Harbingers war, p.1
Harbinger's War, page 1
Harbinger’s War© Copyright 2025 Ulysses Namon
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ISBN: 979-8-89694-799-8 - eBook
ISBN: 979-8-89694-800-1 - Paperback
ISBN: 979-8-89694-801-8 - Hardcover
Table of Contents
Chance Meeting
Hard Lessons
Good Intensions and Bad Outcomes
Get Some
Learning Curve
Flying Coach
Boogie Man
Talking It Out
Collision Course
Open Doors
Triage
Damage Assessment
Temporary Attachment Duty
Fleet Action
Intercept Course
Second Wave
Direct Hit
Tickling the Dragon’s Tail
A Game Called Dodgeball
Punisher Down
Warrior’s Woe
A Good Day for a Court-Martial
Debrief
Operation Downfall
Targets of Opportunity
On the Homefront
Beachhead
Turning Point
From the Depths of Hell
Tapping the Admiral
A Letter to the Admiral
Earthfall
Return with Your Shield, or on It
Going Back
Downward to Earth
Chance Meeting
The hustle and bustle of the Umumo monastery did not allow for the serenity Harbinger needed for his meditation. After trekking for a whole daily cycle, he stopped and took in the vista. Nothing. Absolutely nothing as far as he could see. Perfect, he thought. I do not know where else I could possibly go for a higher degree of peace and quiet. Now to meditate.
Harbinger relaxed his form so he could meditate, melting into a blob-like rainbow of color. Just as he began, the rain came—a drizzle at first, but steadily picking up until it was a downpour.
“This is a test. The universe must be testing me,” he mused to himself. Refusing to be daunted, Harbinger continued to meditate.
✴
“Ow! Damn, that hurt!” John Gaynor cursed. The rain was coming down in sheets and the windshield blowers were acting up. The poor visibility had resulted in him hitting a large rock. Even with its high-clearance suspension, his sandcat just wasn’t made to take a bump like that.
He checked the status display to make sure there was no damage. “Whew,” he sighed in relief. If the sandcat had suffered any significant damage, his supervisor would be giving him an ass-chewing until the next work cycle. You asshole! Gaynor could imagine Cosgrove screaming already. Do you realize how much a sandcat costs? I should take it out of your paycheck! If I could, I would fire you and burn down your friggin’ house!
Gaynor hit the side of the control panel for the windshield blower, coaxing it to start working again. As the water cleared from the transparent aluminum, the rain stopped.
“Figures,” he huffed as he shook his head. He reached to switch the blower off and caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. “Shit!” he cursed and yanked the sandcat’s joystick to swerve around it, causing the left front tire to catch another boulder, this time too big for the tire to clear. The vehicle lurched, followed by what sounded like a gunshot. He knew before the alarm went off that one of the front torsion bars had snapped.
“Fucking damn it!” he cursed at the top of his lungs. Cosgrove would have a coronary when he found out. Gaynor climbed out of his seat and activated his helmet, which began unfolding from behind his head. When the helmet’s HUD signaled that it had a good seal, he stepped into the vehicle’s airlock consisting of two cylinders, one resting inside the other. The outer cylinder was open to both the inside and the outside, while the inner cylinder had only one opening. Cycling the airlock was as simple as rotating the inner cylinder, giving enough time to change the air out.
In a matter of seconds, Gaynor was standing on the sandcat’s outer ladder. The midday sun burned; he had forgotten to switch his visor’s tint function to automatic. With the light exposure now reduced to a comfortable level, he could make out the rugged landscape around him. The weather was clear, allowing him to see for miles. But seeing the planet Skarn clearly with his own eyes only increased his misery. It was even more bleak than when the weather was crappy.
“Fucking Crichton can go fuck himself! Fucking loan forgiveness, my ass!” Gaynor cursed their well-known investor as he climbed down the ladder. He was beginning to wish he had stayed on Earth. Sure, he would’ve been incarcerated, but at least he would still be home. “Yeah right, they would find some way to screw me,” he muttered to himself. If he didn’t get raped by his cellmate, some judge would’ve sent his ass to a workcamp, possibly even on Skarn.
With both feet on the ground, he went over to the damaged wheel to have a look. As expected, the solid rubber tire was intact, but the suspension was bent in one spot and broken in another. “Son of a bitch fat-cat Crichton. Billionaire venture capitalist bottom-feeder,” he grumbled.
Assessing the extent of the damage, his most viable option would be to shift the sandcat’s center of gravity to its rear to take the weight off the front wheel. Then he could drag the whole mess back to base at half speed, if he’s lucky.
“Damn robber baron can burn in hell, him and that ass-kisser, Harrison,” he cursed, acknowledging the other half of the political/economic equation that had landed him on Skarn. Crichton may have bought up all the loans, turning millions of people into his indentured servants, but it was President Harrison who had pushed the legislation through that made it all legal. Everyone liked to blame the tycoons, but you’ve got to bring in the government to give the go-ahead.
He turned to head back into the airlock when he remembered that he had swerved in the first place to avoid hitting something. He peered around the sandcat at the mystery object behind it and furrowed his brows.
