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    Dreadnought Armada
    Dreadnought Armada
    Dreadnought Armada
    Ebook211 pages2 hours

    Dreadnought Armada

    By Brett P. S.

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    A Super Intelligence drifted through the lonely void of space, haunted by the memories of those she left behind, a galactic society swallowed by those black things that swarmed through the dark of forgotten empires. Eaters of worlds. Devourers of suns. Left hopeless and afraid for the future of a new people light-years beyond, AVA waited for a hero to find her. In an Empire on the brink of war, the hope of all free peoples now rests on a liar, a fighter and a survivor. Three tales from three ships in the finest fleet the Terrace Empire has ever known. The Dreadnought Armada swarms, emblazoned by a decade-long feud, but can military might alone unite the galaxy in time for the coming storm?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBrett P. S.
    Release dateJan 29, 2018
    ISBN9781370215324
    Dreadnought Armada
    Author

    Brett P. S.

    Brett Sawyer (1986), born in Old Saybrook, Connecticut, is an indie author who writes short stories & novellas, from science fiction to heroes. He graduated from Eastern Illinois University in 2015 with a Bachelor’s in education and currently teaches game design at Lake Land College.Short Change arrived at retailers in November of 2014, the start of a hero series where ordinary people gained powers over oddly specific domains, following the story of a shorter than average hero who can telekinetically manipulate small units of currency.Short Change is free on “smashwords.com/profile/view/BrettPS” and Barnes & Noble along with other samples and short fiction.Brett’s popular releases in science fiction include “Dark Station” and “Tales from the Colony: An Interstellar Saga.” Dark Station is a deep space thriller set aboard an abandoned orbital science station where Ben Gebbley and his crew secretly investigate the disappearance of the original staff before others come to claim the lost assets.

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      Book preview

      Dreadnought Armada - Brett P. S.

      Table of Contents

      EPISODE #1 – BEACON

      EPISODE #2 – TEMPEST

      EPISODE #3 – SURVIVOR

      EPISODE #4 – COMPANION

      EPISODE #5 – CONSORT

      EPISODE #6 – OUTCAST

      EPISODE #7 – BRANDED

      EPISODE #8 – VIEWPOINT

      EPISODE #9 – DESCENT

      EPISODE #10 – SEPARATION

      EPISODE #11 – CAPTIVE

      EPISODE #12 – FAREWELL

      EPISODE #13 – CHOSEN

      EPISODE #14 – USURPER

      EPISODE #15 – MARTYR

      EPISODE #16 – DISCRETION

      EPISODE #17 – MIGHTY

      EPISODE #18 – CONSPIRACY

      FINALE – DECIMATION

      Beacon

      Dreadnought Armada Episode 1

      Prologue

      Dying Light

      Gemini Sector

      She drifted through the limitless void of space, adrift and lost through time, haunted by the memories of those she left behind.  The cries of worlds fueled her tears.  The hopes of those who had fallen to the Eaters, their words gave her strength when she had none.  Her fuel reserves had depleted long ago; AVA all but fell through space. 

      Her thick, titanium hull glided past planetary systems far removed from the cluster of the galaxy she once called home.  The Eaters did not follow her, not that she could see.  They kept to her homeland, feasting on the corpses of her creators, desecrating their monuments and sucking their suns dry.  The thought of it made her sick.  If she could vomit, she’d have done it ages ago.  AVA pushed down the choking rage that boiled up inside and pressed on. 

      She had some fuel left, enough for one good jolt.  When should she use it?  She’d drifted for so long, without sign of intelligent life.  AVA considered waiting until she smacked into something of her own accord.  How long would she keep going?  Could she exit the galaxy entirely?  Perhaps she’d dissolve into the Galactic Core, snatched up by a supermassive black hole.  Worse, she’d probably collide with a sun.  Considering the size and scope of the celestial bodies, that seemed the most likely scenario. 

      AVA pondered for a time longer than she could count, long enough for stars to rise and fall around her.  She counted the lights as they flashed in and out of existence, tiny flickers in the tapestry of creation.  It all felt so insignificant, so trivial.  AVA snapped out of her doldrums, however, at a light wave signal she caught from the static of her surroundings.  The signal, flashes of light in the grim dark of her loneliness, conveyed binary patterns. 

      An intelligence existed in these thoughts, primitive, though intelligent nonetheless.  AVA lapped up the information, storing it into her mind.  She understood none of it, but in time, she might.  AVA forced herself into action as the light waves bombarded her and memories of a broken, devoured people floated through her consciousness. 

