The Hidden Prophet: Starship Fairfax Book 2 - The Kuiper Chronicles Read online

  Contents

  Preface

  The Hidden Prophet

  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 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  To be continued...

  Author's Notes

  The Trials of Io: Preview

  Preface

  Dear Reader,

  It is with pride and joy that I present to you The Hidden Prophet, Book 2 of the Starship Fairfax series. I can only hope you enjoy reading it half as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it; if you do, I’ll be a fortunate author indeed.

  If you like what you read and you’re interested in helping me be able to make more, then I have a few favors to ask of you. Ugh, I know. Favors are the worst. You’ve already bought this book, so I can’t really ask anything more of you! But if you’re feeling generous, here are some things you can do to pat me on the back:

  Consider leaving a review. Whether on Amazon, Goodreads, or elsewhere, ratings and reviews will draw more readers to this book.

  If you’d like to read more, join my mailing list. You’ll get a monthly to bimonthly newsletter with new releases, occasional freebies, and special offers. No spam, no email sharing, none of that nonsense. You’ll also get access to a mailing-list exclusive short prequel story, “The Trials of Io,” that will give you a glimpse into Darren’s mysterious past.

  If you can find it within yourself to do either of the above, I will be immensely indebted to you, and will send you good vibes as I write more stories for your enjoyment.

  Thank you, from the depths of my being, for reading! And now, without any further ado about nothing (ha!), here we go!

  Best,

  Benjamin Douglas

  The Hidden Prophet

  The Hidden Prophet

  Book 2 of The Starship Fairfax

  The Kuiper Chronicles

  By Benjamin Douglas

  Copyright 2017 Benjamin Douglas. All rights reserved.

  The author’s permission is required for any reprinting, distribution, or recording of this content.

  All persons within are fictional and not intended to be representative of any real persons.

  Chapter 1

  The bridge was quiet. Not a calm, restful quiet, but a tense uncertainty. The lights were low, a faint bluish glow emanating from screens at each console, lighting up the faces of the Fairfax crew. Lucas Odin looked up from his own console at the captain’s chair and ran a quick mental inspection. They were worried, yes. As well they should be. It had been a full day since they’d left Ceres in the inner belt and headed inward, into the heart of the Old Earth Empire, longtime enemies of the Kuiper Colonies. They were flying in a time of truce, but the peace was tenuous, and they had permission neither from the Empire nor from the Kuiper Fleet to move back into Empire space.

  It was fraught with risk. But after losing their captain, tangling with the mafia, and finding out from pirates that they’d had a fortune in illegal drugs stolen out from under their noses without even knowing they were muling them across the system in the first place, Lucas was unwilling to take ship or crew back to the Belt without their official charge, Ambassador Taurius.

  Sock, the Ship’s Operating Computer, beeped and announced a ship ahead. Lucas pulled up scanners on his console and watched as a tiny blip drew closer to their position.

  “Steady, Randall.” He did his best to keep the edge out of his voice. He didn’t succeed.

  The helmsman nodded. “Sir.”

  Lucas threw the front cam up on the viewscreen, and a tiny outline blurred against the stars. It grew bigger, catching some light and betraying the dull gray metal of a ship’s hull.

  “Who are you, girl?” Lucas bit on the flesh inside his cheek. The crew stared at the viewscreen, everyone holding their breath.

  “Gatling-class, Sir.” Mulligan was staring at her console, her hands flying as data crawled across her screen. “ID says she’s a Privateer, registered as a special liason to Empire Fleet Forces.”

  “Special liason?” Lucas mumbled. “I hope your code works, Lieutenant.”

  Caspar spared him a glance from behind her station, ahead of him and on his right. “It’ll work, Sir.” She’d programed Sock with a ship ID mask that should prevent scanners from recognizing the Fairfax as Kuiper Fleet. Hopefully. Lucas shook his head. He had to trust Caspar, or he couldn’t trust anyone. Her official title may have been head munitions officer, but the Lieutenant was a veritable wealth of knowledge and ability. She was his think-tank, and had become his right hand in the days since the captain had been killed.

  Lucas frowned. He really needed to get used to thinking of himself as the captain. Captain Harris was gone. Captain Odin was needed. But even though he’d seen his young crew through a few scrapes already, confidence still wasn’t his strong suit.

  Suppose I’ll have to fake it till I make it, he thought.

  The doors hissed open behind him, and he turned his head to catch a tall figure slip in and attach itself to the back wall without making a sound.

  Darren.

  The man moved like a cat. Which was impressive, given his considerable build. Lucas frowned, debating in his mind for what felt like the hundredth time whether or not Darren should be trusted to roam the ship freely. His unique level of combat skill raised uncomfortable questions when he came from a planetoid run by the mafia, surrounded by pirates, and currently under the influence of the Arms of the Sons, a ruthless, elite marine force loyal to the Empire. Darren’s affiliations, other than the two-way loyalty he shared with Mulligan, remained unknown. Lucas was well aware he may be doing the stupid thing by not locking him up and demanding answers—or at least confining him to quarters. But part of him also knew that Darren wasn’t the sort to be stopped by a confinement order, or to talk under pressure, anyway. Whoever he was, he was who he was, and the gamble had been made. He was onboard.

