce trustworthy coordinates. In essence, because the danger and distance increased exponentially with each jump point, trips involving huge distances typically had to be broken up into multiple jumps.

Maker was ruminating on these facts when he realized that Dr. Chantrey was posing a question to him.

“What kind of mission could you have that far out?” she asked.

There was a short moment of silence as Maker looked towards General Kroner, who said, “The doctor and Mr. Browing received limited clearance about an hour ago. You can give them an overview of your mission, but try to avoid specific details.”

Having been given the go-ahead by the general, Maker said, “We were escorting some scientists to inspect a recently-discovered cache of military weapons.”

A slight look of bewilderment crossed Browing’s face. “Escort duty? For an inspection? That hardly seems like something you’d need a team of Marines for.”

Maker shrugged. “I didn’t make the orders; I just followed them.”

“Still, it had to be pretty boring for a guy used to action,” Browing insisted.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Maker replied. “In fact, the mission had far more pros than cons. I even got to see one of the lead scientists dismantle a nova bomb.”

Dr. Chantrey’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “Where exactly did this occur?”

Before Maker could respond, Kroner barked, “That’s classified — beyond the clearance you were given.”

That answer seemed to mollify — if not fully satisfy — Dr. Chantrey, and brought the subject of the prior mission to a close. However, the interchange that had just occurred was an indication that perhaps not all of Maker’s visitors were aware of everything about him, which was information that might prove valuable later.

“Please, go on, Gant,” the general said, bringing Maker back on point with respect to his narrative.

Maker nodded. “As I mentioned, we were on the return leg of our mission. We had come out of hyperspace a short time earlier, and had spent about an hour getting our bearings.”

None of Maker’s guest commented, but his prior statement was something that they all understood. Traveling via hyperspace jumps was a lot like trying to walk along a straight line for ten miles while blindfolded: if you tried to go the entire distance unable to see anything, you were likely to find yourself way off the mark at the end of your journey (with little or no idea of where you were). It would be helpful if, every so often, you could uncover your eyes and take a look around in order to get oriented. That, in essence, is what dropping out of hyperspace allowed for; it was an opportunity to recalibrate your position and plot the next jump.

“We were probably a minute away from going back into hyperspace when we picked up a distress signal — one that our instruments identified as human in origin,” Maker said. “I was in charge, so it was my decision whether to ignore it or investigate.”

“I thought you Marines were taught to respond to distress calls,” Browing said. “Not brush them aside like bothersome houseflies.”

“My mission parameters gave me discretion,” Maker replied, “and I would have been well within the confines of my mandate if I’d turned a deaf ear to that beacon.”

“But you didn’t, did you?” Dr. Chantrey noted, her eyes narrowing as she studied Maker. “You made the call to respond. Why?”

Maker gave her an appraising stare. “Ma’am, there are worlds within the Mezzo that you wouldn’t want to be stuck on. The indigenous wildlife, carnivorous flora and fauna, unstable weather conditions…that and more make a lot of planets within the civilized regions of human space somewhat inhospitable. But that’s nothing compared to what’s in the Beyond. Believe me, that’s the last place you want to be stranded, and I’m speaking from experience.”

Maker’s eyes involuntarily darted to Erlen, then back again. Dr. Chantrey noted it, recalling that the man’s psych profile revealed an unhealthy and illogical emotional attachment to the beast. According to the stories she’d heard, he had illegally smuggled it aboard a ship and back to his home base several years prior to departing the service. From the records she’d come across, the animal had never passed the necessary health and regulatory inspections — no one even knew exactly what it was or how to classify it — but Maker had somehow been allowed to keep it.

“As far as the distress signal goes,” Maker continued, “we were their last and only hope. That far into the Beyond, there was no other help coming. It was us or nothing. So I made the decision to investigate.”

“And what did you find?” Browing asked.

Maker frowned slightly before responding, not caring for the interruption — especially when they already knew what had happened. “We followed the signal for a few hours, which is when we came across a large ship. It appeared derelict, adrift. The outer hull bore signs of significant damage — including a couple of crater-sized holes — and there was a lot of debris floating around it.

