Read Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II Online
Authors: Jay Allan
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #First Contact, #Galactic Empire, #Military, #Space Marine, #Space Opera
Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II
Shadows of the Gods
Crimson Worlds Refugees II
Jay Allan
Copyright 2015 Jay Allan Books Inc.
All Rights Reserved
Contents
Introducing The Far Stars Series
Introducing The Far Stars Series
Shadow of Empire (Far Stars Book 1)
Introducing
The Far Stars Series
Book I: Shadow of Empire (Nov. 3, 2015)
Book II: Enemy in the Dark (Dec. 1, 2015)
Book III: Funeral Games (Jan. 19, 2016)
The Far Stars is my new space opera series, set in the fringe of the galaxy where a hundred worlds struggle to resist domination by the empire that rules the rest of mankind. It follows the rogue mercenary Blackhawk and the crew of his ship, Wolf’s Claw, as they are caught up in the sweeping events that will determine the future of the Far Stars.
The trilogy will be released in consecutive months, beginning on November 3, 2015. The Far Stars is my first series of books with HarperCollins Voyager, and I think they are the best thing I have written.
All three books are available now for preorder. All preorders are eligible to receive a free copy of Red Team Alpha, a Crimson Worlds short story that is not available anywhere else.
Read Chapter One of Shadow of Empire
at the end of this ebook
Buy or Preorder Shadow of Empire
Also by Jay Allan
Marines (Crimson Worlds I)
The Cost of Victory (Crimson Worlds II)
A Little Rebellion (Crimson Worlds III)
The First Imperium (Crimson Worlds IV)
The Line Must Hold (Crimson Worlds V)
To Hell’s Heart (Crimson Worlds VI)
The Shadow Legions (Crimson Worlds VII)
Even Legends Die (Crimson Worlds VIII)
The Fall (Crimson Worlds IX)
Tombstone (A Crimson Worlds Prequel)
Bitter Glory (A Crimson Worlds Prequel)
The Gates of Hell (A Crimson Worlds Prequel)
MERCS (Successors I)
The Prisoner of Eldaron (Successors II)
Into the Darkness (Refugees I)
Gehenna Dawn (Portal Worlds I)
The Ten Thousand (Portal Wars II)
The Dragon's Banner (Pendragon Chronicles I)
Homefront (Portal Wars III) – January 2016
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Chapter One
From the Personal Log of Terrance Compton
Well, Augustus, against all odds, the fleet has survived. We have come farther into the darkness of unknown space than any humans before us, seen unimaginable things. There has been strife too, of course, and suffering. Death and loss, as in so many of our old battles. Even mutiny. But we are still here, moving ever forward, deeper into the depths of the galaxy.
No doubt this would be a surprise to those of you we left behind. Did you all assume we were killed in X2? Certainly that would have seemed the likeliest of outcomes. But no, not you. I suspect almost everyone else considers us a year dead, killed within hours of being trapped. But you are different. You would have considered what you would have done…and realized there was a way out. I wonder if you believe we are
still
alive…or if you think us killed in the months following that fateful day. I know you well, Augustus, but I have no answer to that question, nor do I know what I would think had our roles been reversed. Some things you cannot imagine unless you experience them.
I don’t know why I write these log entries to you, pretending you can read them. I know we will never see each other again, that nothing I say or write will ever reach your ears or eyes…but I do it anyway. Perhaps it is for myself, a construct I employ to work my way through things, to endure in this vast emptiness, to help me carry the crushing pressure of trying to keep everyone alive…for another day, and then one after that…
Or is it simpler? Perhaps I just miss my friend, my brother in arms for half a century. Maybe I simply write what I might have said, like a man speaking in the night to the shade of a lost comrade. Does it matter that you cannot read any of this? Is the fact that I write it all that matters?
I wish there was a way to communicate with you, even to send a single message, for I suspect you have borne a burden of guilt you should not have carried, one I tried to spare you in my final transmission. I know you, far too well, and it is a great sadness to me thinking of you—and Elizabeth—mourning, carrying grief and pain for what had to be. Think not that we were sacrificed, but rather that we were able to help you save all mankind. That is a fitting epitaph to leave behind.
