Earth Song: Etude to War Read online

  Earth Song:

  Etude to War

  Mark Wandrey

  Earth Song: Etude to War copyright 2015 Mark Wandrey

  Cover image copyright 2015 Henchman Press

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Cover art and design by Joy Wandrey

  Edited by Leo Champion and Robert Boyer

  Published by Henchman Press, www.henchmanpress.com

  ISBN-13: 978-1-941620-14-4

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication:

  Now four books into an epic saga, and I find myself in awe of this journey. I could never have gotten this far without the unflagging help of my close friends and family. Especially my beloved wife, Joy (thanks for the art and support), my son Patrick (yeah, he edits on paper still), and good friend Robert Boyer, volunteer editor who removed a thousand apostrophes, and put half that many back in.

  Prologue

  By whatever name you call them, the Creators, the Lost, the Original Concordian, they were powerful and technologically advanced beyond our ability to understand. Legend also says they were ruthless and ruled with an iron fist. And yet there is no hint why they disappeared from the galaxy’s stage. One is forced to the conclusion, they didn't leave willingly.

  - Professor Ted Hurt, University of Tranquility.

  Julast 13th, 527 AE

  Undesignated World, Galactic Frontier

  The Portal snapped to life and issued forth a solitary figure. Few in the galaxy would recognize a human by sight, and fewer still realize how well equipped this particular human was. The armor integrated stealth mirage technology as well as capacitance recycling, linked with a defensive shield. Such a thing had not been seen for untold eons, and wouldn't be recognized by the most knowledgeable researcher.

  The figure carried a shock rifle, more unknown tech, loosely and had a miniature beamcaster pistol in a holster locked on a belt clogged with equipment. The instant the figure cleared the event horizon of the Portal it swept the area with the instruments inside the helmet, multi-spectral scanners would pick up even the slightest hint of an enemy, or even if one had been there hours ago. It was only after the readings confirmed the perimeter was clear did the visor retract seamlessly into the helmet.

  Chosen Christian Forsythe, scout, moved to the side, away from the Portal and behind a partially collapsed structure. He took a knee as he removed a case from his belt. Inside was a precious dragonfly-bot which he tasked and released into the air. It raced off with an almost inaudible buzz as he took out a tablet to watch it do its magic.

  He wrinkled his nose; the planet had a trace of ammonia in the atmosphere. He wouldn't be keeping the helmet open too long here. Luckily the type IV field armor he wore was self-contained for up to thirty days without needing recycling. The techs promised one in the future that would not only be able to operate in space as well, but keep the occupant alive for nearly a year.

  Three hours ago he'd left the rest of his team on a world to finish examining a battle scene – months old to be sure, but enough work to keep them occupied and not wondering where their commander had gone off to. Three darkened gold stars rode his sleeves, same as they had for years now. He didn't lust for promotion as much as some. He found a certain contentment in the somewhat reduced role of the scouts these days. Sure, they weren't the devil-may-care adventurers like in the early days, but now they were the first in. The Rangers couldn't do their job nearly as well if not for the scouts.

  The crumbling city around him moaned and creaked in the stiff breeze. The sun, a bluish-tinted sphere high in the sky, barely seemed to penetrate the drifting clouds high above. Here and there a desultory blade of orange tinted grass tried to climb between cobblestones that had probably been put in place before his species learned to walk upright. Humans were the babies of the Concordia; it was something they all grew up knowing. He shifted the gun over his shoulder and stretched a little, the armor fitting him like a second skin. Kids they might well be, but the kids were growing up fast.

  Thanks to his old girlfriend, humanity now had access to rich treasure troves of data probably shared by almost none of the other species. Already they'd gained powerful friends with judicious trades of that technology, and it had been used to upgrade their equipment to the point that should they have to again face an enemy, they would now be more than a match for even the higher order species.

  He shivered at that thought. Humans might be well armed, but they were only a few million on one backwater world. Even the Tog, their benefactors and the smallest of the higher orders, were a hundred million strong and on six worlds.

  Of course it was because of that ex-girlfriend that he was on this world, one claimed by the deadly species known as the T'Chillen. He wasn't foolish enough to think she'd come back to him, not after getting married and all, but he did hope if he found what he was looking for that maybe she could find it in her heart to forgive him for being such a jerk. In the end, he'd been unspeakably bad towards her. This might be a way to make amends for those actions.

  The bot reported it had located what he was looking for, and awaiting orders. Christian broke into an easy jog and arrived where it was hovering in only a minute. Underneath the buzzing bot was a metallic hatch, partially covered by a collapsed wall.

  “Bingo,” he said and snapped his fingers. The bot just waited until he took out the case and held it open. A second later the marvelous machine was folded away safe and sound.

  It took Christian two backbreaking hours to clear enough debris to get at the hatch. The collapse had destroyed the locking mechanism. Normally that would be a problem, but not now. He removed one of the pieces of equipment each scout carried, an ultra-miniaturized hoverfield generator. He put it in place, triggered it to act on the hatch and stood back. The device pried open the hatch in quick order, the dualloy giving and folding back with a horrendous screech.

