Here tonight is a free preview of the upcoming new novel, "Project Wasteland", the long awaited sequel to "The Pathfinder Project". The new novel will be available exclusively on Amazon this Christmas season, only in Kindle Ereader format! Begin excerpt: Somewhere in the fourth spiral arm of the PGC-2014206 galactic cluster… (Ten years after the Pathfinder Project) Consciousness returned slowly to the soldier, preceded by bouts of dizziness and repetitive, exploding bursts of pain from the deep bruises in his right shoulder and knee. He wasn’t totally yet ready to wake up; his reality had rapidly become a surreal portrait of darkness and evil like nothing that he had ever imagined. And yet, each time he tried to deny awareness and refused to return to the warmth and comfort and complete nothingness provided by the occasional blackouts, there were those annoying, blinding flashes of corridor lighting, triggered by an unreliable ship’s power source. And if the rank stench of death failed to arouse him, the snapping, intermittently failing lighting would eventually snap him back to full awareness. He was lying on his left side, right shoulder throbbing uncontrollably, and curled into a fetal position on cold, filthy metallic deck plating that stretched off beyond the flickering overhead lanterns into an intimidating darkness where virtually anyone – or anything – could be lurking. There were other prisoners arranged in various positions on the metal deck surrounding him, several of whom appeared at first glance to be dead. Rusty brown, partially-dried blood crusted the ridges of the metal deck amidst the groans and sobbing of the mortally wounded. All of them wore the dark black, yellow-striped uniforms common to the crew of his former ship and also to the larger Clan Crasel. But then, this was the group the soldier had been assigned to infiltrate first… the Crasel. Their territory was small and withering quickly away with each passing day, repeatedly blasted and punished over the centuries by the other dozen or so clans surrounding it. Countless centuries ago, back when some semblance of a plausible tactical strategy was still necessary, their leaders failed to come up with anything reliable. Painted into a small, lonely section of the fourth spiral arm ever since, the few stars left to them continued to die off, one by one. Sometimes, during the darker times in this hideous war, as many as a dozen stars at a time had died in a single year, snuffed out by the deadliest weapon ever created by humanoid life. And not all of the clans possessed it. Initially it was rumored that everyone had owned ‘the weapon’, back when there were only a few worlds at war with one another. That time had long since passed into history over forty-six millennia ago, back before the survivors of the initial encounters had splintered into hundreds of disparate clans, each filled with panicked refugees and each hoarding what resources they could capture. Women and children were swiftly hidden away on cold, lifeless worlds or in battered, unarmed ships that could no longer fight. Those who were most vulnerable were carefully and meticulously protected, even as every other able bodied male was drafted into service, trained and then moved to the front lines so that they could fight the others. The rules were simple: if you were not Clan, you were unworthy of survival… that was the message burned permanently into every young male’s brain. Occasionally, every few centuries or so, there had been leaders strong enough to try and end the fighting. Some of them made overtures, sparing other Clan ships or by transmitting simple messages to their enemy counterparts requesting a peaceful meeting. Eventually, those leaders were always targeted and killed, sometimes by their own enraged, unwilling followers. If you didn’t kill the enemy, you were the enemy, even in the eyes of your fellow Clan members. Now there were less than two dozen combat capable clans along with dozens more hanging on the very brink of annihilation. The soldier knew all of this because it was information easily accessible from the sophisticated electronic implant attached to his brain. In addition to a powerful, long range transceiver, the implant also contained a comprehensive historical database that allowed him to instantly speak and understand any of the Clan languages and dialects. Despite the huge advantage this offered him, he still considered himself just a small spark in an ocean of alien fire. These were their stars, after all. This was where they had lived and died for thousands of years now, where their non-stop fighting would eventually drive them to extinction if something wasn’t done to stop them. That was why the soldier had stepped forward and volunteered, even when others more capable and combat trained were available. Because he knew, deep down, that to truly crack the tunnel vision that had become this peoples’ out of control fury and permanently resolve the situation would require much more than brute force. Around these stars, after all, there had always been no shortage of force and it had solved nothing. What was needed for this supposedly unsolvable puzzle would require the trained mind of a scientist, along with a thorough, close-up analysis of the Clan structures, traditions and culture. He also needed to know precisely how they constructed devices capable of destroying whole stars. Only after accumulating more information would he and his allies have a chance to put a stop to this unending madness… to liberate millions and put a halt to further use of ‘the weapon’. This was why he had volunteered, even knowing the dangers he would face, the trauma he must endure and the atrocities he would be witness to. He voluntarily left the comfort and safety of his adopted home world in order to reach out and try to deliver the same gift that had been offered to him by others after his home was destroyed – freedom from persecution and a life where he and his loved ones could feel safe. