Embers: The Galaxy On Fire Series, Book 1 Read online

  ALSO BY CRAIG A. ROBERTSON

  OTHER SERIES IN THE RYANVERSE:

  THE FOREVER SERIES:

  THE FOREVER LIFE, BOOK 1

  THE FOREVER ENEMY, BOOK 2

  THE FOREVER FIGHT, BOOK 3

  THE FOREVER QUEST, BOOK 4

  THE FOREVER ALLIANCE, BOOK 5

  THE FOREVER PEACE, BOOK 6

  STAND ALONE NOVELS:

  THE CORPORATE VIRUS (2016)

  TIME DIVING (2013)

  THE INNERgLOW EFFECT (2010)

  ANON TIME (2009)

  WRITE NOW! The Prisoner of NaNoWriMo (2009)

  EMBERS

  BOOK ONE OF THE GALAXY ON FIRE SERIES

  by Craig Robertson

  IF YOU CAN'T BE DEAD, MAKE SURE THEY NOTICE YOU

  Imagine-It Publishing

  El Dorado Hills, CA

  Copyright 2018 Craig Robertson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system without written permission from the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9989253-2-5 (Paperback)

  978-0-9989253-1-8 (E-Book)

  Cover design by Jessica Bell

  Editing and Formatting services by Polgarus Studio

  Available at http://www.polgarusstudio.com

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to my wonderful grandson, Jonathan Ryan Davis. Stay loving, pure, and committed to the service of others. I know your life's story will be even more fantastic than the Jon Ryan's of this series. All my love … Papa.

  I want to specifically thank my fastest, best, and most loyal beta readers. Here's to you Charles Pitts, Tony Hall, and Jeff Worthen. Seriously, dudes, I couldn't have done it without you!

  Table of Contents

  ALSO BY CRAIG A. ROBERTSON

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  GLOSSARY OF TERMS

  And Now A Word From Your Author

  Note: Glossary of Terms Is Located at the End of the Book

  ONE

  I opened my eyes. My immediate reaction: crrrrap! I was supposed to be dead. I really, really wanted to be dead, but it seemed almost certain I was not deceased. I repeated crap a bunch of times out loud. I was lying on my back in a dark room. Then I looked down to notice an alien I couldn’t ID with a flashlight strapped to its head. It was burrowing into my chest like a kid looking for his favorite prize at the bottom of the toy chest. Man, my day was just getting better. Someone was going to pay for this—all of this.

  I tried to reach for what was likely his throat with my right hand. Perfect! My right arm was missing. If the day got a hell of a lot better it would still be the worst day of my life by a generous margin. I checked and, with relief, found my left arm was present and accounted for. Thank the Lord for minor miracles. I rapped the dude alongside its head. “What the hell are you doing?”

  It looked at me like a turnip had just spoken to him. Then it returned to its rushed digging without comment. I should mention that the dude looked like it had been beaten badly with an ugly stick. Its shape was that of a big bug, with a head that looked a lot like a praying mantis. There was no hard shell, however, more like scaly skin. It was maybe two meters tall, fifty to sixty kilos, and ugly. I mention ugly again because it basically owned the concept.

  I lifted my left arm toward it and said the word neck in my head. The probe fibers in my fingers sprang to life and encircled its skinny throat. I cinched them down tightly and repeated my earlier query. “What the hell are you doing?” My sudden movement made me notice we were in a low gravity environment because I recoiled and lifted slightly off the surface I was lying on.

  It tore at the fibers with seven insect-like appendages but failed to loosen my grip. Good, I hoped it hurt.

  In an appropriately choking voice it responded, “I’m looking for salvage, robot. Release me or I’ll disintegrate you.”

  “Oh, now I’m scared,” I said as sarcastically as I could. “You’d actually be doing me a favor, pal. You know that?”

  “Then release me so I can get my vaporizer.”

  “Wait, you threatened to zap me, but you don’t have the necessary tool unless I release you first? That’s whacked, dude. You can’t threaten someone unless you are prepared to follow through.”

  “Sorry,” he gasped. “I’m not so good at relationships.”

  “What, do I look like your shrink who wants to hear about your failed life?”

  “No. I mean to say I don’t interact well with others. I don’t know how to relate to others.”

  “Small wonder. You’re making a terrible first impression on me, digging into my chest without so much as an if you please.”

  “Be a good turn-crank and let go of me.”

  He looked confused.

  “A turn-crank. A robot.”

  “Ah,” I responded as I withdrew my probe fibers. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

  “Well now you have. Do you mind if I get back to my salvaging?”

  “Why, yes, as a point of order, I very much do. I like all my parts and wish you to remove none of them.”

  “Humor? Who programs humor into a turn-crank? What a damn waste of time.”

  “I’m not a robot. I’m a human.”

  “I’ve never heard of those, but whatever they are, you’re not one. You’re a turn-crank. Trust me on that.”

  “I wouldn’t trust you to die if I threw you into boiling oil. Look, pal, I’m having a bad day here. Cut me some slack.”

