Shards [Book Three]
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Shards [Book Three]
by Peter W. Prellwitz
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Science Fiction/Fantasy
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Double Dragon Publishing
double-dragon-ebooks.com
Copyright ©2005 by Peter W. Prellwitz
First published in DDP, 2005
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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Shards: Book Three
Copyright © 2005 Peter Prellwitz
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Double Dragon eBooks, a division of Double Dragon Publishing Inc., Markham, Ontario Canada.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: [ISBN]
A DDP First Edition October 7, 2005
Book Layout and
Cover Art by Deron Douglas
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SHARDS
Book Three
Peter Prellwitz
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Chapter One
Sunday, June 15th, 2679
“This is Recon Five. Eyer here. I've got a wrecked NATech hov and six bodies. Send a salvage team and burial detail. Out. Harris! You and Mobieki check ‘em for identags. Verilli, you take your triteam out on a five-kilometer skim. You two rookies get down there and assist Harris."
I dimly heard skimmers rev up their micron drives and race off. A few moments later, there came the clanging of metal and low tone of voices as they searched the ruined hovercraft.
There was the soft sliding sound of boots on sand coming closer, then I heard a man's voice. Judging by the jumpiness in his tone, it was one of the rookies.
“Check out this one, Jill! She must have taken a dozen rounds in her back alone. And have you ever seen so much blood?"
“Careful, Manuel! Remember what Sergeant Eyer said about—"
“About what? About dead people? Look at her!” I heard him approach and kneel beside me.
I should have tried moving my hand closer to my holstered gun, but I was too sleepy to even make the attempt. Besides, I was nice and warm where I was. Warm on the outside, and cool on the inside. I could have spent the rest of my life in this lazy, hazy twilight.
But the rookie didn't know enough to let sleeping dogs lie. I felt his hands on my shoulder, then he rolled me onto my back. I couldn't reach my gun, but I could still jam the palm of my hand into his nose, shoving the bone into his skull.
My arm jerked and my half clenched hand shot toward his face. It felt incredibly heavy. I wasn't strong enough to make it more than halfway across my body before it flopped down onto my bloody combat jacket. I looked up at him with half open eyes.
The rookie jumped back and I heard his partner draw her gun.
“Geez! She's still alive! Get clear, Manuel! I'll quiet her down.” I heard the whine of a charging pistol. I closed my eyes, and waited. If she didn't hurry and fire, I'd fall asleep for my own execution.
“What the hell are you two doing?” I heard the squad leader shouting.
“We gotta live one, Sergeant. She tried to attack me! Jill was just going to finish her off."
“And just why would you want to do that? Haven't you heard of the word mercy? She's no danger to us.” I heard her tone change as she spoke into the comlink. “We need a medhov, top priority. There's one survivor, in critical condition, bleeding heavily.” She paused a moment. “Acknowledged."
I heard her approach, and a quiet hand lay on my shoulder. I wanted to retaliate, but couldn't do more than thrash slightly.
“Hey, settle down, miss. You'll be fine once the medhov gets here. I need to look at your wound. Don't worry.” She started to fumble with my jacket then noticed I had no blouse on underneath. “Lukens! Turn your back."
I heard the izer open, and she became very still. I heard her swear under her breath, then close my jacket. She rose quickly to her feet.
“Romero, grab the hov's medkit and bring it here. RUN! You! Lukens! Have you had your medtraining yet?"
“Uh ... yes, Sergeant,” he stammered. “Uh, I mean about half. The next class is—"
“Good enough! I need you to assist me. Get over here!"
“But she just tried to kill me!"
“No she didn't, Lukens,” the sergeant's voice took on a clipped, patient tone. “She tried to defend herself. Now get down here.” There was a movement. I tried to open my eyes, but couldn't. It didn't matter. I wasn't all that interested.
There was the sound of running feet coming toward us, and I felt them working on me. My jacket was pulled free and water was splashed on my bloody, sandy skin.
“Look at that cut!” I heard Jill's voice above me. She sounded like she was going to be sick. “She must have come out second best in a knife fight and these guys were evacuating her when they all got hit.” An icy liquid spilled onto my wound and I felt frigid tingles as it cold-cauterized the wound and began soothing the raw nerves.
“Oh Lord, save me from the young,” the sergeant said with an exasperated tone. I found the whole exchange mildly interesting, as though it was only background noise. Her hands moved quickly and expertly over my body as she bound the large slash.
“Lukens, give my your shirt."
“Why?"
“Okay, let's try again. Lukens, give me your shirt and fifty pushups."
She placed the shirt over me. While Lukens grunted nearby, she leaned over close to my ear. I partially opened my heavy, heavy eyelids and saw a blurry face and red hair. Another blurry face stood watching behind her.
