Star Swarm: The Chaos Wave Book One Read online

  Contents

  Other Books by James Palmer

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Chaos Conspiracy

  Quote

  Chapter 1-Retirement Party

  Chapter 2-Arrival

  Chapter 3-Engagement

  Chapter 4-Among the Ruins

  Chapter 5-The Admiral

  Chapter 6-Hostiles

  Chapter 7-Unexpected Guest

  Chapter 8-The Swarm

  Chapter 9-Questions

  Chapter 10-Sparring

  Chapter 11-The Archive

  Chapter 12-The Progenitor Epics

  Chapter 13-Battle of the Archive

  Chapter 14-End of the Line

  Chapter 15-Old Wounds

  Chapter 16-Drizda

  Chapter 17-Secret Meeting

  Chapter 18-The Hatchery

  Chapter 19-The Thing in Silo Six

  Chapter 20-The Star Swarm

  Chapter 21-Escape

  Chapter 22: Swarm Song

  Chapter 23: Dutton's Orders

  Chapter 24: Betrayal

  Chapter 25: Repairs

  Chapter 26: Captured

  Chapter 27: The Fleet

  Chapter 28: War

  Chapter 29: Enemies and Allies

  Chapter 30: The Razor

  Chapter 31: The Shadow Council

  Chapter 32: Cat and Mouse

  Chapter 33: Makers

  Chapter 34: Goodbye

  Chapter 35: Kuttner's Last Stand

  Chapter 35: Trapped

  Chapter 36: Out of the Frying Pan

  Chapter 37: Ascension

  Chapter 38: Leda and the Probe

  Chapter 39: Straker

  Chapter 40: Communication

  Chapter 41: Rescue

  Chapter 42: To the Stars

  Chaos Conspiracy

  About the Author

  Other Books by James Palmer

  Slow Djinn

  Into the Weird

  Archer of Venus

  As Contributor:

  Gideon Cain: Demon Hunter

  Blackthorn: Thunder on Mars

  Mars McCoy: Space Ranger vol. 2

  Tales of the Rook vol. 2

  The Amazing Harry Houdini volume 1

  Legends of New Pulp Fiction

  As Editor:

  Monster Earth

  Betrayal on Monster Earth

  Strange Trails

  Star Swarm

  The Chaos Wave

  Book one

  James Palmer

  A Mechanoid Press Book

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are either products of the authors' imagination or are used fictitiously.

  STAR SWARM: THE CHAOS WAVE BOOK ONE

  Copyright © 2016 James Palmer

  All rights reserved, including the right o reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form, save for brief passages to be quoted in reviews.

  A Mechanoid Press Book

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank my copy editor Joe Crowe and my small army of beta readers for helping me whip this book into shape.

  This one, as always, is for

  K and G

  Sign up for the mailing list and read the prequel for free!

  “You insist that there is something a machine cannot do. If you tell me precisely what it is a machine cannot do, then I can always make a machine which will do just that.—John von Neumann

  Chapter One

  Retirement Party

  Captain Henry Kuttner looked out over the remains of his retirement party and nursed his hangover.

  The small officer’s mess was just that, a mess Overturned plastic cups lay scattered about next to plates containing stale, half-eaten cake the ship’s food synthesizers had barely gotten right. Kuttner fell heavily into a chair at the head of the long, transparent table and rubbed his temples, hoping to ease the invisible vice that was squeezing his skull. This party had been a bad idea. He hated parties. But how could he expect his new first officer, a snot-nosed desk-flier from Special Operations named Noah Hamilton, to know that? They barely knew each other.

  So Kuttner had smiled and nodded politely, even though he’d have rather been doing an EVA on the outer hull of the ship during a gamma ray burst than be at a party held in his honor.

  Hamilton. Why the brass had sent him a new first officer when they knew that in just a few months ship time they were going to scrap her? He was arrogant, brash, and had a head full of theory with no actual practice to back it up. There had also been some kind of trouble at his old post. In that, Hamilton typified the type of person who usually found their way into the Fighting 17th. Kuttner had spent most of his career whipping into shape officers and personnel with drinking and gambling problems, insubordination demerits, and all manner of personal failings into capable hands on the pride of the Fleet, the NS Onslaught, and it wasn’t easy. That didn’t stop the Admiralty from flinging every officer school reject they could find Kuttner’s way, however. It became so commonplace that there was even a saying: The Onslaught is the round hole square pegs go in.

  But Hamilton wasn’t quite as bad as all that. He was smart, and a natural born leader. He would have a promising career ahead of him once his stint on the Onslaught was done, and that would be over with shortly. They were already on their way to the sunny world of Zephyr Covenant, where the Onslaught would be decommissioned and Kuttner handed his walking papers.

  Retirement. Kuttner didn’t like to say it; didn’t even like to think it. The word had the ominous ring of finality about it. Life as he knew it would soon be over. That scared him, and he wasn’t a man who scared easily.

  The smell of stale cake making him queasy, Kuttner heaved himself up out of the chair. It was time he got to work. This was still his ship, and he was still in command of it. There would be plenty of time for remembrance and regret later. He smoothed the front of his gray uniform and left the mess, just as two young stewards arrived to clean the place up. He nodded once to them as he sidled out.