  During his brief but passionate relationship with Minu he’d been allowed to look at the logs left by her father, who had planned that she'd see them. Thousands of pages describing worlds the man had visited, what he'd seen there, and what he thought it meant. Minu read over every page, trying to learn insights into her father’s skill as a leader and a Concordia technologist. Christian had plied his memory of those logs for something else.

  And after months of quiet probing on the frontier and review of scout mission logs, here he was; outside a seemingly innocuous hatch leading underground on a rusting, junk pile world in the middle of the frontier. But all the data pointed to Chriso and his team of twelve scouts disappearing here years ago.

  Christian dropped down the ladder inside the hatch, climbing rung after rung for what felt like a thousand times. He reached up and slid down his helmet, the multiple vision enhancements showed him descending inside a tube carved from the living rock of the planet.

  Eventually the tube gave way to a galley of sorts, there were dozens of other passages heading off in all directions. He didn't go any farther. As soon as he set foot on the stone floor his sensors told him he'd tripped an alarm. He knew because it was a Chosen design, in use for decades. He carried a trio of them in his own pack.

  Christian leaned against a wall, a hand casually on the grip of his miniature beamcaster, and waited. It didn't take long before the distant sound of running feet reached his ears. He wasn't worried now; the pounding feet were decidedly human. But when they arrived, his welcome was less than wonderful.

  “On the ground!” screamed the first man to arrive, a scout in out dated armor more than a decade old. It was worn in places, but showed careful t
ending.

  “I'm human, Chosen scout Christian Forsythe, three star.”

  “Do as I said human, or I'll kill you where you stand.” Two more scouts had arrived, both from different directions. They came in much quieter and he barely noticed them. What he did know was that if he didn't do what he was told, he was dead.

  With a sigh he got to his knees and followed orders. They disarmed him and took him in tow, hands cuffed behind his back, for a long walk. “Is Chriso nearby?”

  “Shut up,” said one of the scouts. Christian wished he'd taken the time to memorize all the individual team member names. But the one that spoke was familiar, if older. Brown hair, sharp face, five black stars on his worn uniform sleeve.

  “Eric, isn't it?”

  “So what if it is?”

  “You guys have been out here a long time. What have you been doing?”

  “Save it for the boss.”

  Christian tried asking more questions but the man wouldn't budge. He'd been a young man, newly activated from the Chosen reserves when he was picked by Chriso for this mission. What escorted Christian now was a much aged, battle hardened Chosen scout.

  The walk finally came to an end as he was escorted into a surprisingly clean room. Inside was a pair of chairs, a small table and a pitcher of water. Eric cut his cuffs as he gently pushed Christian inside and closed the door behind him.

  He looked around for a minute before helping himself to the water. After the long walk he could now hear the distinct sound of machinery reverberating through the structure. What was this place, anyway? Nothing in the elder First’s had provided any real clues as to what he'd been looking for out here. The orderly facilities below the ground were a sharp contrast to the decay far above. He was just considering taking a seat when the opposite door slid open and Chriso came in. For a man thought dead for almost eight years, he looked well.

  As with the only time he'd seen the then First among the Chosen, he was tall and lean, though his shoulders and arms spoke of well-trained power under the black jumpsuit. He still wore the solitary golden stars on his cuffs, a symbol only a few other humans had ever worn. Though the face held a few new lines, his eyes shone with intense thought as he carefully examined Christian. His striking green eyes were so like Minu's, the effect was deeply shocking. But unlike his daughter, his hair was straight and jet black, only containing a smattering of gray as the years advanced. He came over right away and offered his hand.

  “Christian Forsythe, we met once.”

  “First Alma, an honor,” Christian said and bowed over the offered hand.

  “The honor is all mine. I must apologize for the poor reception you received. You must understand that our position here is tenuous at best. The snakes harass us constantly, and we've lost some good men over the years.”

  “I know, it was difficult getting here. How many have you lost?”

  “Six, all to the snakes.”

  “Why?” Christian asked. “What was worth your disappearing? You were declared dead years ago, and buried. Jacob is First now.”

  “Who is Second?”

  “Dram.”

  “Good, good.” He turned around and sat at the table, pouring two glasses of water and gesturing to the other chair. “Please sit.”

  Christian shrugged and sat down opposite the legend.

  “How long have you been looking for me?”

  “Me? For about two years now, on and off. Unofficially, of course. I left my team a while back, pretty sure I knew where you were this time. I have a ten man Ranger combat team ready, sir; we can extract you in no time. The snakes would be no challenge.”

  Chriso examined his armor, its gleaming cut and foreign lines, his eyes lingering on both the shock rifle and the miniature beamcaster now piled by the door. All strong exclamation points to his boasts being truthful. “Tell me what a Ranger is?”

