Orion Gambit

Orion Gambit

Brian Jeffreys

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978-1-4660-1438-1

Copyright © 2010 by Brian Jeffreys

Cover Design Copyright © 2010 Donna Casey

Discover other titles by Brian Jeffreys

at smashwords.com:

Fall of the Terran Empire

Glory and Empire

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Acknowledgements

Oh sure, everybody writes a sequel to their first novel because they designed it to need a sequel. In many ways, this was new territory for me, as I wrote the first novel on a lark and just wanted to see if I could. This novel was more deliberate in breadth and scope, and I had naturally set a deadline for myself of a little more than six months, a timeframe many writers will agree is simply impossible.

But with any work of literature, it would not have been completed at all had it not been for the many people (ok, at least two, or maybe three) who raved about my first work and wanted more. The rest of you must endure this second novel at their behest, having not read its manuscript and thus not provided the useful input that would have made it better. Maybe next time.

Many thanks to Michael Lin and the others who read and helped critique my novel. I owe a debt of gratitude to my parents who read everything I write (which helps keep me honest). I am especially thankful to Donna Casey for a cover design that was exactly what the book needed, and at just the right time. And of course, a big thank you to my editor, Kevin Grauer, for being tough on the text and helping to transform it into something far better than its meager origins would have suggested.

Chapter 1

Kodiac slowly turned to face Captain Michael McKenzie, his face a snarl of pure animal fury.

You! I told you the last time if you got in my way I would kill you. I think it’s time I made an example out of you, Orion pig.

Kodiac advanced on Michael, hatred seething in his eyes. Michael stepped away until his back was against the wall of the tool shed. Kodiac jabbed hard with his right fist, but Michael shifted his weight, taking a glancing blow to the chin instead of the hammer that surely would have cleaved his skull in two. Even so, it spun him to the floor in a foggy daze. He reached out with his quaking hand as his mind tried to fight through the shock and eye-watering pain of the blow that had just struck his face. He tried to focus as adrenaline flooded his body, but his mind could only wonder how it had come to this.

Captain Michael McKenzie had been sent to the prison planet Bellerophon after he was given a life sentence for sedition against the Terran Empire. He had used his position as a Terran starship captain to help hide and provide surveillance for the growing Valdi armada as they built and refitted their starships within two hyperspace jumps of the nearest Terran system. When the Valdi attacked, the Empire had been completely surprised.

Michael’s fingers felt the cold steel of the traction wrench on the floor, just beyond his grip. With an exertion of pure will, he forced his mind to send the signal to his legs to stiffen so he could reach the wrench and close his hand around it. As Kodiac reached down to haul Michael to his feet, Michael swung the wrench with all his might and felt it connect with the side of Kodiac’s bull head. It broke the skin, and a rivulet of blood trickled down the large man’s face. He spat blood onto Michael’s jumpsuit and smiled.

Is that all you’ve got, Orion? Surely you can do better! You’re going to die today.

Michael had heard that threat in its various forms uttered to many during his brief time on Bellerophon. Death was a frequent visitor here. The grim reaper probably had his own suite in the guardhouse.

Kodiac knocked the wrench free and grabbed Michael in his meaty hands, slamming him against the wall of the tool shed. Dust from untold decades settled onto the stains that decorated his sad excuse for a prison uniform. Michael’s attention was on Kodiac’s face, but he could sense the other prisoners watching, just out of reach. None of them were Orion. If they were, they would have come to his aid—probably.

Stop it! Don’t kill him, you imbecile, screamed a muscular woman. She had heard the commotion and stomped over, and the crowd parted to admit her. A white scar splashed across her face, imparting a harsh beauty. Those who knew how she acquired it gave her their respect. She walked up to the two combatants without fear.

If you kill him without his gang here to observe it, there will be reprisals.

Kodiac seemed to hesitate for a split second. She took the opportunity to wedge herself between him and Michael, forcing the large man to confront her. She was right. Many races were represented on the prison world, and there were the Orion gangs to contend with. Not that Michael was any particular threat, but his nationality could not be ignored.

As Kodiac’s rage ebbed, he released Michael and let him sag to the floor, like some loathsome bacteria he wanted to rinse from his hands. He looked down at Michael and hardened his gaze.

