Donald Swan's Blog

https://www.amazon.com/Awakening-Cont...

 

By

Donald Swan

 

“Throughout the ages, Mars has beckoned us…calling out in the night like a Greek Siren of old…challenging mankind to unlock her secrets. Today, we accept that challenge.” – Commander Bryan Perkins, moments before becoming the first human to step foot on Mars.

 

Mars One Habitat

Surface of Mars, 2025

Mission Specialist Audrey Johnson stumbled backward, her gaze pinned to the large silhouette looming just beyond the blood-streaked, circular quartz glass of the inner airlock door. Her arms flailed wildly in the low Mars gravity, hands grasping at air, hoping to find something, anything to grab onto that would hasten her escape. She strained to cry out for help, but it was no use, her throat had been completely paralyzed by fear. Not that it mattered, without her headset no one would ever hear her scream. The rest of the expedition team was half a kilometer away, out on the ridge examining a lava-tube cave they’d recently discovered. Even if by some miracle she was able to reach a radio and contact them, it would be at least half an hour before help could arrive. For the moment, she was on her own.

Audrey couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from the small, round airlock window. Her mind was busy cataloging the details of what appeared to be some sort of spacesuit glimmering in the flickering LED lights.  She’d never seen anything like it before, and that thought frightened her even more.  She had always considered herself an expert on Mars technology.  She knew every piece of hardware, every spacesuit ever designed for Martian exploration, but this….  It looked metallic, bulky, like some sort of strange exoskeleton.  Her thoughts drifted to her colleague and the bloodstained glass. His blood. What kind of person would do that to Tom?  And why? Then a thump at the airlock door startled her back into the moment. Whoever or whatever it was…it was trying to get in.  It was coming for her next!  Her mouth quivered as a whimpering gasp rose from the depths of her being.  Adrenalin poured into her veins, forcing the blood to pound so hard in her ears that it almost drowned out the clawing noises coming from the other side of the door. Every cell of her body was telling her to run, to get as far away as possible from the danger before her. If only she could make it to the secondary airlock and get suited up in time, then maybe, just maybe, she’d have a chance. Her best hope of escape would be the single seat rover—the mission’s equivalent of a four-wheeler. Surely, it would be fast enough to outrun….  Her eyes flared in utter terror.  What the hell is that thing? And where did it come from?

Seconds later, the status indicator to the right of the door turned green and her heart raced even faster.  A desperate scream finally erupted from her mouth and echoed through the confines of the habitat as the locking mechanism disengaged and air hissed from the seal. She hardly recognized the sound of her own voice. It was distant, insignificant and surreal, as though it had broken free from the shadowy realm of her dreams, only to live for a fleeting moment, like a specter, before vanishing into the darkness again. Leaving her all alone…with a killer.

Audrey finally managed to regain her footing and quickly turned to run for the safety of the next compartment. In her haste, she caught the toe of her boot on something.  A damn toolbox!  The very one she’d dropped to the floor only seconds before. Her body twisted.  She stumbled left, missed the doorway, and rammed her temple into the titanium doorframe instead. The impact sent her bouncing off and then reeling face-first to the floor. The force of the blow practically knocked her senseless. Blood oozed from the gash on her forehead, dripping onto the deck as she fought to hold her eyes open.  The room seemed to spin wildly around her.  Her eyelids felt heavy, as though made of lead. Her body begged for sleep. But she couldn’t pass out. Not now!  She gave her head a quick shake, determined to stay awake against the veil of darkness descending upon her. Damn if I’m going out like this! She was a fighter.  That’s how she’d made it this far, how she’d beat out a hundred other highly qualified applicants to get the job.  It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to go to Mars. But somehow, all of that didn’t seem to matter anymore. She’d give up her entire career this instant, just for a chance to survive.  Just to be back on Earth, away from this…monster.

