Trapped: Chaos Core Book 1

Books by Randolph Lalonde

THE CHAOS CORE SERIES

Trapped

Cool Pursuit

THE SPINWARD FRINGE SERIES

Spinward Fringe Broadcast 0: Origins

Spinward Fringe Broadcast 1 and 2: Resurrection and Awakening

Spinward Fringe Broadcast 3: Triton

Spinward Fringe Broadcast 4: Frontline

Spinward Fringe Broadcast 5: Fracture

Spinward Fringe Broadcast 6: Fragments

The Expendable Few: A Spinward Fringe Novel

Spinward Fringe Broadcast 7: Framework

Spinward Fringe Broadcast 8: Renegades

Spinward Fringe Broadcast 9: Warpath

Spinward Fringe Broadcast 10: Freeground

Brightwill

Dark Arts

For more information please visit:

www.RandolphLalonde.com

TRAPPED

CHAOS CORE BOOK 1

Randolph
Lalonde

Copyright © 2016 by Randolph
Lalonde

All
rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in
a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission
of the publisher, Randolph Lalonde.

This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either
are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Thank
you for supporting the author by purchasing this book. Every honest
reader counts.

EBook
ISBN: 978-1-9881750-4-1

TABLE OF CONTENTS

01

02

03

04

05

06

07

08

09

Year 998.4 United Core Authority Calendar

The beginning of the Basic Era

Humanity is slowly
recovering from a galactic holocaust. After a virus that turned
artificial intelligences against them ravaged the population and
reduced centuries old systems of law and order to mere memory, the
once civilized core worlds have become mostly lawless territory.
Mostly.

The United Core
Authority discovered a tool, a new virus they began using to prevent
artificial intelligences from communicating with other computer
systems digitally, reducing their effectiveness and turning the tide
of the war. Along with a campaign to neutralize advanced technology
that is not under control, they have managed to quiet the open war
that threatened to end humanity in a growing group of solar systems.

New wars begin, some
driven by artificial intelligences who have become trapped in single
metal chassis, others conducted by humans with grand ideas and too
much hardware. Any spacer will tell you that the conflict map changes
daily, and while that provides opportunity for some, it is also a
constant source of danger.

Slavery is the fastest
growing industry now that mankind has lost trust in intelligent
machines. People of all ages run the risk of being captured and sold
if they are caught alone on the streets by certain gangs, governments
or corporations. The drive to reclaim technology that was once used
to create enhanced and custom humans is on. There are examples of
this golden age of human production from before the Holocaust, when
artificial intelligences turned on their masters. They were made from
entirely synthetic reproductive materials, customized to have
restricted life spans and unrestricted potential. They are called
dolls. Some of them were able to escape during the Holocaust, others
remain in service to their masters, but they are all highly sought
after since the laboratories and other facilities responsible for
their creation are surrounded by armies led by artificial
intelligences that will do anything to prevent humanity from getting
their hands on the tools for progress in the Geist System.

Through this, the
elements of humanity that were already used to hiding – criminals
and the ultra-wealthy – have thrived in their own ways. The
difference between the two have become only skin deep, and they
control the spaces where humanity tries to thrive. Both sides are
ruthless in their quest to be in power when order is restored, while
the United Core Authority operates as a military dictatorship on the
few worlds they can afford to police regularly.

Near one of those
systems, a spacer named Aspen Dunewell enjoys her leave from the Cool
Angel, a small armed freighter that does whatever work the Captain
can find for her crew. Aspen is completely unaware that she’s about
to be drawn into the middle of humanity’s next struggle in the Core
Worlds.

Dancing. Aspen Dunewell
loved everything about dancing. The aggressive punch and pound of the
music set her bouncing and swaying with her eyes closed. They were
the Pip Divers, a Joy Metal band with two females and one male
singer, all of whom had mastered ancient instruments using strings
and picks. She loved the distortion, the utter aggression of it, and
the powerful beat provided by a woman who played old style drums
behind everyone else. Aspen would go see her later, at least to tell
her that she made her feel like dancing for the first time in a long
time.

The crowd around her
was a crew she’d come to know, they protected their own, leaving
her free to ‘look good and groove.’ It was a term her Lieutenant,
Sun, used when they were getting ready for leave that afternoon. The
lower and middle ranks had become like her family, a good thing,
since space on the Cool Angel was tight.

The cream coloured
dress Aspen borrowed from Sun flowed and swayed loosely while keeping
her covered. The top half was a single loose circle of cloth that
drooped from her neck, leaving her back bare. The bottom half was a
short skirt that teased at showing what was underneath but would not
creep up or down thanks to programmable surface cloth, so she could
comfortably sway, grind and bump as much as she wanted. She hadn’t
worn anything that felt so good in a year.

Her hip bumped against
someone, and she half-turned her head to see Boro, a crewman she’d
been talking to and flirting with for two months. They’d had what
she liked to call ‘a date of opportunity’ more than once, talking
late into the evening in the mess hall after she’d finished helping
Cookie clean up. He was a little thick in the middle, allergic to
body shaping meds – not that he could have afforded them – and
she was sure he liked her too much for some easy going fun, but she
fancied him anyway, so he earned a wink instead of a sneer on most
days. He smiled and danced behind her as she ground to the beat a
little. He kissed her on the neck, put a hand on her bare waist.
Boro, a fabricator by trade who could make any complicated part with
the right materials, had a surprisingly warm, nice touch as his
fingers splayed out under her top, and he teased her neck with light
kisses.

