Sunlit Dispositions E-Book

Jason A. Adams

• Herausgeber: Spiral Publishing, Ltd.
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Sometimes, only Alex will do. A space station explodes, and the Sunlit Spirit Empire calls in Alex, Free Troubleshooter extraordinaire. No last name needed. Alex wades into the strange world of Sunlit Spirit intrigue, gamma blaster in hand. Join Alex as he learns the deceptions behind the Truth.

Leseprobe

To the memory of Jim B.

Sunlit Dispositions

(A Hard Boiled Space Opera)

Jason A Adams

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

About Jason

Also by Jason A Adams

1

April is a fine month. On Vega 3 it’s springtime, just like the northern parts of Old Earth. The planet was terraformed with standard Earth flora and fauna, so from the ground, you can’t tell much difference. Tulips cover the ground in a red and yellow carpet, usually in the pattern of the Sunlit Spirits banner. Oak, alder, and ash trees spread their own yellow blanket over the land as their pollen engines go full throttle. The herbal smell of new plant growth tickles the nostrils, and honeysuckle fills with sweet nectar for children to suck. People walk barefoot through the parks, fresh grass tickling their toes. Chickadees, neo-robins, and a dozen other bird species fill the air with warbling songs. Vegan spring is gorgeous.

It was also fourteen light years away.

Me? I was stuck on a beat up cop boat full of a dozen beat up cops, no birds or flowers in sight. The most noticeable smell was the sweaty funk of twelve pairs of socks that needed washing. The birdsong consisted of an occasional announcement over the tinny squawkbox.

The things I do for a few hundred creds. I should’ve gone into real estate.

My job was to figure out how an entire space station exploded. The Sunlit Station 23 turned the dark skies around the Capellan dwarf binary as bright as a nova four standard days ago. No warning, no communications from the station. Just an asteroid-sized fireball that lasted nearly five minutes.

The only thing the local authorities had to go on was a vid some bunch of wackos called the Oxfordians had sent to all the newscasters in the quadrant. A barely coherent screed about all the usual crap. Freedom of thought, freedom of movement. Free this and free that.

It’s amazing what a person with the right amount of gumption will do.

Take this snafu, for example. A loose sphere about a hundred klicks wide. Spread through that whole area, chunks of charred metal, melted plastic, and forcibly separated human body parts.

Nasty stuff, but that’s my job. My name’s Alex, and I’m a Free Troubleshooter. What folks used to call a private investigator way back when. It keeps me out of trouble since I left the Spacer Marine Special Forces half a lifetime ago.

Ok, not free in the monetary sense. Free in that I’m not beholden to the Sunlit Spirits empire, outside of contractual obligation when I’m on a job for them.

I was on the Sunlit Ship Acceptance, a fast cutter assigned for my use by the Capellan Keepers of the Way, the local cops. They were fine for the usual petty nonsense, like stolen ink pens or candy bars, but no way could they handle a blown up space station.

That’s why the regional Higher Power called me. Well, to be precise, the HP’s lackey called me. The farther up the food chain people get, the less work they want to do.

If I’d known what I was in for, I wouldn’t have taken the job.

2

The call came three days ago, at just the right time. I’d been sitting in my squeaky wooden chair at my battered plaswood desk. Good thing the plaswood was mahogany colored all the way through. A kitten could get lost in some of the dents and scratches.

I say my desk and chair because those were the only things left in the office that I owned. My spot was in a run-down building at the intersection of Winos and Hookers in downtown New Clintwood, Vega 3’s capitol.

For a planet run by iron-fisted abolitionists, Vega 3 has plenty of both.

I was wondering how I’d pay the rent this month. Worse, I was down to my last bottle of hypergin, and the fridge was empty. That’s when my secretary buzzed through in my cochlear comlink.

“Call for you, Alex,” she said in that husky contralto voice that sends shivers down my spine.

“Thanks, Kandi,” I said. “Wanna fool around later?”

“Sorry, Boss,” she replied, like she always does. “I’ve got a hot date with your hovercar.”