Ancient Armada

  Ancient

  Armada

  Book One

  Tyler Leslie

  AuthorHouse™

  1663 Liberty Drive

  Bloomington, IN 47403

  www.authorhouse.com

  Phone: 1-800-839-8640

  © 2012 by Tyler Leslie. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  First published by AuthorHouse 01/09/2012

  ISBN: 978-1-4685-4092-5 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4685-4091-8 (hc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4685-4090-1 (ebk)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012900212

  Printed in the United States of America

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 1

  MikkaDyne Deep Sea Mining Station 9

  January 17th 2047

  180 Minutes Before Zero Hour

  Davis Martin awoke in a hard sweat. It was one of those nights—the nights where he was inexplicably disturbed. He sat up in bed and looked around the modest room he had been assigned. His bed sheets were haphazardly strewn across the room, as if he had been picking them up and tossing them around the room in his sleep. Usually such a display of messiness would annoy him to the point of action, yet a piercing headache was forcing this controlling behavior from his system. It was unlikely the sheets would remain in their current state for any longer than an hour anyway; the robotic cleaning system was relentless in its duty, and would not only fix the sheets, but sterilize the entire room, leaving no traces of any potentially harmful bacteria.

  Davis stood and padded to the bathroom, intent on securing a painkiller before starting his shift. He opened the mirror-backed cabinet and, after a few seconds of searching, located the PK syringe, injected himself, and basked in the immediate healing affect of the serum. Just like that, his headache had completely abated. He shut the cabinet and returned to the room, now completely aware of the sheets and incredibly agitated. He knew he had to find a way to overcome his obsessive behavior without the use of the powerful medication provided. To him, the minor side-effects were far from worth the treatment. There were even a few key areas of life where the mind-set had been to his benefit, such as memorization and cleanliness. Still, there was nothing like having a mental cage pressing down on a man’s mind, and as he started picking up the sheets and returning them to the bed, he made a mental note to enhance his search for a cure.

  A loud klaxon signifying the beginning of his shift tore through his reverie. He immediately stopped his sheet calisthenics and jogged to the closet, slipping on his blue and red jumpsuit in record time. There was nothing like working in an underwater mine to make one feel under-appreciated. This was his fourth year working for MikkaDyne, and unlike some jobs, satisfaction didn’t build over the years. This wouldn’t be much of a problem if MikkaDyne actually cared about the health of its employees, but the lax regulations and disturbingly high miner mortality-rate, or MMR as it had begun to be called down here, were proof that all the higher-ups cared about was accruing as much investment potential as possible.

  Davis finished dressing (his uniform was far from clean as usual), pulled on his shoes (nothing more than glorified bed slippers with a tie at the heel end), and stepped through the Star Trek rip-off sliding door. The air purification process that greeted him had never been more annoying. The blast of air that accompanied every single entry or exit from his room annihilated his admittedly messy hairdo to the extent that he actually considered returning to fix it. A few seconds later and he had discarded the idea. Who really cared what he looked like down here anyway? The female miners were segregated in another part of the mining facility and expressly forbidden from interacting with the men. It was MikkaDyne’s not so subtle way of avoiding any accidental births in the ‘trenches’. To the miners it was nothing more than another injustice to add to the mounting list.

  As Davis traversed the corridors leading to the A785 shaft where most of his primary work took place, he made a decision to, from this moment on, deny the mining operation any potential negative involvement in his life. He was here, the pay was decent, and he was steadily working. He would simply cut out the negative thoughts. What’s the worst that could happen?

  Mentally free, and whistling happily, he rounded a corner and came face to face with his supervisor, Jukk Flinn. Davis had to force himself not to exhale loudly in annoyance. This is what I get for trying to be optimistic, he thought to himself in dismay. It never ends any way but poorly. To make matters worse, Jukk seemed even more ill-at-ease than normal, and the cruel smile that filled out his face the second he saw Davis gave the miner no guesses at who his superior had just found to relieve his stress.

  “Daaaavissss!” Jukk said with mock affection. He held his arms out in a hug position for emphasis. “Just the man I was hoping to run into today!” The supervisor, tall, lean, and sporting a hairdo that should have been impossible to maintain down in the trenches, put his arm around the miner and lead him along the tunnel.

  “I got out of bed today in a state of slight distress. You see, last night I received a video report from the ‘Dyne higher-ups that our mineral-extraction quota is far off expected projection for this term. This worries me.” He stopped and stared right at Davis as if he was the sole case of the failure. “This worries me a lot.”

  There was no point in arguing or even using a modicum of brain power in an attempt to figure out what was about to befall him; Davis knew exactly what was about to come out of the smug man’s mouth.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to have to double your work-shift today.” Jukk paused, expecting a reaction from Davis. When none came, he continued. “As well as your subsequent work-shifts.”

