Zero Hour (Starmen (Space Opera Series) Book 3) Read online

  STARMEN – Episode 3 – ZERO HOUR

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2017 J.M. Hagan

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Starmen

  Zero Hour

  Part 1

  Vorjool

  If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe.

  --Carl Sagan

  The Rovian Federation

  The Rovian Federation consists of 307 planetary governments. Spread across 3 galaxies, it is connected by Gateways that enable beings to travel across distances of mega-parsecs in mere moments. These stabilised wormholes were left behind by an unknown civilisation which ruled over a vast empire of stars.

  Little to nothing is known of these ancient builders, lost to time.

  The Giant Gateway located in the system of the Rovian home world has been deactivated for thousands of years, and it is believed these builders came to the Spira Galaxy (Milky Way) from it.

  As things now stand, the Rovian Federation has never been so powerful. But tensions are rising between the Federation and the Ishar Empire who also inhabit the Spira Galaxy.

  1

  Location: Remus-2, Deep Space Mining Freighter

  It was expected of him to sleep on the job. It had been one of the reasons why the position as Chief Officer aboard Remus-2 had appealed to him in the first place. That, and the impressive wage packet, made giving up sixty-five years seem like a good idea.

  By the time he got home, he would have amassed a fortune. Enough to buy a slice of land somewhere. The crew under his command was made of orphans, widowers, people without strong ties who could commit to a long term journey.

  As the last of his race, he had always felt a deep loneliness that most others couldn’t fathom. It was in his bones, had always been there. But he fit in better with this crew than he had with any other group of people he’d ever spent time with.

  They spent decades being awake for several months in between long stretches spent in hypersleep. They were always dizzy and lethargic. If it hadn’t been for the strong meds keeping them sharp, they wouldn’t have been capable of performing their duties with any real competency for, at least, several days after waking. But the meds kept them so alert they could hardly obtain a few hours of natural sleep between hypersleeps.

  Vorjool had been on the job for thirty years. Out beyond Fringe-space, in the uncharted regions where even pirates didn’t venture. It was too far from trade routes. Nothing but dark space, planets, clouds of gas, asteroids and other eternally floating debris. This journey had been in planning for years before they set out. Each stop along the way had been decided based on the scans performed by explorers on the company pay role.

  He’d studied navigational systems and spent a year as an explorer himself. It didn’t take him long to realise he would have a hard time supporting himself with the income he gained from that line of work. People just weren’t interested in learning about the past and they believed that all there was had already been discovered. So, he applied for Bright-Star. They saw something they liked in him and he was hired. Nobody had been more surprised than Vorjool himself when he got the call and found out they wanted him as the Chief Officer.

  Having awoken some eight hours previous, Vorjool, was on the flight-deck. He had the face of a man in his mid-twenties, despite having been born almost sixty years ago.

  With a hand on his smooth, hairless head, he gazed at the wavering mists of the stars, and a cloud of swirling gases in space that was a mesh of deep purple and blue that spoke of God. With little to occupy him other than the view, he kept dipping in and out of time.

  He never enjoyed this shift. The whole flight-deck ran like clockwork on its own. He was just positioned here in the event of an emergency while he waited on the rest of the crew waking up. They were closing on the planet’s orbit, and there was the potential for unforeseen complications, such as asteroids caught in the planet’s gravity that could collide with them.

  Peta came onto the bridge. He was glad she’d shown up on time to relieve him. It was the first time they’d seen each other for years, but it didn’t feel so long as that.

  “Anything?” she asked, skipping any sort of greeting. She was pale, her face drawn. The meds were still kicking in.

  Vorjool shook his head. He had been having his spirit artificially restored by the drugs since waking.

  “Right – silly question.”

  “How did you sleep?” he asked, his head tilting her way awkwardly.

  Peta took a drink from a steaming plastic cup. “Like a damn log,” she said, rubbing her eye. Three years of dreams made small talk a pleasurable thing. “How about you?”

  “Can’t complain,” he said, even though he could have.

  The dreams, the light headed feeling, the chest that felt devoid of whatever the soul was. But he told the truth – he couldn’t complain. They all signed up for this knowing full well what was expected of them, and it was his duty to keep crew morale high. By now, they’d mostly figured out how to deal with it on their own. All he had to do was resist burdening anyone with his troubles. He was used to that before even coming on-board this ship.

  “How long ‘til we breach the atmosphere?” she asked.

  Vorjool side-glanced at the gauges with the timer in between. “Thirty minutes,” he said, getting up. That gave him a little time to spend with the person he liked most on the ship. “Seen Gwen?”

  Peta checked her wrist watch. “She’s been up for a few hours. I checked the rota. She should be down on the lower decks performing system checks.”

  “Thanks, Peta,” he said.

