The Lost Earth (Lost Starship Series Book 7)

  SF Books by Vaughn Heppner

  LOST STARSHIP SERIES:

  The Lost Starship

  The Lost Command

  The Lost Destroyer

  The Lost Colony

  The Lost Patrol

  The Lost Planet

  The Lost Earth

  THE A.I. SERIES:

  A.I. Destroyer

  The A.I. Gene

  A.I. Assault

  EXTINCTION WARS SERIES:

  Assault Troopers

  Planet Strike

  Star Viking

  Fortress Earth

  Visit VaughnHeppner.com for more information

  The Lost Earth

  (Lost Starship Series 7)

  by Vaughn Heppner

  Copyright © 2017 by the author.

  This book 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 or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

  PROLOGUE

  “Focus,” the commandant demanded. “I need greater focus.” She was a tall woman wearing a Star Watch uniform, and she was concentrating on a large wall screen.

  At the console, the tech's features were shiny with sweat. His narrow hands shook as he adjusted the sensor images.

  The picture sharpened abruptly. What they thought they’d seen became horrifyingly clear. Thousands of warships boiled like maddened ants out of a hole in the middle of empty space.

  “Could those be ghost images?” the commandant whispered.

  With a sleeve, the tech wiped sweat from his forehead. “I’ve run a diagnostic, sir. There’s nothing wrong with the scanner.”

  The commandant gave him a fearful glance. The tech was supposed to be the best, had received instructions from Professor Ludendorff himself. The tech operated the Builder Scanner brought back from Sind II in the Beyond.

  The scanner had gone operational four and a half weeks ago. It had taken months to install and even longer to figure out. The master control room was here, deep inside Pluto, in one of Star Watch’s most heavily fortified bases.

  The commandant resumed her study of the wall screen. The opening in space must be the terminus of a hyper-spatial tube. How far back did this one stretch?

  She feared it stretched all the way to the dreaded Swarm Imperium. The number of warships pouring through staggered the imagination. Hundreds of spaceships per second came through, and moved aside to make room for more…more…more. The invaders already had a 100 to 1 advantage against Star Watch’s combined fleet. If they kept coming through like that, it would soon be 200 or even 300 to 1.

  The commandant massaged her throat. The saucer-shaped vessels to the left of the mass must have come from the Builder Dyson Sphere one thousand light-years away. Those vessels surely belonged to—

  “Commander Thrax Ti Ix,” she whispered under her breath.

  There was a pause at the terminus. Was that it then? No. Invader warships hurriedly moved aside from the hyper-spatial tube terminus. That seemed ominous. The commandant groaned as a massive round ship seemed to squeeze out of the opening. It moved aside, and another vast ship squeezed through. Then another and another… How big were those things? They dwarfed the largest merchant haulers.

  The commandant grew faint, finally realizing she’d forgotten to breathe. “How far away…?” she whispered, unable to finish the sentence as she inhaled.

  The tech tapped his console and adjusted a rangefinder. He looked up in alarm.

  “They’re twelve light-years from Earth,” he said in a choked voice.

  She was going to be sick. “Twelve?” she whispered.

  The tech didn’t hear her. He was adjusting the picture frantically, searching for something.

  The Builder Scanner used a fantastic technology. It could search one hundred by one hundred light-year blocks. This was the fifth sensor sweep so far, the first to use a special anomaly-finding device.

  “I wonder…” the tech said. “They must have appeared in empty space on purpose. Do they want to get set up first and scout around before they attack?”

  The commandant reexamined the Swarm warships—probable Swarm warships—a mere twelve light-years from the Solar System.

  “Where are the nearest Laumer Points?” she demanded. Those were regular wormhole openings and exits that linked Human Space in a web of faster than light paths.

  The tech tapped his console. A yellow symbol appeared at the edge of the wall screen.

  “How far away is the Laumer Point from the mass of ships?” the commandant asked.