“Hang on, kid,” she whispered quietly. “I can tell you're not NATech. Not that it matters; we'd help one of them, too. You're a dog, just like me. My name is Jody Eyer. I'm the sergeant for Company B, 179th Regiment. The medhov's just pulling up now. We'll take care of you."
* * * *
The ride back to their rendezvous point was slow and smooth. I stayed awake long enough to see a doctor lean over me while two aids prepped me for travel. They moved me up to the hov with a continuous gliding motion that bespoke much practice. The hov swung around and began accelerating, and I passed out.
I was out for quite awhile, too. When I regained consciousness, the doctor, a man in his thirties or so, had already removed the field bandage and was working on my wound. Though we were alone, he had thoughtfully draped the removed shirt to protect my modesty. He was concentrating on his sounder, carefully closing the wound, but looked up at my movement.
“Please don't move, ma'am,” he smiled pleasantly. “It's bumpy enough in this hov as it is. I'd like to do a proper job at my
facilities, but I don't think you can wait. Lie still and try to relax."
“Where ... where are we going?” I whispered. My throat felt cracked and raw. He noticed and put down his sounder long enough to get me a drink. Not a single drop of the cool water reached my stomach; it was all absorbed by my mouth and throat. Despite a second helping of water, my body was still ravaged by thirst due to the loss of blood.
He went back to his work, shaking his head.
“Sorry, but that's not for you to know. Sergeant Eyer says you're a dog, but SOP dictates we don't tell you anything until we're sure."
I nodded understanding and closed my eyes. It didn't really matter where we were going. Nothing mattered at all. Everything I had loved was gone, dead and buried in a scorched hole that had been my home. In that hole was my life.
“Were there any survivors?” I asked quietly.
“Survivors? Very few. Two troop transports pulled out moments before the explosions. But no one from the Third made it out. Except you, if you were with them.” His voice was neither supportive nor accusatory.
He continued working on the slash on my chest. The cut had been made by one of the NATech commandos I had killed in a wild frenzy. He had laid open a cut along my ribs from under my right arm, underneath my right breast and clear to the sternum. After the explosions had thrown me from the ruined hov, the wound had ripped open further, turning into a jagged tear.
“Your wound is fairly serious. The actual knife cut is bad, but it was clean. The real damage came when you tore it open.” He picked up the sounder and used it to stimulate a cool gel he had placed along the ragged edges. “I'm going to be able to close the wound, but I afraid you're going to have a scar."
He adjusted the field my left arm was lying in. A violet field bathed the elbow and ten centimeters on each side, providing fluids and nutrients. “The most immediate problem is the loss of blood. If we hadn't gotten to you when we did, you would have bled to death within a half-hour. If I had a fully operational medical facility, it would take two days to get your blood supply to normal. As it is, it will be nearly five."
“Aren't we going to your base?” I asked.
“Yes, we are. But although it's only about ten minutes of high speed phasing from here, you'd be dead two minutes after we started.” That told me how serious my blood loss was. We had taken back badly wounded comrades through phasing, and although it was brutal on them, they always survived.
“Ten minutes? Then you responded to our auto call?” Whenever one of our bases went to emergency full alert, a planet-wide distress call was sent out on a narrow band to all Resistance Regiments. Those that can respond within ten minutes do so at the discretion of the Regiment Lieutenant.
From the doctor's sour look, I'd guess that the 179th had chosen discretion, not valor. He shook his head with more than a little disgust.
“No, we didn't. Lieutenant Posen felt that our response would not be in time to affect the outcome, so he decided to ‘preserve unit integrity by not committing resources to an already lost battle scenario', as he put it."
I remained quiet and turned my head away. Inside me burned an anger I had only felt against NATech to this point. How dare he! You never weigh odds when going to the aid of a dog. As long as there's a chance, you go. I pushed down my anger. There was probably more to this than what I knew. I turned back to the doctor.
“So when did your unit show up? And why?"
He shook his head. “I'm sorry. I'd better not say anything more until you've been cleared. Just relax for the rest of the trip."
“Five days of lying here? Be realistic, Doctor. I'm ready to go now.” I started to rise, half expecting him to push me back down. He didn't move, but didn't have to. I lifted my head about ten centimeters, then slumped back. He smiled slightly.
“Don't mean to come off like a ghoul, but I told you so. You're strong enough to breathe and that's it. And while you're going to be on your back for five days, the trip is really only three days. But since we'll be forced to do some surface phasing every now and then, you'll need extra time to recover.
“By the way, my name is Scott Ressler."
“Abigail Wyeth."
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Wyeth.” He gave a short bow from his seated position. “Since it's just you, me and the pilot, and he's going to be busy for the next three days, what shall we talk about?"