Alas, there is no way to reach you, no method to communicate over such vast distances. We are far away, lost…never to return. And each day takes us ever deeper into the endless dark. Whatever chance at a future awaits us, it is that way, and not back. Farther from you and all that we left behind, and not closer. Perhaps one day I will truly accept that, and my eyes will turn to look ahead and no longer back, as they so often do now.
AS Midway
X44 System
The Fleet: 144 ships, 32,811 crew
“I want to thank you all for joining me this evening. As you know, tomorrow will be somewhat of a momentous day for us of the fleet…one Earth year since the X2-X1 portal was disrupted and we were all trapped here, left to survive solely through our own wits and resources. I have declared it to be a day of thanksgiving, a time for us to celebrate our perseverance, for we have been through much, and it is only by the efforts of many—including those of you in this room—that we are here to speak of this.”
Terrance Compton sat looking out at his guests. The briefing room was adjacent to his quarters, but the normally spartan table was now an image of elegance, covered with a pristine white cloth, the very best platters and silverware in the fleet set upon it. One of the stewards had even found a pair of candelabras mixed in with Midway’s various supplies, and they sat at opposite ends, the glow of the pearly white candles lending an atmosphere that was often lacking in the sleek, modern settings of the great battleship.
The kitchens had prepared a veritable feast, or at least what passed for one on a battered fleet far from home, over a year from its last supply. It wasn’t a match for the great events and receptions held back at the Admiralty on Armstrong…or even a nice dinner in an expensive restaurant on any one of a hundred colony worlds. But those in attendance weren’t back home, and the Admiralty and the rest of Occupied Space had slipped deeper into their shadowed memories. To them, grown accustomed to ever sparser dietary choices, the meal Compton had set out was nothing short of a miracle. There were even two bottles of wine on the table, very possibly the last anywhere in the fleet.
“I have suspended the rationing program for tomorrow, so that all of our people can celebrate, at least to the extent possible in the present circumstances.” He gestured toward the platters spread out in front of his guests. “And I have taken the liberty of arranging to have a suitable dinner prepared for all of you tonight, my friends and comrades…and a group of men and women who have gone above and beyond to secure the chance for us all to have a future.”
Compton leaned back and sighed softly, a look of sadness slipping onto his face. “Tomorrow’s reverie will be tempered, however, as is tonight’s, by the shadow of loss, for not all of us who began this fateful journey are still present. Indeed, we have lost nearly a third of our number, and though there is joy that two in three remain, there is also sadness for the absence of those whose sacrifices made our survival possible.” He looked down at the table as he continued. “Barret Dumont. Vladimir Udinov. Chen Min. And so many others. Comrades in arms. Friends.”
Compton took a deep breath, fighting back a wave of emotion. He’d seen fifty years of war, and he had lost countless colleagues in his many battles, men and women who’d fallen facing a list of enemies that had always been far too long. He’d sent some of them—many of them—to their deaths, as often as not knowing when he issued the commands he was ordering them to their doom. It was the price victory had demanded, the cost of securing survival for the others manning the fleets…and the civilians they had so often fought to defend.
Indeed, the nationalities of the fleet had long fought against each other, and no small number of those currently under Compton’s command had once faced off against his fleets, had fought and killed his officers and crews. He felt the resentment any commander would, the smoldering rage under the surface as he worked alongside CAC and Caliphate officers…and wondered if they had killed Alliance spacers he had commanded. But there was no place for old prejudices, for long held hatreds. If any of his people were going to survive he knew they had to work together, to respect each other and operate as a seamless group. They’d all seen the alternative six months before, in the nearly catastrophic mutiny that had come perilously close to ending their struggle for survival in an orgy of self-destruction.
The officers gathered around the table sat quietly for a moment, silently looking back at their commander, the man every one of them credited with saving all their lives. Finally, Max Harmon shifted in his seat and said, “We have all lost friends, sir. But we are naval officers…”
His eyes shifted momentarily, toward the hulking forms of James Preston and Connor Frasier. The two Marines hadn’t expressed any visible indignation at his characterization of those present, but Harmon clearly decided not to take any chances. The Marines were exactly who everyone wanted at their backs in a fight, but the celebrated warriors could be a bit touchy at times too, and Harmon had intended no offense. “…and Marines, of course,” he added hastily.