  Christian spent almost an hour bringing the older man up to date. He started with the Rasa vendetta, continuing through the brief but bloody Tanam war on the Beezer world, and finished with Minu's amazing and almost suicidal quest into the farthest corners of space where she’d found the human codex, unlocking the full potential of Concordian medical technology. He was about to mention the spaceship when Chriso raised a hand to stop him. “My daughter is Chosen then?”

  “Yes, of course she is! They awarded her two stars after her return. The whole planet considers her a hero. She's never forgotten you, but duty kept her from doing what I did. We were…together, for a brief time.” Christian looked down, his face blushing. “I made some mistakes, and she moved on. It's Minu Groves now, married to Aaron Groves from the New Jerusalem tribe. Good guy, I think.”

  Chriso smiled thinly and nodded. “My little Sapphire, married.” His eyes narrowed in thought and he shook his head slightly. “So you don't think she could have found me?”

  “No, probably not. She's a brilliant woman, but not a scout at heart. The Rangers were her idea. She's a military leader, a general I guess. She's dean of the new War College at the University of Tranquility too, on extended assignment from the Chosen Council. I think it’s just to wait until a branch opens up, or they decide to make the Rangers the sixth branch. There's also some politics, but you know the Chosen.”

  “Only too well.” Chriso had stopped paying serious attention after hearing that his daughter couldn't also find him. He'd stood and paced back and forth by the door, obviously thinking. “I'm sorry you found me now,” he told the younger man.

  “Why? Didn't you hear? We can rescue you, take you home! You'll be as big a hero as your daughter. I mean, imagine it, the great Chriso Alma returning after eight years marooned on the frontier.”

  “What makes you think I'm marooned?”

  “But,” Christian's eyebrows scrunched up as he tried to understand, “why would you stay here on purpose?”

  “To do some work no-one else can do, of course.”

  “Well, I'm sure your daughter can help. She has friends who are some of the greatest scientists on the planet. Pipson Leata, Bjorn Ganose, Ted Hurt.”

  “I know the last two,” Chriso mumbled, most of his mind working hard on the ever present problems as he multitasked.

  “So why would you stay here?”

  “That's complicated. Will your men come looking for you?”

  “They won't, I didn't tell them where I was going.” Chriso sighed and nodded. “Let me go back and bring my team in.” He stood and reached for the door. It was locked.

  “That isn't an option either.” Christian turned around to see Chriso holding a gun on him. The old style chemical weapon was almost an antique, but still formidable. And the Chosen who escorted him to the meeting had deftly removed his heavy combat armor and shield. The second generation uniform he still wore was designed to defeat many energy weapons, but not a simple firearm.

  “What are you doing? I'm here to help you. I used to be your daughter’s boyfriend, and I've spent years looking for you.”

  “That, is unfortunate.” The gun boomed in the small room. Once, twice, three times.

  Christian felt a dull sensation of pain as he fell to his knees. He looked up at the elder Alma as he walked closer. His vision was swimming before his eyes and he struggled to understand as his mind began to drift away from consciousness. “I can't interrupt my work here. The fate of humanity is at stake. I'm sorry.”

  The gun came up again, this time aimed squarely between his eyes. Christian struggled to say something, anything. He never heard the gun’s report.

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Julast 13th, 533 AE

  Dean's Office, University of Plateau, Tranquility, Bellatrix

  “What the fuck do you mean you're cutting my funding?!” Dean Minu Groves slammed her right fist down on the conference room table hard enough to crack the ancient native palm wood.

  The university chancellor looked like he was about to scream in fear as Minu’s gaze bored into him from across the table, h
er green eyes flashing like lasers and her shinning red hair quickly escaping from the waist length ponytail she'd put it in for today’s meeting. To judge by the chancellor’s reaction, you'd think Minu towered over him, instead of giving up forty centimeters.

  “I have students lined up a thousand deep for admission to the War College, which I might add is one of the few departments to bring in even close to what we expend in funds. If you're taking money from me to give it to that damned sports program, so help me—”

  “No, no, Dean Groves, I assure you that is not the case!” the slender, matronly bursar assured Minu.

  The sports program which included football, soccer and baseball, had begun operation a year after Minu's War College formally started accepting full time degree students. She'd fought an unending war with them since day one for precious funding.

  The program was wildly popular among recent primary school graduates, bringing thousands of students from across the Bellatrix to Plateau to attend school when they might well have stayed closer to their native tribes without the offer of sports tempting them away.

  And it was yielding secondary benefits (at least in the eyes of the governors); professional sports teams were popping up all over the planet. Something humanity had heretofore lost along with their home world five hundred years ago.

  The students coming to Minu's college were older men and women, often veteran Chosen or law enforcement. They seldom played sports, but they almost always paid cash. She gave out the fewest scholarships of any other college at the university. That was the main reason her new building had been built five years ago, before construction even started on the new sports complex.

  She wasn't completely against athletics, of course. Soldiers needed strong bodies as well. But she was after the leaders, the future generals of humanity. “Give me those with brains and grit; we can build the body later.” She'd used that line during an interview after the celebration launching the War College, now it was carved in the stone over its main door. Minu never thought it had been quite that clever.