DAW BOOKS PROUDLY PRESENTS THE SCIENCE FICTION NOVELS OF W. MICHAEL GEAR:
The Donovan Series
Outpost
Abandoned
Pariah
Unreconciled
The Team Psi Series
The Alpha Enigma*
The Spider Trilogy
The Warriors of Spider
The Way of Spider
The Web of Spider
The Forbidden Borders Trilogy
Requiem for the Conqueror
Relic of Empire
Countermeasures
***
Starstrike
The Artifact
*Coming soon from DAW
Copyright © 2020 by W. Michael Gear.
All Rights Reserved.
Jacket illustration by Steve Stone.
Jacket design by Adam Auerbach.
Book design by Fine Design.
Edited by Sheila E. Gilbert.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1853.
Published by DAW Books, Inc.
1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
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Ebook ISBN 9780756415686
DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED
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—MARCA REGISTRADA
HECHO EN U.S.A.
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
pid_prh_5.5.0_c0_r0
TO MY BEAUTIFUL KATHLEEN O’NEAL GEAR WHO HAS FILLED MY LIFE WITH THE KIND OF MAGICAL LOVE THAT ONLY EXISTS IN FAIRY TALES.
CONTENTS
Also by W. Michael Gear
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Irredenta
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
The Prophets
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
The Cleansing
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Confrontation
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Engaged
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Parturition
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
The Terror
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Impotence
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Trap
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Disbelief
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
The Desert
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Near the Brook of Kedron
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
The Betrayal of Kalki
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
The Dark Shade of Black
Divine Comedy
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Epilogue
About the Author
IRREDENTA
I sit—as I often do—in the observation dome. A transparent bubble, it protrudes from Ashanti’s hull on Deck Three. I look out upon an infinity of stars, see the swirls of nebulae, marvel at patches of dark matter that appear as blemishes upon the composition of light. Gazing at the heavens, I experience the full meaning of awe. To sit here is to dimly, feebly perceive the majesty of Creation. The magnificence of the universe beyond the dome defies comprehension. Reconfirms how small, how absolutely insignificant my existence is.
A mere mote. Not even a speck upon the face of the deep.
I need but look out at the universe and the words of the Prophets resonate within me. Understanding pervades my soul: I have been chosen.
We have been chosen.
Here, in this most unlikely place. Among these most unlikely circumstances.
Only after years of doubt, of faltering faith, do I begin to understand: The universe does not make mistakes. It had to be Ashanti. It had to be on this spacing. And it had to be us, the Irredenta, who were chosen to initiate such an immense task.
What we believed to be tragedy, injustice, and horror was nothing more than the universe preparing us for the ultimate revelation. As seemingly insignificant as we might appear, we are the beginning, the spark that shall ignite the flame. Great things come from tiny beginnings. Consider a microRNA. It, too, seems insignificant at first glance. A mere twenty-two base pairs. It can turn a gene on or off, initiating a chain of events that will change an organism, a species, and an entire biome. From the microscopic to the multiverse.
So it is for us.
The Harrowing and Cleansing was necessary to ensure that when we were given the Revelation we would understand. The universe had to lock us in Ashanti’s belly. Onto this one miserably cramped deck. It had to confine us to these few rooms,
these short corridors and dim halls. An entire universe condensed into this compact existence. The perfect place to break us, to shatter our illusions. Only through the Harrowing and the Cleansing could we be prepared, made malleable like white-hot iron in a furnace, purified through heat, and ready to accept Revelation.
The Revelation ran counter to all we once believed, which is the way of illumination. It was the only way we could learn, could see, and finally accept ultimate Truth: The universe is conflict. It is polluted and unclean. The only way it can be purified is by consuming itself and being reborn. Think of the ancient image of the snake devouring its own tail.
It has fallen to us—to me—to initiate the pulse of rebirth that will cleanse and renew the universe. And I am desperately afraid that I am unworthy of so great a task.
If Deck Three didn’t have this observation dome, I would never have found the strength to endure the burden. But looking out at the infinite dots of light, the frosting of stars and galaxies that mottle the endless black, I manage to carry on.
The universe doesn’t make mistakes.
