Keltan's Gambit is Available! (& a Second Sample for You!)
Cover Art by Michael Lam 2015 |
The sequel to Blood Siren is now available for Kindle and in print. The versions should be linked on Amazon by Friday, but in the meanwhile you can get either this way:
For Kindle eBook, click on this link.
For Print from Amazon, click on this link.
For Print from CreateSpace, click on this link.
And if you'd like a taste, you can go back a post and check out what's going on with Nero, and/or you can check out the first part of the prologue from Keltan's Gambit bellow.
Enjoy!
Prologue
Calemni System, ETMC Mining Colony #2A16
40:10:37 (J2400:3042)
Meia
licked her burning lips and felt the air suck the moisture right back out of
them. Cold and dry was never her favorite climate, but with any luck the
captain she was going to meet would be a professional, and she could get back
to her ship before her lips cracked. They should be doing this deal earlier
while the miners were still working, but this captain insisted on doing it now
for reasons she couldn’t fathom. The street of the mining colony was just
starting to fill with people, the majority were humans, but she did spy a
couple of ‘quill-hawks among them. Soon the small mining colony would be
swarming with exhausted, irritable miners looking for a drink and a good time.
The
building across the street looked like a long box with two windows and a door
built into lumpy-oatmeal walls. The only indication of what awaited patrons
inside was the outline of a bottle stenciled onto the entrance at head level.
That was strike-two against this captain—picking a bar at quitting time for a
classified meeting.
She
was familiar enough with pre-printed frontier buildings to know both the model
and the manufacturer of the structure, but she willed herself not to let the
knowledge hit her conscious brain. Traveling around the Spur with her father
was a lifetime ago, and she didn’t really want to remember the happiest times
of her life when they’d only weigh her down.
“Dammit.”
She adjusted the silver-chains of her gun-rig so that the weapon rested below
the broad curve of her hip.
“Lieutenant?”
Ostrin said, padding up beside her on four feet. His species, the Delgrix, was
sextapodal, and in addition to the quartet of legs projecting from the base of
his torso he also had a pair of muscular arms bulging beneath his black
uniform.
“It’s
nothing, I’m just eager to get out of here.” She sighed, glancing up at the
face below his sloping, conical head. His skin had a mottled, reddish-brown
pattern, and one of his widely spaced eyes had darker skin around it than the
other.
He
frowned and the corners of his wide mouth distorted the short beard lining his
jaw. “We could do this for you if you prefer.”
“We”
included the DS-109 humanoid drone on her right functioning as an extension of
her ship’s A.I., Iapetus. Over two-meters tall, the combat platform was covered
in dull-gray bands of armor, and had a human-like head whose only feature was
the network of green sensor-spots just visible beneath its translucent armored
skull. A pair of miniature, high-energy laser cannons sat nestled in turrets on
its shoulders like pauldrons, and seam lines in the bands of armor marked where
more weapon-systems lay beneath.
“No
offense to either of you but the file indicates this guy is pretty jittery, and
I can’t say either one of you inspires feelings of security in nervous humans,”
she said with a wink at the ‘109.
“I
must concur with the Lieutenant,” Iapetus said through the drone’s vocalizer.
“It is best if we proceed as planned.”
Ostrin’s
thick nostrils flared as he snorted. “Fine, but if he twitches the wrong way,
I’ll put him down.”
“Just
let me handle it. That’s an order.” She headed for the bar.
“Acknowledged,”
Iapetus responded.
Ostrin
grunted, but didn’t follow when she crossed the street. The caramel-colored
dust endemic to this moon crunched under her boot heels. She snarled in
irritation when a dry wind kicked up and stung her face with the tiny grains.
Two human men approaching the bar in oil-stained, ETMC overalls stopped to
stare at her. Their eyes only took a millisecond to drop from her face to her
chest. She knew she had the curves to draw the gazes of both males and females,
but the idiots had to be willfully blind to the silver eagle clutching a
five-pointed star on the slope of her left breast; they were staring right at
it, after all. Both looked about to say something crude until the younger one
spied the CG-90 “Growler” Heavy Gun in her rig. He turned pale, and found
something else to be interested in faster than she could blink. It didn’t
discourage the bearded one, though.
“Heya
there, stranger. Want a drink?” The bearded one said with a twinkle in his blue
eyes.
A
red dot appeared on his temple.
“Nope,”
she said in a loud voice, knowing Iapetus would hear her across the street. If
she said nothing the ‘109’s HEL-cannons would have shown her what his brain
looked like running out of his skull.
The
dot disappeared.
“Aw,
come on baby—“
“You
deaf?” She put her hand on the butt of her ’90. She didn’t want to kill him, it
wouldn’t go over well with the local authorities—or her captain for that
matter. Solus usually frowned on anything that could cause him embarrassment.
Still, she could probably justify it if the asshole made a move.
“Don’t
be like that baby.” The man was grinning.
