Free Bird Rising Read online

  Free Bird Rising

  Book Seven of The Four Horsemen Tales

  By

  Ian J. Malone

  PUBLISHED BY: Seventh Seal Press

  Copyright © 2019 Ian J. Malone

  All Rights Reserved

  * * * * *

  Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Shattered Crucible”

  and discover other titles at:

  http://chriskennedypublishing.com/

  * * * * *

  Do you have what it takes to be a Merc?

  Take your VOWs and join the Merc Guild on Facebook!

  Meet us at: https://www.facebook.com/groups/536506813392912/

  * * * * *

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  * * * * *

  Dedication

  This story was written in loving memory

  of the legendary Denny Crane.

  I will miss you, my little man. More than you could ever know.

  Denny Crane: October 25, 2006 – August 8, 2018

  * * * * *

  Cover Design by Brenda Mihalko

  Original Art by Ricky Ryan

  * * * * *

  Contents

  Dedication

  Part One

  Chapter 1: Fires and Frying Pans

  Chapter 2: Beers, Brothers, and Brawls

  Chapter 3: Echoes of the Past

  Chapter 4: Church

  Chapter 5: Facing Giants

  Chapter 6: Launch Day

  Chapter 7: Close Encounters

  Part Two

  Chapter 8: Ruined

  Chapter 9: Time in a Bottle

  Chapter 10: Out of the Badlands

  Chapter 11: Old Debts

  Chapter 12: Let’s Make a Deal

  Chapter 13: Interception

  Chapter 14: Intruders

  Chapter 15: Stealth

  Chapter 16: Into the Fire

  Chapter 17: Enemy at the Gate

  Part Three

  Chapter 18: Confined

  Chapter 19: Confessions

  Chapter 20: Inquisition

  Chapter 21: Conversations in the Dark

  Chapter 22: Officially Non-Official

  Chapter 23: Uplink

  Chapter 24: The Runaround

  Chapter 25: Squeeze Play

  Chapter 26: Dropped

  Chapter 27: Lockdown

  Chapter 28: Birthright

  Chapter 29: Showdown

  Chapter 30: Beer Snobs

  Chapter 31: Behind the Curtain

  Chapter 32: Confessions of a Ghost

  Chapter 33: A New Dawn

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Book One of the Salvage Title Trilogy:

  Excerpt from Book One of In Revolution Born:

  Excerpt from Book One of the Earth Song Cycle:

  * * * * *

  Part One

  Chapter 1: Fires and Frying Pans

  Taylor settled into the command chair of the Earth Mercenary Ship Valiente and glanced back to the tactical station. “Talk to me, Billy. What do we have?”

  “Sensors count three Dutya ships on an intercept course,” Billy said, his broad face and square jaw bathed in the glow of his console.

  “Make and model?” Taylor asked.

  “Two laser frigates, Syn class, and one heavy cruiser,” Billy said. “Long range scans indicate stock ordnance across all platforms.”

  Taylor hoped that meant there’d be no surprises. “Time to intercept?”

  “Nine minutes at current speed,” Billy said.

  Taylor turned to his navigator down front. “How far to the stargate from our current position?”

  The navigator ran a series of checks on her console. “Looks like three-point-eight light seconds, give or take.”

  “Could the Valiente clear that before those ships arrive if we maxed her out?” Taylor asked.

  The navigator shook her head. “Sorry, Chief, but I wouldn’t recommend it. We’d have to push our engines way past safety regs to make that kind of speed, and even then it’d still be tight.”

  “How tight?” Taylor asked.

  “Under sixty seconds, and that’s being generous.” The navigator swiveled her seat to face her commander. “Best case scenario, we’d risk cracking something under the stress of acceleration. Worst case, we’d compromise her reactor and blow ourselves to hell.”

  Taylor wasn’t a fan of either option. Come on, T. Think. He rubbed his forehead as a trio of blips drew closer to their position on the large, three-dimensional Tri-V projection down front. This was supposed to have been a textbook private security job. Pick up the client—in this instance, a Trade Guild arbiter bound for the Galactic Union world of Sakall—then deposit said client at his destination, upon which time Taylor’s company, Swamp Eagle Security, would receive the balance of their contract fee. The whole Sakall voyage was scheduled to take over a month, with four separate jumps through hyperspace, known as transitions. The Valiente had wrapped three of those sans incident. The fourth, it seemed, was destined to be more interesting.

  Why can’t these things ever go to fargin plan? Taylor knew the answer to that. He returned his attention to tactical. “Well, crap. We can’t run, but I ain’t exactly in a fightin’ mood today, either.”

  “Glad to hear that,” Billy said.

  “So, we got a third option here or what?” Taylor asked.

  Billy pursed his lips. “Honestly, Chief, I don’t know that we do. The Dutya and the Jivool have been locked in this trade dispute for more than a year, hence the importance of these talks. Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of folks who want peace to succeed. However, there are just as many who prefer the status quo, and they’ll do anything they can to maintain it.”

  “Even attack an Earth ship?” Taylor asked.