Get in my way again, Orion, and it will take more than the voice of this woman to save you. Michael was vaguely aware that Kodiac had stalked out of the shed as the woman helped him stand and then pushed him through the crowd of prisoners. The clan bosses find out about conflicts soon enough and administer their own form of justice. Michael knew that his failure to avoid Kodiac would earn him yet another punishment.

Michael wiped his brow. It was hot on Bellerophon.

Closer than Mercury is to Sol, Bellerophon orbits 51 Pegasi, a massive, yellow G4 star in the Pegasus cluster. The planet is always in a hurry, orbiting its star at the fantastic rate of one circuit every four days. Even so, the brutal orbit does not leave any time for a change in seasons. Not that anyone would notice. The surface of Bellerophon is over one thousand degrees—not exactly a vacation spot.

Bellerophon is also several times larger than Mercury, and almost half the size of Jupiter. Thanks to the abnormally metallic star it orbits, Bellerophon is the quadrant’s primary source of rhenium, a metal used in the formation of starship armor. Known for its toughness under stress, rhenium is far more durable than other metals of similar mass. It can also withstand extreme heat—a good thing since Bellerophon is so very hot.

Of course, no one chooses to visit Bellerophon, except to collect ore from the mining operations—or drop off a new prisoner. The process is essentially the same for both tasks. The visiting ship has to approach Bellerophon Refinery, which orbits the planet on its dark side. Remaining within the planet’s shadow accomplishes two important tasks. First, it provides a certain amount of operational security; it is far easier to monitor and inspect ships limited to a single lane of approach. Second, it shields the refinery and any approaching ships from the radiation and heat of 51 Pegasi.

Prisoners dropped off on Bellerophon do not expect parole. They survive by participating in the only occupation on the planet, mining the endless tunnels for ore that may or may not contain rhenium. There are no fences or guard towers; both are superfluous. The mining tunnels are deep within the surface of the planet, under layers of gas and silicates. There is no breathable atmosphere above the mining colonies. Even if a prisoner managed to escape the tunnels, he would have to survive the searing heat. Hot enough to burn a man to his bones in seconds, the entrances to the mining tunnels serve as a stark reminder of the futility of the prisoners’ existence. Some, driven by desperation or madness, try to escape, only to find their bones added to those of previous escapees, piled and bleached upon the endless plains of the planet of death. There is no parole from Bellerophon.

Calendars are not particularly meaningful for the inhabitants of the prison planet. All days are the same, with the exception of Trade Day. Trade Day is the one day every standard month when the ore is collected. A system of barter encourages the prisoners to make their quota of rhenium ore each month. The ore is weighed and loaded aboard cargo vessels. In exchange, a proportionate amount of food and supplies is meted out. When there is a shortage of ore, there is a shortage of food, to encourage prisoners to do better. Prisoners quickly learn that cooperation results in greater food quantities.

How the prisoners govern themselves is of little import, as long as they make their quota. This means that prisoners obey the rules of the jungle. Gang bosses rule the world of Bellerophon, and each boss manages his own gang. Deaths and reprisals are common enough, but even the bosses know that too many deaths would result in missing the quota for the month. And that is not acceptable.

Michael had arrived on Trade Day. Along with the food, tools, and repair supplies came two new prisoners. A second prisoner, named Thaselus, arrived along with Michael. Believing himself to be above the will of the gang bosses, Thaselus was murdered on the second day. No one seemed to care. There wasn’t even a funeral. His body was simply carried to the surface, where it was vaporized and sandblasted, exposing bleached white bones to the harsh world that would soon reclaim even them.

Michael quickly found he was useful at repairing the enormous machines that crawled and chewed like worms through the entrails of the horrid world. The prisoners worked twenty-four hours on and eight hours off, day and night. The lion’s share of the food went to the bosses and wardens. The scraps went to the workers. There wasn’t an infirmary, and those injured or maimed in machinery accidents were carted to the surface, where they languished and died. After all, those who could not work did not contribute to the quota of ore, and therefore represented a subtraction of resources. This brutal mathematics was one thing the inhabitants of Bellerophon well understood.

Michael sweated as he made his way back to the shop where he had been overhauling a transmission on one of the crawlers. Kodiac was one of the crawler operators, and had stepped in to inspect Michael’s progress. When Michael tried to explain that the transmission wasn’t ready, Kodiac had given him an ultimatum. It really made no difference, as Kodiac was only using Michael as an excuse for missing his ore tally.