  The Onslaught had been a fine ship in her day, and still was as far as Kuttner was concerned. One of only a few heavy class battle cruisers, the Onslaught was nicknamed the Flying Gun, so named for its large central rail gun that ran the entire length of the ship, powered by two huge electromagnets. The Onslaught had been key in the League’s efforts to defeat the Draconi. Now that the war was over, and the old ship no longer needed, she was being scrapped. Kuttner felt as if he was being thrown on the scrap heap with her.

  “It’s not fair, old girl,” he said in a whisper, patting a section of cool bulkhead with his left hand. “You should have died in battle.”

  He chuckled at himself. “Listen to me,” he thought. “An old man talking to his ship. No wonder they want to put me out to pasture.”

  Kuttner quickened his pace, striding confidently toward the command deck, the vestiges of his hangover leaving him like clearing smoke.

  Commander Hamilton was sitting in the command chair watching a flurry of holographic screens flickering all over the command deck. He swiveled the chair around as the hatch slid open, and stood when he saw who it was.

  Kuttner smiled, waving his hand dismissively. “As you were, Commander. I’m just taking one final lap around. What’s our ETA to Zephyr?”

  “Four days and change at current speed,” said Hamilton. “If we double the thruster output we can make it in two.”

  “No, no,” said Kuttner. “Make ‘em wait.” He looked around the command cluster for a long moment, taking in every sight, every sound, every smell. He look
ed over his officers, each one hard at work at their respective stations, from Lt. Brackett at Communications to Stetson Cade, his capable and sometimes trigger happy gunner. Everything was in order. It made him proud but also a little bit sad, and he felt as if he would never see any of them ever again.

  “Sir?” said Hamilton, raising an eyebrow. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, Commander. Right as rain. Just…” his voice trailed off. Finally, he said, “Maintain course and heading. I’ll be in my quarters taking a nap.”

  Hamilton smiled. “Yes, sir.”

  Kuttner turned to leave the command deck when Lt. Brackett spoke.

  “Commander,” she said. “I’m getting a distress beacon over tightbeam.”

  Both Kuttner and Hamilton turned toward Brackett’s station. “Source?” said Hamilton.

  “There’s a lot of tachyon echo, so it’s close,” she said, tapping buttons on her console. “Signal originated from the Danvers colony, planet Verdant.”

  Hamilton looked at Kuttner. “That’s a pretty remove outpost, almost in Draconi space.”

  Kuttner nodded. “ETA to Verdant?” he asked.

  “Six hours at present speed,” said the navigator, Lt. Hudson.

  Hamilton looked at Kuttner. “Your orders, sir?”

  “Set course for Verdant,” commanded Kuttner.

  “Aye, sir,” said Hudson.

  “We’ll be late for the ceremony,” said Hamilton.

  Kuttner waved this away. “This is still an active duty Solar Navy vessel, and if there is a human colony in trouble, we are going to come to the rescue.”

  Hamilton nodded. The Onslaught would be reduced to a pile of scrap metal in a few weeks, but for now it was still the old man’s ship. It was his call.

  Chapter Two

  Arrival

  Hamilton had never seen the old man this animated, this alive. He’d been moping around since they received the decommission order. He’d thought the party would have cheered him up, but even that had seemed to dull his spirits even further. Things had been rocky between the two men ever since Hamilton had arrived on board at Peralta Station, still angry about losing his last post and unsure about what to do in this new one. Captain Kuttner appeared amicable, if a bit senile, and Hamilton was happy to show both him and the Admiralty what he could do with his own command post, even if it was as the second in command aboard an aging battleship.

  From the moment he stepped aboard, it was obvious to Hamilton that the vessel had seen better days. But he set up a regular repair and maintenance schedule and now things were looking better, which he felt only made Kuttner dislike him even more. “Great,” he’d said, when looking over the results. “She’ll be nice and shiny when they break her down.”

  Hamilton couldn’t win with the old man, so he just did the best he could to do and stay out of Kuttner’s way. This smiling captain he saw before him now was a refreshing change of pace from the dour, cynical commanding officer that had coldly welcomed him aboard less than three standard months ago. Obviously the promise of a new, exciting mission had served to cheer the old man up a little. Hamilton thought he could get used to this.

  “The deck is yours, Commander,” said Kuttner, and without another word the old man sidled through the door and disappeared down the corridor, no doubt to partake in his promised nap.

  Hamilton didn’t mind. He had been nervous at first. After all, the lives of over eight hundred men and women were effectively in his hands. But now he found that he enjoyed the rush of command, even relished it. He returned to the command chair, squeezing the edges of the armrests, feeling the vibration of the ship’s engines throbbing up through his fingers. He listened to the sounds the ship made, the rush of air through the recyclers, the reedy thrash of the oxygen scrubbers, the hum of the four huge ion engines glowing with blue flame far to the rear of the powerful vessel. He felt a part of it. No wonder Kuttner had never retired. What a rush.