If it has chosen me to be its messiah, it is because somehow, I will prevail.
I finger the scars on my arms, remembering the words of the Prophet Guan Shi. How we were horrified as she took a knife to her own skin and began to cut herself, saying, “Pain is purification. It is the path.”
1
Watch began at 06:00 ship’s time as Ashanti continued its long deceleration into the Capella star system. For Captain Miguel Angel Galluzzi it was anything but another day in the countdown from hell. He strode down the long corridor from his cabin. Every other light panel had been removed years ago to save energy. Didn’t matter, he could have walked it blindfolded.
Around him, Ashanti hummed, and he could feel the familiar vibrations of a living ship. Could feel the movement of air on his face as he passed one of the ventilators. It surprised him that he could still detect the stale odor of confinement and clogged filters.
It had been seven years, ship’s time, since Ashanti’s generators had ceased to maintain the fields that inverted symmetry. When they did, the ship had popped back “inside” the universe and found itself in black empty space. Low on fuel, and 0.6 light-years from the Capella system.
Since then he’d lived an eternity—one from which he wasn’t certain he’d ever recover. A waking horror without end.
As if perdition began in Ashanti and would end there.
Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to have overloaded the reactors. Blown the ship into a brilliant miniature sun. Ended it all.
He’d committed crimes against humanity, and in the process, he’d heroically saved his ship. But when one sells his soul to the Devil, the dark one will always have his due.
Galluzzi contemplated that as he passed the Captain’s Lounge and hesitated at the hatch for the Astrogation Center, or AC for short. In another day and age, it would have been called the bridge. After the advent of quantum qubit computer operational systems, navigational functions had been completely removed from human control. That didn’t mean that people didn’t have to monitor systems, that decisions didn’t have to be made.
A feeling of excitement—mixed with nervous anxiety—began to burn in his breast. And something he hadn’t known for years stirred: hope.
Staring at the featureless hatch, he swallowed in an effort to still the crawling sensation in his stomach. If the conference came off as scheduled, he would be talking to a Corporate Supervisor. For the first time he would have to confess and defend his actions. Didn’t matter if they hauled him out and shot him as long as his crew didn’t have to pay the price for his decisions.
The sick anxiety in his stomach worsened; that damnable nervous spasm began: his right hand was twitching like a poisoned mouse. He used to function with stone-cold competence under stress. The twitch had manifested in the hard months after they’d popped back “inside” so far from Capella.
Doesn’t matter what they do to me. It will all be over soon.
For the last month, his first officer, Edward Turner, had been in contact with the Corporate survey ship, Vixen. The messages had been simple photonics, which due to the difference in relativity had been a rather drawn-out affair. This morning, as Ashanti came out of its occulted position from behind the system’s primary they were finally close enough for a visual conference. Entangled photonic communications would allow them an almost simultaneous transmission.
Galluzzi girded himself. Wouldn’t let the others see how fragile and anxious he was. Couldn’t let them know how close to tears he felt.
The trembling in his right hand was getting worse. He knotted it into a fist.
Back stiff, composed, he cycled the hatch and stepped into the Astrogation Center to find his officers already in their seats. In the rear, Benj Begay, the forty-five-year-old Corporate Advisor/Observer was seated in one of the two observation chairs. Director of Scientific Research Michaela Hailwood, from the Maritime Unit, sat in the other.
“Good morning,” Galluzzi greeted, snapping out a two-fingered salute from his brow. For today he’d worn his dress uniform. It felt good, professional, to be dressed for the part. Not that there were any illusions left when it came to his crew or the scientists. Not after a decade of living in such close quarters. But today, for the first time since inverting symmetry outside of Neptune’s orbit, he’d be face-to-face with total strangers. Powerful strangers. And they would judge him.
“You ready?” Begay asked wryly. “I’m so wound up I could almost scream. Half of me wants to get up and dance, another part of me wants to throw up.”
“Hard to believe. I know,” Galluzzi replied. “But we’re still not out of the shit. We’ve got a couple of months left before we’re in Cap III orbit. And there’s no telling what’s going to happen when we finally inform the Unreconciled that we’re closing on the planet.”
