The truth machine, p.35
Nebula: A Space Opera in the Classic Tradition (Blood Empire Book 2), page 35
Nebula
A Space Opera in the Classic Tradition
Robert Scanlon
Colete Pty Ltd
A huge thank you to accomplished author and good friend, Leanne Farmiloe, and my Best Page Forward colleagues who between them all made sure this author not only rediscovered his mojo, but finished the book.
To my lovely wife, Gabrielle, whose professional edits, untiring support, and endless encouragement are the difference that makes the difference.
And how many authors can say they had a film score written for their stories? There’s nothing more motivating than hearing your work come alive to music! Thank you from a proud father to my talented French-horn-playing daughter, Isabelle. (Stay tuned for its public release…)
Nebula: A Space Opera in the Classic Tradition
(Blood Empire, Book Two)
By Robert Scanlon
www.robertscanlon.com
Copyright © 2023 Robert Scanlon
Illustration © 2016 Tom Edwards
TomEdwardsDesign.com
Books in the Blood Empire series:
Constellation
Nebula
Orion (due for release 2024)
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
Contents
1. The Blue Bar
2. Crazy Russians
3. Lost In Space
4. The War Committee
5. Accusations
6. Reunited
7. Going Undercover
8. Space Station Attack
9. Destruction
10. Defection
11. An Inhuman Clue
12. Scorched Planets
13. Replica
14. Guilty?
15. A Blast From The Past
16. Burning Bridges
17. A Deal With The Devil
18. Stims and SIMs
19. A Reluctant Crew
20. Nowhere To Go
21. Mayday
22. Celos
23. RepScores
24. Defenseless And Alone
25. The Blood Empire
26. A Galactic Act Of Terror
27. Death Sentence
28. The Price Of Freedom
29. Miscalculations
30. Outcast
31. Dogfight
32. The Banker
33. Uneasy Allies
34. A Lack Of Trust
35. Bald Moves
36. A Massive Threat
37. Return To Takao
38. Old Friends
39. A Lethal Escape
40. Hard Landing
41. Stormy Meetings
42. An Offer They Can't Refuse
43. Confrontations
44. Bait
45. Back At The Helm
46. Drones
47. Traitors
48. Familiar Faces And Old Enemies
49. Surrender
50. A High Stakes Game
51. Obliteration
52. An Unspeakable Force
53. An Unstoppable Act
54. An Implosive Reversal
55. Epilogue
Landmarks
Cover
Table of Contents
Body Matter
The Blue Bar
I’m trying to keep a low profile as I dance and sway through the gyrating crowd, scanning the room for a familiar face. So far, nothing, but I know Ganymede’s infamous underworld nightclub is a reliable haunt.
With the loud music and happy drugs in abundance, most of the carefree revelers ignore me, as they pulse and rock on the low-gee dancefloor. Here on my third night in a row, I’m ready to give up when someone thrusts a hard object in my right side.
A husky male voice whispers into my ear, with sufficient volume to convey the words through the bass-heavy music. “It’s a plasmadagger, darlin’, so no tricks. Just move back with me and let’s exit this crowd.” Their other hand grabs my waist and starts pulling me backwards, toward the club’s emergency side exit.
I wriggle in my leatherette flightSuit, rubbing my butt up against my assailant. “Hey, you only have to ask. I’m here for some rough fun, just like the next girl.”
The voice speaks in my ear again. “I’m from the Minorities. That’s not gonna work on me. So shut your mouth and keep moving.”
I comply, as if dropping any resistance in my body and let the low gravity assist my attacker to pull me along the floor.
No one blinks an eye. The club attracts the lowest of lowlife. Criminals, pirates, smugglers, hitmen—and women—all mixing together in a state of perpetual drugged-up edginess. All they’d see is a tall, slim woman sidling away with a stranger. Doing whatever turns them on.
But as we pass a stockier couple locked in a closed-eye clinch, I reach forward and plant my left leg against their bigger mass as a brace. I kick back with a vicious punch of my right foot into my captor’s shin. Then pivot as they’re caught off balance and continue using my left foot against the couple to spear myself away. I’m flung into the dancers, raising shouts of anger from those I barge into.
A searing pain jabs through my right lower ribs. While I freed myself from whomever had me in their clutches, I hadn’t escaped injury from the plasmadagger.
Holding one hand over my side and hoping it’s not worse than it feels, I scramble to a crouch and duck-walk into the middle of the dancefloor. I peer around, the tension mounting in my brow. I still can’t see anyone who can help. Maybe I shouldn’t have risked a third night searching.
But as I straighten, looking for a path to the main entrance and the protection of club security, a firm hand clamps over my mouth. And a hot, humming plasmadagger immobilizes me as it’s pressed to the side of my neck.
The crowd remains oblivious. The Blue Bar’s dark alcoves, shadowy lighting, and thumping bass makes it easy for the drugged-out patrons to ignore the drama occurring in their midst.
“No more tricks, Jackson.”
Shit. This person—who I think is a male, but they’re from the Minorities, where anything goes—knows who I am. My wound throbs and there’s a sticky wetness making its way through my fingers. “What do you want?”
