Read Scrapyard Ship 7: Call to Battle Online
Authors: Mark Wayne McGinnis
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Alien Invasion, #Exploration, #First Contact, #Galactic Empire, #Military, #Space Fleet, #Space Marine, #Space Opera, #Space Exploration, #Science Fiction
Scrapyard Ship 7: Call to Battle
CALL TO BATTLE
A Scrapyard Ship Novel
Written By
Mark Wayne McGinnis
Copyright
Copyright © 2015 by Mark Wayne McGinnis All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by
:
Eren Arik
Edited by:
Lura Lee Genz
Mia Manns
Published by:
Avenstar Productions
ISBN: 978-0-9861098-2-9
Prologue
It had been sixty-four days since Chrimguard, the ancient, highly-fortified, Grand Sacellum situated on Itimus-four, was attacked and destroyed by a relatively small Allied vessel. Any of the remaining high priest overlords still present within Craing space—those that weren’t crushed beneath Chrimguard’s tons of stone rubble—were now in hiding … somewhere.
Good riddance
, Ot-Mul thought. They were the least of his concerns right now. He looked out through the observation window to the planet below, and shook his head.
Terplin, the Craing empire’s predominant seat of power for thousands of years, was now in the throes of total bedlam. The last of the seven Craing worlds was on the verge of falling. What started with a dissident uprising … a handful of university students … had somehow turned into a full-blown revolution that had swept through the Craing worlds like wildfire. The Emperor’s army had put up little resistance; in fact, most had joined the opposing side within days. Any day now, total victory lay within reach of the young revolutionaries.
Ot-Mul had been in the process of the
Transformation of Eternity—
the final step necessary to his becoming the Craing Emperor. A position he’d come to realize he didn’t want. Perhaps the attack was a godsend, after all. In any event, he’d barely escaped. If it hadn’t been for his four Caldurian battle droids he, too, would be lying beneath the walls of Chrimguard. But he had survived—the droids had blasted through the massive stone walls and, eventually, they had fled to a waiting light cruiser he always had on standby. If he’d learned anything over the course of his distinguished military career, it was to never leave anything to chance when it comes to self-preservation. He and his four battle droids were well into space as the last of the towering obelisks fell onto the ancient Craing compound.
Ot-Mul had inherited his predecessor’s ambitious Great Space initiative. In reality, perhaps it was too ambitious of Lom, the past acting-Emperor, to undertake such a monumental task: the destruction of thousands of worlds, all in the hopes of building a buffer zone against any possible insurgency by the growing list of enemies of the Craing Empire. Now, exiled from the Craing worlds, Ot-Mul had to put further dreams of continuing the Great Space initiative on hold … at least until sanity returned to the populace. For now, he would have to be content leading the combined Craing military forces from outer space.
The sheer number of vessels at his disposal was staggering. They had previously been recalled from hundreds of light-years away to support the Great Space initiative. The same assemblage of Craing military strength, thousands of warships, had taken place at other key locations within the sector. Here was the greatest combined military force ever assembled. Ever. In Craing space alone, there were nearly one hundred thousand warships of various sizes—all standing at the ready. The problem was that not all were fully manned. Even out in space there were many deserters … crewmen who had heard from family or friends of the great revolution taking place back on Terplin, or Halimar, or any of the five other Craing worlds.
Keeping control of crews that were still intact had become a full-time endeavor. Sure, at first putting a plasma bolt into a deserter’s head had done the trick … but that had eventually lost effectiveness as a deterrent. Within the last few weeks entire vessels, or even groups of vessels, were making a run for it. How many ships had deserted Craing space … one thousand … five thousand?
His eyes rose to the twinkling lights outside the porthole on the vessels moored around his command meganaught. Yesterday, Ot-Mul had a revelation …
why hadn’t I thought of it before?
He had at his disposal the ultimate deterrent. Actually, he had four of them.
“Increased heat signatures are prevalent within a cluster of Craing light and heavy warships at the outer reaches of the assemblage, my Lord. They’re getting ready to run.”
Ot-Mul turned a furrowed brow in the direction of his second-in-command. How many times had he corrected him that he now wanted to be called Admiral? Any reference to his former emperorship title was counter-productive.
“How many vessels, Captain Gee?”
“No less than ten, my Lor … Um, Admiral.”
“Send all four … do it now!”