“Do we have to tell them, Cap?” Second Officer Paul Smart sat at the com console and worked the photonic data.
“Might be better,” Turner said, “if we just established orbit first. Shut most of the ship down. Then, when there was nothing left to go wrong, we could let them know.”
Begay shifted uneasily. “Just leave them in the dark? Then spring it on them? Surprise! We’re here.”
Galluzzi, who’d been wrestling with the problem for days, raised a worried brow. “We’re in uncharted depths. And remember, it’s not our sole decision. There’s Supervisor Aguila to consider. She’s the Corporate authority here.”
“Captain?” Second Officer Turner called, voice tense. “Might have been our synch that’s off, but the signal’s coming in.” He bent to his projected holo data, using his hands and implants to manipulate the photonic gear and refine the signal.
Shit on a shoe. I’m not ready for this.
Galluzzi gritted his teeth, slipped into the command chair. Fought to control his trembling hand. He stared at the communications holo, dark now for a decade. The realization that he was about to face a strange superior sent an eerie chill down his spine.
The image formed up, faces magically appearing as if out of empty air. Then, under Paul Smart’s and the Vixen com officer’s competent control, the photonics linked and the projection seemed to solidify.
Galluzzi was looking at a raven-haired woman, perhaps in her thirties—though with the benefits of Corporate med, who knew? What would have been a very attractive face was lined with fine white scars. Scars? On a Corporate Supervisor? The piercing blue of her eyes had a laser-like intensity. In her form-fitting black suit, the woman exuded a sense of command, had to be Supervisor Kalico Aguila.
A small brown man sat at her side. Looked Indian, with a round face and flat-mashed nose. His unruly shock of thick black hair—graying at the sides—rose a couple of inches above his head. Curious brown eyes and an amused smile suggested an amicab
le nature. The biggest incongruity was the man’s dress. Like he was some peasant in a homespun brown shirt embroidered with yellow flowers, and a sort of shimmering rainbow-colored cloak hung around his shoulders.
“Do we have sound?” the blue-eyed woman asked.
“We can hear you on our side, Supervisor.” Galluzzi fought a tightness in his throat. “I’m Captain Miguel Angel Galluzzi, of The Corporation’s Ashanti. IS-C-18. Behind me is Corporate Advisor/Observer Benj Begay. Seated to his left is Scientific Director Michaela Hailwood.”
“I’m Corporate Supervisor Kalico Aguila, in charge of all Corporate property and activity on Donovan. What you probably know as Capella III. With me is Shig Mosadek, one of the administrators of the independent town of Port Authority.”
An independent town? What the hell was that?
An eyebrow lifted, rearranging the woman’s scars. “Welcome to Donovan, Captain. From what I gather, you’ve had a much longer and vexatious journey than you anticipated. I’ve reviewed your communications with Vixen. Somehow, I suspect there’s a lot more to your story.”
His hand began to jerk spastically. He stuffed it into his belt. Hoped Aguila hadn’t noticed. Forced himself to begin damage control. “We’ve had to make some difficult choices. Ashanti wouldn’t be here were it not for my crew, ma’am. No matter what, I want it on the record that they have acted with the utmost professionalism under difficult and soul-trying circumstances. We’re anxious for the day we can set foot on Donovan.”
“I suspect that you will find conditions on Donovan somewhat, shall we say, unique.”
Galluzzi felt like he was choking. Okay, get it over with. “Supervisor, we’ve got our own ‘unique’ problem. One of the reasons we’ve been looking forward to this conversation.”
Was that a lie, or what?
From behind, Begay said, “Ma’am, as the Corporation’s Advisor/Observer, I want you to know that I backed every one of Captain Galluzzi’s decisions when it came to the Unreconciled.” He paused at her blank look. “Um, the transportees, Supervisor. They also call themselves the Irredenta to signify their difference and isolation from normal human beings.”
Galluzzi quickly added, “Given circumstances, we’ve had to take some rather distasteful and unorthodox actions. While I appreciate the Advisor/Observer’s support, ultimately the responsibility is mine, and mine alone. Under no circumstances did my crew do anything but follow orders. They exhibited the most professional—”