  She went over and took the chair he’d been occupying and stretched out her legs with a sigh. He could feel the stiffness in his own legs as he walked.

  The corridors were so slim when he turned he had to be careful not to hit his elbows off the pipes along the walls. The surroundings were cold and metallic. Everywhere he looked were masses of exposed pipework, bare unpainted walls, barely glowing in the low light settings. Everything in this ship had been carefully planned to cut corners on the cost. Not a foot of space was wasted in order to make room for the automated apparatus required for surveying and mining worlds, moons, and asteroids.

  He descended ladders to drop down the decks. Gwen was a human, like every other member of the crew. Although his race was a mystery to him, Vorjool was humanoid. He was short in height, grey skinned, with eyes black as coals.

  She was at a conduit with her PDP performing checks when he came along. They exchanged pleasantries while she finished up what she was doing.

  All the while, he was studying her oval, pockmarked face like it was the most beautiful thing in the galaxies. When he was with her, his head
cleared. All the bad stuff went away. It had taken him some time before he realised it was happiness. Ever since he had, he spent time with her often as he could.

  Gwen sat on wooden boards covering some hot pipes. “Damn legs,” she complained. A bob of chocolate brown hair curled at each cheek in line with her lips.

  Vorjool eased down to sit next to her, his lethargic limbs protesting. “Just another few days to go. Then we’re back to dreaming,” he offered, with mild humour.

  “Crazy dreams,” she remarked, taking out a cigarette from her pocket. Gwen lit up. She blew out crisp smoke that tingled in his nasal. “Right?”

  He nodded. The dreams were crazy sometimes. They lasted so long parts had been peaceful, too. But he couldn’t remember much of anything except for the feeling of eternity they all endured.

  “I remember seeing my childhood. Parts of it. Things that happened. Things that never happened. All of it a muddle,” he said, waving his hand.

  “Say, where did you grow up?” she asked, and he wasn’t surprised it had never come up. Their relationship was still relatively new, despite having begun a decade ago. He’d avoided talking of his past in detail.

  “Delta-2,” he said, “Mortron City.”

  The way his face shrunk got the corner of her mouth curling as she took another drag. Everyone from their patch of the galaxies had heard of the notorious city.

  “Don’t worry – I’m not from some glitzy place.”

  “Where do you call home?”

  “Nowhere. Home is wherever I am,” she said. “But I spent a lot of my childhood on Hariko. It’s a small colony with a little port at the edge of the Delta sector. I got off there quick as I could.”

  “You ever wonder if you picked the right career?” he asked.

  That question encompassed a lot. In the seconds that followed, he knew she was reflecting on the emptiness of her existence, just as he was.

  They were always down in their spirits for a day or so after waking. While the more upbeat members of the crew watered themselves at the bar when their shifts ended.

  But Vorjool and Gwen were deep thinkers, he had come to realise. When they woke up, they were questioning their place in existence.

  Gwen’s hand slid into his. He gave a gentle squeeze in reply. Vorjool felt privileged. She didn’t know it, but he was closer to her than anyone in the galaxies. Circumstance played a large part. However, he preferred to think of it as destiny.

  “I’m just glad I’m not completely alone,” she said, her deep green eyes giving him tingles. Vorjool looked away, then looked back. Awkward as always.

  “Me too,” he said, giving one more gentle squeeze.

  “Stations people,” Peta’s voice cracked over the ship-wide coms. “We are approaching orbit.”

  Vorjool stood up. “Come on,” he said, helping Gwen to her feet.

  One week later and they were almost prepared to return to their sleep chambers. Remus-2 would continue mining for resources for the next several years. Once they had extracted their quota, they would wake up to check on everything before breaking orbit and setting up their next stop along their journey.

  Each night, he found his way to her quarters. They made love. Then embraced through the quiet hours, defeating loneliness for a brief time together while the meds kept them awake.

  Vorjool and Gwen went to the bar together after finishing their last shift of this rotation and found the rest of their crewmates there. Peta, Min, and Jon, were playing a card game. While Deacon sat in a dimly lit corner on his own.

  “Got some news reports to read over. I’ve sent them to your PDPs,” said Deacon. He was always the most interested in what was going on back in the galaxies.

  “How old are they?” asked Gwen. The further out they got, the less relevant the news became.

  “Four months,” he said, sitting back and stretching out. “Still, it’s news to us.”

  They got drinks and then sat at a table together. Vorjool took out his PDP and read over the news. The headline caught his attention off the bat. Omni-4 – a world in the neutral zone that bordered Federation and Ishar territory – was in the early stages of a world war.

  Two superpowers had collided with many lesser countries entering the conflict on both sides. Thing was, the Federation backed one side, while the Ishar backed the other. With the weaponry provided, ranging from small arms, to ships, and cannons, the bloodshed had reached previously unprecedented levels for the inhabitants of Omni-4 with the first day of battle.