Both Ot-Mul and Captain Gee moved to the admiral’s ready room where Gee used a wall-mounted intercom panel to convey his orders to the bridge. Irritably, Ot-Mul gestured toward the wall display with a raised brow. The captain sighted the cluster of warships on the viewer within seconds. Ot-Mul, looking at a split screen, saw his meganaught command vessel on the left and a group of ten ships, lying at a different section of Craing space, on the right. Movement. One by one, his magnificent battle droids appeared from one of the command ship’s many flight decks. It was strange, even after all this time, how these four technological wonders could have such a physical effect on him. Stirred, he felt blood rushing to his loins. His heart rate increased and his small mouth opened, taking in bigger gulps of air. The display changed to a full-screen view. Ot-Mul wasn’t aware that he’d begun to rapidly tap his left foot. And then, there they were: Each one was twice the size of an average Craing male, but much wider, with four squatty-looking legs, a barrel-like torso, four arms, and a circular turret that comprised its head. Every surface was reflective—covered with thin, razor-sharp plates that constantly spun. They were beautiful.
Ot-Mul adjusted his uniform to compensate for his now-hard member.
“Put them to work, Captain Gee, and ensure this feed is transmitted to all our vessels,” Ot-Mul ordered, not taking his eyes from the display.
Again, Gee was on the intercom to the bridge. The four battle droids moved into position around the cluster of ten Craing ships. Ot-Mul forced his eyes to stay open, not wanting to blink—he knew the speed of their attack would be lighting fast.
They attacked in unison. As expected, they moved with incredible speed. Each droid was firing continuous plasma bolts from their head-like turrets, strategically firing on the multiple targets around them. Now, each battle droid zeroed-in on a single ship, and quickly annihilated that ship’s defensive shields, then blasted through its thick outer hulls and bulkheads. As they disappeared into the bowels of the four ships, for the moment all was still. A smile appeared on Ot-Mul’s thin lips. He waited. He knew the seeming silence was anything but still. He knew if he could look into any of these four vessels, he’d see the workings of a blender … first the shredding of metal … then, soon, the crew too would be … macerated. They’d see it coming … their own demise.
The first of the four warships, a heavy cruiser, had begun to implode. The battle droid reappeared at the stern of the vessel and took up position at the same outer perimeter location it had started from just minutes earlier. The other three battle droids soon followed suit, returning to their overtaken ships’ entry position. All four cruisers were in various stages of implosion. Ot-Mul was left with a sense that it was all a bit anticlimactic. He’d far prefer to see these ships explode in bright balls of fire.
“Shall I order the destruction of the remaining six vessels, Admiral?”
Ot-Mul continued to stare at the display. “How many deserters were just … subdued?”
Captain Gee took a moment to answer, first double-checking the numbers in his head. “Close to a thousand … give or take a hundred.”
“No. I think we have made an effective point here, don’t you think, Captain?”
“Most effective, Admiral.”
“Leave me now, Captain. Return to your duties on the bridge.”
Ot-Mul watched as his second quickly bowed, turned, and left the ready room. He let out a long breath and sat down at his desk. He needed to deal with other, perhaps even more important, matters. He had little doubt the desertions would soon stop. Perhaps there would still be a few errant ships attempting to make a run for open space … and again, he’d send for his battle droids. Ot-Mul looked to the display again. Next time, he’d transmit live feeds directly from the droids themselves. Show the carnage. That should quell any further desertions.
His mind turned to other issues he’d been forced to shelve for far too long—to Earth and what remained of the Allied forces. Their influence over the Craing populace was the crux of the problem. Yes, he’d need to remove those outer influences first, before dealing any further with this Craing populace situation.
Chapter 1
Captain Jason Reynolds stood in the mid-morning sun, shirtless and wearing board shorts. He stood barefoot on the deck with his hands on his hips. In the distance he could see one of the droids, but couldn’t make out whether it was Dewdrop or Teardrop. A bright, white-hot point of light danced, ten feet up in the air, a half-mile away—it was one of Old Gus’s welding guns. He watched as a continuous fountain of amber sparks showered down to the ground, then he scanned the far outer perimeter of the scrapyard where the new thirty-foot-high fence had been erected. He’d insisted the ultra-high fence be installed in order to keep
them
out. From what Mollie said, they could climb virtually any surface, like a spider. It was her idea to cover the steel bars with a thick layer of grease—something they’d come up with to keep the molt weevils from climbing up the sides of the big dump truck. The molt weevils were no longer a problem … but the zombie-like creatures which had ripped themselves free from millions of molt weevil cocoons around the world most definitely were.
Mollie and Boomer were in the pool, arguing over whose turn it was to use the one inner tube. One of the droids emerged from the house and hovered at the edge of the pool. Jason recognized it—Teardrop. It lingered there, keeping a silent vigil over the two girls.
“Teardrop … why don’t you make yourself useful? Find another inner tube for us to play with somewhere in the scrapyard.”
It was Mollie, bossy as usual, who’d barked off the command. The droid hesitated for a second and then scurried off toward the mass of rusted-out old cars, trucks, and buses.
“What are you looking at, Dad?” Boomer asked, dripping wet and now standing at his side.
“Hey, kiddo … the fence.”