The clunk of boots against the aluminum deck grew closer. Driven by the overwhelming animal instinct for self-preservation, she summoned every ounce of willpower and tried to push her body up off the floor.  But her exceptional willpower wouldn’t be enough this time.  She could feel herself slipping away, sliding further into the abyss. Her brain screamed for survival, but her body would not comply.  Oh God, she wasn’t going to make it! She’d never again see the proud look on her parents’ faces, never again watch the sun rise over the rim of Hellas Planitia, never gaze at the night sky in awe of the sheer beauty and vastness of space. No, she’d be the first woman to die on Mars. And she’d never even know who was behind such an atrocity, never know who was responsible for…her death. She clawed at the deck, refusing to give in.  Her fingers clung to the groove in the door channel as she inched her way forward until finally, her body couldn’t move anymore. The sound of approaching doom grew duller in her ears, her vision blurred, and she dropped back to the floor, unconscious….

September 12, 1962 - Houston, Texas

  David Powers, assistant to the President, sat behind the podium, gauging the crowd’s reaction as J.F.K. delivered his speech to more than thirty-five thousand eager onlookers. The stands of Rice Stadium were full, despite the blistering mid-September heat in Houston.  It was an exciting time for the American space program and an important day for the university.  David was proud to be there, to be part of history in the making. As usual, Kennedy’s unique flair and rock-solid delivery had the audience on the edge of their seats, and he hadn’t even gotten to the best part yet.  David pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blotted the droplets of sweat forming on his brow as the President continued his address. 

 “There is no strife, no prejudice, no national conflict in outer space as yet.  Its hazards are hostile to us all.  Its conquest deserves the best of all mankind, and its opportunity for peaceful cooperation may never come again.  But why, some say, the moon?  Why choose this as our goal?  And they may well ask why climb the highest mountain?  Why, 35 years ago, fly the Atlantic?  Why does Rice play Texas?”

President Kennedy continued, his voice filled with strength, confidence, and determination.  “We choose to go to the moon.  We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too.

It is for these reasons that I regard the decision last year to shift our efforts in space from low to high gear as among the most important decisions that will be made during my incumbency in the office of the Presidency.

In the last 24 hours, we have seen facilities now being created for the greatest and most complex exploration in man's history.  We have felt the ground shake and the air shattered by the testing of a Saturn C-1 booster rocket, many times as powerful as the Atlas which launched John Glenn, generating power equivalent to 10,000 automobiles with their accelerators on the floor.  We have seen the site where five F-1 rocket engines, each one as powerful as all eight engines of the Saturn combined, will be clustered together to make the advanced Saturn missile, assembled in a new building to be built at Cape Canaveral as tall as a 48 story structure, as wide as a city block, and as long as two lengths of this field.

Within these last 19 months at least 45 satellites have circled the earth.  Some 40 of them were made in the United States of America and they were far more sophisticated and supplied far more knowledge to the people of the world than those of the Soviet Union….”

David’s thoughts drifted to the top-secret discussions with the Joint Chiefs that had taken place earlier that month in the Oval Office, the real reason the President had been pushing to go to the moon, and why it was so important for the United States to get there first.  ‘The people of the world.’ Somehow those words sounded different to him now. Now that he knew….  The truth.  His stomach knotted at the mere thought of it.

Laughter drew David’s attention back to the crowd.  The corners of his mouth curled upward as he watched people chuckle and wipe sweat from their brows. He’d always enjoyed studying Mr. Kennedy as he spoke.  The man was simply amazing.  And today the President was at the top of his game. John F. had just announced a huge, five-point-four billion dollar space budget, without so much as batting an eye, and seconds later had the crowd laughing at his jokes. No doubt about it, Kennedy was a natural.  He had charisma. People loved the guy. He’d be a definite shoo-in for a second term in office. 

David pulled his jacket and tie straight in preparation as the President neared]near] the end of his speech.

“However, I think we're going to do it, and I think that we must pay what needs to be paid.  I don't think we ought to waste any money, but I think we ought to do the job.  And this will be done in the decade of the sixties.  It may be done while some of you are still here at school at this college and university.  It will be done during the term of office of some of the people who sit here on this platform. But it will be done.  And it will be done before the end of this decade.

I am delighted that this university is playing a part in putting a man on the moon as part of a great national effort of the United States of America.

Many years ago, the great British explorer George Mallory, who was to die on Mount Everest, was asked why did he want to climb it.  He said, "Because it is there."

