Reunion Read online

  Chronicle of the Twelfth Realm

  Book 1:

  Reunion

  Greg Mutton

  Copyright © Greg Mutton 2019

  The Author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

  Cast of Reunion

  Abraham Family

  Jason :Patriarch and father of Jeffery and Aaron

  Amanda : Matriarch and Mother of Jeffery and Aaron

  Jeffery : CEO Abracorp and father of JT, Salina and David

  Sonia : Professor of Horticulture, mother of JT, Salina and David

  John (JT) : Captain CSV Valiant

  Salina : Marine Biologist

  David : Financial controller Abracorp

  Aaron : Freebooter Trader, estranged brother of Jeffery

  Coalition Space Corps

  Skye Wilson : Fleet Admiral

  Simon Morris : Rear Admiral, Deputy to Wilson

  Sam Grogan : Admiral – Commander Space Corps

  Alan Dean : Captain – Adjutant to Admiral Morris

  Sol Radchak : Captain – Commander Space Corps training

  Crew ECS Valiant

  JT Abraham : Captain

  Jarad Cross : First Officer

  Greg Holgate : Tactical Officer

  Amy Rodregas : Chief Engineer

  Colin Bryant : Sensor sensor/defence officer

  Sharon Holm : Communication officer and linguist

  Helen Tradeski : Weapons Officer

  Dave Carmelli : Second Weapons Officer

  Holly Morgan : Navigation Officer

  Freebooter Characters

  Freebooter Trade Ship (FTS) Condor

  Aaron Abraham : Captain and CEO AA Trading

  Petra Mannix : First Officer

  Kate Albrecht : Second Officer

  Simon Holm : Navigator

  David Cross : Tactical Officer

  Dianna Holland : Chief Engineer

  Colin Anderson : Engineer

  William Croker :Sensor Officer

  Phillip Harper : Cadet

  FTS Albatross

  Steve Harris : Captain

  Greg Lewis : First Officer

  Other Freebooter Characters

  Henry N’Gabo :Proctor AA Trading

  Jacinta N’Gabo: Henry’s Wife and Medical Technician

  Allen Grainger :Freebooter Prime

  Other Characters

  Salim Malik : President Earth Coalition of Planets

  Silas Greenbach : CEO Greenbach Technology

  Kratc Dokad : Admiral – Krell Imperial Navy

  Damien Albrecht : CEO Vision Cruise Lines

  Eugene Sarclan : Former CEO of Sarcorp (liquidated) – dissident

  Anthony Crompton : Director Coalition Intelligence Directorate (CID)

  Ivan Klastok : General – Commander Coalition Army

  Inter Realm Characters

  Eldrac-Tar : Senior Eldoran Councillor

  Jok-Tar : Son of Eldrac-Tar

  Zal-Tar : Daughter of Eldrac-Tar

  Mondrac : Eldoran Council Member – half-brother to Eldrac-Tar

  Zarof : Leader of Galdor

  Nefaris : Queen Regent of Nileros

  Tocmal : Admiral – Commander Reglaos armed Forces

  Acknowledgements

  It’s been said that writing is a solitary endeavour. That’s partially correct, the actual writing, I’ve found is solitary but the final production of a book is far from that. I’ve been fortunate to have a group of people helping along the way.

  The North Arm Cove Fellowship of Australian Writers’ group has been always ready to encourage and assist, with advice from people who’ve been there and done this.

  Peta Spear, who was the first to critically look at my work, set me on a much better path. I sent her the original manuscript, all 900+ pages and her advice has resulted in the trilogy — her critique and advice was invaluable.

  Olly Griffin, one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met has been an inspiration, a muse and a hard task master. But she has always helped me develop my stories.

  Gail Rust, designed the cover capturing exactly what I had imagined and, helped greatly with editing my work. Her patience and skill made things happen.

  My stepson Tim, whose study backs onto mine, is always there to listen, suggest and help. He’s also a great sounding board.

