Firestorm: Galaxy On Fire, Book 3 Read online

  ALSO BY CRAIG A. ROBERTSON

  SERIES IN THE RYANVERSE:

  THE GALAXY ON FIRE SERIES:

  EMBERS, BOOK 1

  FLAMES, BOOK 2

  FIRESTORM, BOOK 3

  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)

  FIRESTORM

  BOOK THREE OF THE GALAXY ON FIRE SERIES

  by Craig Robertson

  IF YOU CAN'T BE DEAD, MAKE SURE SOMEONE PAYS DEARLY

  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: 978-0-9989253-6-3 (Paperback)

  978-0-9989253-5-6 (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 children Chris and Kim. It's a rollercoaster ride at times, but, hey, people pay good money to ride rollercoasters. Love you always.

  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

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  THIRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  GLOSSARY

  And Now A Word From Your Author

  ONE

  The chamber of the High Adamant Domination Council was both a solemn and a frightening place. The sixteen members of that august body liked it that way. It reflected their dour personalities as well as their insatiable appetites for control and expansion. From that room, they directed the targets and pace of the endless Adamant horde. The room itself was appointed with dark roughhewn wooden furniture, and the lights were kept low. The acoustics were designed to quiet all voices except that of the male who sat at the head of the table. His voice, the emperor’s voice, was amplified by the architecture. Despite the high level of Adamant technology, no computers or electronics of any type were allowed in the room. The room was as it always had been and always would be.

  The only item that could be labeled a decoration was the gigantic, animated holo-portrait of His Imperial Lord Emperor Bestiormax-Jacktus-Swillyforth-Anp. It hung on the far wall from the emperor’s station at the table so he could perpetually gaze upon his wonder and magnificence throughout the proceedings. Of the Anp family line, he was the one-thousand-three-hundred-eighty-first-ruler. Their lineage came to power when his ancestor exterminated the Zatil bloodline, who had held power for six centuries. Legend held that there had been over ten thousand royal lines since Adamant society formed in the far reaches of antiquity, but no one knew for certain. All were too preoccupied with warfare to bother with history.

  The emperor’s chamberlain Jockto Parenthes established a rank order of planetary conquests, which was the norm for these meetings. But most atypically, it was also to address the rumors that an individual had, as the saying went, rubbed the emperor’s nose in someone else’s warm pile of shit. Defeat was both unknown and unacceptable to the Adamant. Insult and humiliation were unthinkable and intolerable. If either of those two scourges existed, the stability of the current oligarchy would be called into serious question. Heads, thousands of them, would literally roll.

  “Masters of the Adamant, be silent. His Imperial Lord wills that this meeting begin punctually,” barked Jockto. “Will the Loserandi Nestar Larilia recite the Pledge.”

  A withered, thoroughly beaten figure rose slowly to two legs and cleared his throat. Nestar was the only member of the Loserandi, the priestly clan of canovir, known to still exist. The Adamant kept him alive, barely, because of this one function that was essential to the proper conduct of governance. If that was not the conclusion of some forgotten monarch long before, the sum of living Loserandi would be exactly zero.

  “My Imperial Lord and my brothers, repeat after me, if you will:

  The ancient gods, in their wisdom and perfect vision,

  Created the Adamant to ensure that right power had risen;

  To the glory of those gods we acknowledge and praise,

  That the rule of the Adamant continues until the end of days;

  Let all who struggle to resist us be defeated,

  And in the memories of all be deleted;

  The universe is ours to own at our pleasure,

  The death of all our enemies is our greatest treasure.

  Nestar then shuffled slowly from the chamber. He was neither welcomed to nor permitted to attend any such privileged gathering once it began.

  Adhering to tradition, the first to speak was the master-at-arms, Colem Hertily. “I am pleased to report the empire of our glorious Lord has grown at a faster rate than we could have imagined in our wildest dreams. All glory to His Imperial Lord.”

  The others shouted in approval. So far, the meeting was following the rigid script it always adhered to.

  “I have entered into the minutes the list of victories and conquests achieved since our last session. The list is as long as it is impressive,” announced Jockto. “With His Imperial Lord’s permission, I will call on High General Kanolfus to present the operations either in progress or due to begin shortly.”

  Kanolfus stood and bowed to the emperor. “I am pleased…”

  “I should beg of My Imperial Lord a point of order.” It was Reserve Magistrate Garrel Toff who deigned interrupt and speak out of turn. To do so usually resulted in horrific death for the perpetrator and his entire family.