  Davis sighed quietly, “For how long?” He arched his eyebrows for emphasis.

  There was that smile again. “Let’s just say it’ll be a long while before you can see the surface again.”

  Davis was furious. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but never to this ridiculous extent. It was all the man could do to keep from decking his superior right then and there. Instead of arguing or even attempting to rebuke the man, Davis clenched his teeth and nodded slowly. The less of a reaction he gave Jukk, the less the man would be inclined to pick on him.

  Jukk grinned again, satisfied—for the time being at least—and walked away from Davis as if he had never stopped in the first place.

  Davis made a crude gesture with his hand as his superior walked away. How m
any times had he been singled out for extra duty, how many times did he have to pick up the slack that didn’t, he suspected, even exist? Still, there was no point in dwelling on his newfound misfortune. He resumed his long trek to the A785 tunnel, far from willing to begin the long, grueling workday that awaited him.

  As he passed the mess-hall located almost exactly halfway between his barracks and the mining tunnel, he caught sight of yet another unwelcome ‘friend’.

  In Davis’ estimation, Quigley Starlls had to be one of the ugliest and most aggravating people ever to have existed. He was obscenely large, but not in a strictly muscular way, although he certainly had the strength to back up his unjustifiable bravado. He sauntered toward Davis, his lame left leg dragging behind him, carving a thick, black streak in the otherwise spotless white flooring. He had crushed his leg in a mechanical press last year. It had been a very unfortunate accident, but had been entirely Quigley’s fault, as the man had decided to come to work drunk and as such was incapable of properly working the machinery. MikkaDyne had done a typically less than satisfactory job on repairing the leg, and while it looked fine physically, its full use would likely never return. This unfortunate set of events had done nothing to bolster the man’s confidence, nor increase his kindness, which had been lacking to begin with.

  As Quigley neared him, Davis realized without much surprise that the man was, as usual, drunk.

  “Davissss,” the man slurred. “I can’t even begin to ‘ell you ‘ow happy I am too see you ‘oday. How ’bout a game of ‘ards? I promise I’ll let you ‘in this time!”

  Davis shook his head, for once grateful to have extra duty. “I’m sorry Quigley, but I have to work an extra shift today; maybe some other time.”

  It was unlikely there would ever be another time, as Quigley had always had a penchant for ruthlessly cheating. The superiors, like Jukk, had always turned a blind eye to his nefarious practices. It was no secret that most of them reveled in the miner’s suffering, and having a cheat like Quigley stealing all the miner’s hard-earned money was nothing less than added entertainment for them.

  Despite Davis’ kind refusal of the offer, Quigley took it as the gravest of insults.

  “What did you ‘ay? Did I just ‘ear a no, Davisss? Come on, step up and be a man!” He shoved Davis for emphasis, trying to intimidate him into submission.

  Davis put his hands up in an “I dont want any trouble” gesture.

  “Look, I said no. I’m serious about the double-duty. If I don’t get down there soon Jukk will just add more time on. Like I said, I’m sorry.” He pointed to the group of miners Quigley had left upon spotting Davis. “Why don’t you play with one of your friends over there? I’m sure they’d be more than willing to lose their money to you.”

  Davis immediately knew he’d said too much, and judging by the way Quigley’s face turned beet-red, he knew he was in for it now.

  “Are ‘ou calling me a cheat, Davis?” Quigley squared his jaw, an action that always proceeded his ‘berserker mode’ as everyone called it.

  Davis knew there was no reason to even respond. Quigley was geared up for a fight and that’s exactly what he’d get. Regardless, he offered, “No, that’s not what I said. In a card game, someone wins and someone loses; that’s just the way it works. I was merely trying to encourage you.”

  Quigley shook his head like a bull ready to charge.

  “I think you just called me stupid. Big ‘istake.”

  Davis moved his head from side to side in an attempt to loosen up his neck muscles. There was only one way to shut Quigley up now; he had to put him down.

  Quigley threw a clumsy, yet very powerful right hook at Davis’ head, which Davis easily ducked under. He came up in a fighting stance, and blocked a badly balanced left kick with his right hand. He grabbed the outstretched leg, and using Quigley’s off-balance stance, shoved him back toward his buddies at the table behind him. All four of them scrambled to get out of the way, one of them just barely making it free as Quigley’s enormous bulk crashed into the table. He let out a loud grunt, more rage than pain, and struggled to get back on his feet.

  Davis took the opportunity to gain some distance on his adversary—what he was planning to do would require a good deal of room. He ran at Quigley as fast as he could and leapt into the air, his feet positioned in a crude, yet effective martial arts move that would surely end the fight right then and there.