Michael was resigned to his fate of the twenty-four and eight for all eternity, or at least until he decided on a way to die that did not involve his skin melting off his bones. Perhaps he would be crushed in an accident, or be killed by a serial murderer like Kodiac. Those were the poisonous thoughts of the days and nights of his first month. He began to come to terms with the fact that he would not survive a second one.

Trade Day arrived right on schedule, and the ore was weighed as the prisoners watched. The large digits representing the weight were displayed on a sign as the ore was loaded aboard the carriers in preparation for liftoff. Following loading, the ships were scanned for life-forms. When none were found, the ships were sealed and placed under hard vacuum to keep the ore fresh and to ensure that any prisoner who had deceived the system and stowed aboard would not survive. The ships’ design excluded oxygen, and they were piloted by computers that did not need it.

When the ore carriers were safely in orbit, the food ships landed, also carrying any new prisoners to replace those who had fallen due to natural (or unnatural) causes. Among the prisoners that arrived on Michael’s second Trade Day was a man named Magnus. As Michael’s group filed up for food, Magnus pushed his way into line right in front of Michael. Nonplused, Michael stood his ground and edged in front of Magnus. In response, Magnus waited until Michael had his bowl of gruel and then reached out his foot and tripped Michael, sending his food sprawling across the food court.

The rules were clear. Anyone that messed with a member of a prison clan was to be schooled first by the one offended. Michael knew the rules; weakness was not tolerated. Standing up, he stared Magnus in the eye. Magnus was a grizzled bear of a man, standing a good two meters plus two hand spans. He had a tattoo that began at his left eye, crossed his face and torso and disappeared into the right side of his trousers. His muscled form did not carry any of the fat that comes with age. Hitting this man would be like hitting a tractor.

Michael sighed in resignation. Feigning a reach for his dropped his bowl, he struck with lightning speed. He hit Magnus four times in rapid succession, drawing blood. But Magnus was not fazed by the rapid attack. He merely turned his head, absorbing the blows to his face with tolerant grace. He then wrapped his massive arms around Michael, lifted him off the floor, and slammed him down again on his back. As the two men struggled, knocking over chairs and a table, the wardens came forward and separated them.

The chief warden for the gang Michael belonged to was also Orion. He looked Michael hard in the eye and then spoke directly to him, not addressing Magnus at all.

Well, Prisoner 255433, it seems you have a new friend. Tomorrow you two will be working the far zones. Meal time is concluded for both of you. Return to your bunks.

The far zones were the areas where the rocky soil was more like lava than clay but had the properties of both. Because the soil was soft and viscous, it would cling to boots and pants like hardened slime. The equipment did not take well to it either. Frequently clogging on the snotty slate and shale, the machines had to be stopped often and serviced. Huge gouts of rock and magma had to be removed and the drilling blades realigned every couple of hours. It was grueling, backbreaking work. It was punishment.

Michael did not sleep much that night. The next day, he arrived at his duty assignment and found Magnus already there, waiting for him. Magnus sneered but said nothing, simply staring at Michael with eyes full of malice and hate. Well, thought Michael, today is just as good as any other day to die. It is not like it makes a lot of difference.

To ensure that the prisoners worked out their differences, the two men were shackled together: Michael’s right ankle was chained to Magnus’s left. Tethered with a two-meter length of hardened cold-steel chain, both men set off to where a shuttle would take them to dig in the mire for twenty-four hours.

Upon arrival, Magnus led the way up the slope to where the digging machines had been left by the prior shift. He stopped next to the large crawler and waited while Michael checked the blades and collars. They would be fine for the first half hour, and then they would need to be cleaned. He started the gargantuan monster and steered it deeper into the cave recess to begin its digging cycle. Magnus watched, saying nothing.

Finally, as the big machine began to labor, Michael shut it down and jumped out of the cockpit.

It’s jammed, he grunted. We have to clean it.

As Michael started toward the blades to begin the process of tearing them down for cleaning, Magnus stood far enough back to prevent Michael from reaching the apparatus. Michael turned and stared at the other man. The other teams stopped to watch the exchange. It was going to be good entertainment.

What is your problem, Magnus? Michael asked through gritted teeth. Falling back on his ways as a starship captain, he tried negotiation first, but knew in his heart that another beating would be required. Then, when they did not meet their quota, more punishments would follow.

Magnus walked up to Michael and looked down at him from his towering height. Grinning with stained yellow teeth, he punched Michael hard in the solar plexus, doubling him