Well, space is there, and we're going to climb it, and the moon and the planets are there, and new hopes for knowledge and peace are there.  And, therefore, as we set sail we ask God's blessing on the most hazardous and dangerous and greatest adventure on which man has ever embarked.  Thank you.”  John F. Kennedy stepped from the podium, set his speech on the chair next to his assistant and turned to face the crowd.

David stood and leaned toward the president, his gaze never straying from the mass of cheering supporters.  He gave Kennedy a pat on his back.  “Excellent job, Mr. President.”

Kennedy sighed through his smile.  “I only wish I could tell the people the whole truth.”

“I know, sir.”  David studied the look of regret on the President’s face for a second.  “But you said it yourself…the world’s not ready.”

 

 

Earth, July 8th 2025

Buried in a drab, nondescript building [housed] within the Johnson Space Center complex, Harold Avery tipped his small, barely adequate break-room chair back onto its hind legs until it was at the brink of toppling over backward and then leaned his head back and stared up at the patterns in the ceiling tiles as he made puttering sounds with his lips. Sometimes he’d balance like that for hours, hands behind his head, knees pressed to the underside of the table for stability, and a pencil poised on his top lip as he contemplated the wonders of the universe. He liked his job.  It gave him time to ponder things like why light acted as both a particle and a wave, and what sort of strange mechanism would allow spooky action at a distance to work. But he wasn’t in much of a thinking mood today. Actually, he was bored out of his skull. He’d grown tired of flicking a paper football into the nearby empty trashcan like he often did during his lonely nights in the control room. In fact, he just couldn’t think of a single thing that he wasn’t already bored to death of doing. Solitaire, paper airplanes…crap, he’d even tried one-person tic-tac-toe. Yeah, that had been one of his less brilliant ideas. Needless to say, it hadn’t lasted long.  He could try to make a little headway on that novel he’d started to write…but that was too much like work. If his favorite science fiction author E.J. Deen would get off her ass and finish the next book in her series, at least then he’d have something interesting to do. 

He threw his curly brown locks back and sighed. “Come on, Deen, I’m dying here. What happens next?” As if saying it out loud might actually will the author to write faster. If only he had his Kindle Pro, then he could at least re-read the Deen classic Malevolent. That book had him awake for days, peering out of the corners of his eyes at the shadows in the room. He got chills just thinking about it.  But, of course, no electronic devices of any kind were allowed in the facility. He didn’t have any communication with the outside world whatsoever while at work.  No computer, not even a cell phone.  It was all part of the job, he’d known that going in.  Basically, he was just a glorified babysitter for the government’s top-secret baby. It was his job to be there in case that baby cried suddenly in the night. It wasn’t a bad occupation, really.  Just boring as hell sometimes.

One of the perks of the job was that he could have all the coffee he wanted. Had to stay alert, after all. He tilted his favorite mug up to his lips to take a sip, but there was nothing left in the cup except a bit of dried residue at the bottom. He tapped the fingers of his other hand on the underside of the chair as he stared at the empty mug and considered whether or not to get up to make another pot. No, better not. He’d already had enough caffeine to kill a horse.  Just then, something on the ceiling caught his eye. He twisted his head to get a better view and then gave a short snort. He’d never noticed that before. If he turned just the right way, one patch of the textured ceiling tile looked like…. He snorted again. “I’ll be damned.” It looked just like…. “Yoda?” What are the odds of that? Harry shook his head. Crap.  Now he knew he’d lost his mind from sheer boredom. Feeling a little embarrassed and suddenly self conscious, he glanced around the half-lit control room to see if anyone might have snuck in while he wasn’t looking.

Suddenly, the sound of an alarm erupted from the nearby console he’d been assigned to man.  Startled by the loud screeching noise, Harry reflexively jerked his legs in.  But without his knees to hold him upright, he tumbled over backward, landing rather hard and smacking his head on the ugly, gray vinyl floor. His favorite Starfleet mug crashed to the floor beside him, exploding into a hundred pieces of glazed, black ceramic. 

“Shit!” 

He kicked the chair aside and scrambled to his workstation. A red rectangular block with the words ‘Communication Error’ flashed on the screen. 