“We tried hailing them but didn’t get a response. Given the condition of the ship, however, it wouldn’t have surprised anyone if their comm system was down, or if they were directing all power and other resources towards sending the distress signal. We also weren’t picking up any life signs, but the readings weren’t conclusive. Someone could have sealed themselves into a chamber or bulkhead that our scanners couldn’t penetrate. Bearing all that in mind, I decided to take a contingent of Marines with me, via shuttle, to investigate.

“As it happened, the bay doors were open on the derelict, so we were able to land the shuttle inside. There were seven of us, fully decked out in our Class A uniforms.”

“Did you think you were heading into danger?” Dr. Chantrey asked. Her question meant that she obviously knew something about military engagement. Marines typically only wore their Class As — the full, head-to-toe metallic body armor — when they were expecting trouble.

Maker threw up his hands in agitation. “We were boarding a derelict ship stranded in the Beyond. We didn’t know what to expect, but we were going to be prepared.”

“So what happened next?” Browing asked.

Maker took a deep breath; this was the part of the story he hated. “I led my men through the ship, tracking the source of the distress signal. With the artificial gravity off and all kinds of rubbish floating around, it was slow going, but we made decent progress thanks to our magnetic boots. We also had mag wands that fired magnetic lines, which we used to pull ourselves through certain areas. We’d been at it for about ten minutes when we found ourselves about to enter the sick bay.”

“Sick bay?” Dr. Chantrey asked quizzically. “Wouldn’t you normally expect the distress signal to originate from the bridge?”

“Not necessarily,” Kroner interjected. “In some of the more advanced vessels, the sick bay can actually serve as a separate, self-contained habitat — say, in the case of quarantine. As such, it would have its own individual distress beacon.”

As Dr. Chantrey seemed to absorb this, Maker continued his narrative. “We found the airlock between sick bay and the rest of the ship sealed. Moreover, it seemed to be running on some sort of reserve power unit, which meant—”

“That somebody might be alive in there,” Browing said, cutting him off.

“Yes,” Maker agreed. “I’d left two Marines with the shuttle and I left two on the ship side of the airlock as guards. The rest of us went in. When we entered…”

And Maker closed his eyes for a second at the memory. “Inside, the gravity, pressure, and atmosphere all read as normal. But it was immediately evident that something nasty had happened in there. Every available bed had a body on it. Not just on it, though, but strapped down. Immobilized. And they were all open.”

Browing frowned. “What do you mean, ‘open’?”

“I mean every one of them had been dissected, splayed open like frogs in biology class,” Maker almost shouted. “It was as if someone had taken them apart like cuckoo clocks to see what made them tick. There was even a head in a jar!”

Aside from the general, his guests seemed uncomfortable with Maker’s description of events. After a moment, Dr. Chantrey seemed to find her resolve.

“Please go on,” she said.

Maker’s brow creased as a stern look came across his face. “We made a quick search for survivors. Big surprise — there weren’t any. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something we were missing. That’s when I noticed it.”

There was a short silence, and then Browing impatiently blurted, “Noticed what?”

“The head,” Maker said. “It was looking at me. Its eyes were following me.”

“The head?” Browing repeated, somewhat confused. “You mean the head that you said was in a jar?”

“Yeah,” Maker said, “but I should probably explain. It wasn’t a head sitting in an empty jar; it was immersed in some kind of clear, viscous fluid. It appeared to be female, although it was completely bald, and there were electrodes attached at its temples and at various places on its scalp.

“Initially I had assumed it was just a remnant — a body part left over from the mad dissection I mentioned before. But once I saw the eyes tracking me, I noticed that the mouth was also moving.”

“Wait,” Browing said incredulously. “Are you saying that a decapitated head was talking to you?”

“No,” Maker admitted. “But it was trying to.”

“And what makes you say that?” Dr. Chantrey asked.

Maker shrugged. “When I first saw the lips moving, I didn’t pay much attention. I just chalked it up to the electrodes maybe sending a current through the skull and making the facial nerves react — the way a jolt of electricity can make a dead body move. But when I leaned in close and paid attention, I could make out what it was trying to tell me.”

“Which was…?” Dr. Chantrey inquired.

“Two words,” Maker replied. “‘Run. Trap.’”