She
rolled her eyes and took a step toward the door. He moved in towards her with
one hand outstretched to grab her arm. Reflexes took over and she twisted out
of the way, grabbed his wrist, and turned back while wrenching it as hard as
she could with both hands. At 173 centimeters tall and weighing in just over
seventy-kilos she wasn’t a small woman, but he was still almost twice her
weight with ten centimeters on her height. The move wouldn’t have worked if she
hadn’t caught him off guard, but she managed to throw him head-first into the
printed fastcrete wall of the bar with an audible thunk. She felt his body jerk
with the impact, dropped his wrist, and continued on her way into the darkened
interior as he fell to the ground behind her. She heard his friend curse before
the door slid shut.
Her
optic implants adjusted to the dim light in less than a second. The bar was as
simple as its exterior, with a counter at the far end, and a scattering of
tables and chairs. A space to her left was empty save for a beat-up looking
amplifier and an old drum kit. The lack of somarill network units on the
instruments to channel the emotional content into the audience’s brains marked
them as frontier-issue. Listening to music without feeling it was considered to
be too low-tech in modern civilization.
A
mix of male and female miners populated the stools by the bar counter. A few
turned their heads to look at her and did double-takes as they noted the black
Star Corps uniform before their eyes flickered down to the ’90 resting below
her hip. They turned back to their drinks, and the conversations they were
having when she entered resumed at a lower volume. The only person seated at a
table was the man she came to see. He had his back to a wall like he was in
some kind of American Western stream, and watched her head over with a pair of
tired-looking, sea-green eyes. His brown hair was longer than his image in the
dossier. The lower part of it just past his shoulders and the upper half was
tied back in a tight tail that kept his boney face clear. He sported a pair of
mutton chops growing from his hairline to his jaw, and a deep scar running from
his right ear to his nostril. She gave him a hard stare before moving over to
sit across from him. He put a well-muscled arm protruding from his green-scaled
jacket around his drink when she did.
“Didn’t
think I’d see one of those today,” he said in a rumbling voice that was deeper
than she expected.
“One
of what?” She folded her hands on the table.
“A
star-eagle,” he said with a nod towards her pin. “I was expecting a ‘jumper.”
“You
know the lingo,” she noted. Jumpers, short for Star-Jumpers, was the Star Corps
nickname for the Armored Tactical Aerospace Commandos. ATAC was the corps
division that leaped out of space ships in powered armor to do shock-and-awe
style attacks on other space ships and planetary targets.
“Yup,”
he said, raising the glass to his lips. “I also didn’t expect someone so easy
on the eyes. Last time they sent a robot.”
“My
DS-109’s outside if you prefer to deal with him.” She was intrigued. From his
tone he seemed like he really wanted to come across as star-scorched, but it
didn’t fit him quite right. His eyes were weary, but the corner of his mouth
twitched upward when she sat down.
He
took another drink, and it became more apparent that he was trying not to smile
after he put the glass down. “You’re here already. There’s no sense in wasting
time to have the ‘bot come lumbering in or anything.”
“Guess
not.”
He
shifted in his seat, taking on a more relaxed posture. “So, how is old Captain
Solus doing? You did come here on his ‘wormer, right?”
“Yes,
I did.” She nodded. “When did you retire from the ‘corps?”
“Obvious?”
“No
‘wellers I know use ‘jumper’ and ‘wormer’ to refer to ATAC and FTL ships. It’s
also obvious you’ve kept up with the PT, and for retirees that usually means
you were a ‘jumper yourself since we eagles tend to be a bit more inclined to
actually relax once we leave the service. Also, you know who Captain Solus is.”
Dimples
appeared at the corners of his mouth. The smile stayed there for a few seconds,
then faded like a sun behind fast-moving clouds.
“Met
him afterwards. Savorcha’s what did me in, truth be told. I was—well, I was
done after that.” He sighed and finished his drink. “How long have you been
in?”
“Four
standard Confederate years, subjective time,” she said, not quite believing it.
A tour finished already and a second begun.
He
signaled the bartender with a raised finger and crooked it down towards her.
“No
thanks, I’m on duty,” she said.
“Come
on, really? It’s the least you can do to humor an old vet, right? Besides,
gotta do something to make up for the bad haircut they make you wear.”
Her
hand lifted off the table, heading for the military crew-cut she sported on her
scalp, but she stopped it. “Long hair gets in the way in zero gravity.”
“But
you miss it, don’t you?” He cocked an eyebrow up. “I know I did.”
She
did too, but discussing hairstyles was not why she was here. She waited in
silence, meeting his gaze until the bartender put a fresh drink in front of
each of them.
“The
glasses are clean, right?” The dim light made it hard to tell.
“The
alcohol’s strong, so I wouldn’t worry about that. To the corps.” He dipped his
glass towards her and took a deep draw, finishing half of it in one swallow.
“The
corps,” she nodded and did the same, then added a little extra liquid before
swallowing. It burned going in, but her glass was lighter than his after.
“Nice.”
He grinned at her. “Sharp, well-formed, and you can drink, too.”
“I’m
my father’s daughter, I guess.”
He
cocked a smile she could feel make her skin tingle. “I’m Kae.”
“Meia,
but that’s Lieutenant Ironstar to you.”