  Just as he was about to connect with the still-struggling-to-his-feet Quigley, someone slammed into him, tossing him across the room like a rag-doll. Davis hit the far wall of the mess-hall hard enough to stun him for a moment. When he came to, there were three armed guards standing over him, tasers ready.

  A loud clucking sound, accompanied by a short laugh, alerted Davis as to who had broken up the fight. The lithe form of Jukk Finn sauntered into view. He was clearly pleased to have had the good fortune to come across the fight just as it was about to end. He stared at Davis for a beat, obviously not in the least bit concerned about why the fight had started or who had started it.

  “You know, Davis, I thought I sent you down to the A785 for some extra duty, yet I find you here, brawling with that two-ton fool Quigley.”

  Behind him, Quigley growled low in his throat.

  Finn snapped his attention toward the man. “Shut up, imbecile. You’re lucky I don’t eject you out of one of the airlocks for all the damage you’ve caused over the past year.” He turned his attention back to Davis, his tone suddenly completely different.

  “As I was saying, you aren’t in the proper place, and as such I’m afraid you’ll have to be… disciplined.” He gestured to one of the guards, who gleefully tasered Davis.

  Davis screamed in agony. This wasn’t the first time he’d been tasered, but he never seemed prepared for the excruciating pain the device caused. The guard, clearly enjoying his job a little too much, finally let up, smirking like a fiend.

  Jukk leaned in close to Davis. “I think you’ve spent far too much time away from the brig. Perhaps the two of you should become better acquainted?”

  If Davis had had any spit left he would have shot it all in Jukk’s sneering face. Instead of giving him the pleasure of a response, he remained quiet, glaring at his superior with all the rage of a newly caged animal.

  Jukk chuckled. “Now that’s more like it. Some emotion for a change.” He nodded at the guards. “Take him.”

  When Davis regained consciousness he was, as Jukk had promised, in the brig. As far as jail cells went, they couldn’t get much worse than this one. The room was tiny, covered in nameless filth, and had only a single cot, situated in the far corner. If two prisoners were secured in the same cell, it was good luck to the victor of the fight that would inevitably break out. A shimmering, red forcefield blocked any access to or from the cell. All it took was one shock from the electrified field to quell any further attempts at escape. This was the third occasion Davis had spent time in the brig—all three times, ironically, for fighting. He struggled to his feet, ignoring the residual pain left by the taser. He looked around the cell, already content in the knowledge there was no way out aside from hard time. One of the walls had something unintelligible etched into the surface. It looked like a foreign language Davis didn’t recognize. Other than that, the walls were clean. Well, clean as in free of markings. In actuality they were anything but. Whatever grimy substance covered the walls was sure to have been put there by the management in an attempt to further increase the prisoner’s suffering. Davis quickly made a pact with himself to avoid the walls at all costs. He sat down on the cot, wondering if he should try to fall asleep. Finally, he decided it couldn’t hurt to try. He wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

  The sound of a far-off explosion stole away Davis’ dreams. He sat up on the cot, instantly alert, ready for trouble. He thought he could hear the sounds of screaming in
the distance. What the heck was going on?

  Davis decided it was likely nothing more than yet another equipment malfunction—perhaps Quigley’s doing. He lay back on the cot, trying to return to sleep. Another, this time closer, explosion rocked the brig. This was no equipment malfunction; something was wrong. Davis leapt to his feet and walked to the entrance to the cell. As if on cue, Jukk burst through the door to the cell-block, slamming the door behind him.

  “You!” he shouted at Davis as he hit the button that deactivated the force-field, “Come with me, now!”

  Davis didn’t have to be told twice. As soon as the field was down he strode through the opening, intent on discovering what was going on.

  “What’s happening?” he asked, immediately suspicious. It wasn’t like Jukk to act this paranoid. Something was terribly wrong.

  “I’ll tell you once we’re safe; for now, follow me!” Jukk scrambled through the door, not even bothering to check if Davis was behind him. The senior overseer lit down the corridor like a flame to oil; it was all Davis could do to keep up.

  “Where are we going?” Davis shouted over the roar of the wind rushing past them. Everywhere he looked there were flames sprouting, some seemingly from the walls themselves.

  “The escape pods!” came Jukk’s clipped, breathless reply. “Hurry!”

  Davis hurried. He had never seen Jukk this flustered before. Whatever was causing the flames and the explosions must be without fix.

  As the men ran down the final corridor leading to the escape pods, Davis stole a glance over his shoulder. The corridor behind them was littered with bodies and filled with smoke. For the briefest of moments, Davis thought he could make out a dark figure standing amongst the bodies, some sort of staff or spear in hand. What the-?

  He increased his pace, nearly colliding with Jukk as he slammed through the door leading to the escape-pods. Jukk was standing in the center of the room, hands on hips, a worried expression on his face. “There’s only one pod left. Apparently we weren’t the only ones with quick feet.”