The Silicate War has been over for fifteen years, and the tension among the dominant galactic races is growing. Many fear that the Umblegarri, the ancient alien race that ushered humanity into the interstellar galactic community during the Silicate War, have been targeted for conquest by the Crax and their allies.
It’s no longer speculation. The invasion is underway and Kra finds himself strapped to a hospital bed, critically injured and surrounded by hostile corporate lawyers, high ranking military and intelligence officials, ambitious members of the criminal justice apparatus, and an Umbelgarri diplomat. All are demanding answers or their pound of flesh.
Krakista Keesay, a Class 4 Security Specialist, doesn’t have the answers they demand. Why did he sabotage a top secret research facility? What was he doing on a quarantined planet? Why did he set up the civil transport Kalavar for destruction? Is that all? Not even close.
Kra turns to his only option: Allow his brain to be hooked up to an experimental device so that he might prove his innocence.
Or lose his mind.
Genre: FICTION / Science Fiction / GeneralRelic Tech has hit the Military Science Fiction charts in the US and Australia.
I was on my back. Acid needles assaulted every nerve ending, and I knew the wracking pain was just the tip of the iceberg. Some folks say your first impression is the best one. If that’s the case, instinct signaled I was in trouble...deep trouble.
I must have been on pain meds. They were keeping intolerable suffering at bay. With them I could handle it, just barely. Why did I need pain meds? The faint whir of small fans caught my ear. Probably cooling electronic equipment. I tried to open my eyes. Only the left responded. Blurred vision revealed a low, tiled ceiling. I made my first mistake when I tried to sit up. Straps held me down. Trying a little harder proved to be my second mistake. Searing pain shot from my stomach out to arms and legs. I fought against blacking out.
Just before losing consciousness I heard a man’s voice. “He’s awake.”
When I came to, I was lying slightly elevated. Without moving my head, I observed my surroundings with my left eye. I was in a large one-door, sterile room. White walls with metallic accents suggested I was aboard a military vessel. A slight effort with my wrists indicated I wasn’t going anywhere. I had pain to keep me company. Thin blankets matching the décor covered my legs. A lumpy inconsistency suggested a bandaged left leg. Tubes emerged from under the covers and swung around behind me, likely connected to computer monitoring equipment. Instead of an infirmary, I was in a conference room. My mind raced with questions. I wondered where I was and if I’d been caught up in some sort of accident. Where was my surgeon?
The door opened. In silence, military aides—low-ranking colonial marine officers—began setting up chairs and a long table. They placed computer clipboards on the table along with paper files. The aides filed out and a number of men and one woman entered.
| Language | Status |
|---|---|
|
Portuguese
|
Translation in progress.
Translated by Paula Alves
|
|
Spanish
|
Translation in progress.
Translated by Maximiliano Diaz
|
