Inner System (Gene Soldiers Book 6), page 1
INNER SYSTEM
GENE SOLDIERS
BOOK SIX
JAMES DAVID VICTOR
Copyright © 2023 James David Victor
All Rights Reserved
Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All people, places, names, and events are products of the author’s imagination and / or used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by J Caleb Design
CONTENTS
Prologue
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
Thank You
PROLOGUE
COMMANDER VEERHOVEN
“Are we nearly there yet?” The young man in the silver-and-gray suit threw a wry grin upward at his superior, his face lit by the blip and glow of green-and-neon-blue holo commands from the control board before him.
“Shut up, Talisk,” hissed the woman, Commander Jane Veerhoven of the Palacian Special Command, at her tactical officer. She despaired. Even though they were aboard one of the most sophisticated ships of the entire Palacian Navy and on perhaps the most important mission that the Palacian Kingdom had undertaken in its three hundred years—still, Tactical Officer Talisk found a way to crack a smarmy remark.
It's because he is a second earl or something, she thought. Unlike most of her officers aboard the Palacian Special Cruiser Ghoul, Commander Jane Veerhoven wasn’t actually related to the Palacian royal family. She considered briefly what this meant.
Does it show? she wondered idly to herself. She looked over her command bridge at the young men and women at their posts, all dressed in the silvers and blues of the Palacian navy but also with a certain air of . . . what was it . . . smug authority. The way that Second Officer Morales casually lounged with one foot on the chair next to him, the small ornaments on their desks, or the way that Talisk didn’t wear his regulation cap and let his hair grow long over his forehead.
All signs that they think they know better—and that they deserve better, Veerhoven thought with a small, bitter grimace. A part of her would be glad when this mission was over. Then she could return home to the Palacian worlds and be richly rewarded for ending the Palacian-Terran conflict.
For bringing victory in the name of Queen Mia Oceanus of Palace.
For crippling the United Terran Alliance suddenly, fundamentally, and completely.
Doing that would be enough to get her elevated to at least lady, wouldn’t it? Veerhoven considered. Maybe even a marquis . . .
“Matching speed with comet 320-74J,” called Second Officer Morales. Overhead, the main control holoscreen flickered, displaying a three-dimensional image of the object they were tracking: the glaring, glittering tail of a large comet. It was spearing through the edge of frontier space between the galactic territories of the UTA and the Free Kingdom of Palace.
It had so far taken the Ghoul a total of two months of deep space, supersecret flight to track and match with comet 320. The comet itself was only a fragment of a larger comet that the Palacian military intelligence had been tracking for the last six months, predicting that it would split as it passed through Frontier System 22 and that this smaller piece—320—would be hurled onwards, accelerating straight through Terran space.
And that provides us with a perfect opportunity, Veerhoven knew. She raised her hand and flicked her fingers forward. In perfect synchrony, the holocontrols read her gesture and accelerated their speeds just a little so that the Ghoul started to enter the tail of their quarry.
“Ma’am?!” There was a sound of alarm from Tactical Officer Talisk as the Ghoul started to shake and tremble with the ice particles and rock dust that battered the vessel.
“Talisk,” Veerhoven rebuked heavily. “I hope I don’t need to remind you that we have to be inside the tail of the comet if we are to remain undetected by the Terran long-range sensors.”
Her tactical officer didn’t say anything. He only made a shrugging gesture with his shoulders as if he were in some synth bar and had just been heckled by a crazy person. Veerhoven’s scowl deepened. If she were back at base or anywhere but an active war zone, then she would have Talisk disciplined for that.
It’s because he still doesn’t see me as a commanding officer or his superior. Veerhoven glared at the back of the tactical officer’s silly head. He has made it clear that he doesn’t think that anyone without a title can lead, she knew. This was exactly what was wrong with the Palacian military and why she wanted to complete this mission successfully—in order to get her title bestowed upon her.
And a disciplinary would only raise more problems than she had the bandwidth to think about, Veerhoven groaned. She knew that even though she was a commander, if she brought a charge against a noble—no matter how far removed from the throne they were—it would come with a high level of headaches, counterclaims, and evaluations.
So, we’ll let that one slide, the commander thought . . . But maybe I’ll put you on latrine duty for the rest of the way back. She grinned fiercely to herself at the thought.
Around them, the Ghoul continued to shake, pummeled with flecks of ice, rock dust, and trace minerals from the comet’s tail as it sped through space.
“Match speed again, Morales!” Veerhoven hissed, earning an, “Aye, Commander,” in response.
The special operations, supersecret cruiser wobbled and then settled a little, even though there were still occasional vibrations and tremors from the hull.