“What the hell is that?”
He knew right away it wasn’t a rock—at least, it didn’t look like any of the local geology, completely the wrong color. In fact, it was translucent and changed colors, with different colors inside it. Assuming it was some sort of large gem or crystal, Gaynor went over to get a better look.
✴
Harbinger’s focus had allowed him to ignore the foul weather as it raged around him and he didn’t pay it any mind again until it finally cleared.
“Ah, it appears the universe has rewarded my persistence and peace,” he said, looking up.
It was only with the passing of the storm that he finally noticed the strange noise. Turning his focus behind him, Harbinger watched the approaching machine. It was strange but remarkable, moving on wheels instead of repulsor coils or legs. Though, the wheels were mounted on struts that were so long, they might as well have been legs. Harbinger watched as the struts telescoped over any changes in the terrain, quite the suspension system.
“What is that?” he wondered aloud. “I have never heard such a strange whirring sound, and with an electromagnetic field too. How strange. I—”
The large machine swerved, cutting off his thoughts and narrowly avoiding him before colliding with a boulder. With a loud snap of metal, the vehicle came to a sudden halt.
“The universe is not smiling on that little piece of land,” Harbinger said, offering his sympathy. He thought of approaching when the side of the machine started turning. The turning cylinder reminded him of a food vat churning as it produced edibles, and he suddenly became aware of how hungry he’d gotten since leaving the monastery.
When the cylinder stopped rotating, he forgot about his hunger as a strange being with two sets of limbs and a protrusion on the top stepped out. Harbinger noticed its form didn’t shift when it climbed down the ladder to the ground. How strange. A solid? He had heard that such creatures existed, but had never seen one in person.
The creature inspected the damaged wheel of its machine. Harbinger could swear it was making some kind of noise. When it finished studying the wheel, it turned and proceeded back to the cylinder it had emerged from only to stop short. Harbinger realized that the creature had a collection of sensory organs on the front of its top protrusion. Have you finally noticed me? he thought. Well, then, I had better introduce myself.
✴
What Gaynor had assumed was a crystal suddenly grew as it changed shape to look vaguely human and began walking toward him. He nearly filled his suit’s shit locker at the sight and fumbled for his vortex pistol, then remembered he’d left his gun belt with the holstered pistol hanging next to the driver’s seat. His stomach dropped; he was good as dead.
Instead of killing him as he’d expected, the crystal-turned-creature continued to approach calmly. Maybe he comes in peace, Gaynor thought as he held out the palm of his right hand, hoping it was a universal gesture for peace.
“Hello, I come in peace,” he began. “My name is John Gaynor and I’m from Earth.” The creature didn’t react. “Uh, do you speak English? Damn it.” He tried to remember the Esperanto he was supposed to have learned before landing. “Uh, saluton, mi venas en paco,” he tried, hoping he hadn’t butchered it.
✴
Harbinger regarded the human as it tried to communicate with him, first gesturing with one of its limbs, then making a series of sounds followed by a different string of sounds, none of which made any sense to Harbinger. The human didn’t seem to be threatening him at least, so more than likely, it was trying to communicate passively.
The Umumo race had little need for gesture-based language, but in the spirit of being friendly with the newcomer, he shaped a protrusion approximating the human’s arm. “Greetings and salutations, stranger. I am part of the Umumo. What are you?”
✴
Gaynor cringed as a kaleidoscope of colors and a complex sequence of warbling tones assaulted his senses and his sanity. He shut his eyes and clasped his hands over his suit’s external pickup, but he couldn’t escape the distilled insanity that poured in like a deluge. It was too much; all he could do was scream.
✴
Harbinger watched the human fall to the ground and curl into the fetal position. “Oh dear, what has happened to this poor creature?” he asked aloud, which seemed to cause the human to writhe even more. Harbinger decided it would be best to put the human back in his vehicle and locate a communication system.
Lifting the human was not difficult, though strange. The environmental suit he wore was bulky, but it was the human’s body that made it peculiar, like carrying a bag full of rocks. Getting inside the vehicle was a little tricky as well. It took Harbinger several minutes to decipher the symbols on the airlock’s operating instructions, but once he realized there were both icons and writing, he was able to locate the cycle button.
Stepping inside, he laid the human down on a bench seat, then searched the vehicle. He was about to give up when a display near the driver’s seat lit up and made a dull chime.
“Their machines sound as boring as their voices,” Harbinger commented aloud as he tapped the console. He didn’t see any buttons or switches, but he could sense a magnetic field. He was in luck: The comm channel opened and the screaming could be heard immediately.
✴
“Gaynor, what the hell is going on?” Cosgrove shouted at the comm panel and, unfortunately, into the comm tech’s ear. “Answer me!”
“Damn it, Cosgrove,” the comm tech yelled. “If you’re going to scream, go do it in your damn office. Now get away from my station,” Neff, the comm tech yelled back at him.
Cosgrove became even more infuriated. “Do not talk to me in that tone of voice or I will have your hide!” he threatened.
“Meaning what, Mister Administrator? Fire me? Oh, wait, if you do that, who’ll run this control station for you?” Neff stuck out a pouty lip for a beat before continuing. “Well, boss man, am I fired or what?”