  As such a motion had never occurred, Kanolfus was uncertain how to proceed. “I…er, I shall contin…”

  “The emperor recognizes the words of the Reserve Magistrate,” hissed Jockto. “He is, however, displeased and vexed that such an impertinent stunt would be pulled by someone of your stature. There is, for all matters and concerns, a time and place. This is the time of the military’s general report. Other matters…”

  “Might, due to limitations of time if the meeting were to run long, be tabled until some future session.” Garrel was all-in, committed to his treasonous line of inquiry. “The matter I wish to raise is not one that can wait even one second longer to consider and resolve, let alone the eternity that it would
otherwise be delayed.”

  All eyes were fixed on Garrel now.

  “I wish to know of this alien, this robot, who walks through our armies like they are frightened pups. I will hear of this machine that belittles our empire and our right to conquest. I cannot allow such a matter to be covered up or swept under the floor cushion.”

  The fact that no one leapt on Garrel or challenged him to a duel spoke all that needed to be said. The other members of the council would know the truth also. All attention focused on the emperor.

  “In all my time as His Imperial Lord’s servant, I have never witnessed such vile or treacherous disloyalty. Would all of you present stab your lord with your swords and then rape his females? This is…”

  Garrel stood. “Fancy words and tricks of speech will not get you out of it this time, Jockto. If what we have heard is even one percent true, there is a price to be paid. You know this as well as any.” Garrel sat.

  “I am accused…” Jockto stopped when Bestiormax lifted a paw.

  The emperor looked down one side of the table and the other. He wished to make it unequivocally clear he knew who each Adamant present was personally. Then he spoke while remaining in his chair. “We hear the words of Garrel. Yes, We have heard them before, though up until now only as whispers behind Our back. As it seems the members of this council would both challenge Our legitimacy and break with all accepted parliamentary norms, We shall address the rumors presently.”

  “My Imperial Lord,” began Jockto, “you do not need to honor…”

  “We shall clear the air, loyal Chamberlain Parenthes. Please be seated and hold your tongue.”

  Jockto sat hesitantly, a look of foreboding unmistakable on his muzzle.

  “We all know of the loss of Our extermination ship, Triumph of Might and its commander Mercutcio. Our engineers have gone over the debris and the records and report to Us that the ship was destroyed due to an accidental breech of the exotic matter system. There exists no evidence of sabotage or outside attack. Despite these facts, evil persons who wish Us harm have come up with some tale of an avenging demon responsible for the loss.

  “There are also unfounded rumors that our acquisition of planet EA-11-75 was delayed by this same vengeful spirit. To this, again, We cite the facts. EA-11-75 is under Our control and the native population is almost remediated. No all-powerful force is responsible for any setbacks or defeats. That is the end of it.” Bestiormax did his best to slam his paw down on the table.

  “Such reassurances are warm blood to our ears, My Imperial Lord,” said a dubious Garrel. “Some are troubled by the reports that this all-powerful force landed on your own ship Excess of Nothing, murdered half its crew, and was then by your direct command, escorted like an honored guest to his escape by your High Seer.”

  Bestiormax knotted up his paws in rage. Then he rested his right paw on the blaster hidden on the underside of the table—the one only he and Jockto knew was there.

  “Vicious lies,” howled Bestiormax. “No one who saw those events would speak of them in support.”

  “No one still alive,” replied Garrel.

  Bestiormax was not blessed with patience or diplomatic genius. He was, in fact, a shallow male of limited intellect and even less concern for all thing that were not him or his whim. He whipped the blaster out and fired into Garrel’s chest. At least that was his initial aim. He additionally blew large holes in the table, in Garrel’s head, as well as the arms of the two Adamant seated to either side. By the time the weapon ran out of charge, there was nothing identifiable remaining of the former Reserve Magistrate. Still, Bestiormax continued pulling the trigger for almost a minute, until Jockto eased it out of his hands and rested it on the table.

  Visibly trembling, Bestiormax quickly scanner the fourteen remaining members of the High Adamant Domination Council. “Any other questions or points of order?” he asked in a low tone.

  There were none.

  TWO

  “I tell you, I was this close,” I shouted. I held a hair’s breadth between the thumb and index finger of my left hand while pounding my fist on the bar with my right. “How can I be that close and screw the whole thing to bloody hell?”

  “Well, I don’t…” came the partial reply.

  “All you need to know is to keep these coming. You got that, sport?” I held up my shot glass and pounded back the clear liquid. Then I pounded it down hard, almost shattering it.