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, and yet the soldier had made it anyway. Never in his life had he thought for even a moment, in those first cautious days after his own world Earth was destroyed in a massive nuclear war, that he would soon encounter something even more evil… something darker and worse. Therefore he had prepared himself for the trials ahead and committed himself to discovering a successful solution to a war that, left unaltered, would inevitably end in the mass extinction of everyone still living in the fourth spiral arm of this galaxy. Although the soldier had allies, people who were just as dedicated to helping him with his lonely quest, those people were located very far from here at the moment. The brain implant and other equipment in his possession offered him the edge he would need while working alone. It was something that he could rely upon to keep him safe and alive long enough to learn what he needed to know, even here in the midst of constant danger. Despite these advantages, along with his larger than normal knowledge of these people, their technology and history was extremely limited. Information regarding this humanoid race had historically been gleaned carefully, mostly by passive sensor observation and distant telescopes situated on far away worlds that simply couldn’t penetrate the residual dust and gas clouds from thousands upon thousands of nebulae… the leftovers from stars long since dead. Those aliens who first discovered this war had already hesitated to act for countless centuries, afraid to get involved and fearful of an intervention on their part causing the war to expand far beyond the fourth spiral arm… maybe even beyond this galaxy entirely and into others. The man lying next to the soldier groaned in agony, and he noticed that a stray bullet or piece of shrapnel had somehow pierced the other man’s body armor, tearing into vulnerable flesh. Exhaling with disgust, the soldier rolled onto his knees and rose to his feet. He selected a med-kit from one of the emergency slots on the corridor wall, noticing as he did so that virtually all of the other openings were empty. Food, medicine and uncontaminated water – the most valuable resources in this war – were the ones that were usually the toughest to find. With his mind directly linked to the implant database, the language of the Crasel was as easy for the soldier to speak as his own. The critically injured man next to him was also trying to rise, but the soldier stopped him with a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “Rest for now,” he suggested in the local dialect of his former vessel’s crew. “Rest, friend.” He removed the snaps holding the med-kit closed and opened the lid, groaning at what he saw there. All of the disinfectant bottles were empty and the bandages were either contaminated with dust and other filth or stained with blood, having already been used at least once. Anonymity was a key component to the soldier’s eventual success, and yet he decided to risk exposing himself on this occasion. Swearing under his breath, he tossed aside the useless med-kit and slapped his inner left thigh with the palm of one hand. An invisibility field concealing his personal, portable emergency supplies flickered with blue electricity and then faded, exposing the valuable equipment. Choosing a metal instrument similar to a scissors, the soldier inserted the tip through the hole in his colleague’s armor and began searching for the metal hiding somewhere within the wound. Fresh blood gushed up from the opening and ran down the body armor, drizzling onto the already grimy deck plating. “Mott’s Ghost but that hurts,” declared the injured man with a dark chuckle, the whites of his eyes standing out from the charcoal stains on his sweat-soaked, unshaven skin. “What must be done must be done, though, right?” The dark irises of his eyes focused on the soldier’s own. “I can’t be dying before my time, can I?” “You might anyway,” quipped the soldier tersely, using one hand to retrieve a roll of clean white cloth from his personal first aid kit. He decided to minimize risk and lie about the clean condition of his medical supplies. “The shape these bandages are in, it will be difficult to keep infection out of your wound.” As he spoke the words, he held up a small cylinder concealed in the palm of his hand. It was filled with a complex antiseptic and painkiller. He risked a quick spray into the wound before picking up the scissors and resuming the search for the stubbornly embedded metal. “When we allow ourselves to get captured, we must learn to do without.” The injured man’s lips were thin and pale as he tripped awkwardly through the words between sharp stabs of pain. “Also, I think that bleeding to death will take me to the hereafter much more quickly than infection,” he decided grimly. “I’ll take my chances with you and… aaaaaghhhh!!!!” The rest of the sentence died in his throat behind a prolonged scream as the soldier finally located the metal. He used the medical scissors to grip it firmly and then yanked it out of the man’s left breast. For a moment, the injured man blacked out and the soldier gratefully nodded with renewed confidence. He thoroughly sprayed the open wound with more antiseptic, followed by a heavy covering of what appeared to be an expanding white gel that hardened quickly into a temporary bandage. After that, the soldier took a few moments to wrap the entire wound with white cloth and tie everything off before replacing the supplies in his medical kit. Once it was re-attached to his thigh, he slapped it lightly once more to restore its invisibility shield. The small bundle turned briefly transparent and then vanished, once again hidden from normal sight. There was a long silence that followed, lasting until the severely wounded man recovered consciousness. Making good use of the time, the soldier rubbed the dirty grit from his hands and arms onto the bandages, gradually making their top sides resemble the useless counterparts from the ship’s med-kit. Then the soldier leaned back against the corridor wall and sat patiently waiting for almost fifteen minutes, until the eyes of the other finally flickered open once more. The wounded Crasel obviously felt better, because he promptly extended his hand and patted the soldier gratefully on the arm. “My name is Tran Wuu,” he offered gratefully, grimacing from residual pain. “I do not recognize you. Tell me, how are you known to others?” “Me?” the soldier responded with a snide laugh, dropping the metal fragments onto the deck plating and replacing the ship’s useless med-kit in its wall slot. He had been told to speak normally, even when using proper names and places familiar to him. As long as he behaved normally, the implant’s language converter was supposedly able to handle anything. “My name is Adam,” he stated informatively. “Adam Roh.”
Posted on: Wed, 03 Jul 2013 02:34:13 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015