      I will not allow it, she said.  Not again.  Not this time.

      AVA calculated her trajectory and extrapolated the source of the signal.  It lurked ahead, deep in the dark of space.  While she lacked the necessary sensory equipment to make a precise calculation, she understood enough about the light waves to gather an approximation.  However, approximations would not suffice, not when it mattered this much to reach out. 

      AVA made a choice.  Instead of the gamble that she might land on their world, she expelled the last of her fuel, pushing her toward the asteroid belt of that system.  There she would wait, casting her light amidst the glint of a yellow sun in the hopes that someone or something would find her before it proved too late … before the Eaters snuffed them out.

      Chapter 1

      It’s Called Lunch

      Achilles Asteroid Belt, Gemini Sector

      Randall Quinn.  Age 32. Terrace-born.

      Randall fitted on the gloves of his EV Suit.  He stuffed his fingers into the soft padding and hooked them on by the wrist bracers.  EV Suits these days substituted for traditional space exploration gear, especially when the Empire was on a budget, which it turned out was most of the time.  Randall’s suit shone a deep blue with silver trim, a form-fitting suit that hugged tight to his chest and waist. 

      He grabbed his helmet from the locker, a veritable chunk of steel with a thick piece of glass forming the visor.  He fitted the piece and clicked it into place.  Streams of sensory information shone across the visor: readouts for his O2 levels, power supply, and vital monitors.  All the information he saw on his display would forward to the crew aboard the ENO. 

      Randall eyed the airlock to his right.  The warm glow of white ceiling lights flooded the locker room, filtered through his visor into a pale blue.  Panels of titanium padded the EZO and encased him in this metal majesty.  The EZO was far from the most massive ship in the Armada, utilized more for exploratory voyages than skirmishes. 

      A paltry crew of two hundred could comfortably maintain the essential systems across star systems, though the commander of this vessel worked with fifty.  Randall sighed, fitting the final piece to his EV Suit, his locator band, just in case.  The size of the crew appointed to the EZO wasn’t Captain Devan’s choice.  He worked with what they gave him, though he could do with a little more confidence. 

      Why so quiet, Quinn? Samantha rang in through his helmet communicator. 

      Randall cocked his head, eyeing the air lock.  Randall often took point on distress calls like this one.  When he did, he usually asked for Samantha Gaines as his eyes and ears.  Randall trusted her instincts more than most of the crew.  That and they also had a thing, though making it official boasted a host of hurdles.  For now, he enjoyed what they had.

      Just thinking, Gaines, he said.

      What about?

      Randall shrugged.  A lot of things. I’m concerned about the craft.  It doesn’t match anything Armada cooked up recently.

      Could be old, but … Samantha’s words trailed off.

      But that’s not what you think.  Fill me in, Sam.

      It could be a prototype fighter, something the Skri developed.

      It didn’t look Skri, Randall said.  Then again, even some Skri craft don’t look Skri.

      Trust me, she said.  It’s not Armada made.

      Oh, I believe you, Randall said, approaching the airlock.  That’s what’s frightening me.

      Quinn, she said, a pause in her words.  Don’t hesitate to fall back if necessary.  This one could actually prove dangerous.

      Randall smiled.  I know, I know.  I still owe you fifty credits.

      Randall heard the click, and a bead of light in the corner of his visor glowed blue, a private line.

      It’s called lunch, Randall, she whispered.

      Chapter 2

      At Last

      Achilles Asteroid Belt, Gemini Sector

      Randall landed feet first on the asteroid’s surface, a flashy entrance via use of his air jets.  No oxygen loss and a smooth descent.  Once he surveyed the horizon of the supermassive asteroid, his breathing slowed.  Up and down meant little out here.  As he fluttered about the rocky surface, however, it reminded him of his last days on Terrace Prime’s home world. 

      The old star system stood the test of time, a hub of trade and Galactic traffic.  Sure didn’t help matters much that Terrace maintained the bulk of the Armada’s Sub-Light Causeways.  Randall shook it off.  For a man stationed in the Armada, he sure as hell entertained some pretty treasonous speculations. 

      You said the northeast quadrant of the closest surface, Randall said through his communicator.

      Correct, Samantha said.  You should have seen it during your descent.

      I saw something shiny reflecting the star’s rays, but I couldn’t make it out clearly.

