Vaughn Heppner - The Lost Starship

Nancy Halifax, his mother—he believed the name an alias—had taken the interstellar voyage a little over two decades ago. She came to Earth, delivered him and died. From her sparse records, she’d appeared normal enough.

But I’m not . The first time Maddox had seen the footage of the New Man attacking the Odin marines, it had shocked him. That’s when he had started to wonder.

That was his terrible secret. He wondered if his mother had met a New Man, an invading rapist perhaps. The implications…

That would have happened over two decades ago. Did the New Men know then they were going to invade the Oikumene? Did they begin to infiltrate the Commonwealth back then?

The inferences were horrible. The evidence pointed to a long-term infiltration. There were traitors among them, people who had sided with the invaders.

Maddox laughed bleakly. Lieutenant Noonan’s tale would unleash a witch-hunt among the military. How long would he last under that kind of scrutiny with a burning mentality for vengeance? If High Command came to a similar conclusion about him… would the Intelligence people torture him for information he didn’t have? If the New Men were that superior in technology and ability— I have to run. But where will I go? Will my father’s people take me in? Wouldn’t genetically superior people look down on a half-breed?

Maddox stared at the melting cubes in the tumbler. He laughed again, a hopeless sound. He wasn’t used to making those. This was all a theory, nothing more. Surely, there were other explanations for his enhanced physical abilities.

Maybe I’m just gifted. Maybe I’m a sport, a mutant. Don’t those appear in a population from time to time?

He cocked his head, realizing he’d just heard a quiet click from outside. Slowly, he lowered himself until he crouched on the rug and concentrated, listening. His eyes widened. He heard the soft hum of antigravity pods outside his apartment.

Yes, something was outside his window. The drapes were shut. He’d have to crawl over to the window and peer out to see what it was. He lived on the fortieth floor. That meant— A crash sounded. The living room window blew inward. Because he crouched low, the spray of shards that shredded his curtains flew over him except for one. That sliver of glass grazed the top of his shoulder, drawing blood.

Maddox hadn’t turned on the lights. That was a piece of good fortune because he wasn’t spotlighted now. He looked up from his position. A sleek air-van lifted into sight about thirty meters away. A side door slid open on the van, and two operatives readied themselves for a leap. They wore repulse-packs, body armor and helmets with masks. Each of them carried a stubby shotgun-type weapon.

Tanglers! They’re man-hunters. Did Octavian Nerva send them?

Maddox had no way of knowing. He also lacked a weapon. Simply running seemed like a poor idea. He had to upset their timing.

As the van closed the distance, sliding nearer to the window, Maddox reached up to the liquor cabinet. His fingers curled around the tumbler. The two hunters jumped, gliding toward his smashed window. Beyond them hovered the air-van with the open side door. Through that, Maddox spied the driver at the controls. It was a narrow opening.

With a snarl, Maddox stood, cocked his arm and hurled the tumbler. It paid to do the unexpected. His glass would bounce off body armor and mask alike, so hurling it at the approaching hunters seemed futile.

The tumbler sped past the two, reached the open van and shot through the narrow opening. It failed to connect with the driver’s head. Instead, the glass struck his armored window and shattered. A shard struck the driver’s face. His arms shot out and, likely, his foot didn’t remain in the right place. The air-van lifted, accelerating fast. One of the hunters must have noticed something amiss. He glanced back.

Maddox was already moving away from them.

The second hunter cocked his head as if listening to an earbud. Then their repulse-packs brought them through the window and into Maddox’s living room. One of them struck the back of the couch with his shins. That upset his balance. The hunter slammed onto his chest against the rug. The other landed smoothly, his legs churning as he ran.

Already moving, Maddox thought fast, gauging his options. They must have struck in the living room because someone in the van had radar and knew his precise location. Now, for as long as it took the driver to recover and bring the air-van back into place, he would be on equal footing with these two.

Neither of them shouted his name or took a shot. Likely, they scanned with their helmet HUDs in the darkness.

Maddox glided through the hall. His normal coolness evaporated. The senior Nerva had acted with speed, sending hunters after him. Did that mean the tycoon had already struck at Sergeant Riker?

New Men, Methuselah People—how much corruption could a planet take? With all these bribes changing hands, everyone should be rich.

Panic thrummed in Maddox’s brain. He wasn’t sure who he was anymore. Did he belong in Star Watch Intelligence or not? This was like the day his mother had told him they’d adopted him.

“What?” he’d asked her. “You mean I’m not your son?”

“Of course you are, dear. I love you. Your father loves you.”

His world had turned upside down. “Do you mean my real father?” he’d asked.

A hurt look had crossed his adopted mother’s face. He remembered that. It had helped him realize she did love him. He also knew that something had departed his heart that day. His famous cool had begun to assert itself from that time forward. Maybe he’d had to operate that way to protect himself.

Behind him, armored footfalls told Maddox the man-hunters knew where he was. A repulse-packed whined. It would push the hunter, giving the man speed. Maddox knew he wasn’t going to reach the heavy rifle in his bedroom in time.

He darted into the bathroom since he was already at the door. With a lunge, he lifted the porcelain cover off the toilet’s water tank. Whirling, he charged back.

The first hunter poked in his tangler barrel and helmeted head. Maddox swung. The porcelain cover smashed into pieces against the helmet. The tangler made a popping sound. A golf ball-sized capsule struck the wall, exploding into strands, immediately tightening. If a capsule had hit him, he’d have been tangled in an unbreakable web. At the same time as the shot hit the wall, the hunter catapulted backward, striking his partner with his repulse-pack. The two hit the far hall wall, bouncing off and tumbling forward.

Like a lynx, Maddox was on the first attacker, his legs straddling the fallen man’s shoulders. The captain clutched the head with one hand under the chin, the other on the back of the helmet. With a savage twist, Maddox snapped the vertebrae, killing the man.

The other must not have realized what had happened yet. The man shouted, and a knockout mist hissed from a small cylinder on his chest.

Maddox recognized the danger. They had masks. He didn’t. Holding his breath, he squirmed away, rolled on the tiled floor with his shoulders and slithered around the corner into his bedroom. Another pop sounded. Another capsule splatted against a wall, this time in his bedroom.

“Claude!” the hunter said.

Frenchmen or French Canadians , Maddox thought.

“I kill you,” the hunter shouted.

Maddox didn’t think so. Reaching into the closet, he pulled down a heavy rifle, a Khislack .370. A flick of a switch turned on the targeting computer. On silent feet, Maddox backed up, climbing over his bed and moving onto the far side. He aimed at the wall. The computer gave him an image of a man in body armor tiptoeing toward the bedroom door, holding a tangler in one hand and a force blade in the other.