  “Trouble?” His voice was low but commanding. Lucas’ frown deepened. He didn’t like being commanded by someone not in his chain of command.

  “Not just yet. Be sure to call you if we need some necks broken, though.”

  Darren might have sniffed. Or Lucas may have imagined it.

  “Livefeed coming over, Captain,” Mulligan said. She peered at her console while keying in a command.

  “Put it up.” Lucas took a deep breath and blinked as the screen flared to a bright image from the bridge of the Gatling Privateer. The man sitting in the center was very, very short. He seemed to be trying to compensate by putting as much oily hair up in a bun on top of his head as possible. On the bridge of the Fairfax, someone stifled a giggle.

  “Unidentified ship,” the man began in a pinched, nasal voice. A few more giggles threatened to break out. Lucas flashed Caspar a look. Unidentified? So the mask hid their Kuiper association, but hadn’t manufactured a replacement? Great. “This is Captain Dild of the Privateer Rancher, special liason to the Fleet. State your name
, your ship’s name, affiliation, and business.”

  Lucas scrunched his eyebrows. He glanced at Caspar again. She shrugged, her mouth hanging open. Dild waited in silence.

  “Ah, ahhhh…um.” Lucas grimaced at himself. Think!

  “Karen?” Dild called over his shoulder to one of his officers. “Is our translator on the fritz again?”

  Mulligan, apparently the offender all along, finally lost control and let out a guffaw. She had the good grace to try to mask it with a little coughing fit immediately after. Lucas glanced her way, drawn to the sound, and saw Darren arrive at her side and plug something into her console, then type furiously for a few seconds. He turned and stood at attention.

  “Captain,” he said.

  Lucas raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “Scan complete. ID, personnel, and cargo of the Rancher confirmed. Shall I decode our ID now?”

  Decode their ID? And let the Empire Fleet know that they had flown a Kuiper flagship deep into their territory? Was he losing his mind?

  Subtly, Darren winked.

  “Ah!” Lucas cleared his throat. “Very good! Yes, very good, ah, ensign.” Darren spared a short glare at the rank. “Decode for the Rancher to scan.”

  Darren swiped once more at the console. On the screen, there was a little flurry of activity as officers on the Rancher’s bridge gathered around their communications station. Captain Dild glanced down at his own console, then stood, saluting. The bun of hair jiggled.

  “Sir!” He barked. This time even Lucas had to bite his lips. “Forgive the impertinence, Sir! Please allow us the honor of joining your escort, Sir!”

  Their escort? Lucas glanced again at Caspar. She was smirking.

  “We will pull into formation portside and follow at five hundred, Sir. Dild out!” He saluted so forcefully that his greasy bun snapped loose, dark wet strands slapping down around his head. The screen went back to exterior cam view.

  Lucas turned to Darren. “What did you do?”

  “He thinks you’re Empire brass. Doesn’t matter though. Just a short-burst code, probably wouldn’t have fooled anyone else. They pull in to five hundred meters and they’re going to lose it, maybe even get a glimpse at your actual ID.”

  Caspar shifted in her seat. “He’s right, Sir. I can’t guarantee the mask will fool anyone at that range.”

  “Great.” Lucas held his head in his hands. It was just one thing after another anymore. How could they shirk the hero-worship and convince Dild to keep his distance?

  “Sir, another ship.” Mulligan swiped some more at her console.

  “Sock, scan on screen.”

  “Order confirmed,” Sock’s generically pleasant voice announced from overhead. “Canned long beans.” The dispenser beside the captain’s chair beeped, and a little door popped open to reveal an ancient looking can of long-cut green beans. It was a sometimes interesting side effect of their having hacked into Sock through the dispensers a few weeks before to install some mods to the battle simulators. Mods that may have technically broken a few rules, but had seemed worth it at the time. Lucas groaned.

  “Maybe we can fend Dild off with this.” He took the can and set it in his drink holder.

  “Unidentified ship arming missiles,” Sock calmly announced.

  “Unidentified? Mulligan, what’s their ID say?”

  Caspar spun. “Sir, missiles.”

  “Right. Arm counteroffensive, ready on my mark.”

  Caspar raised her hand. Lucas sighed. “Yes, Lieutenant?”

  “Sir, we don’t have any missiles left. Remember?”

  Right. That’s where all the Prophet had been stashed. That’s how pirates had taken it from them in the first place—they’d staged a stick-up, making it seem like they just wanted ordnance. Now, how that much of an illegal compound had gotten into the Fairfax missiles in the first place… that was an interesting question.

  “ID is blank, Sir.” Mulligan was frowning.

  “Sock, have they targeted us?”

  “Negative, Sir. Unidentified ship is targeting the Gatling.”

  “We should go,” Darren said quietly.

  Lucas glanced at the screen, running the scenario though his head. Gatling class ships were on the small side, armed enough for dogfights and big enough for long-range flying, but nothing more than that. The Rancher didn’t look like she was packing anything beyond what one would expect for a dogfighter. But the other ship, which had now ambled into view, was another story. She was big. He didn’t recognize the body—might have been custom, he supposed, if Sock didn’t know either. But he could clearly see extra turrets and launchers mounted all over the hull. If the Fairfax left now, the Rancher didn’t stand a chance.