“Approaching release site, Commander,” Talisk said. His tone turned serious as he sat up straighter in his chair, the perfect picture of an officer who knew what he was doing.
No one’s fooled, Talisk, the commander thought. She shook her head and forced the thought away. She had a job to do. And that meant she couldn’t entertain fools.
“Check our telemetry,” Veerhoven announced. “I want to know precisely where we are and how far we are from Terran space.”
Comet 320 was traveling fast. As the command team fed in the details, the exact distances and graphics displayed in the air over their heads, drawing thin and glittering green lines to nearby planets and alarming orange lines to the closest Terran outposts.
“We are about to enter Frontier System 5, Commander,” Morales announced. He didn’t have to explain to any of them what that meant.
Because the territory of the United Terran Alliance was spread over such a wide range, Frontier System 5—supposedly non-political “no man’s land”—was situated right up against the nearest Terran system. This meant that the comet fragment was going to surge straight through it for a few hours before it passed into UTA space.
“Ready the cargo,” Veerhoven said, leaning forward as she regarded the comet in front of her intently. Their speeds were matched. They were hidden from the Terran sensors, which would register them and what they were about to do as nothing more than the comet itself.
“Is this the right time? Commander, we should—” Talisk dared to open his mouth once again. Veerhoven knew that even though he had nothing to say, he had to seem as though he did, because that is what self-importance did to a person.
“Quiet, Tactical!” Veerhoven snarled at him, suddenly losing her cool. “When I want your opinion, as commander of this ship, I will ask for it. Do you understand me!?” She gripped the handles of her control chair and swore that she could hear her knuckles cracking as she did so.
There was a stunned silence from inside the control room, but Commander Jane Veerhoven didn’t care.
“Cargo ready, Commander,” whispered Morales a moment later for the commander to nod.
“I have the controls,” she said. She waved her hands before her eyes, causing a set of alarm-red triggers to appear that looked like four separate latches created out of nothing but glittering light.
“Control validation,” she said aloud, and the computers of the Ghoul read her voice and okayed her authority.
Moving quickly, she flicked each trigger, a distant clunk reverberating through the craft as their deadly cargo was released.
On the holoscreens, the ship sensors recreated an image of what was happening outside. A large torpedo-shaped object was lowered from the opening hull of the special operations craft, held wavering in space for a moment, and then its automatic clamps blew away in wisps of plasma and color.
“Cargo away,” Morales whispered as the giant torpedo raced ahead of them, deeper into the comet’s tail.
Veerhoven held her breath as she watched its blinking vector, seeing it shake as it entered the main cone of the tail.
Don’t fail! Hold your course! She willed the hidden engines and preprogrammed flight computers to do their job—and they did, as the torpedo made it through the outer tail to the space behind the comet where the shadow of the icy rock protected it from the worst of the thrown particles. She held her breath a
There was a moment of silence. Everyone in the room held their breath. If they had failed, then they were about to be engulfed in a gigantic ball of plasma.
But the moment passed, and collectively, they let out a sigh of relief.
“She’s secure,” Officer Morales said, and a small, congratulatory whoop spread through the control deck.
Jane allowed them this momentary break in regulation, knowing that she must bring them back to operational silence soon. But for now, she knew that they had done well.
“Then turn us around and take us back home, officers,” she breathed, allowing her clutched hands and her back to relax against her command chair.
The Palacian Ghoul shook as it slowed its thrusters, allowing comet 320-74J to accelerate ahead of them. Already, the comet had almost sped halfway through Frontier System 5, and in a few minutes, it would be crossing into UTA territory.
The Ghoul would be far away when that happened. By the time that the torpedo activated its own flight computers and dropped out of its hiding place behind the comet—then the Ghoul would be on the other side of the frontier systems.
With no Palacian ships nearby at all and the Terran systems entirely unsuspecting, it would drop through Terran System 8, leaving the comet entirely. It would burn its way past Terran planets—and it would strike one of the most important Terran worlds in all of UTA space.
They will never see it coming, Commander Jane Veerhoven thought.
And she would finally get her title.
1
Cornell Space, UTA System 8
Home . . .
Carl Sebastian was floating in space. Quite literally.
In front of him was the dark brilliance of space. Dark—because space was kinda dark in a large part. The percentage that wasn’t inhabited by people or populated with rocks and stars was by far the largest part of space, and that meant an awful lot of it was a deep dark.
But the part where the forty-something Exalted Pillarman mutant WarDog soldier hung was equally bright. The shine of distant stars dotted through the expanse of night along with constellations and the stranger lights of distant stations, ships, and bases.
“I really hope mission control made sure we’re not doing this in the middle of some flyway,” Carl muttered to no one but himself from the relative safety of his heavy encounter suit.