“You to follow my instructions. Now let’s start again. Back away and no surprises.”
The buzzing plasmadagger sears against my neck. I’m millimeters away from a severed artery with one false move, and this time, I dare not make any risky play. I’ll have to wait for another opportunity.
With tiny steps, we edge back out of the crowd.
“Hurry up, we don’t got all night,” the voice insists.
Articulating my words with care, acutely aware of the plasmadagger, I reply. “In case you hadn’t already noticed, nothing moves fast on Ganymede.”
They say nothing, but pull me back into the shadows, close to the side exit.
As I sense them reaching out for the emergency handle, a movement against my lower leg makes me glance down. A small furry creature rubs its body up and down my shin. “Hey!” I call out, keeping my head still. The last thing I need is to be tripped up and get my neck cut open.
The creature turns round, looks up at me… and winks. Out of sight of my attacker, it lifts its gaze to a point on the ceiling. I resist following where it looks, wink back, and heft it out of my way with a cry. “Get off me, you perverted furball!”
My attacker is still yanking me backwards to access the door.
We stop. A balding guy with lank greasy hair appears out of the shadows and confronts us with a well-used pair of laserpistols pointing at me and my assailant.
The man behind me raises his voice over the din. “Don’t risk it, pal. I’m a pro and you’re just some guy holding laserpistols. Fassbender told me he don’t mind how damaged Jackson is. So don’t think I care much about slicing her up.”
I can’t help the icy shiver that runs through me when I hear the mention of the one guy I’d prefer not to have to fight again. I embarrassed him the last time, and Fassbender has a brutal and bloody reputation to maintain. And he never quits his quarry.
The pistol-wielding dude advances towards us without saying a word. My injury stabs at me and I press my hand to my side to stem the flow of blood.
I fix my gaze on the guy. Look him straight in the eye.
He returns my stare for a moment, then peers past me to my faceless assailant. “Well, well. Indy Jackson and one of Fassbender’s loser-sidekicks in one spot. A decent catch.” He looks me square on again and waits. I say nothing.
“Yeah well, you’re gonna have to get in line, pal,” says the disembodied voice.
The balding guy stands there, waiting. Then the goon holding me hostage stiffens and slumps slowly to the floor, relieving the lethal tension I’d been holding in my neck.
A furry alien creature comes around in front of me, brandishing an illegal electrojabber. “Sorry miss,” the alien says, in an incongruous, deep voice. “Took me longer than I anticipated.”
I’m not sure what to do. I want to stroke the thing’s head, but that would be creepy. “Ah… thanks…”
I look back at the guy with the two laserpistols and notice the beads of sweat on his brow. Now raising my voice above the music, I say, “Pedro. Good to see y
“Always looking out for you. I promised Frederic.”
I lift my right hand up from my waist. It’s covered in blood and I ache. Hopefully, it’s not as serious as I thought. I glance behind me at the comatose figure lying down. I lean over to Pedro’s ear so I don’t have to shout. “He’s only stunned. I guess we better get rid of him before anyone notices.”
Pedro nods and he drags the wiry bounty hunter’s mass over to the emergency exit, which the small creature pushes open by standing on its hind legs. They dump the guy out on the sidewalk. This is Ganymede. He won’t be there long. I wince when I bend down to pick up the plasmadagger sitting on the sticky floor and tuck it into the back of my flightSuit.
Still pressing my wound, we retreat into the noisy club, its patrons still unaware of what transpired. Suddenly I’m dizzy. Perhaps that blood loss was more than I thought.
I catch Pedro’s eye. “How did you—?”
Two identical heavyset women descend from the ceiling on either side of Pedro. They jam laserdaggers against each side of him.
“Ah, Pedro,” they croon in eerie unison.
Now that is creepy.
They regard him with an identical expression. “It’s been a long time. We missed you,” they say in chorus.
I raise my eye at Pedro.
He shrugs. “How can I help you lovely ladies?”
The twins smile again. Same time, same manner. The odd scarf-wraps they both sport round their necks momentarily take my attention.
But the unfinished thought evaporates as two more of Pedro’s small furry friends appear. They creep toward the twins.
For a moment, I worry that there’s a bunch of assassins lined up to take me in and that I might bleed to death before any of them can claim their bounties.
I do my best to keep our odd pair of assailants engaged. “Ladies, that’s a good friend of mine you’re holding there. What would it take to persuade you to let him go?”
The matching thugs exchange glances. “We’ll take you instead,” they say in harmony.
“Ah, I’m not exactly available.” My right side burns in agony, making it hard to focus.
They smile together in one disconcerting choreographed movement. “We ain’t asking. Where we come from, there’s a pretty price on your head.”
I sigh and slump my shoulders while I wrack my brain to think where the hell these weirdos normally reside. I spread my hands out, flinching as I release the pressure from my sliced skin. “If that’s the way it’s going to be. But let him go.” I nod at Pedro, then hold my wrists out together, as if waiting to be plasticuffed.
My diminutive furry allies reach the two thugs and, out of sight, deftly wrap a fine filigree cable around each of their legs. One creature looks back up and winks at me. I’m sure it was my previous savior.