  “How can a turn-crank have a good or bad day, and how would lengthening a rope help?”

  “Because I’m not a TC. I’m a living human.”

  “A TC? What’s a TC?”

  “Turn-crank, my slow-witted friend. Now get off me and let me try to close my chest. It’ll be a bitch since it appears my right arm is lost.”

  “It’s not lost. It’s right here in my satchel. It has a crude but serviceable cutting tool at the end Might bring a few credits.”

  “Dude,” I protested, “that’s a gamma ray laser you’re referring to.”

  “As I said. A old but effective cutting tool.”

  “Old?” I wondered out loud.

  I checked my chronometer. Holy crap. It was approximately two billion years since Doc was supposed to have decommissioned me. How very entirely perfect. I was screwed in so many ways I couldn’t decide which hurt the most. Not dead, being dismembered for scrap, and stranded two billion—that’s billion with a B—years down the time stream. I should have just let this asshole keep on digging. Maybe he’d find my off switch.

  “Is it, like way in the future?” I asked hesitantly.

  He squinted. “No. It’s today.”

  “I mean am I way in the future?”

  “How should I know, and why would I possibly care? Why should you care. TCs don’t have a concept of time. They tell time, but no one would program in an appreciation of time. That would be silly.”

  “Because I’m not a robot, maybe?”

  “Could have fooled me, robot. Now be a good turn-crank and power yourself off. You’re really slowing me down.”

  “N
o. Look, give me my arm back and maybe I won’t kill you. How’s that sound for a deal?”

  “Now listen here, slave. I’ve had about as much of you as I’m willing to overlook. Shut up and let me see if there’s anything else salvageable in your frame.”

  “Oh, now I’m a slave. You’re not distancing yourself from me killing you with that type of remark, you know?”

  He developed a very impatient, frustrated look on his face. “Robot, slave. Slave, turn-crank. They’re all the same thing. What else are TCs made for other than to be slaves?”

  “This android host was created to download my human consciousness into. It made me immortal.”

  He scanned me up and down dubiously. “You don’t look so immortal to me. You look like an antiquated TC badly in need of a muting switch.”

  It was then a flashing red light on my optical pop up screen caught my notice. Hadn’t seen that one flash before. Ah, most perfect! A low sperm warning was flashing. This officially made it the worst day anyone, anywhere, ever had. And my day was only five minutes old. I could still look forward to frogs, boils, and locusts.

  After my brief pity-party, I looked down to see my persistently annoying buddy back at it, ripping into my chest cavity.

  “Ah,” he said with measured glee, “there they are. The fusion generators.” He glanced up toward me. “Not so very useful, but they could add a little boost to the exotic matter energy supply.”

  “Do you practice talking without saying anything, or is it a natural gift? What’s the exotic matter energy supply?”

  “Where were you stamped out? Everybody knows about exotic matter. It requires a lot of energy to produce, but it binds the galaxies together. Your little fusion cores could bring me a few coins from the Adamant.”

  I drew my left palm down across my face in frustration. “Well I don’t know about exotic matter. I mean, I do, because I have a degree in physics, but how it applies to the adamant binding of galaxies, well, I think you’re just plain batty.”

  “Now I know you’re joking again. Stupid waste of energy for a TC. The Adamant are not glue.” His spindly arms fluttered in the air. “They are the lords of us all, of everything. They produce most of the exotic matter. They control it absolutely.

  “Oh, you mean they’re the government, the political leaders.”

  He chuckled darkly. “Hardly. I said they were lords of us all. No one elected them or benefits from their tyranny and malice. No, I haven’t heard the word government used in ages. There hasn’t been a viable one anywhere for at least five million years.”

  “Okay, you know what? I’m suddenly disinterested in this conversation. You’re nuts, and I’m supposed to be dead. Instead, I’m sitting here in pieces looking at you, and I have a low-sperm alert flashing so brightly it’s giving me a headache. I need to wrap up this love-fest and figure out how to silence that alarm.”

  “Why would anyone equip a TC with reproductive capabilities? That’s beyond ludicrous. Even if you were a sex toy, you wouldn’t need breeding capabilities.”

  Maybe I was a sex toy now? Well, I guess a guy as good looking as me might have been mistaken for one. I let him have a pass on that.

  “Because I’m human.”

  I assume he was suddenly just as done talking as I was. He reached for a huge mallet that rested on the floor near his feet. I didn’t need two guesses to know how he planned to use it to silence me. As he swung his tiny head up, I clobbered him for all I was worth with my only hand. There was a satisfying crunch as I felt fist meet face. The dude flew seven meters backward off his stool and crumpled on the floor. With any luck, which was against the odds given my shitty day so far, he was dead.

  I sat up awkwardly. It turned out sitting up with my chest walls splayed wide open was harder than I might have thought. Since I only had one arm, it took me the better part of two hours to reattach my right arm. Then, with two working hands, it took an hour to repack the parts into to my chest and seal it back up. I was fairly certain everything was working fine. I just wish there weren’t three small parts left over. But they probably weren’t mission critical, whatever they were.