  Billy snorted. “Are you kidding? The only species the Dutya hate more than the Jivool is us.”

  “So that’s a yes, then.”

  Billy gave a somber nod.

  Wonderful. Taylor toggled up the mirror feature on his console then accessed Billy’s screen. Thankfully, the laser frigates were of the Dutya’s Syn class. That meant they were older and wouldn’t pose much of a threat so long as they were kept at a distance. The cruiser, on the other hand, presented a problem.

  “Think these fellas will talk to us?” Taylor asked.

  Billy shrugged in his seat. “Worth a shot.”

  Taylor glanced across the bridge to his communications officer. “Open a channel, Priority One.”

  “You got it, Chief.” The officer buzzed a series of commands into his terminal. “Broadcasting on the emergency frequency…now.”

  “Incomin’ Dutya vessels,” Taylor said. “This is Chief Taylor Van Zant, commander of the EMS Valiente, flagship of the Earth mercenary company, Swamp Eagle Security. Please identify yourselves and state your intentions.”

  The Dutya were a rodent-like race whose dialect consisted mostly of chirps, clucks, and hisses. Thus, the ship’s reply came in the form of digitized English, courtesy of the Valiente’s translation matrix.

  “This is Dyshone, commander of the Dutya cruiser Setour. There have been reports of pirate activity
in these territories. As such, we have come to ensure the arbiter’s safe passage through the region.”

  “Pirates, you say?” Taylor caught a “knock it off” look from Billy for his sarcasm. “Well, that’s real generous of you to hold the arbiter’s wellbeing in such high regard. Tell me, what do these safety precautions of yours entail?”

  “My crew has prepared a shuttle,” the Dutya said. “Please allow it to connect with your ship’s docking collar, then place the arbiter aboard. We will take him the remainder of the way.”

  Taylor clicked his tongue. “Yeah, that ain’t gonna work for us at all.”

  The navigator and the comm officer traded looks. “See, my company has a signed contract for this operation, and that contract clearly stipulates that we don’t get paid unless your arbiter debarks from our ship onto his planet.” Taylor paused. “I like gettin’ paid, Commander, and I’m pretty sure you do, too. Now, if there’s been some sort of mix-up here, you’re welcome to take that up with the Mercenary Guild. Otherwise, I’d kindly ask that y’all stand aside so we can do our jobs.”

  The digital voice hissed an angry spat of gibberish that even the computer didn’t recognize.

  “Oh, that doesn’t sound good,” Billy muttered.

  C’mon, pal. You bowed up and showed us all you’ve got danglies. Now it’s time to let cooler heads prevail and move on down the line.

  More static crackled the line.

  “If you are not prepared to relinquish the arbiter by choice,” the Dutya said, “then we are prepared to take him by force.”

  Damnit.

  “Enemy weapons are coming online!” Billy announced.

  Taylor made a slashing motion at his throat, and the comm officer killed the channel. “These little fargin jerkwads wanna play, fine. Set Condition Red.”

  “Condition Red established.” The overhead alert lighting glared red as the comm officer sprang into action.

  “Tactical,” Taylor continued, “spin up all tubes and particle batteries, then get the anti-missile systems online. I want a firin’ solution on these sombitches as soon as you can get me one.”

  “Yes, sir,” Billy said.

  Taylor sat up in his seat and tightened his belts as all three aggressors loomed larger on the Tri-V.

  “Frigates One and Two are forming up ahead of the cruiser,” Billy said.

  “Range?” Taylor asked.

  “Point-eight light seconds and closing,” Billy said.

  Per Taylor’s recollection of Syn tactics, they typically wouldn’t fire laser batteries until they’d closed to within fifty thousand miles of the target.

  “Frigate One is firing!” Billy shouted.

  Crap. “Skew turn ten degrees off axis to starboard!” Taylor barked. “Execute!”

  The Valiente’s engines groaned in protest under the sudden exertion as the entire bridge pitched to starboard. Seconds later, a mild shudder rattled the deck under Taylor’s boots as laser fire grazed the ship’s exterior.

  “Impact to sections four, five, and six of the forward hull,” Billy said. “Reflective armor is holding; damage is minimal.”

  Taylor shot a wounded look to tactical. “Anytime you’re ready to play with those buttons of yours, Billy, feel free.”

  Billy’s fingers were like lightning at his console. He glanced up and grinned. “Firing solution acquired on Frigate One.”

  “Kick her ass!” Taylor ordered.

  A swarm of dots sprayed from the Valiente’s portside missile tubes on the Tri-V, then rushed toward the lead frigate. They struck in seconds, igniting in a massive plume of light against her hull.

  “Contact!” Billy announced. “Frigate One is breaking off!”

  “Yeah, but Frigate Two isn’t,” the navigator said.

  Taylor wasn’t about to get behind the eight ball this time. “Helm, skew turn thirty-two degrees off axis and prepare to open fire on frigate two.”

  “Acknowledged,” the navigator said.

  Another groan roared from the engines as the ship complied with the command. A moment later, another swarm of lights poured from the Valiente’s tubes.