Keeping my eyes trained on the odd duo, I give a micro-dip of my head to the creature.
He grins, and the two of them yank the legs out from underneath our would-be abductors.
As they fall forward and one of their scarves drops, I realize what these two were hiding. An ident and access port on each neck. They’re not human. They’re SIMs.
Ignoring the flashing pain in my side and reaching behind my back with my left hand, I whip out the plasmadagger I retrieved from the last guy. Then plunge it into the chest of the one falling down closest to me. It convulses for a moment and sinks lifelessly to the ground. And with a final energy-sapping lunge, I do the same to the other.
Pedro looks at me horrified, alongside the other creatures ready to disable the women.
“You didn’t have to kill them—”
“They’re SIMs. What are they doing on Ganymede?” Bent over and struggling to breathe, I look up from the motionless simulacra and back at Pedro.
My head reels, the music goes quiet, and the disco lighting starts spinning faster and faster. I’m lightheaded and looking through a tunnel. Stumbling to one side, I notice my hand glistening with blood, and try to speak to Pedro. “I think I need a med…”
But he’s pointing a weapon at my chest.
He shoots me.
Everything goes black.
Crazy Russians
“Indy.” The voice is insistent. Someone is shaking my shoulders. I open my eyes to see Pedro leaning over me.
The moment my surroundings come into focus, my chest and the wound in my side both scream in anguish and I yelp.
Pedro jerks away, enough for me to realize I’m flat on my back in a shabby C-class shuttle. I bring my left hand to my chest, scared to find my death awaiting. My right hand pats my lower-right ribs, grateful to feel a patch sitting under my suit instead of a sticky mess. But it’s sore to touch.
Over my chest, my flightSuit is intact and my hand comes away free of any blood. I brace myself against the intense throbbing and try to speak, but I’m struggling to breathe. “Please. Get me something for pain,” I croak.
Pedro looks over his shoulder and calls across. “Stimpacks! Now!” He turns back to me, his eyes concerned. “Sorry, Indy. We had to make it appear realistic. But I think Frohlt might have set the energy output too high.”
“She’s tall, Mr. Pedro. And built for standard gravity. I had to step it up. Anyway, she’s not dead, but she probably has bruised ribs. Sorry, miss.” The voice comes from below my line of sight, but it’s deep and I recognize the speaker as the furry creature from… when was it?
“How long?” I say quietly, trying hard not to move my ribcage. I should have known that would be impossible, and I groan with the effort.
“Two days,” Pedro replies. He grimaces. “At first I thought I’d killed you.”
“But why?” I mean to ask why he shot me, but the searing sensations in my chest limit how many words I can get out.
“We had to get you off Ganymede. Best if it looked like it was me collecting the bounty.”
“Bounty?” Speaking hurts. I close my eyes and let my head drop to the pillow.
Pedro pulls a face. “The Jovians.” His expression tightens. “What the hell were you doing on that moon? Your disguise is hardly sophisticated.”
He lifts my long braid, now dyed black. Not my usual natural flaming red. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s enough for someone to risk using SIMs.”
I didn’t think Pedro recognized them as SIMs. I dismiss the thought.
“No time.” I whisper. My voice is hoarse. “Wanted info.”
My leg cools and I recoil.
“A stimpack, miss.” It’s the creature. I’m not sure how I feel about him—it?—rubbing my leg, but the now-abating pain in my chest forgives anything.
“Stars, Pedro. Is your pet a doctor, too?” I feel my chest protests ease as the stims spread.
Pedro shakes his head at me. “And I thought you weren’t prejudiced. Frohlt here is no pet. You’d show him more respect if you called him Professor Frohlt. He’s no medical doctor, but he’s my go-to guy for spatial distortion and gravitational aberrations.” He frowns. “I can’t remember the last time I had call for that.” He gives me a wry smile. “Seems like his weapon-hacking skills could use some work.”
The creature hops up on the bench next to Pedro. “Pleased to see you again, miss.”
“No, the pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure. Professor.”
“Call me Doc.”
A thought occurs to me. “If you’re so expert, then what are you doing on Ganymede? Doc.” I raise my eyes.
A pained look crosses his furry face. “Ah, um…” He looks to Pedro for help.
Pedro shrugs. “Let’s agree not to discuss the doctor’s personal tastes. Ganymede suits him.”
I manage a laugh, then wince. The tenderness hasn’t gone away. “You mean nowhere else will have him.”
“That’s not quite—”
“Never mind.” I interrupt Pedro to answer his original question. “I was looking for you.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”
I ignore his sarcasm. My needs are urgent. Critical, even.
“Tell me about Papa’s work. What was he trying to hide?”
Pedro brushes my question aside. “Seriously? You come to Ganymede, barely bothering to hide your identity, after you’ve broken apart the Jovian leadership and forced them into working with the Takaons… and now the Rykkans. Did you stop to think their thugs might be more than pissed? Riding on into the hornet’s nest when they are all hot and bothered…” He throws up his hands and stares at me. “If they’d found you, you’d have more than a bruised chest and a nasty slice to your side.”