  As I worked, I tried to noodle out the mess I was in. I didn’t know where I was; I didn’t know what happened to all the humans I helped flee a dying Earth forever ago; and I didn’t know why I wasn’t dead. Toño DeJesus had promised me I would be. Well, I knew the human Jon Ryan who had been downloaded into a human body epochs ago was dust and gone. But this android version of me was never supposed to wake up. What really pissed me off was that I was exceedingly unlikely to ever see Toño again, which meant I couldn’t punch him in the nose for failing me. Sure, he was an android too, but two billion years was longer than a long time. He had to have stopped working. Even if he was still alive, who the hell knew where he was? He could travel a long distance in that time.

  I began to realize I suffered significantly from lack of knowledge. I didn’t know my location or the general lay of things in my new present. I looked down at the big bug I’d clocked. Maybe it would have been better if he wasn’t dead. I could use a major info-dump. He sure hadn’t moved, had he? I extended my probe fibers to him to see if I could determine if he was dead or alive.

  Hmm. No heart. Nothing even vaguely similar to a circulatory system, in fact. I wondered how his species evolved to such a large size without that. Then I slapped myself on the cheek. Focus, Jon. I was in a mess and needed answers. I didn’t need to waste time pondering how the big bugs maintained metabolic balance.

  He was warmer then room temperature. That was a good sign, unless he just hadn’t cooled off yet. His head contained neural activity. Not a lot, but maybe he was a deep sleeper when knocked unconscious. I could only hope that was the case. It dawned on me that maybe some other bug was with him. If so, I’d have someone to pump for information if this guy had split for the big bug-fest in the sky. Great. Another I-could-only-hope. I needed them, oh I don’t know, like I needed a low sperm count.

  I began to contemplate how it was that we could speak, bugman and me, before I rendered him non-communicative. I had pretty good translating algorithms, but I understood him right from the get-go. Hmm. Not likely he spoke the King’s English. That’s when I slapped myself again. Focus, focus, focus. I could worry about linguistic interfaces when I knew what the hell was going on.

  I retracted my probes. It was logical to scan the airways for signs of radio traffic or other indications of activity. Quickly, I discovered there was nothing going on. The only electronic signatures came from a small spacecraft a few hundred meters away. That had to be my new friend’s ship. There were no other transmissions, nearby heat traces, or even the sounds of rats scurrying about within the range of my sensors. It was just me, the bug, and his ride.

  I broadcasted a signal on a wide range of frequencies to see if anyone out there would respond. Nothing came back in a rush, so I stood up and studied the room I was in. Dark and dank. Just like I hated. Man, the dust was so ancient it had dust of its own. Clearly wherever I was had been abandon a very long time ago. I stepped over to the wall, where some beaten furniture was scattered. There was a computer station. Wow, it seemed just like—

  Oh hell no. The computer station was identical to the ones on the worldships. I was on a worldship, one of the cored-out asteroids humanity used to escape Earth’s destruction. This one had been abandoned eons ago. Maybe two billion years ago? And whoever was last off had either forgotten about me or left me behind intentionally. I didn’t know which scenario was more offensive. Did the surviving humans forget about the man who’d saved their collective asses? Or were they simply not concerned enough to take me with them as they carried on to wherever they were going? A notable lack of gratitude either way.

  I heard my host scraping the floor. He was stirring. All right, he probably wasn’t dead. The first break of my new life. I went over to him.

  “Let me help you up,” I said taking hold of him gently.

  At first, he
didn’t recognize me. Then he did. I could tell because he pulled away with a jerk. But I held on tight.

  “Let go of me, slave,” he said, trying to sound emphatic. He fell well short of his objective.

  “Here, let’s get you sitting on the table,” I said as I hefted him up.

  His legs were still wobbly. I angled him into somewhat of a sitting position. His body wasn’t humanoid enough to make that move easy, but I didn’t know how he normally reclined. He grumbled a lot, assuming the series of high-pitched squeals was grousing.

  “There,” I said cheerily, “good as new.”

  “Hardly, slave. You mangled my mandible. It’ll take days to heal.”

  “You look a little tubby.” I patted his midsection. “A few days of a liquid diet will be a blessing.”

  “I would report you to the authorities for decommissioning if there were such a thing anymore. Back in the day, defective, aggressive turn-cranks were dealt with properly.” He pointed a couple arms at me. “You should be melted down. You are a menace.”

  “Aw, come on. I’ll grow on you. I promise.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a second. Parasitism seems like something you’d be capable of.”

  What a Debbie Downer. “Look, here’s the deal. I need a few simple questions answered, and then we’ll say our goodbyes. We’ll never have to see each other again. How’s that sound?”

  “Too good to be true. But ask your questions. If they’re brief, I might answer them.”

  “First off, how can we be communicating? I have a translation program, but I understood you from word one.”

  “I speak Standard. Everybody speaks Standard. Surely you were programmed for it.” He gave me a look like I was a special kind of stupid.