  The hours went by, with little for Hamilton to do but sign off on duty rosters and order minor course adjustments. He thought idly about the colony. It was a relatively new one. Maybe the distress call was nothing. Perhaps some essential equipment malfunctioned, or they had a disease outbreak. Or… If his service in the Solar Navy had taught him anything, it was that nothing was ever that simple. He had heard things while he was in Special Operations. Things that chilled him to his core. If—

  “Sir,” said Lt. Brackett, “Coming into communications range now.”

  “Hail the colony,” said Hamilton.

  “Nothing but static, sir,” she said.

  Hamilton looked at her. “Is there some interference? Or are they just not answering?”

  “They’re not answering,” said the communications officer. “It’s like their tightbeam transmitter just isn’t there anymore.”

  “How is that possible?” he said. His heart rate increased. “Hudson, get us to Verdant as quickly as you can.”

  “Aye, sir,” said the navigator.

  Hamilton could feel the Onslaught accelerate. A holographic display flickered to life in the air directly in front of him, showing an image of their destination along with various data pertaining to the planet. He studied it for a moment, but didn’t see anything he thought would be helpful. The colony administrator’s name was Talbot, which might be important if he or any of his fellow colonists were still alive, but Hamilton had his doubts.

  “Nearing the planet now,” said Hudson.

  Hamilton nodded. “Begin braking procedures. Get us in geosynchronous orbit over the colony.”

  “Aye,” Hudson said, grinning. He was young, but it was no secret he fancied himself the best pilot and navigator in the fleet, and Hamilton had come to believe he was right.

  Hamilton gripped the armrests tightly once again as he felt the pressure of the Onslaught’s deceleration field pressing down on them to keep them from being flung about and turned to goo by the ship’s rapid slow-down before it entered Verdant’s gravity well.

  “Brackett?” said Hamilton. “Any luck?”

  “Still no answer, Commander,” said the lieutenant.

  Hamilton nodded. “Keep trying. Tightbeam, radio, smoke signals, whatever you can think of.” He thumbed a switch on the command chair and spoke, “Captain Kuttner, we’ve arrived at Verdant. Your presence is requested on the command deck.”

  A sleepy mumble, then, “I’ll be right up.”

  Ten minutes later the command door slid open and Captain Kuttner stepped onto the deck, wearing a crisp, clean uniform. He stood beside Hamilton in the command chair, knuckling sleep from his eyes. “Any word?”

  “None, sir. “We’ve been trying ever since we’ve been in range. But now we know why.”

  Hamilton pointed at one of the readouts hovering in the air near the navigation console. It was a close-up of what had once been the colony. There was nothing left but a pitted scrap of earth, roughly in the shape the colony had been. Every building, every vehicle, every scrap was simply gone.

  “What in God’s name happened down there?” said Kuttner. He stared aghast at the image for a long moment. “It’s like someone came along and just scooped up the entire colony and made off with it.”

  Hamilton nodded. “It certainly wasn’t any weapon that we know of. No orbital bombardment. No chemical or biological agent. Spectrograph picks up no trace elements or anything not native to Verdant.”

  Kuttner nodded. Clearly this was not the adventure he’d been looking forward to.

  “Sir,” said Hudson. “We’ve got company.”

  Kuttner and Hamilton turned their attention to the main display, which showed a very familiar ship coming around the curve of the planet. Its black jagged lines made it all but invisible against the blackness of space, but the blue-green surface of the planet brought it into stark relief. It was a Draconi battlecruiser.

  Chapter Three

  Engagement

  “They’re hailing us,” said Brackett.

  “Answ
er them,” said Kuttner.

  The display flickered, replacing the image of the Draconi ship with that of their occupants. Kuttner felt his heart rate increase as he found himself face to snout with a reptilian visage he’d not seen since before the end of the war. The creature’s looming presence was so large it appeared taller than him even on screen. Black scales covered a sleek, sloping head that glinted wetly in the glare of an overhead light source. Long white needle teeth jutted out of its closed mouth, and Kuttner could tell that one of them was missing. The Dragon wore a blood red uniform emblazoned with the alien sigils of his race. The effect—of seeing a spacesuit on a lizard—should have been comical, but it was far from it. Kuttner tried to hide his unease, which was a common feeling mankind had toward the Dragons. He’d once heard a lecture from an Academy scientist theorizing that this feeling was caused by some fear-producing pheromones the Dragons secreted. But he wasn’t getting any pheromones now, across the vast distance of space that separated their two ships. Kuttner thought it was some old race memory stored in humankind, back when they were just proto-mammals running from dinosaurs. Many humans had a natural revulsion to reptiles, which was only magnified when those reptiles carried guns and wanted to kill you.

  The commanding officer of the Draconian vessel blinked at him, her translucent nictitating membranes sliding sideways across her eyes. Tiny, vestigial wings bobbed up and down uselessly on her scaly back. Millions of years ago, it was believed, these appendages had been much larger, allowing the Draconi’s ancestors to ply the skies of their homeworld. Now they were little more than decoration, but strangely disconcerting nonetheless.

  Kuttner adjusted his uniform shirt, mentally pulling himself together. The Solar Navy was no place for cowards, and he had been in conference with the League’s former enemies before.