  My advance team — a small group of readers who make suggestions and let me know what they think about the stories. These people are invaluable and I am very grateful for their efforts.

  And last, but probably most importantly, my wife Debbie; she has given me the opportunity to do this. She has encouraged, cajoled and put up with me in those times when it all seemed to be a disaster. She has listened, proof read and helped me develop parts of my stories that needed a “female” touch. Without her support, the books I am releasing would still be just a dream.

  1

  Wed Feb 5, 2921 Earth Standard Calendar

  The docking bay was depressingly empty.

  Tall and solidly built, he moved with an economy of effort as he ran his long fingers through his short black hair. Johnathon Thomas Abraham 4th wore the uniform of Captain 2nd grade, Earth Coalition Space Corps and, at just sixty-two, was young for the rank. During his Academy years his name shortened and to most of his peers he became JT, a name that had stood the test of time.

  Strange, he thought, no shuttles, or work tugs, no vessel of any type.

  He remembered a saying his grandfather used, ‘sign of the times’. Was this another sign of Earth’s increasing irrelevance?

  He replaced his cover and adjusted it to the correct angle, his dark eyes scanning the dock again, as if hoping he had missed some activity.

  He continued to ponder the situation; this dock was one of eight in the complex. Even though it was the oldest and smallest, it was capable of housing and servicing twenty medium-sized spacecraft simultaneously.

  At one time there were five of these massive, manmade complexes orbiting Earth, now only this one was still operational. Two had been re-tasked as part of the, now mothballed, Orbital Defence system and one was the Corps’ main hangar and maintenance station. The other two had been decommissioned and scrapped. He sighed; Earth is no longer the centre of the Human race.

  As he watched, the dock entry force-field glowed red, indicating a vessel was approaching. The field changed to green and a sleek silver ship turned for final approach. It was a tight manoeuvre, given the entry trajectory, but expertly executed. The dock entry flared bright white as the two force fields matched harmonics and the shuttle entered.

  It was an Askari patrol ship. A beautiful vessel — sleek, fast and formidably armed; not what he was expecting, given that this was a routine inspection of the Valiant conversion project. The ship stopped, lowered its landing struts and settled effortlessly to the deck. The gangway extended to the port hatch and three people exited.

  He recognised one immediately, Captain, third grade, Alan Dean. Damn, I hoped I’d seen the last of him! The history between JT and Dean was complicated. The incident at Zyralin 4 over twelve months previously, and the subsequent Court of Inquiry resulted in Dean being reassigned as Adjutant to Admiral Morris. It was no secret that he blamed John Abraham for the stalling of his career.

  Admiral Sam Grogan exited the ship next. The Admiral was expected, in fact he was the only one JT knew was coming, as he had been overseeing this project from the beginning; but the third man, Rear Admiral Simon Morris was another surprise. JT moved to the airlock and snapped his best parade ground salute
as it opened.

  ‘No need for formalities, Captain. Please, let’s keep things low key.’ Admiral Morris’s voice was deep and well-modulated. He was taller than JT, athletically built with dark curly hair and deceptively soft blue eyes. These eyes had been the downfall of many officers as they didn’t give any hint of what was really going on inside his head.

  Admiral Grogan stepped forward. ‘How’s it going, John?’

  ‘Very well, Admiral,’ JT replied. ‘Initial testing is complete and we are ready for our final operational evaluation.’

  ‘It better be,’ sneered Dean, the shortest of the group. ‘If you ask me, this is all a waste of time and money.’ From the outset he had been a vocal opponent of the project.

  ‘Thankfully, we’re not asking you,’ Morris retorted as he nodded to John. ‘Lead on Captain Abraham’.

  JT turned and walked to the waiting ground car. ‘Not as elegant as your shuttle,’ he admitted, ‘but it’ll get us there.’ He stood aside as the two Admirals climbed into the rear seat; Dean walked to the other side and took the front passenger spot.

  It only took a few minutes to reach their destination as JT stopped the car outside Hangar 7. The door to the observation lounge slid silently back as the group left the car and approached it.