  The problem was, he couldn’t see how the Fairfax stood one, either.

  “She’ll tear us apart, Captain.” Caspar’s voice was grim.

  “I know. But—”

  Without warning, a livefeed took over the screen. Lucas glanced at Mulligan. Her hands were up, her eyes wide as she stared at her console. Whatever had happened, she’d had no warning, either.

  The view of the bridge on this ship was much different than that from the Rancher. The mood was dark, with red and orange station lights bouncing off the ceiling. A tall figure reclined in the seat, his hands resting on the arms. He leaned forward into the light, revealing a bald head over a terribly scarred face. It looked as though at some point half of it had burned away. A simple black patch was strapped over one eye.

  “Hello.” His voice was a cold, sickly rasp. Lucas was beginning to miss Captain Dild already. “Enemy ships, you have had the great misfortune to fly across my path. Therefore, you are my enemies. You will now be destroyed or commandeered. My choice. Let’s see which.” The screen flicked back to cam view. The hulking ship loomed closer.

  Chapter 2

  Ada Xander ducked. The big, meaty fist of her opponent flew through the air, and he grunted with the effort of keeping his balance. She stepped back. She couldn’t dodge all day—sooner or later she would be out of room, and he would make contact. Voices jeered from all around. Ada took a deep breath, watched another fist come up, and this time, she dove under and rolled across the ground, buying some space. She came to her feet facing out, and immediately regretted it. A wad of spit landed across her face.

  “Quit yer runnin’!” The man facing her from in the crowd was scrawny and hairy, and he yelled with wild eyes, wiping spittle from his chin. Ah. So he was the one trying to encourage her with a little extra hydration.

  Ada and her hulking opponent were ringed by a small crowd of some of the ugliest, smelliest, and meanest men in the system. I hate pirates, she thought. So why had she become one? Dad. Right. Eye on the prize, Ada.

  She turned in time to see the massive man lifting his arm once more and moving to close the few steps she’d gained. She began to pivot.

  “No, ye don’t!” A vice-like grip closed over either arm. That would be spittle-chin, doing his part to ensure a fair fight. Huh. His breath stank of rot. She turned her head, grimacing.

  Another meat-fist came sailing down, this one aimed straight for her nose.

  “Sorry,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Wha—?”

  As hard as she could, she stomped down on his toes. His grip loosened. A quick elbow to his gut, and she was able to spin to the side. She might have encouraged him back to a standing position by grabbing his hair and yanking up as she spun.

  The meaty fist made contact, but not with Ada.

  The crowd broke out into a fresh round of jeering and cheering. Spittle-face crumpled in a heap, blood spurting from his nose.

  “Not sorry,” she muttered.

  The moving mountain shook his hand out, growling as he turned.

  “Bone Crusher!” An authoritative voice rang, and the pirates fell silent. The crowd parted as the owner of the voice passed into the circle. She was almost as tall as Bone Crusher, her mouth set in a permanent stern line, her hair t
ied back behind her head in long gray strands. She nodded at Bone Crusher, and he stalked off. Then she peered down at Ada from under the brim of a tattered black hat.

  “You’s all kindsa trouble, girl.”

  Ada, still catching her breath, wiped the spit from her face. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  The woman made a face. “No you ain’t. Maybe you will be, though. Seein’ as I can’t trust you as crew, figure I may as well take the scraps. Shippin’ you out as cargo instead.” The woman spat on the ground.

  Horror seeped into Ada. “Carmen, no! I’ll do anything—”

  “I imagine as you will, once they’ve broke you in.” Carmen glared down at her. “Ain’t no worse than you deserve. Bitch gotta break before she can run with a pack.” She stepped a little closer and lowered her voice. “Only, if you ever find yer way outta the trade, don’t you dare come back sniffin’ around here. This pack is one place you ain’t never welcome, not no more.”

  The crowd dispersed, save for Bone Crusher, who had reappeared with a bandage around his knuckles. “Sorry, Ada,” he rumbled. “Didn’t wanna hurt ya.”

  “I know.” She patted his enormous arm. Bone Crusher was like a dog; he just did what he was told. For most people that wouldn’t excuse violent behavior. For Bone Crusher, Ada had come to accept it was just who he was. “Awfully glad you didn’t get around to it, though.”

  He guffawed. “Oh, c’mon. I almost had ya once. Twice. Yer a fast little thing, ain’t ya?”

  She shrugged. “We do what we can with what we have.”

  He scrunched up his face in concentration. “Smart, too. Shame about what’s comin’ next.”

  “It is.” She sighed. “I suppose you’ve stuck around to escort me to the brig?”

  “Sorry Ada. Orders.”

  She nodded.

  She was being shipped off for whoring in the morning, after having been thrown in the ring with the most ridiculously muscle-bound behemoth of a man she’d ever seen, because she’d lost the core to her ship. Well, Carmen’s ship. And there was that small issue of the missing Prophet, the drug that had been smuggled in-system on board that Kuiper Colony ship.