Star Defender, page 1
Copyrighted Material
Star Defender Copyright © 2023 by Variant Publications
Book design and layout copyright © 2023 by JN Chaney
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from JN Chaney.
www.jnchaney.com
http://www.scottmoonwriter.com
1st Edition
CONTENTS
Don’t Miss Out
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue
Glossary
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1
Xaper was the dirtiest spaceport on the most desolate colony in the AP. Equidistant from Oron Bablish and Jenna’s World, it was the third corner of a stellar triangle. Unlike her sister planets, Xaper was infrequently visited and poorly managed. The place drew traffic because it had cornered the market on minerals and misery.
Rich with raw materials, the place was just barely worth a visit for anyone with the courage, skill, and equipment to mine the wasteland. Venomous insects, snakes that both poisoned and constricted, and sandstorms that stripped flesh to the bone were a tough sell to the casual tourist. Locals whispered of an apex predator that came out of the desert once a year, but these stories had the trappings of folklore.
Few individuals had the drive to prosper, even though it was possible to grow rich here. Only the toughest men and women thrived on Xaper, each of them looking for a bigger, better deal or a more fantastical adventure. There were worse places to begin recruiting Breaker Combat Technicians or BCTs. Anyone who could handle themselves here had potential—or they had outstanding AP warrants and a strong desire to stay on the run.
Heat mirages shimmered in the distance. Dust and sand covered everything, including the inside of my mouth. Thirst dominated my thoughts like I’d never really understood the sensation before now. I dreamed of shipboard climate control and drinking fountains.
Nineteen men and women jogged around the remote facility. Sweat poured down their backs—and everywhere else if we were being honest. We’d all be rich if armpit and crotch sweat was worth anything. Katrina Snow, Sergeant Nova, and Agent Fathers stood at one end of the makeshift track, arms crossed like they were following some hidden SOP.
Look at those three grumpy gatekeepers. I cracked myself up. How could I be in such a good mood, given the sweltering heat and soul crushing glare of the sun? Who cared? In my experience, it was best to enjoy such moments while they lasted.
I stood at the third and final turn and pretended my plain jumpsuit was an accurate representation of my rank. There were no markings of any kind. I was just some poor Xaper schmuck eking out a living. The act was easy. By the time the candidates reached my section of the first test, they lacked the energy for diligent skepticism.
“Good work. Keep it up.” I clapped to encourage them.
All but one cursed me. A few spat at me. I made a mental note.
Woods wasn’t one of the disrespectful jackwagons, and neither was Omar. They had the advantage of knowing who I was. They were also more disciplined and professional. At the outset of this blind test, I’d expected them to outperform everyone. Maybe they would. Several of the locals began the endurance gut check at a foolhardy pace—and were able to maintain it.
Surprise, surprise.
“I guess fifteen hours a day in the mines improves mental toughness,” I said over comms, careful to speak into my collar when none of the applicants were looking.
“That and your promise for full amnesty with the AP,” Nova said. “I still say you don’t have the authority for that.”
“No comment.” I watched a tall, thin man who had been leading the pack slow to a walk and wander away from the event like none of us would notice.
“There goes a quitter who wants nothing to do with the APOP now,” Fathers said. “Kyn and I can pick him up in the ground car. Check him for warrants.”
“Let him go.” I checked Woods and Omar. They were still side by side, keeping an even pace in the intense Xaper sun. “Is anyone else teaming up?”
“There are several subgroups. Your people aren’t the only ones to form an alliance.” Snow’s voice cut through the channel with easy confidence. Not much had changed with her despite three years of painting street murals. She had always rubbed some Breaker pilots the wrong way, but I’d found her manner reassuring. Kalchev, Boomer, and Saint loved her like a sister even when she busted their balls—which she did a lot. Katrina Snow was tough. She had a filter. I’d just never witnessed its application.
Nova looked up from her fold screen. “That’s five kilometers.”
“Give them another five, in the opposite direction.” I watched my team turn the applicants around. Some complained. Others made jokes and jumped around like this was nothing. Cocky bastards.
Heat dried the sweat on my brow, forcing my body to make more. I sipped a watered-down energy drink and sat on a box—an actual wood paneled crate that reminded me of an old movie I’d seen as a kid. My disguise didn’t require me to work too hard. Elsewhere at the spaceport, men and women paced themselves. Too much hustle in this environment was a mistake—unless heat stroke and dehydration was the goal.