“Shit, shit, shit!” 

His eyes darted back and forth as his brain tried to process what was going on, and more importantly, what he needed to do next. Nothing like this had ever happened to him in the year and a half since he’d taken the post. 

He plopped down in the seat, closed his eyes tight and tried to concentrate over the damn infernal noise. “Just stop and think, Harry,” he mumbled to himself. “What’s the protocol for this situation?”  

His eyes popped open again and he reached for the mission manual.  “Duh.” He flipped open the black vinyl notebook and scanned the table of contents. Wait a second, he thought.  Roger hadn’t gone home last night. He was still in the building. “Go get Roger. Yeah, tell Roger first.  He’ll know what to do,” he muttered to himself. He glanced around at the control panel and found the button to silence the alarm and then jumped to his feet.

 

Roger squinted against the harsh light glaring in from the hallway, piercing the divine darkness of the converted office space like a dagger. It took a moment for him to realize where he was. He’d expected to find himself at home in bed, but the glare of fluorescent lights was a dead giveaway. He was at work.  Again. He remembered having an unusually long night of analyzing data from their last objective and opting to spend the night in his so-called ‘bedroom’ at work. The room was really just an oversized closet adjacent to his office that he’d thrown a cot into for occasions just like this.

“Roger,” repeated the silhouette of a man standing at the doorway. 

Roger raised his hand to block some of the painful glare. “Yeah, what?”

“We have a problem.”

“Crap.” Those four little words—we have a problem—were a project manager’s worst nightmare. He shook his head and forced his eyes open further. “Be right there.”

 

A few minutes later, as Harry sat studying the manual, Roger flung his butt into a nearby chair and rolled up beside him. “What do we have?”

“All communication with the rover is down”

“Don’t panic. It’s probably just the Australian relay. How that moron down there can be such a screw-up and still keep his job is beyond—” He glanced up to see Harry shaking his head.

“It’s not the relay. The signal from the orbiter is coming in five by five.”

“Shit.” Roger pulled his chair closer and typed on the built-in keyboard. His shoulders dropped a few inches as he checked the readings. “Damn, you’re right. We’re receiving the orbiter’s signal just fine, but we’re not getting anything from Asimov. Not even secondary telemetry.” He typed even more frantically and then read the screen. “Shit. Have you checked the data stream?”

“I’m on it.” Harry turned and worked his console a moment. “Hmm, that’s odd.”

“What’s odd?”

“The last data packet we received…it’s corrupted.”

“Signal degradation?”

Harry shook his head, puzzled. “No…the packet’s encryption is intact.”

“Crap, you mean the data was corrupt before it was transmitted?”

“Looks that way.”

Roger flung his head back in the chair. “Dammit, not a systems malfunction.  That’s the last thing we need.” He pointed to the book on the desk.  “Follow restart protocol to the letter.” He turned and stood up, then paused to look back. “Remember…two dozen scientists and engineers, and twice as many bureaucrats will be analyzing everything we do here.  We don’t need any screw-ups.”  

Harry pivoted his chair around to look at Roger. “And if the reboot command doesn’t work?”

Roger’s eyes widened. “Just be happy that you don’t have to wake the President up at….” He checked his watch. “Two fucking a.m.” Roger turned and walked off but continued talking over his shoulder. “I’ll be in my office analyzing the data. Give Asimov an hour and then report back to me.”

“Roger, Roger.” Harry watched his boss walk away for a moment as he waited for some kind of response to his poor attempt at humor. But after Roger rounded the bend without a word, Harry spun back to his console feeling a little awkward for trying to lighten the mood. It was obviously bad timing. “Yeah, right. Back to work.”

 

 

 

The Whitehouse, 3:57am….

“Mr. President, sir.”

President Thomas J. Lloyd fumbled around for his glasses in the dim light, accidentally snagging the tip on the lace doily as he picked the spectacles up off the nightstand.  “Dammit,” he muttered as he struggled with his eye-wear a moment. Finally freeing the glasses from their white entanglement, the President slid them on his nose and peered toward the door.  The silhouette of a man stood waiting just inside the doorway.  The President could tell by the voice and outline that it was his assistant, Carl.