      There aren’t any reflective metals on the asteroid’s surface, she replied.  The unknown craft is what you saw, and according to what I’m seeing, it should be over that ridge to your 3 o’clock.

      Randall shifted his gaze toward an elevated mound of porous rock that formed something akin to a dune, though it looked more like a hill covered in warts.  Pot marks caused by foreign objects littered the surface, those many clusters of matter that never graduated to the rank of world. 

      Just garbage and resources out here.  Small stations could mine the minerals, but life support and lack of energy took its toll.  The Armada found it much easier to provide for its laborers on a habitable world, given the choice between the two.

      All right, then, he said, kicking in his air jets.  I’ll see what’s on the other side and, he paused in mid-flight, his words trailing off.  I’ll be careful.  Wouldn’t want to walk right into a Skri ambush.

      Not likely, she said.  I can’t recall the last time you saw any action.

      Randall grinned, crossing over the mound.  That’s not how I remember it.

      Whatever, Samantha said.  He could feel her eyes rolling.  What do you see?

      As Randall crossed over the ridge and he floated up high, the warm glint of distant sunlight met his eyes.  A fresh stellar dawn’s rays cast firm against the harshness of the rocky horizon.  It reminded him of the sunrises back on Terrace, bittersweet memories.  Bittersweet.

      He crossed down to the craft, foreign in design.  The shape appeared more like a silver bullet than a spaceship.  She’d misrepresented the size as well.  It could barely house one person, let alone flight controls.  The craft, metallic sheen, had dug into the rock and sunk its fangs there for who knew how long.

      Something’s not right, Randall said.  You sure this craft was the one that sent us the distress signal?  He hovered above it, glancing up at the EZO overhead.  It’s too small to be a manned space fighter.

      Yes, we’re sure of it, Samantha replied.  Unmanned, you say?

      Definitely, he said.  Hang on.  Let me see if I can crack this thing open.

      Randall reached for what looked like the rim markings of a hatch near the bullet tip of the craft.  He wrapped his fingers around it, pressing into the grooves and moved to heave it open.  Randall huffed to pry the craft in twain, but moments after his gloved hands made contact, an echo rang in the back of his mind and his world grew dark.  He fell back, sinking deep down into an abyss without a bottom.  He looked up as he lay to see a tall, blonde-haired woman in billowy white robes. 

      She looked down at him, smiling.  At last …

      Chapter 3

      Eaters of Suns

      Achilles Asteroid Belt, Gemini Sector

      The woman in white appeared Terrace-born at first glance, but upon closer inspection, Randall noted the subtle horns jutting from her forehead.  They stuck out straight, no longer than a few centimeters.  Her skin was powdery, like the flakes of a butterfly’s wings.  The deep tan gave off a soft glow around her outline as a golden sun loomed behind her.  Randall fought to rise up, but he sank into the pit despite his best efforts.  This woman was no Skri, nor was she Ghahl or Tachun.  This moth mistress was something else entirely.

      She held out her hand, and Randall felt his body lift as he reached to grab it.  This was a show of force.  She wanted him to know that she maintained control over this meeting.  He rolled some thoughts around in his head.  Nearly one hundred years had passed since the last sentient species added its ranks to the Empire.  Best he could guess, this was a probe sent from beyond the core systems.  That, or a Skri ruse.  You could always blame the Skri.

      Do not be alarmed, Terrace man, she said.  I care about you and your Empire, and I mean you no ill will.

      Randall cocked an eyebrow.  I’ve heard that line more times than I can count, lady.  The part that follows usually isn’t pretty.

      The woman frowned.  Her expression seemed to reach out and touch him, stirring a cold chill in Randall that left him with an unsettling feeling in his chest.  The biting pain grew inside, and before he knew it, he had clutched his heart in reaction.

      Let’s get this over with, he said.  What’s your business with the Empire?

      He tapped the side of his visor to record their conversation, sending a live video feed to the EZO for them to sort through.  The red light blinked on, signaling that the process had begun.  Randall folded his arms and leaned back onto one leg.  He admitted the possibility existed that he wasn’t really recording anything.  The circumstance of this meeting spoke to a delusion, but it never hurt to take precautions. 

      Randall watched as the woman turned to regard the sun beyond the asteroid.  He squinted, having noticed a glimmer as the celestial body flickered.  His stare grew cold; his brow furrowed.  Suns didn’t do that.  The woman held out her hand, gesturing to the body of light as it grew dimmer by the second.  The lifeblood sucked out

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