Time passed. Woods and Omar talked less and less. All but three of the leaders fell to the middle of the group, then the end, and finally became serious stragglers, lagging behind so far they were in danger of being lapped. Groups that started together were now spread out according to their cardiovascular endurance levels.
Two went down. Lehman, Mirrors, and a pair of Faulkner’s medics escorted them to a tent and administered first aid and fluids.
Shredain and his Honors returned to the perimeter after a trip into town. They spread out and fanned their wings to create a pleasant breeze along their stretch of the crude running track.
“Should I ask them to stop that?” Nova asked.
“No. It will get the applicants’ hopes up. Show them how nice it could be to quit.”
“They’re almost done with the second five kilometers. In this heat, that’s enough to test anyone’s willpower and physical conditioning.”
Nova wasn’t wrong. I thought of the hell I’d faced with my CT and hardened my resolve. “Fathers, give it to them.”
The big APOP agent stood to his full height, pulled back his shoulders, and cupped his hand to shout. “Elimination round! Elimination round! Elimination round!”
Every group who passed him received the same prompting. One man quit immediately. Most picked up the pace until it seemed like everyone for themselves. Alliances melted away like they’d never existed. Woods and Omar pushed to the front but stayed together. She handled the run without emotion or apparent effort. Omar struggled but didn’t quit.
One, two, three laps the elimination round went until most realized they probably had a full five kilometers to finish before it was over. The burst of speed now seemed like a bad joke to most of them. We hadn’t warned Woods and Omar. They’d survive.
I let them go, quietly hating myself for how far I’d pushed them already. The day had barely started. Anyone who wanted to get on my ship and learn how to tech for a Breaker needed to want it more than they wanted to breathe air. All our lives would be on the line. I justified my treatment of the applicants by reminding myself it wouldn’t be a kindness to give them the job if they weren’t qualified.
I sauntered around the final stretch of the course, watching for weakness, searching for anyone ready to sacrifice other runners to improve their own chances. Mental fortitude and physical conditioning were important. So were loyalty and teamwork.
The runners flopped on the ground and guzzled fortified wat
“Are you warmed up?” I asked when they realized I wasn’t a random dock worker.
“I really hate you,” said a short, bald man already sporting a nasty sunburn.
“You have a name?”
He glared back defiantly, mischief in his eyes. “Carl.”
“Last name.”
His bright green eyes seemed like the only thing alive on this planet. “Carl.”
“I like you, Carl Carl.”
He laughed as he levered himself to a standing position, then marched up to me and shook my hand. “Glad to meet you. Thanks for giving me the spot. The name is Carl with a C and Kahrl with a K-a-h-r-l.”
“Be careful with that talk. The other applicants will be gunning for you if you’re a sure thing,” I said, playing along. His swagger wasn’t offensive. I just wanted to see if it held up when the space debris hit.
Woods and Omar burped in unison, then fist-bumped. Carl Karhl didn’t like that. For all his jokes, he was on the lookout for enemies and clearly saw anyone who would stand in his way of getting the job as fitting that category.
I made a note.
“Time for the obstacle course,” Nova shouted. “Please follow Agent Fathers.”
The nine remaining applicants fell in step, most of them glaring at Fathers’s back or muttering rude comments.
“I’ll show you elimination round,” one man said.
There was nothing right or wrong about the comment, but his tone marked him as someone who would hold a grudge, privately if necessary.
I made a note.
Nova and the soon-to-be-tortured applicants came around the Soft Touch to face a maze of shipping containers, rope climbs, and equipment drags. The run that had halved their number was merely a warm-up compared to what came next. Too bad I didn’t have two weeks and an asteroid to abandon them on. That would separate the wheat from the chaff.
Snow fell in beside me as I toured the devilish collection of obstacles. “Did you help with these?”
Her smile was pure Katrina Snow—diamond bright and wicked. “The tube is where we will see the most attrition.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did, Breaker. You remember that time I had to wiggle through the near-sentient spider hive to bring you a fresh battery? Two hours in an asteroid with creepy crawlies, no light, and even less of a guarantee the tunnel even went where I needed it to go?”
“So what you’re telling me is that you’re not afraid of tight spaces?”