Sun, the raven-haired
Lieutenant she provided support for – that was Aspen’s only job –
was dancing in front of her. She was in a dress of a similar style,
only her slimmer figure was tightly wrapped instead of loosely
covered, and the fabric was so black it seemed to drink the light in.
The smile across her glossy black lips and approving nod told Aspen
that she’d have some personal time that night. Aspen smiled back as
Boro kissed her lightly under her earlobe, sending tingles through
her. She’d never seen Boro pair up with anyone in the year she’d
served aboard the Cool Angel, he most likely had a lot of energy to
spend. She slid her hand atop his and leaned her head back; “Take
it slow,” she said over the music. Boro’s head came up so his
lips were next to hers. “Sorry,” he said.

“We have all night,”
she said and kissed him, tasting the strong fermented cocktail he’d
had, a very obvious mood enhancer she recognized right away called
Valentia. Aspen ground against him several times, she wanted him to
feel encouraged. With what she loaded onto the station credit chit
she had tucked into her skirt, she could afford a room later, if she
still liked the way he felt by then.

The beat slowed, and a
more sensual sound came rippling from the emitters. He gently turned
her around and Aspen leaned against him. Boro was shorter than she
thought, and she was wearing high heels – a monstrous invention,
but they gave her extra height – so she was almost at eye level
with him. He was smiling softly. “You look mad beautiful tonight,”
he said.

A glance at his shirt –
a long thing that had animated black and blue flames crawling up the
length of it – and thought it was a little silly, but it made her
smile, and it felt nice, not cheap or rough. His hands were warm and
large against her bare back, that, and his smile were a great start
as far as she was concerned. She brushed his cheek gently with the
backs of her fingers before locking her hands behind his neck. “This
is nice,” she told him before leaning in a little.

He took his chance and
kissed her, his lips parting and she followed his lead, happy that he
was taking the initiative. Drew, her last on-and-off-again couldn’t
follow a signal if it was accompanied by flood lights and power
horns. Boro was kissing her soundly and she was happy with the
direction her night was taking.

The music stopped
suddenly and the spinning lights became bright floods. “This is a
United Core Authority raid! Stay where you are and the innocent will
be released!”

They stepped away from
each other and Aspen saw an emergency exit over Boro’s shoulder.
“There! We have to get back to the ship!” The whole dance floor
rushed for it, Aspen, Boro and a few other crewmen were within three
metres of the nearest exit and four UCA soldiers burst through,
rifles at the ready.

With a look over her
shoulder Aspen saw that Sun was right behind her. “Rush them!”
she called out to the crewmembers around them. To her surprise, Boro
took the lead, a pulse band over his knuckles that amplified his
devastating uppercut, sending the lead UCA Officer back through the
doors with a concave gold chest plate. He bullied through the space
left open with two other crewmembers.

A UCA Officer tried to
block Aspen, and she grabbed the seam under the front of his helmet
then dragged him down, rolling back and bashing his faceplate against
the dance floor. His rifle went off under her legs, a near miss that
left a sear mark across the backs of her thighs. The piercing sound
of his pulse weapon discharging also increased the crowd’s panic,
and he was pressed underfoot as Aspen flipped back up onto her feet
and ran in step with Sun through the door.

“Cool Angel, this is
Lieutenant Dodin, we’re coming back, the station is being raided,”
Sun said over the communicator tattooed on her wrist.

“Genan here, what’s
going on?” came the response from their navigator, his head
appearing in a tiny hologram above her wrist. “Wait, one sec.”
The face disappeared.

“Bloody moron,” Sun
said. “We’ll be stuck in clearance for days if we don’t get
back to the Cool Angel.”

With a touch of her
finger to the communication unit imprinted on her wrist, Aspen’s
high heels converted to thick treaded flats that held her feet
firmly, the same command altered her Lieutenant’s shoes, she
wobbled for a moment. “Warn me next time?” Sun said.

Flashes of light
through the transparent aluminium windows drew Aspen’s momentary
attention, and she did her best to hold her panic down as beams
flashed between several swooping United Core Authority fighters and a
smooth-hulled hundred-metre-long ship. The lights started going out
on the rear half of the vessel, and the ion thrusters along its side
flared then flickered out. “Who are they after?” Aspen said, a
substitution for asking the real question on her mind; I hope they’re
not after me.

They came to a crossing
and took the left fork towards the nearby docking port where they’d
find the Cool Angel. “Where did the rest of the crew go?” Sun
asked. “They should be on their way back.”

“This is the last
time I wear anything without built in support,” Aspen said, holding
her hands over her chest. The dress made her look great, but she may
as well have been running naked.

The noise from the
dance club goers faded to nothing as they ran down one of the lesser
concourses. Bored shopkeepers, most of them selling salvage they had
dug up from a nearby world, watched the pair run past. They turned a
corner down an old avenue that smelled like old Formula D Food Cubes,
the kind Aspen had grown used to after a year in space, and urine.
They slowed to a normal walk at the sight of a group of four
soldiers. They were in the thick green armour of the UCA but didn’t
seem to notice that they were wearing club wear, so Sun and Aspen
passed without incident.