It’s kind of a joke thinking this is in any way safe, Carl thought to himself. He was currently floating in the vast blanket of space with nothing but the thin, amalgamated encounter suit to keep him alive.
Exalted Heavy Encounter Suit / Sensors . . .
User: (Cpl) SEBASTIAN, C
Atmospherics: (normal)
Biological Sensors: GOOD
Oxygen: GOOD (1.5hrs)
Radionic Sensors: WARNING!
“Yeah, super safe.” Carl felt his teeth grate together as the holo commands of his suit rolled before his eyes against the screen of his visor. Technically, there was nothing to worry about even if one of his sensors showed an alarming, steady orange warning.
Yeah, that’s just telling me that if I was stupid enough to open my suit, I’d get fried by stellar radiation, Carl thought to himself.
Of course, if he had been stupid enough to open up his suit, then he would also freeze to death, asphyxiate to death, and the pressure differential would try to force all the blood out of his eyeballs too.
“Yeah, super safe,” he whispered, looking down at the distant globe of the planet that was hanging below him.
The prime world of Cornell, one of the UTA’s largest, most sophisticated, and most populated planets, was fairly bright even as he hung over its night side. He could look down and see the weblike glimmer of cities and towns stretching across the dark continent like some strange, neon growth.
Home . . .
And of course, such thoughts inevitably led, by associative link, to the memory of the alien xenovirus and the strange visions that Carl had experienced out there on the distant frontier planet of Vespers.
Such a long way . . .
Cornell wasn’t Carl’s home planet, of course, and so the intense feeling of homesickness and longing that he felt at the mere sight of it wasn’t really his. Perhaps some of it welled up from his own animal subconscious—the realization that being up here was alien and dangerous to him. He didn’t need a suit warning to tell him that, but down there was a place where he could live, breathe, eat, rest . . .
We’ve been traveling for such a long time.
But the feelings that bombarded Carl as he looked down couldn’t merely be explained by that. They were also laced with a sort of longing—no—a hunger for the biome that he saw beneath him.
And he didn’t mean that in a flowery, metaphorical sense either. Carl Sebastian, the mutant gene soldier of the UTA, could feel his mouth water and his teeth ache with the need to bite and chew. It was a very real hunger, only he knew that it wasn’t his own at all.
Home . . .
The images of the giant xenoviral “jellyfish” suddenly blossomed into his mind, what he had seen when he had been psychically connected to the outcrop of the virus that called itself the Speaker. It was a glowing pillar of fungal life, one that created around itself a structure of reaching tendrils, and somehow it had housed an outpost of the xeno’s intelligence itself.
Through it, Carl had seen how the strange mixture of virus, fungus, and creatures spread. They covered a planet with their own constantly growing, metal-coated plant forms, taking over the ground, vegetation, and living creatures alike—before merging them together to eject vast mushroom-like shapes into the lower atmosphere. Each was tailed with long tendrils of the viral body itself, and they floated through the galaxy, borne on stellar winds until they found another rock, another star, another planet.
The carbon-rich, inhabited ones were the most delicious, Carl knew instinctively. The psychic link between them had told him that much. But any bare rock would do—nothing could stop the spread of the spore. Nothing short of plasma fire and stellar collapse.
“Corporal! We got you!”
A voice suddenly broke through Carl’s strange storm of feelings. He recognized it at once: Captain Abrams from somewhere inside the distant UTA Special Operations vehicle, the Pegasus.
Exalted Heavy Encounter Suit
User: (Cpl) SEBASTIAN, C
Connecting to Pegasus Mainframe . . . CONNECTED
Mission: Space Retrieval CONFIRMED SUCCESS
“You took your time,” Carl groaned as he tried to remember how to use his arms to move himself around. The tiny positional rockets that were usually in place on every heavy encounter suit, even an Exalted Pillarman one, had been dismantled for this training mission. He was left having to rely on muscles and grace alone.
Luckily, the fact that he was a highly trained soldier as well as a genetically enhanced mutant came in handy for such things, and his body pulled off a perfect slow dive, making the planet Cornell change places from beneath his feet to above his head. He could finally see the glimmer of red lights in the distance, growing brighter.
“Hey, they turned off all your suit transmitters!” The voice of Specialist Mendiata broke into the channel, sounding annoyed—as was usually her style, Carl had to admit.
“Yeah, but still,” Carl quipped. “I would think a hotshot Pillarman like you would see me waving or something.”
“Har-har.” The captain took over the comms once again, returning to a brusque tone.
“Stranded crew member identified. Going in for retrieval. Message Cornell Training that we’ve completed the maneuver and will rendezvous with them in T-minus 120 minutes.”