  “Frigate is releasing counter measures!” Billy shouted. “Impact in three…two…one.”

  A splash of light engulfed the Tri-V screen. This time, though, it didn’t consume the enemy’s ship, but rather the vacuum in front of it.

  “Any hits?” Taylor asked.

  Billy shook his head. “Minimal. We nicked her, that’s about it.”

  Taylor chewed his lip as Frigate One re-entered the fray. Together they assumed a flanking formation in a clear setup for an attack run. Enough screwin’ around. “Spin up the particle accelerator spinal mount. Let’s end this now.”

  “Heads up, Chief!” the navigator shrieked. “Enemy cruiser has closed to weapons range!”

  “Billy?” Taylor snapped his head around.

  “Enemy cruiser has a lock!” Billy shouted. “She’s firing!”

  “Helm!” Taylor screamed. “Skew turn forty degrees to—”

  “Brace for impact!”

  A massive explosion rocked the hull, sending every member of the Valiente’s bridge crew smashing into their seatbelts. A klaxon sounded throughout the ship.

  Son of a…Taylor scrambled to collect his thoughts. “Helm, I want—”

  “Laser frigates are flanking us from the other side,” Billy cut in. “They have a lock…firing!”

  Another explosion rocked the ship. This one, however, was followed by another sound, one no commander ever wanted to hear.

  “Fusion reactor breach,” the system said in a voice so calm it was eerie. “Reactor failure in five…four…three…”

  Taylor closed his eyes as chaos reigned supreme and waited for the inevitable…again.

  “Session terminated,” the simulator said once the entire Valiente crew had perished. “You may exit when ready.”

  Taylor just hung his head. Wait for it.

  “So,” Billy’s voice chirped in Taylor’s earpiece. “If you had to guess, what would you say went wrong there?”

  Taylor winced. “I got outgunned three to one?”

  “That’s part of it,” Billy said. “That’s not all of it, by any stretch, but it’s part of it. Come on down, and we’ll talk about it over some lunch.”

  Taylor sighed and removed his helmet, allowing his sandy blonde hair to tumble past his shoulders. Then he removed his gloves and body sensors and dismounted from the training platform, where a Latino sergeant in a black battle dress uniform, or BDUs, emblazoned with the Iron Conquistadors logo handed him a water bottle.

  “Thanks, Dez,” Taylor said. “I owe you one.”

  “Not to worry, Chief Van Zant.” Fernandez pointed to the sweat, pouring in buckets down Taylor’s cheeks. “You want one of my troopers to bring you a towel?”

  “Nah, I’ll make do.” Taylor used the sleeve of his flannel overshirt instead. “I’ve always had a nasty tendency to sweat like a whore in church when I’m under stress. I guess the command chair qualifies.”

  “Apparently so.” Dez chuckled.

  Taylor pulled his hair into a loose ponytail, then reached back and removed the wireless pinlink that had connected his mind to the simulation via the tiny ports behind his ears. “I swear, Dez,” he said, touching the protrusions with his fingers. “I’ve had these pinplant things almost a year now, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to them. No Human bein’ oughta have a computer hardwired into his brain this way. It ain’t natural.”

  Dez laughed and took back the pinlink. “I hear you, amigo. For what it’s worth, I felt the same way when I first got my pinplants. It’s confusing as hell, having all that data swimming around in your head like that. Still, trust me when I say they’re damn handy in a scuffle.”

  Taylor huffed and threw on his overshirt, then fished his keys from his jeans. Could he see where being able to mentally connect to his hardware in a firefight might be useful? Sure. That still didn’t change the fac
t that the whole process—at least, what little Taylor understood of it—was downright creepy.

  The door across the hangar swung open, causing both men to turn.

  “Captain Dawson.” Fernandez threw up a salute as Taylor’s executive officer walked toward them.

  “Dez,” Billy said.

  Dressed in hunter-green BDUs and a snug t-shirt bearing the vibrant eagle, crossed muskets, and fanned palmetto leaf of their company’s logo, Captain William R. Dawson was just north of fourteen years Taylor’s senior, with the rugged features of a corn-fed Nebraskan and the close-cropped haircut of a man whose entire being screamed ex-Navy.

  Billy also possessed one of the driest wits Taylor had ever seen. When he relaxes long enough to show it, anyway.

  “Tell your boss we really appreciate his letting us commandeer his training room for a few days,” Billy said. “Be sure to let him know we’ll pay for the time as soon as our next contract rolls in.”

  Dez waved off the suggestion. “It’s no bother, I can assure you. The comandante told me as much. He also said to get you whatever you need, and to let you know the Eagles are more than welcome in our house. They always have been.”

  Taylor offered his host a grateful smile. In truth, he looked forward to the day when his people could afford a simulator of their own, rather than having to rent one from their neighbors.

  “And how is old Marcus Cortes these days?” Billy asked.

  “You know the comandante.” Dez chuckled. “Ornery as ever and always on the go. Speaking of, he’s off-world right now, which is why he’s not here to greet you in person. He sends his regards, though, and says you should stay to train as long as you need.”