  ‘Is this the old Valiant?’ Morris asked.

  ‘Yes Sir,’ JT responded. ‘As you recall she had some damage from her last encounter… so we made a few modifications.’

  ‘A few?’ Morris said, ‘It looks nothing like a “Vigilant” class ship.’

  ‘As I said, a waste of time and money, just so Abraham can resurrect that old ship!’ Dean added scathingly.

  ‘Considering that he has paid for all the work himself, I would say the Corps is getting damn good value!’ Jeff Abraham, John’s father and president of Abracorp entered the room as Dean was complaining. ‘If you recall Captain Dean, the Corps had written the old girl off. John bought her as scrap, so to return her in this condition is a bargain.

  ‘Jeff, good to see you,’ Morris extended his hand, showing Dean that further comment was not warranted.

  ‘Simon,’ Abraham senior returned. ‘Shall we have a closer look?’ He turned to lead the way to the dock entrance. ‘Silas is already on board,’ he called over his shoulder as they fell in behind him.

  The ship had indeed been transformed. Gone were the old Hyzene tanks and power nacelles that protruded from the rear of the engineering section. Now this section was smaller and blended purposefully into the main hull. The overall impression was one of grace and power.

  ‘The new shape looks vaguely familiar,’ Admiral Grogan mused. ‘Can’t quite put a handle on it though, It’s been bugging me for months.’

  ‘Sal calls it the Manta as she believes it looks like a Manta Ray,’ Jeff explained.

  Salina Abraham, John’s younger sister, was an authority on things aquatic, having just submitted her thesis for her PhD in Marine Biology. Most of her free time was spent on various marine research and breeding facilities trying to re-populate the oceans of Earth. The effort of Sal and the teams she worked with was starting to attract attention; species once thought extinct were approaching a level where sustainable fishing was again possible.

  ‘Overall, the ship is slightly larger than the original, but needs only two hundred and fifty crew members instead of four hundred; and crew accommodation has been dramatically improved… everyone now has cabin space, no more bunk rooms. We installed a new modular hold system, making it easy to change mission profile by simply installing a customised module…personnel transport, ground support, even a field hospital can be set up in less than half an hour.

  ‘Thankfully this old ship had already been converted from solid state hardware to bio-chemical data systems, making the modifications much easier. All we needed to do was to inject the Bio system with a new catalyst to speed up communication and memory capacity … but I should let Silas explain all that, it’s his baby after all.’

  The group entered the ship via the starboard forward airlock — one of four airlocks, two on each side of the ship — the doors remained open as the dock was still at full atmospheric condition.

  Silas Greenbach was waiting inside ‘Gentlemen, welcome aboard,’ he said to the group as they entered.

  Morris nodded to Silas, noting that he still looked much younger than anyone else in the room. ‘Looking good, Silas,’ he added.

  ‘Thank you, Admiral.’ Silas Greenbach’s features defied age profiling. He could have been anywhere from mid-fifties, to well over two hundred. His hair was the colour of sand, his eyes a striking translucent blue. In all the recorded photos of Silas he never changed, which had given rise to much speculation on his age. Even though the genetic secret to longevity had been discovered long ago, aging still happened, albeit on a much slower scale. Silas Greenback though, never seemed to change.

  The group walked to the end of the corridor and entered a transport pod.

  ‘Bridge,’ John commanded as a thin red light beam washed over him. The doors closed and the pod travelled the short distance to the bridge.

  ‘Part of the enhanced security system,’ Silas explained. ‘Access to sensitive areas of the ship is only available to authorised personnel. Authorisation is by way of vocal and biometric scanning. Any unauthorised entry, or attempted entry, will be immediately stopped.’

  ‘And just how is it stopped?’ Dean asked sarcastically.

  ‘You really don’t want to find out,’ the tone in Silas’s voice cut any further discussion short, as the bridge door opened,

  ‘Gentlemen, the new bridge,’ John announced.