* * * *
“As far as we can tell from the location and severity of the wounds, Major, all five of them were killed by the same person in hand-to-hand. He must have been a big guy to take them all on."
“And the girl?"
“No sign of her, sir. There was a patch of bloody sand nearby with a blood-soaked combat jacket, female issue, lying next to it. And the hov had been ransacked. Judging by the footprints and skimmer paths, it was a Resistance recon unit performing a salvage mission. Our guess is that they also took the wounded woman away with them, as well as the person who took out our squad. They did take time to bury the five commandos. We exhumed the bodies to verify identity. There was one woman, but she was identified as Private Mary—"
“Thank you, Sergeant. Please forget this conversation occurred. You will receive three thousand creds immediately, and one thousand each additional year you keep this knowledge to yourself. Payment will continue until you die. Good day.” The terminal went blank. Both men understood the double-edged implication of the closing comment.
Major Deiley leaned back in his chair and contemplated the dark terminal. So close! He now knew that Miss DeChant was responsible for the microsat attacks. Rather, another of Miss DeChant's personas. Although it was three days since the attack on the Third Regiment, no one had yet connected the two missing microsats with the devastating reprisal, and it was unlikely they ever would. Of course, they weren't aware of the similarity with his own experience. And Deiley would make no move to inform them.
He tapped into the NATech Orbital Schematics bank on Lunar Five and marveled again at the forgery. Yesterday, microsat AT142 had reported a jammed thruster. Thrown off course, it had struck microsat UE59 while it was still transmitting standard heat trail information to the presently decommissioned Antarctic base. It was impossible to determine that the data, flight paths and reports were completely false. Perhaps, if Deiley pressed a little further, he might find a flaw in the data, but he chose not to. Anything or anyone capable of this level of infiltration probably had a beacon set to notify any deep investigation, and Deiley wasn't ready to betray his presence yet.
The only reason Deiley knew this data was false was because he had calculated these two microsats as being in the best position to strike the Fifteenth Armored. And the loss of these two so shortly after the counterattack was all the proof he needed. It was proof that fanned his already burning curiosity and stoked the flames of his ambition.
The counter-attack had completely obliterated the Fifteenth Armored and all but destroyed the Eleventh and Twenty-third NATech Xeno brigades. Only fifty-nine of a total 300 troops survived, departing less than sixty seconds before the first of the deadly orbital missiles had struck with impossible accuracy. The battle site itself was a charred crater.
Should Deiley be able to find Miss DeChant, he would be in a position to gain control over this incredible skill. The difficulty lay in locating Miss DeChant, primarily because she was no longer Miss DeChant. She was undoubtedly the original persona, the one who had been chosen by some unknown but influential person to become Miss DeChant four centuries ago. That was the persona, the soulner, who had this bombardment ability. How she got it, Deiley wasn't sure. But he had an idea.
Deiley stood up and walked across the high stone room to his bookshelves. Although he was in his commandant's office—his own destroyed house was still being rebuilt—he used the same metaphor when accessing. He pulled down LeClaire's work and began reading it again. Had the book been real, it would be dog-eared now from Deiley's constant accessing. His reading took him, as al
ways, to the section on keyed memory encapsulation. He could not put his finger on it, but he was certain this abandoned technology, used only once before its creator was destroyed, was a vital piece of the puzzle.
He absently reached for his tea, but of course there was none. Miss DeChant was no longer his housekeeper. She was a Resistance fighter, hidden from his searching, safe from his reach. That situation would not remain so indefinitely. She had started sharding, and if she was like most sharded Cues, she would one day be back in Glendale, under his authority. And his care.
* * * *
The staff corporal in NATech's Alexandria headquarters was running late with her report. There had been too many anomalies and not enough hard answers to the destruction of the Fifteenth Armored. Between that and the relocation of the remnants of the Eleventh and Twenty-third Brigades, she was swamped. The brigades were to be sent to a new retraining base located in Australia. It was hoped that they would be able to deal with the horrible memories of the attack on the Third and become usable Xeno troops again. She finished up the dictation to the official log and stepped out of the puterverse to catch lunch with her civilian boyfriend. She hoped he wouldn't pick his teeth today.
The data located itself in one of the many data pools. It rested there for a moment, then duplicated itself and broke away from storage, easily evading the security watchdogs. It came upon a worm, trained to identify infiltration and follow the line back to the source. The worm was unaware as the bolt of data penetrated it and passed through unhindered.
The data packet followed a very specific path, overriding all blocks and lockouts. It penetrated all barriers by locating a programmed breach the thickness of a two dimensional line and passing through. It sped toward the Quantum data river, where it struck a large energy conduit. The conduit began glowing a brilliant pink. The packet was stripped of its destination header and sent down to the river's edge. The conduit continued building up the packet's energy signature, then launched it directly across the river.