Before Cosgrove could answer, the console finally chimed a response.
Neff opened the channel. “Hey, Gaynor, where the hell you been? Cosgrove’s been calling you for the last ten minutes!”
But instead of hearing Gaynor’s gravelly voice, a screeching warble erupted from the console’s speakers. While Neff was looking into the screen showing Gaynor’s video feed, all the others could see were rapid flashes of color. The combined staccato sights and sounds were making them all ill.
“Shut that shit off already,” Cosgrove yelled, his hands pinned to his ears and eyes squeezed shut. The screeching continued. “Neff, what the hell is wrong with you? Shut it off now, damn it!” Cosgrove doubled over and vomited on the floor.
Neff was transfixed by the screen, unable to respond, until he too fell to the floor convulsing.
“Oh God, ugh,” Cosgrove managed before he started dry heaving. “Somebody . . . ugh . . . somebody shut it off!” He heaved again.
Just as quickly as it started, the lights and sounds stopped, and then the comm channel closed.
“Oh dear God, what happened?” Jenny Johns, one of the dispatchers, asked. She reached over Neff and hit the emergency alert. “We have a medical emergency in the control room!”
✴
Harbinger slumped back into his relaxed shape, forming a multicolored translucent sphere the size of a beachball on the sandcat’s deck. For one who prided himself as the harmonious one among his fellow trimates, he had failed for the second time in a single day at establishing a line of communication.
“I am never going to hear the end of this,” he said aloud. “My speech cannot be that incomprehensible, unless—” He turned to Gaynor. “Should I use more gestures like you?”
The human was still curled in the fetal position and shaking. The only difference Harbinger could discern was a blinking light coming from the display on the human’s left forearm. Again, he was confronted by a jumble of icons. Putting aside his frustration with human iconography, Harbinger puzzled for a few minutes before he realized the human’s life support was running out. Putting aside his failures for now, he tapped the human’s wrist display, hoping it would do something to save the human’s life.
To the Umumo’s relief, the human’s helmet flipped open, allowing him to suck in life-giving air. Harbinger tried talking to his new friend to see if he was feeling better, but the human only responded by screaming even louder than the first time they’d spoken.
Harbinger pondered the predicament he found himself in. Others of his kind had commented in the past that his speech could be annoying. Could it be that his speech was that potent? The thought seemed ludicrous at first, but then again, the human only communicated with sound, lacking the light and electromagnetic fields the Umumo used.
More beeping and human speech interrupted Harbinger’s thoughts, so he returned his gaze to the vehicle’s console. “What do you want, you annoying piece of hardware?” he snapped at the computer display, now showing a bizarre and abstract, yet somehow familiar image.
Touching the image, he rotated it as he tried to make sense of it all. It appeared similar to the terrain surrounding them, with the main feature being a squiggly line, the end of which was flashing. Harbinger straightened in understanding. “Oh, this is a map!” Harbinger mused, noticing that the end opposite of the flashing dot happened to be their current location. “No, wait, it’s a navigation computer. And Zepher said I am clueless with technology!” He laughed at his own joke.
Harbinger studied the navigation. “It looks like this human wants to go to that location, but why? There is nothing there.” He paused. “At least, nothing that I know of.” He tapped the screen to see if anything would happen. At least he was having luck with the humans’ machines, if not the humans themselves. Suddenly, the computer spoke again and the vehicle started moving, first to pull free of the stone it had hit, and then toward the flashing dot.
“Hopefully someone is waiting for this human at our destination,” Harbinger said.
Hard Lessons
“Move your assets! Move, move, move!” screeched Lieutenant Anton.
Unlike the male officers who would bellow, she spoke in shrill tones. Normally, this would only make her annoying or repulsive, but when she screamed at the cadets, it was like an evil spirit was coming to take their souls—the reason they’d secretly nicknamed her the Banshee. From the moment they’d met her, the cadets wondered how anyone could possibly stand her presence; the wedding ring on her finger had to be fake.
Still, the cadets knew better than to disobey her orders. They moved with surprising speed for humans and with such dexterity that they didn’t even muss their uniforms. In the past, male and female personnel would be dressed the same, but in this day and age, the men wore a double-breasted jacket, trousers, and combination cover while the women wore a single-breasted jacket, skirt, and beret. Once called to duty, they no longer had civilian-clothes privileges and could only wear their uniforms.
They formed up by height, George Sergeant at the high end and Mara Esposito at the low end. When the Banshee wasn’t looking, they expressed their disgust with being treated like delinquent children despite being legal adults serving their planet. They were even more disgusted since they had completed their training to fly the Solar Alliance’s newest and most versatile war machine, the Lockheed Sukhoi 120 Thunderhawk.
“Atten-shun!” Anton shouted, like nails on a chalkboard.
An officer the cadets had never seen before walked in. Not too tall, he was a little over five and a half feet with dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. His uniform told even more about him: a commander with variable fighter pilot wings, a command-in-space pin, and his ribbons meant that, despite his stature, this was no staff wiener before them, but a real fighter.