“Sorry, sir. There’s a call for you.”

The president sighed and looked at the clock. “Not the Chinese again. I’ve already told the Premier that we don’t know what happened to his damn rover.”

“It’s not the Chinese, sir.”

The comforter on the bed next to him rustled. Brunette hair poked out slightly from beneath the covers. “Can’t the world wait until morning?” the voice of the First Lady asked in an irritated tone.

The President turned back to Carl. “I’m inclined to agree with the lady.” In reality, he knew his assistant wouldn’t have woken him unless it was important. But he too wouldn’t mind a couple extra hours of sleep for a change. There always seemed to be one crisis or another that needed his attention.

“It’s Asimov,” Carl replied succinctly.

President Lloyd quickly sat up and turned to his wife. “Sorry, dear. This may take a while.” 

“Asimov? I thought he was dead,” the First Lady murmured sleepily, then yawned. “Just once I wish we could sleep in.”

Tom kissed his wife’s forehead. “Go back to sleep, dear. I’ll see you later.” He peeled the comforter off and quickly stood up from the king-size bed, motioning to the silhouette at the door. “I’ll be right there, Carl.”

https://badrabbitpublications.com/authors/donald-swan/

Name: Arya Nuraku

Homeworld: Aris IV
Genetic Traits

Species: Arisian.

Gender: Female.

Eyes: Green.

Height: Average.

Skin Pattern: A-1.

Third Continent Ancestry.

Strong Frontal Lobe Development Expected.

No Apparent Genetic Defects.

Background information incomplete. Found in escape pod near moon of Arkanis minor. Now plays a key role in the Resistance movement that was organized to fight back against the Mok’tu and Dragorans.

http://TheHyperspaceProject.com

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The Hyperscape Project -Book One

TheHyperspaceProject.com

Chapter One Excerpt:

Massive explosions ripped through the Hurak’s hull, tearing the ship in two. All Nick could do was watch helplessly from the Ashok’s tactical display, the image of mangled, lifeless bodies silhouetted against an erupting fireball now permanently seared into his mind. A vivid reminder of the cost of war, and the reason they fought against the odds. The loss of another ship was a serious blow to the Resistance. The loss of life…immeasurable. Damn soulless, biomechanoid bastards. He hated everything they were, everything they represented. When would the galaxy finally be free of their malevolent reign?
Admiral Nick Bannon raised his head from the tactical display and stared at the monstrous Mok’tu Star-Killer that now filled the forward screen from edge to edge. It was the first time he’d ever set eyes on the mighty Brokta. The legendary vessel was big as hell and blacker than death itself. Its soot-black hull seemed to absorb every photon of starlight that fell onto its surface, making the ship nearly impossible to see in normal space. But here, against the brightly lit background of the nebula, it was an ominous sight indeed. At almost a mile in length, the rival Brokta was slow and cumbersome compared to the nimble Ashok. But the giant ship’s firepower and defense systems more than made up for its sluggish maneuverability. The Mok’tu vessel was truly a formidable adversary, and just getting this close to the enemy’s flagship was no easy task. Now here they sat, staring down the barrels of the enemy’s most powerful plasma cannons.
By some stroke of luck and a hell of a lot of maneuvering on Nick’s part, the enemy had allowed the Ashok to advance within weapons range. And that’s all he needed to finish the job. Nick drew in a deep breath and prepared to bellow the final command. It would all be over soon.
“Fire!”
“Aye, Admiral. Firing on target,” young lieutenant Aeryl calmly replied from his post.
Nick Bannon spun his chair around to check the tactical display. Three other Resistance ships had also made it into weapons range and were closing in for the kill. Nick welcomed the sight of the other ships. His mission would have been suicide without the other Resistance vessels drawing some of the Brokta’s massive firepower.
“Helm, watch that crossfire!”
A powerful plasma burst grazed the Ashok’s shields, rocking the ship violently. Ensign Coryn had been making his way across the Bridge, but the shock of the blast caused him to stumble. He struggled to remain upright and grasped at the nearby railing to steady himself as the ship pitched. His hand missed the railing, and he fell face first to the floor. The Bridge was a chaos of crew members trying to remain steady on their feet. Somehow, Nick managed to keep his grip on one arm of the captain’s chair as his body was thrown from the seat.
“Sorry, sir,” the helmsman called over his shoulder as he quickly worked the controls to avoid more incoming rounds.
Nick threw his ass back into the seat and checked the damage report. He glanced back up at the Mok’tu vessel as they barreled closer. “Tactical, why’s that ship still in one piece?”
To the right, a Bridge officer fought to extinguish a small fire that lashed out from a damaged power conduit, sending a thick, white cloud of smoke wafting in front of the view screen. A blinding light forced Nick to look away. Sparks erupted from consoles around the Bridge as enemy plasma fire impacted the forward shield. A direct hit. Within seconds, the pungent aroma of shield emitter coolant filled the air, hissing loudly from a ruptured pipe housed within the ceiling. Nick’s lungs seized, refusing to allow the toxic gas in, but not before he managed to choke out a command.
“Protocol Two. Switch to secondary systems,” he ordered in between coughs. His thumb found the latch to the breather unit compartment tucked neatly into the arm of the command chair. As his lungs squeezed closed, damaged from the dangerous coolant in the atmosphere, his hand finally located the small life-sustaining canister, and he quickly pushed the mask to his face. Clean air slowly replaced the chemical laden air in his lungs as he forced a few breaths from the emergency breather. The unique tingly feeling of microscopic medbots working to repair his lungs was unmistakable. He never thought he’d be thankful for the tiny alien nanite buggers that were busy augmenting his damaged tissues, but this was the second time they’d saved his life. And he was damn grateful for them now.
As the pain in his chest eased, he took in a deep breath and shouted over the noise.
“Tactical…report!” Nick glanced at the tactical officer then looked back at the Star-Killer. “Why haven’t we fired?”
“I’m trying, sir. The instruments show full power, but I’m unable to open a jump-point!”
Nick leapt from his chair and stumbled across the shaky floor to the tactical officer’s console. A few quick system checks and he realized the lieutenant was right. But it didn’t make sense. The hyperspace generator seemed to be working perfectly. Yet, no jump-point was forming.
The lieutenant held a hand to his earpiece as he struggled to hear a report over the racket. “Sir, all our ships are reporting the same problem.”
Nick’s blue-eyed gaze darted left and right as his brain frantically tried to make sense of it all. Why isn’t it working? It’s almost as if…. He suddenly realized what was happening and quickly hit a button on the console to send a ship-to-ship message to the rest of the fleet. “Abort! We’re being jammed…. Abort the mission and fall back to Red Six! Abort!” He clapped the lieutenant on the shoulder and spouted commands as he sprinted for his chair. “Helm, get us out of here, full thrust!”