“Okay,
Meia—“ He squinted. “Any relation to Sanevar Ironstar?”
“Dad.”
She braced herself for the hero-worship that usually came after someone knew
whose daughter she was.
“Holy
shit,” he blinked. “Wow, I didn’t realize I was meeting with spacer royalty.”
“Don’t
think of it that way,” she waved her hand in the air.
“Too
late.” He shrugged and smiled in a way she found charming.
He
seemed like he would be fun to swap stories with if they had more time, and
Meia found herself thinking about other things she could do with him that
didn’t lie within the mission parameters.
“Got
any plans after the war’s done?” he asked.
“I’d
rather get to talking about why we’re here.” The faster they got through
business, the faster she could get to seeing if he would be game for tossing a
bunk before she had to head back to the ship.
“Aw,
come on. This is the last question, I promise.” Kae smiled in a way that put
goosebumps on her skin.
“Last
question, then we talk about what we need to talk about.” She let him see a
faint smile on her face.
“Promise.”
He nodded.
“Once
the war ends the Confederation will probably open the borders again. I’m going
to start an exploration and cartography company.”
“Like
your dad had?” His eyes brightened.
“The
happiest times of my life were spent beside him in front of a helm.” Some of
her excitement faded as unpleasant memories of how that ended threatened to
surface. “Now, no more bullshit. You’ve got cargo we need. Where is it?”
He
leaned forward, putting both elbows on the table. His expression soured. “Do
you know what’s in those canisters?”
“Above
my pay grade.”
“If
you did, you’d wish I’d lost ‘em on the way over.” Kae’s voice dropped down to
just above a whisper.
She
frowned. “I shouldn’t care, and neither should you. We’ve got a job to do.”
He
regarded her for a moment. “One thing about being retired, as I am, is that I
get to give a fuck about what I’m doing, and who I’m doing it for. I know you
don’t have that luxury, but—“
“Are
you refusing to do the job?” She frowned. It’d be a shame if she had to go to
plan “B.”
“No,
it’s not that.” He sighed, looking tired again—so much so that she felt a hint
of worry deep in her gut. “You seem like a nice person, and I think it’s gonna
hit you hard once you find out what this shit is.”
“My
only job here is to pick it up and bring it back,” she said. “Looking at what’s
in those canisters isn’t in the description.”
“That’s
what I thought, too.” He finished his drink and his finger was up in the air
before the glass hit the table.
She
frowned, opened her mouth, and then closed it without speaking. She knew she
shouldn’t ask. Among the many things her father passed on to her was insatiable
curiosity, and knowing what was troubling him so deeply would probably lead her
to actually open one of the canisters to check it for herself. Captain Solus
was very specific with his orders, and when he said to go somewhere and pick up
something he meant exactly that and only that. She’d put herself and maybe her
crew in a spot of trouble if she exceeded those orders, but she could tell from
the feeling brewing deep inside her gut that it was already too late.
She
finished her drink and her equilibrium faltered as the glass left her lips. It
was good, strong, frontier brew of the kind she remembered from the time when
everything the border worlds had to offer was still new. Those were bolder
days, when she was still young enough to be reckless and not care. She knew the
moment she started thinking on them that she was going to ask him the questions
she shouldn’t.
“If
this stuff is so nasty, why did you take the job?”
“That’s
the thing, isn’t it?” Kae waited for his next drink to arrive and downed half
of it before continuing. “I wasn’t given much of a choice, and in the beginning
I didn’t realize what was going on. That was before I saw—“ he stuttered to a
stop, ending up with his eyes pointed straight down at the bottom of his glass.
Even
more intrigued now than before, she wished they were in the same system as a
Star Corps base. The dossier she had listed his name, ship’s registry, and some
details, but no personal information or history. She knew he was ex-Star Corps
from their earlier discussion, but had nothing else with which to guess what
the deal was with this cargo and his reaction to it.
“What
do you mean?” she asked after several moments of silence.
“I’m
sorry I mentioned it. The stuff you want is in a warehouse nearby. Let me
message you the location. Just a word of warning; if they’re going to test it
here, don’t be well-side when they do.”
“Is
it a weapon of some kind?” A message request popped up in her implant’s UI. She
accepted it, and a set of local GPS coordinates appeared in the upper right
part of her vision.
“Yeah,
it is.” He finished his drink.
“Look,
Captain Faen, I don’t know what’s going on, but I think you’ve convinced me. I
want to know what this crap is before I load it on my ship.” She could feel an
unsettled look appearing on her face as she spoke.
He
stared at her for a long moment, his eyes glassy from the drinks. “I’ll tell
you what this crap is, Lieutenant. I’ll even do one better than that. Meet me
at the warehouse in an hour.”
That
would put her off Solus’ schedule, but at this point she wasn’t sure that was a
bad thing. “Make it thirty minutes.”
“I’ve
got to find some nanodetox first—“
She
held up her hand, reached into a compartment on her belt, and produced a small
cylinder of instant sober for him.
“Okay,
make it thirty minutes then.” He nodded and grabbed the injector off the table.
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