  He studied a small screen embedded in the console. “Three-quarters of a light-year, sir. The Laumer Point is at the edge of the Tau Ceti System, in its Oort cloud.”

  “Can you calculate the fleet’s present velocity?”

  “It’s almost zero.”

  “We have time, then,” she said.

  The tech looked up at her. “That depends on their ships, sir, depends on what kind of drives they have.”

  The commandant bit her lower lip as she stared at the invaders once more.

  The Swarm had made it to Human Space, and so dreadfully close to the Earth. Thank God, Captain Maddox had found the Builder Scanner and brought it home in time to see this. Yet…given the Swarm numbers, did it matter that they could see the horrible event? Might it have been a mercy to be unable to see it?

  “Even if it takes them a year to get here, or two or three years,” she whispered, “what can we do to stop them?”

  “It’s worse than that,” the tech said. “They obviously control a nexus. That’s how they made the hyper-spatial tube.”

  “Yes?” she said.

  “What’s to stop them from making a second hyper-spatial tube, this one directly into the Solar System as they dump a second fleet on us?”

  The commandant spun around. It was time to send a priority message to the Office of the Lord High Admiral. This could be the beginning of the end for the human race. Even if the New Men lent Star Watch their armada of star cruisers—

  “No,” the commandant whispered. She wasn’t going to despair. Star Watch had advance warning of the greatest invasion in human history. Now, they had to do something about it.

  PART I

  NULL SPACE

  -1-

  Sergeant Treggason Riker had been drinking heavily. He was sitting around a raised fire pit at the Sheraton Hotel on the island of Kauai, the Garden Island of the Hawaiian Chain.

  Ocean waves crashed nearby on the nighttime beach, lending a weighty undercurrent to Riker’s melancholy spirit.

  He was an older man with leathery skin. He possessed a bionic eye and a fully bionic arm. Years ago, he’d lost both originals on a desperate mission on Altair III. He was an old dog, a veteran in Star Watch’s Intelligence Service. For the last few years, he’d gone on the space missions with Captain Maddox aboard Starship Victory.

  Using his real hand, Riker raised a shot glass of good Scotch whiskey. With a silent oath, he tossed the contents into his mouth, swallowing and wincing as it burned its way down.

  He was seriously drunk. He had a right to be. He was making the biggest decision of his life. Now that Captain Maddox had married Meta, maybe it was time for him to retire. He’d watched over the young buck long enough. He’d helped keep Maddox alive through thick and thin. He wasn’t sure he’d performed his main duty well—that of acting as a brake on the impulsive captain.

  Riker shook his
head. Maddox demanded obedience from his underlings yet the man had a hard time taking orders from those above him. The young terror always thought he knew best.

  “I’ve had my fill of it,” Riker said in a soft growl. “It’s time to relax.”

  Riker stared at the fire in the raised stonework. The flames danced so hypnotically. He could watch them for hours. He snorted. He had been watching them for hours.

  What time was it anyway?

  Riker checked his wrist, but he’d set aside the watch in his room before heading out here. Mumbling, he put his hands on the chair’s rests and shoved upward. Then he shoved the chair back from the fire pit. Leaning forward, eyeing the space around the fire, he realized everyone else had left. They had each said good night, the other vacationers, when they had departed. Could he do any less?

  “Good night,” Riker said in his gravelly voice.

  No one answered, of course, as he was alone.

  “I am alone,” he announced. He’d never married. Maybe that had been a mistake.

  A sly smile stole onto his leathery face. He could still marry, lying abed in bliss for the rest of his life. If Maddox could get married, he could certainly do the same.

  “Bah!” Riker said a moment later, shaking his head, staggering sideways as he did so. He was too old a dog to change his ways.

  With a sigh—

  Riker froze. A second later, he turned as fast as he could to the left, thinking to have spotted someone in the shadows under a nearby archway.

  “Hello?” he called.