“They’re not as horrifying as your jokes or Kalchev’s singing voice, but yeah, no fun. These slobs have it easy, but they won’t see it that way until the real thing redefines their mental constructs.”
Nova lined up the nine who remained. She separated Woods and Omar.
Snow leaned close. “What about Fathers? Do you think he could be a Breaker pilot? He has the build for it.”
“I know he tried out several times and never made the cut,” I said. “But this is an entirely different mission with new circumstances.”
Snow considered my response. “He should try out when we get to that. There are still two Breakers available.”
“Three. Saint isn’t ready.”
Snow made a rude noise.
I focused on nine men and women sprinting toward a freestanding wall and climbing over it. On the other side was random debris. It was a miracle that none of them went down with a sprained ankle. Once they had lost all forward momentum, they had to swing across an oil slick on a chain or spend five minutes standing up and falling down in the goo.
The greasy stain should have been a pit, and the chain should have been a rope, but we were improvising. In a way, this was better than the original trial. Strangeness had its own effect on the mind.
“There will be a temptation to drag the feet on the oil slick,” Snow explained. “Which will be a huge mistake.”
One man fell when his grip gave out. He slipped three times on the way to a stack of crates and couldn’t climb them when he arrived last. Woods leapt high, grabbed with both hands, and swung neatly across. She retained her grip after she landed, then flung it back to Omar. His performance was clunkier, but he made it with no problems.
Wind gusted across the spaceport. Everyone welcomed the coolness of it at first, but then came a shrieking wail that chilled my blood, and not in a good way. The dissonant sound was hideous and wrong, the battle cry of an apex predator unafraid of anything in its domain. There was also something beneath the obvious warning, a nearly subliminal harmony that made me want to find the thing and shoot it—or run away, anything to get out of range of it.
“What the void hell is that?” I asked.
“I’m pretty sure that’s your mom calling you home for dinner,” Saint said, sounding like he was weeks into intense G-5 withdrawal despite his attempt at trash talking.
I searched the field and saw him holding one hand to shade his eyes. The man had his shirt off when I thought it would be smarter to protect his skin from sun and sand. Saying he was jacked and cut might be true, but the general meaning of the term didn’t fit. I knew how big he should have been. Already tall, his muscles were stringy cords that showed every fiber to the galaxy.
Ripper followed, looking nearly as strung out. I didn’t like the idea of those two together. The lifelong criminal and hustler had been thoroughly searched before and after boarding the Soft Touch, but I still thought he would be the most likely person to find drugs or other toxins for my friend.
“It’s over.” Nova worked her jaw and rubbed one finger vigorously against one ear. “Local chat says that is the Fein, their local monster. Of course no one has ever seen one and lived. They don’t come into town often, and then only when people are asleep to steal away misbehaving children.”
“Freaky,” Yolo said from where she monitored part of the obstacle course. “Get moving, you slackers! Are you going to stop on the battlefield when it’s a teeny bit scary? Orion’s balls, you people are lame.”
I looked toward the perimeter of the spaceport for longer than I should have. The sound both haunted me and sparked my imagination. Crazy as it seemed, I wanted to see the source of that voice—so I could run away and tell stories about it, of course.
“All right. That’s enough. Assemble at the ramp to the Soft Touch. Don’t get your hopes up.” Nova strode back and forth with her screen under one arm. “You haven’t earned passage on our ship. This is a range event. I hope you know how to shoot, because failure to score ninety percent or higher on our basic course will be an immediate disqualifier.”
I shook off my mental wandering and joined Nova and Snow at the ramp. We watched six men and women enter. Two of them were Woods and Omar. The former sniper winked as she passed us. My lead bunker man groaned. He was holding up but not enjoying life.
On the range, that was a different story. He rallied and narrowly edged out Woods on the top score for close range work, anything under ten meters. From that distance out, the former sniper was in a league of her own. No one came close. Two failed. One miserably when he could barely operate a rail, and the other when she missed the qualifying score by one percent.
I pulled Nova and Snow aside. “We don’t have a deep applicant pool. Maybe we hang onto her, sort of a probationary thing?”
“Ditch her,” Nova and Snow said at the same time, then fist-bumped.
“Okay. I guess I’ll give them the bad news and send them on their way. This will leave Woods, Omar, and two others to continue.”