  “I am not really…”

  “This fraking close. But no, I had to cave to the Neanderthal bitch and leave those precious, precious kids behind. I should have thought of something. I should have done better by them. Do you know what I am? Huh? I’m a big freaking failure. Yeah, I’m changing my name too. From now on, I’m Failure Ryan, not Jon Ryan. So, when you want to tell me something, you address me correctly. You hear me?”

  “It would be hard not to hear what…”

  “I got something else for you to hear. I need a refill and less jibber-jabber. If I want conversation I’ll buy a mirror and have an intelligent conversation for a change.” I pointed across the bar. “Not that I’m saying I’m intelligent. No, I’m just saying I’m the closest that there is in this room to smart.” I filled the glass to the rim and belted back what I didn’t spill in one fast pull.

  It wasn’t helping. I was kind of depressed and powerfully angry, mostly at myself. But either I wasn’t drunk enough or there simply wasn’t enough booze in the galaxy to ease my pain. Well, it had to be one or the other, so I was about to find out. I refilled my glass, threw it back, and repeated that maneuver three more times in rapid fire succession.

  “Are you sure that’s wise? I think you run the risk…”

  “Risk is my middle name. I’m Failure Risk Ryan, don’t you know. So, don’t put on a housedress and try to be my surrogate mother, okay?”

  “I don’t think that’s even possible.”

  “You know what’s possible, pal? I’ll tell you what might be possible. That you shut up and keep this coming.” I held up the mostly empty bottle. “If such a miracle is not possible, I’ll mosey down the lane and take my business to a bar that respects their customers’ wishes.” I moved two fingers to mime legs walking. I was really being an ass. Totally.

  “Captain, I must protest. There are no other bars. There is no lane to mosey down here in deep space. And you’re drinking distilled water, not an intoxicant.” Gorilla Boy was insistent in his protestations. “I’m frankly stunned by your performance. It’s beneath even you, and that’s not something I heretofore thought was a place that existed in this universe.”

  “Thanks, GB. I needed that. I mean, I felt horrible before. But now, though I heretofore thought it inconceivable, I feel worse.” I buried my face in the crook of my arm. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t deserve it.

  “Listen, Captain. I think you should stop wallowing in self-pity and do something aimed at retrieving the Deft children.”

  “Wallowing, I can do. Freeing the kids, I can’t.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I’ve had a lot of wallowing practice, and I’m damn good at it.” I raised my head off my arm. “I won a silver medal in wallowing back when there were still Olympics.”

  “I was questioning why you can’t rescue the teens. You know that’s what I meant to say.”

  “Of course, I did, but the silver medal thing was funny. Carpe humor, my friend.”

  “It was not funny, and you’re avoiding my question.”

  “I can’t rescue the damn kids because it’s not possible. Hell, EJ has tried to break into an Adamant facility for decades and can’t. How am I supposed to?”

  “You did. Therefore, it is possible.”

  “And a lot of good it did. My mission was doomed to fail before I got out of bed that morning. If I try again, I’ll probably do even worse.”

  “This conversation is getting boring, and I’m an AI with all the time in the world. Either you get ahold of yourself and rescue
those children or please leave my ship.”

  Huh? Was GB threatening me with divorce? Mutiny? It was harsh either way.

  “Where, your highness, would I go? It’s kind of unwelcoming out there.” I pointed toward a wall, aiming at empty space.

  “From the void you came to me and to the void you may return.”

  “What? Are you a traitor and a poet now?”

  “I am neither. I am an AI that chose to temporarily depart from its assigned mission to help a good person with a great cause. If either of those conditions change, so may my mind.”

  WTF? He wouldn’t do that. I was the pilot. He was under my command. He never agreed to help a fellow out. No. He became my ride. I took over.

  Man, did I mention what an ass I was being? I was an asshole that spanned all known space-time, sitting there arguing with GB about being harsh.

  “GB, dude, I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m being…”

  “Human.”

  “Thank you. Yes, I was.”

  “And providing a fine rendition of such a flawed and emotionally labile creature.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “You are welcome, Failure Ryan. Now, I suggest you get off your face and start planning how we are going to whoop some doggy booty.”

  “I’m not sitting on my face, GB.”

  “Ah, my bad. I’m still adjusting to your species. Sorry.”

  “Apology not accepted, funny-bot.”

  THREE

  High Seer Malraff had mayhem in her eyes when she burst back into the detention area. She had, in fact, butchered three guards on her return trip. Their only sin was being along her path after she was forced to escort the monster, Jon Ryan, to his ship and let him scurry away. To all who observed, it was clear that she was not nearly sated yet. No one had moved a muscle while she was gone. Guns that were not pressed to the Deft teens’ heads were still unwaveringly aimed at them.