  No one answered. The fire flickered to his side and the waves crashed nearby against the beach.

  Riker took a moment to focus. He had drunk far too much tonight. He—

  He made a dismissive gesture and began walking. There was no one else out this late. It was just his lonesome. He moved along the sidewalks, past the hotel swimming pool toward a high-rise complex.

  Riker wasn’t staying at the Sheraton, but at a condo in the Plantation next door. The condo belonged to Star Watch. Brigadier O’Hara had told him to think things over before he made his final decision. The Iron Lady was a good commanding officer, the best in the service.

  After passing the complex, Riker chose an indirect route, heading onto a twisting garden path to the Plantation. The gardens in Kauai were flower, bush and tree marvels, ones Riker could well appreciate. It was almost like a mini-jungle, although an exceedingly well-kept one.

  He stopped suddenly. Small things moved on the ground—on the grass to the side of the crushed gravel path.

  Old Riker smiled at what he saw. The “small things” were big old frogs hopping around. He wondered how old they were. He—

  Riker felt a tingle in the center of his back. He raised his good hand onto the hidden blaster under his other armpit and spun around. He’d just felt a fierce scrutiny.

  His glassy eyes roved about over the bushes and trees.

  The ocean wind blew gently, causing palm leaves to rustle. He could hear the waves from here. Normally, he liked the sound. Right now, in the dark, in the garden, in his current state of mind, the crashing waves had an ominous quality.

  “Hello?” Riker called.

  Like before, no one answered. He was alone in the dark well after the witching hour. He was a jumpy old man letting shadows startle him. And yet…he’d learned to trust his senses. Something was out there, something bad, something…

  “What’s wrong with you, Old Man?” Riker asked himself.

  “I’m drunk,” he answered.

  “That doesn’t mean you have to act like a fool.

  “No,” he answered himself, “but at least it explains it.”

  Riker might have grinned to himself at his dialogue. He was not an eccentric like Captain Maddox. Riker knew himself as a hardnosed old salt who knew his trade. He did not take crazy risks. He did not jump at shadows—

  He made a rough noise in the back of his throat and waved both hands at the darkness. He turned for his condo and staggered along the path.

  He would have liked to feel as calm and easy-spirited as he pretended to be. He most certainly wasn’t, though. Riker kept his gun hand near the hidden blaster. There was something following him. He did not think it was an android or a New Man spy. This felt different. This felt primordial and slimy, like something escaped from an ancient abyss.

  “Get a grip, you old fool,” he muttered under his breath, less to poke fun at himself and more to bolster his courage by hearing his own voice.

  Riker cast a worried glance over his shoulder. He used the power of his bionic eye. There was nothing he could see tracking him. Yet, he still felt a presence.

  He spoke crudely under his breath and actually broke into a run. It was smoother than his unsteady gait a second ago would have foretold.

  Riker had been in all kinds of dangerous places, including the prison planet Loki Prime. He had kept his head in all of them. Tonight, it felt different. Tonight, it seemed as if he were the last person on the island. He had to restrain himself from shouting as loud as he could for someone to help him.

  He ran flat out, panting from the effort. He kept looking back, saw nothing, ran even faster, looked back again—

  Riker shouted as his feet tangled with each other. He slammed against the sidewalk, hitting his chin. That stunned him, making him blink as tears welled in his eyes.

  Instead of the jolt bringing sanity to his drunken midnight madness, Riker scrambled as fast as he could back onto his feet. He ran harder, white-faced and terrified, with his chin throbbing and blood running onto his shirt. He could not explain the dreadful feeling racing through his brain. It shamed him on a fundamental level, and yet he knew better than to ignore the feeling. He trusted himself. Even drunk, he trusted what he felt.

  Riker slammed against his condo door, Number 142, and worked madly to find his card key and thrust it through the slot. It seemed to take ages for the light to blink green. He felt the presence closing in on him, yet he could not look back to stare it down. He twisted the handle, opened the door, slipped inside and began to close the door when an irresistible force flung the door open and tried to grab his good shoulder.