Nick turned in mid-air and came down hard in the captain’s chair. He had barely settled into the seat before the Ashok came about and accelerated away from the Brokta. “Come on, baby, get us out of here,” Nick muttered as he stared at the view screen ahead of him, willing the ship to go faster and carry them out of weapons range. The steady stream of enemy fire was too thick for the ship to escape this one unscathed. Every second they stayed, the hull took more of a beating.
“Shields reaching critical, sir.”
“Just lost the starboard engine!” the Helm Officer cried out.
He could tell by the crew’s shaky voices that they were scared out of their minds. Nick straightened in his chair, the chaos around him playing in his brain like a slow-mode movie. The surreal scene of plasma flashes and sparks seemed to go on for an eternity as the ship continued to take a pounding from the Brokta. He had an excellent crew. He trusted their abilities. Despite the fear in their voices, they would fight to the death. But death might be a fate that came too soon. Even if the Mok’tu only managed to cripple the Ashok, Nick would be forced to use the self-destruct. The Resistance could never allow the hyperspace technology to fall into the hands of those monsters. He and the crew were well aware of the risks and what was at stake. But ultimately, the decision rested on his shoulders, and it was not a decision he relished. He felt like he was consigning his crew to their death either way. And he wasn’t ready to give up on them just yet.
“Just lost another engine!” Helm Control yelled over the rumble of enemy fire and small explosions.
The bad report only steeled Nick’s resolve. It’s never over until it’s over. “Steady, Helm. We’ve made it out of stickier situations before.” Nick gave a confident nod as the Helmsman glanced back nervously over his shoulder toward the captain’s chair. The young man returned the nod, swallowed hard, and turned his attention back to piloting the ship.
“Can we open a jump-point yet?”
“No, sir. We’re still being jammed.”
Nick checked his sensor readings. “It must be a localized field of some sort. Keep trying. It’s bound to have a range limit.” He needed to remain cool and think clearly, but it wasn’t easy. Shit, the Mok’tu had managed to block the only effective weapon they had. He didn’t even know it was possible to neutralize the formation of a hyperspace window. The thought had never crossed his mind. How on Earth were they doing it?
“Sir, the Tolaan is cutting across our rear. They’re turning back toward the enemy!”
Nick punched a key. “Sterk, what are you doing? Get clear!”
A crackly voice came over the channel. “We’ve got your six, Admiral….” Explosions and chatter from the Tolaan’s crew filled the long pause. “We die free!”
“They’ve positioned themselves between us and the Star-Killer, sir. They’re taking the fire for us.”
“Captain, get clear, that’s an order!” Nick shouted.
“Sorry, sir,” came the reply. “We’ve lost maneuvering thrusters. Only one thing left to do…. Ramming speed!”
The channel abruptly went dead. Nick watched helplessly as the Arisian ship sped toward the Mok’tu vessel, steady on its rendezvous with fate. Nick ran a hand down his face and felt his eyes beginning to burn as he watched. The enemy fire that had been pounding the Ashok’s hull suddenly ceased...because of the crew of the Tolaan, because of their imminent sacrifice. The Bridge grew silent as the Tolaan drew closer and closer to the Brokta, blocking out the weapons fire that had been aimed at the Ashok only moments ago. It looked like Nick’s ship, and his crew, would make it out of this one, after all. But the growing quiet only served to punctuate the sense of impending loss for the brave crew of the Tolaan.
Nick stared at the monitor, waiting for the inevitable. The Tolaan suddenly erupted in a massive explosion as it crashed through the Mok’tu’s shields. Chunks of debris pierced the shield and slammed into the enemy vessel, but the mighty Star-Killer remained.
“Sir, jump-point forming!” his helmsman reported.
“Good work, helm. Get us out of here, best speed!”
“Aye, Sir,” the helmsman replied with a sigh of relief.
As the Ashok sped across the space-time threshold, attempting to escape into the safety of hyperspace, Nick lowered his head in respect for the valiant crew of the Tolaan. At the moment, he didn’t feel too good about himself, or his place in this fight. He knew why the crew of the Tolaan had been so willing to sacrifice themselves. They were still clinging to the belief that Nick was their savior, the one from that damn ancient prophecy. And they would do anything to protect him. Nick bit back a hiss of anguish. He knew better. He was only a man. Just a man trying to do the right thing, and hopefully, somehow, stay alive through it all.
They had barely entered hyperspace when it happened.
“Incoming!” his helmsman suddenly shouted.
Nick bolted upright in his chair. “Evasive!”
“No time!”
Boom! A direct strike to the aft of the ship threw Nick to the floor. The hyperspace window instantly began to collapse, grazing the damaged starboard engine pod as the field shrank in on itself. The immense spatial forces of the collapsing jump-point ripped the engine to pieces as the ship coasted forward into the red abyss. The last plasma impact had dealt the Ashok a crippling blow. Half the ship’s systems were now inoperative, and the last remaining engine, communications, and the hyperspace generator were fried. The only good thing was that they had managed to make it into hyperspace. Outside of that, they were like a sailboat without wind: dead in the water.