  1.2 million lives lost in a single day. That day marked a tragedy unlike anything the people had ever known. As he read on, he saw that a General on the Federation side had been so overwhelmed with grief and guilt that he officially stepped down from his position, and then took his own life that very night.

  “I just don’t understand it,” said Gwen, and he looked up. She had been reading the same article. “So much bloodshed. And for what?”

  “The planet is rich in rare ores,” said Deacon from his corner. “If our allies win – the Federation will be compensated for their aid.”

  Gwen turned to face him. “Yeah. But it’s the same shit we’re out here collecting peacefully.”

  “But we won’t be back for a long time.”

  “We’re not the only mining vessel,” she protested. “Dozens of these mining ships return each year, overflowing. And that’s just from Bright-Star. There’s a dozen more corporations working to mine the galaxies dry.”

  Deacon shrugged. “Lots of demand. Especially from the military. They gotta keep growing to match the Empire,” he said.

  “Universe is big enough for everyone. Why can’t the Rovians and the Ishar just avoid each other?”

  “It’s in our nature,” offered Vorjool. It was one of those times that came around too often where he had been trying to seem like he was a part of the gene pool.

  The next day, the crew calibrated the mining lasers, set-up the retrieval processes, ran checks on all the equipment, then they were good to go after running a final diagnostic scan. It took a while for that.

  The system had been running for several hours before it came up with the results. The entire crew were present on the flight-deck while they waited. Gwen was looking over the results with a growing frown.

  “What’s up?” asked Vorjool.

  “It seems there’s a problem with the main cabin,” she said.

  His hand went to his head. “Damn. What is it?”

  Deacon hurried to lean over her shoulder and see for himself. “It’s just a glitch,” he assured them. “Got one like it when we first set out.”

  “But, Deacon, this is connected to the main cabin where our hypersleep chambers are,” she protested with worry.

  “Well, we could report it back to command. Then wait around for a few months until we get a reply.”

  Not one of them wanted that. Vorjool could see it on the faces of his crew. The idea of staying awake that long didn’t appeal to him, either.

  “Deacon, explain yourself,” he said, hoping the tech could sway him.

  “Last time it appeared, I reported it to command. They told me not to worry about it. You can check the logs if you don’t believe me,” he said, frustrated with the whole situation already. They were exhausted. Even after a week of being awake, not one of them felt 100%.

  Vorjool couldn’t just take his word for it, though. The final decision was his to make as the Chief Officer.

  “Gwen, check the logs,” he said, and Deacon turned away with a moan. He went over and sat down, put his feet up on a console.

  After a few moments, Gwen found the log he’d talked about. “There it is,” she said, with her shoulders sinking in relief.

  “See. Told you,” said Deacon. “Now, can we get to bed? My head has been spinning all week.”

  Vorjool nodded. Peta led them, hitting the top of the doorframe on her way out. “Back to dreamland,” she said. He watched them go. Then his eyes rolled to Gwen. He gave a small
smile.

  They went to their pods where they would rest again while Remus-2 got busy collecting minerals. Got stripped down to their underwear and took the pills that prepared their bodies for another long nap. He stood over her sleep chamber when she got inside. The glow of a yellow light bathed her face and shone in her green eyes.

  “Good night,” he said.

  “Sleep tight,” she replied, giving a wink.

  The metallic glass cover slid in place, sealing her inside. Her eyes shut. Almost immediately, she was drifting to sleep.

  He had never been peaceful as that when going to sleep.

  Sirens began blaring – he couldn’t hear them, having been asleep for several weeks.

  The ship’s voice spoke while he remained unconscious in the deepest of sleeps. “Warning. Impact imminent. Repeat. Impact imminent.” Something went wrong, and the emergency waking procedure hadn’t been initiated by his sleep-pod.

  A meteor came burning through the atmosphere and smashed through the bulky vessel as it mined the surface of the planet. Vorjool’s eyes rolled behind shut lids as tremors rocked the interior. He endured a nightmare, unaware his life was in real peril.

  The front of the ship detached itself from the compartments crammed full of precious ores that were now ablaze and plummeting. Trillions of company revenue gone in an instant. Then the landing procedure was automatically engaged.

  The rear thrusters burned fervently, fighting against the acceleration that propelled Remus-2 forth. The ship punched through rising walls of a swirling sandstorm, taking significant damage to the hull. As it neared the surface, the main cabin carrying the hypersleep chambers was jettisoned. It flew up high and then automatically dove toward the surface, with Remus-2 scuttling through miles of rock and sand behind it before succumbing to an explosion when the fuel lines ruptured.

  There he rested in his pod, kept alive by an abundant power source. Having nightmares, and the occasional dream. He knew he was in danger. He could feel it, even though he was being kept under by the machines. His consciousness drifted…