  -2-

  With a terrified shout, Riker slipped out from under the grasp and bolted up the long flight of stairs.

  Two bedrooms and two bathrooms made up the bottom floor of the condo. A long staircase starting near the door led up to the living room and kitchen. The upstairs had two balconies.

  Here in Kauai, few people had air-conditioners. There was no need. The sliding glass doors were open. A comfortably cool ocean breeze blew through the screens. The ceiling was fifteen feet above the second floor, with a single ceiling fan twirling lazily.

  Still finding it hard to think, Riker ran to the bigger living room couch. It was made of rattan and cushions. He spun around and found that he was trembling.

  He heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

  Riker’s trembling turned into outright shaking. He’d never felt like this in his life, not even while fleeing from the kill-squad on Loki Prime. It made him sick. He was deeply ashamed of the fear.

  “No,” he said. “I will face this.”

  It didn’t help the shaking any. He wiped a sleeve across his eyes and under his nose, catching a little of the clotting blood from his chin. He tried to think. He had to defend himself—

  A head and shoulders appeared on the stairs.

  Riker groaned in terror.

  The head turned toward him. It seemed common enough. The man—it was a man or had the body of a man, anyway—had sparse dark hair and dark eyes. He was wearing a shiny suit like a stage performer. He continued climbing until he reached the second floor. He had shiny baggy pants and dark shoes. There was something familiar about the man. He was Asian, small-boned with pallid features, with even whiter markings around his eyes—

  “You’re a Spacer,” Riker said in a stage whisper.

  The Spacer stared at him, neither admitting nor denyi
ng the charge.

  Spacers belonged to a set of people who lived aboard starships. They followed the tenets of a robotic Builder. The “Nation” of Spacers had vanished some time ago. The Visionary, a Spacer leader, had named Captain Maddox as di-far. It meant Maddox was a focus for change. The captain could lift the human race from one track onto another. The Spacers were techies but believed all kinds of mumbo jumbo. Several voyages ago, Shu 15—

  “Who are you?” Riker said in a rasp.

  The man in the shiny suit did not smile, did not nod. He was wearing silvery gloves, which seemed odd.

  “Why aren’t you wearing goggles?” Riker asked, his voice firming.

  The small Spacer inhaled lightly through his nostrils, but instead of speaking, he glanced both ways. He settled on one of the screens. He gave a tiny nod, heading for the first glass door. Once there, the Spacer shut the sliding glass door, thumping it a little harder than seemed necessary. Then, he locked it.

  “What are you doing?” Riker demanded.

  The Spacer in the shiny suit held up an admonitory finger before walking across the rug to the kitchen area. He closed the sliding glass door there, locking it as well.

  At that point, Riker’s knees lost strength. He sat down hard on the couch, staring at his traitorous knees. This was his chance to escape. If he fled down the stairs—

  The small Spacer in the shiny suit had walked back. He stood across from Riker before the low rattan table in the middle of the living room.

  “What are you?” Riker asked.

  The sergeant no longer felt drunk. He was tired, though. The fear had changed, too. He no longer had the flight fear, he had the waiting kind that freezes a man. He knew fate was about to deal him an exceedingly unfair card. He knew it, and yet, he couldn’t do anything about it. That was possibly the most maddening feeling in the world for him.

  “Sergeant Treggason Riker?” the Spacer asked in a dry voice.

  Something in the voice dragged Riker’s gaze up to meet the Spacer’s. He locked onto the other’s face. There was something desperate in the narrow features. The eyes no longer had a normal tint, either. There indeed seemed to be a hellish swirl in them. The Satanic swirl had just begun, though, hadn’t been there earlier. It wasn’t yet radiating at full intensity. Even so, the swirling eyes caught Riker’s attention with tractor-beam-like force.