“Helm to station keeping.”
“Aye, sir,” the lieutenant responded as he picked himself up off the floor. “I am sorry, Admiral.”
“You did all you could,” Nick said. “No room to maneuver when you’re in a jump-point. We would have never made it this far if you weren’t a good pilot. At least we’re in hyperspace, away from the Brokta.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” the helmsman answered, catching his breath as he seated himself and began working the navigation console. “Thrusters at station keeping.”
A deep, distorted voice came over Nick’s com-badge. “Gezitol wyzzt kiptorgyl ak.” Nick tapped his badge. “Karg? Is that you?” Static and gibberish were all that replied. “Damn! Comms are fried.”
Nick spun his chair around, his gaze landing on the only available crew member. “Ensign Coryn, find Karg and bring him to my ready-room.”
The young Arisian ensign stood staring at the scrambling crew, completely unaware that Nick had spoken to him. Nick had seen that look too many times before. The ensign was scared, in a state of shock at having come through a blistering fight with a ship bigger and bolder than anything the ensign had ever seen before. Coryn had stared into the face of his own death and come out unscathed, but his brain apparently hadn’t caught up to that knowledge yet. He looked like a little lost boy.
“Ensign Coryn,” Nick repeated.
The ensign suddenly realized the admiral was addressing him and snapped to. His eyes widened at the sight of the admiral staring at him.
“Find Karg and bring him to my ready-room.”
“Aye, right away, Admiral.” He gave a nervous salute and headed for the lift.
Nick watched the ensign leave the Bridge. Poor kid looked relieved to have something to do. Nick wondered if he had ever been that wet behind the ears. Had he ever been that scared? He couldn’t remember. Maybe this part of space had hardened him, changed him. Somehow, Nick wasn’t sure he liked the idea that he had changed. He wanted to still be that same accident-prone scientist from earth, still staring at the stars and wondering what was out there in the big ole Universe. Well, now he knew. And he didn’t like it as much as he had thought he would.
A short time later, Nick was studying the tactical data in his ready-room when Karg stepped out of the transport tube and into the room. Nick didn’t even need to look up to know it was Karg’s eight foot, four-armed hulk of a body coming across the floor. The vibrations were instantly recognizable. Nick stood and turned to meet him at the conference table, still pondering the sensor data. A three-dimensional holographic display showing their last encounter sprang to life from the emitter housed within the table. Nick spun the hovering image with his finger, hoping that if he viewed the display from another angle, it would shed some light on recent events.
“What the frek happened?” Karg asked.
“We got caught with our pants down, that’s what happened!”
Karg’s brow lowered, he cocked his head, squinted one eye, and looked down curiously at Nick’s legs.
“It’s just an Earth expression,” Nick replied, still staring at the display.
Karg straightened his gigantic, four-armed, ogre of a frame and stood respectfully at attention in front of the admiral. “Right, sir.”
“It means we were caught by surprise, that’s all. And you can drop the ‘Sir’ in here.”
“Yes, s….” Karg closed his mouth before the last word slipped out.
Nick paced the floor for a moment before coming to a stop in front of Karg again. “The damn Mok’tu must have used the data from our attacks to develop some sort of jamming device. By the time we opened a jump-point to escape, they tagged us in the ass, and now we’re adrift in hyperspace without any engines. But believe it or not, we have more immediate problems. We need communications back online.”
“You’ll have it, s…Nick.”
“And see if you can clear up the internal comms while you’re at it. Damn inconvenient. I can’t keep sending crew members on missions to locate each other on my own ship. We have a lot to repair, and time is of the essence.”
“I’ve got a team working on it already.”
“Thanks, Karg. Better get to it then.”
Karg nodded and turned to leave, but then paused. “If I may ask, how are we going to defend against the Mok’tu now?”
Nick’s gaze met the somewhat humbled expression on Karg’s face. “I don’t have a clue…and that scares the crap out of me.”
The look on Karg’s face shifted to one of puzzlement. Nick shook his head. “Never mind, it’s just another Earth saying.”
Karg’s eyes blinked shut for a moment and his head cocked to one side. “No, actually, I get that one. It’s not a pleasant image, but I get it. We’re in deep sket.”
“Exactly.”

I wrote an extra chapter for book one that was never included. Get a copy now at my website:
http://thehyperspaceproject.com/the-l...


#scifi #sciencefiction #cyberpunk #aliencontact

Meral Mathews did a superb job narrating both books. Hear a few of the mistakes he made that didn't make it in the audio version:

http://thehyperspaceproject.com/the-h...

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Just a reminder to all my fellow authors, the Best Indie Book Award is accepting submissions!

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