  The bridge layout was conventional for a ship this size. The command chair was flanked by various operational stations, but the bubble pad that held centre stage of the bridge caught everyone’s attention. The bubble or, more accurately, Real Time Navigational and Operational Holographic Projection, was a major component in the navigation, defence and fighting ability of many of Space Corps’ ships.

  Real time, three dimensional images of the ship and, more importantly, the space around it, were displayed in a holographic sphere or bubble. The size of the bubble was constant but the area it represented could be changed to suit different operations. All sensor, operational and navigation data displayed both in real time and in proportion to their operating area—the only limiting factor was the range of the ship’s sensors. In a battle situation, this one instrument had accounted for more successful outcomes than any other. However, one had never been installed in a Vigilant Class ship before.

  There was something else unexpected on the bridge — the occupant of the command chair — Fleet Admiral Skye Wilson. It took a few seconds for this fact to sink in and, as one, all officers snapped to attention and saluted.

  ‘At ease, gentlemen,’ Admiral Wilson ordered. ‘Officially, I’m not here; I am in fact trout fishing with Stewart in Tasmania and will be till zero eight hundred Monday morning.’ Skye Wilson, the most senior officer in the fleet was a small woman who commanded respect through personality, intensity and determination. But it was her piercing eyes that quelled any thoughts of weakness.

  Throughout her career she had been a brilliant Star Ship captain and had rewritten a large part of space warfare theory. ‘I have been fortunate in having Silas here to show me this ship; I’m looking forward to seeing her in action. Captain, your chair?’ she stood up and indicated to JT to take the command position. ‘I believe you have a live fire test arranged for today. Would you allow an old desk jockey to accompany you, purely as an observer?’

  ‘My pleasure, Ma’am,’ John replied.

  JT took up his seat and ran through the normal system confirmations. Engineering, weapons, defence — with all systems checked, he turned to the navigator. ‘As the Admiral is in a slight hurry, set course for the range at maximum displacement — pilot, prepare to leave the dock. Comms, give me an open channel.

  The pilot called the dock master, obtained clearance
to leave and commenced disconnecting from the dock umbilicals as John started his ship-wide broadcast.

  ‘This is the Captain,’ he began. ‘As you all know, today is the final trial for our ship — today we test the new systems in a battle scenario and, the enemy will shoot back. We all know what our ship can do, so let’s prove it! That is all.’ He cut the transmission. While he was talking, the ship had left the dock and was just clearing the controlled area.

  ‘Coming up on the outer mark’ the navigator called.

  ‘Engage displacement drive,’ John commanded. The pilot obeyed his captain’s order and energised the drive’s field emitters. There was a fraction of a second where everything seemed to waver, almost out of focus, as the displacement field energised and the ship entered its worm hole.

  ‘Worm hole stable, displacement factor fifteen’ was the call from the engineer. While this was not the highest displacement that Valiant could achieve, it was the maximum that could be used for this journey.

  ‘Time to re-insertion, seventeen minutes twenty eight seconds,’ the navigator reported.

  JT turned to the tactical officer. ‘At five minutes to reinsertion, sound battle stations and go to red alert. What’s our shield status?’

  The defence officer consulted the screen and replied, ‘Shield generators are spun up and on standby, absorption bank is empty and the deflector array is functioning at optimum cruise setting.’

  JT turned to the weapons officer — ‘Guns, are we ready?’

  Tall, blonde and athletic, the weapons officer, Lt Commander Helen Tradeski, cut an impressive figure. While the handle Guns had been used for centuries for those who, technically, fought the ship, in this case it was more personal. Helen Tradeski was an expert on ancient weaponry and an avid collector of all types of antique projectile weapons.

  ‘All weapon systems nominal, Sir,’ she replied.

  ‘Then we have a couple of minutes for a quick bridge tour.’ JT offered to his guests. They jumped at the offer and dispersed to various stations for a closer look at the operations. The bridge was larger than the original with the bubble pad taking the centre. Immediately behind this was the forward view screen that stretched across the front of the bridge and gave a panoramic view of the space ahead of the ship.