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    The Pandoran Age Chronicles: 8 Havoc Storm
    The Pandoran Age Chronicles: 8 Havoc Storm
    The Pandoran Age Chronicles: 8 Havoc Storm
    Ebook167 pages1 hour

    The Pandoran Age Chronicles: 8 Havoc Storm

    By Dante D'Anthony

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    The Cat's Paw Nebula, Scorpius.

    Harry Stark could smell the Cat's Paw Nebula long before he actually glided the Riptide out of hyper, easing back into normal space, and it was like a field of flowers. Of course, since everything one experiences in MERGE is a virtual construct, the gasses of the nebula could have been made to smell like anything. But the Riptide was a luxury yacht before it was refitted as Harry's private battlewagon, so the Cat's Paw smelled good-yacht owners don't take well to programmers who make the flight experience unpleasant.
    "If you can't be Goulet, don't play" the yacht salesman had explained. Harry had shrugged and bought the whole shipyard.
    NGC 6334, the Cat's Paw Nebula. Fifty light-years of some of the biggest star nurseries in the galaxy, toward the center, toward the core. He surveyed the broad sweep of gas and dust clouds with a run of different infrared and x-rays. He consulted the charts. He became familiar in more detail with the territory-as he had been doing in the long weeks of hyperspace. He looked at the big young stars- some ten times standard solar mass. He catalogued the accretion discs, proto-planets, heaving billows of nebula. Asteroid belts raw and red with impacts.
    The hunting ground.
    At the edges; shaken into coalescing by ancient interstellar shock waves, remnant Oort clouds of icy comets, dropping into the maelstrom of the star forming region from the distant blackness of the void again, following the complex vectors and apogees of a gravitational beehive.
    The boredom of hyper had been grueling-ever and always the same. The rush and bang of the early legs of the space journey eventually giving way to the uncompromising responsibilities of keeping the crate airworthy, staying alert, staying alive. Then the joy of arrival, the sense of accomplishment. Harry's head, deep in his MERGE helmet, bent forward unconsciously- arrival at the Cat's Paw wasn't the accomplishment of this mission. This was going to be a waste of mesons if he didn't take some prisoners.
    "Surfin' Safari!" Mustafa smacked Harry a high five as he came out of MERGE.
    "Cat's Paw is ours. Throw out a beacon with the Ahura Mazda flag. We're taking this nebula." Harry said casually.
    Snickers and guffaws from the crew.
    They think I'm kidding.
    "Go ahead, drop the beacon." He said. "The Pleiades too were a region like this once-not long ago in cosmic time. Today, the Marauders raid the burnished celestial wastelands. Today, the Bogies are creeping at our heels like emissaries of death-but this day will pass." He gave them a rakish glare of challenge, "We will take by storm, we will grind our enemies at our heels, and we will plant orchards of cherry blossoms on uncharted worlds- worlds which we will name."
    The bridge crew stared silently back.
    He returned the stare, "Hey man, we're making history here, write that down."
    The Riptide hit the nebula with a plasma shockwave slamming the gasses, a lightshow, a beacon, and a song broadcasting high and wide: My Maria. They had to look like a drunkard's dream to the Marauders, busting in noisy and oblivious like a twisted wealthy tourist too long removed and sheltered from the nature of reality.
    Just what Harry wanted them to look like; a fat huckleberry for easy picking on a sunny day.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDante D'Anthony
    Release dateJul 31, 2013
    ISBN9781301573547
    The Pandoran Age Chronicles: 8 Havoc Storm
    Author

    Dante D'Anthony

    From South Buffalo New York. Producer, writer, artist. http://www.imdb.com/name/nm4873327/Currently heading up the launch of the “Pandoran Age Chronicles” franchise and the “Magnificent Raiders of Dimension War 1” feature film. D’Anthony has worked in Finance, NYSE Licensed broker with AG Edwards. He has worked in Commercial finance and project development in Miami with $70M in assets under management as the personal assistant to the owners at DCA International Real Estate and several high end Design, Architectural, and Development firms working on numbers of projects from conception through all aspects of Design Development, Financing, and Project management. In 2003 he won the Florida Communities Trust Grant ($6M) with his designs for parks in Southwest Ranches Florida. He has owned and managed two art publishing companies that have published art on clothing with national retailer accounts while maintaining ongoing bricks and mortar galleries. His current venture (a full animated studio launch) with a major Hollywood Producer involved includes a complete matrix of a feature film and merchandising franchise and a full console video game. Education: Undergraduate work at SUNY Buffalo, across from the venerable Albright Knox, Bachelor of Science in Design 1985 with a Concentration in Urban & Environmental Design. Included were seminars in Urban Planning and Design, and studios Interior Des, minor in Art History. At FIU in Miami graduate level Coursework in Fine Art & Special Education (continuing certification for Florida Department of Education) included figure drawing studies under the noted Richard Duncan. Additional Graduate Work in Architecture, Florida Atlantic University School of Architecture. NYSE Series 7 broker License, A.G. Edwards And Associates. U.S. Army reserves Corporal.

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      Book preview

      The Pandoran Age Chronicles - Dante D'Anthony

      Copyright © 2013

      Chronos Productions Motion Picture Studios

      All rights reserved

      SMASHWORDS EDITION

      For Stratton

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

      I would like to acknowledge all the members of the Chronos Productions team for their ongoing work in bringing the Pandoran Age Universe to life. The Artwork, animation, music, and acting. It has been a delight to watch the vision take form and color, sound and aspect, persona and personalities. Life must either be, indeed, a grand adventure or it is nothing at all.

      –Dante D’Anthony

      Enter Pandor

      Deneb IV

      It aint over

      Hell Rides

      Hercules Cluster

      The Cat's Paw Nebula, Scorpius.

      Enter… Pandora

      Rip, Sagittarius Galactic Spiral Arm

      Winteroud Sole eyed the crew of the Taloned Sire with the cold grey reserve of someone who could reach in and take the answers, but whose iron discipline and principles were trained by a lifetime of pattern.

      I think now I need a rundown on the dinosaurs, he said coolly.

      The memory of their recent encounter with the extra dimensional hung in the piloting cabin of the Sire like fifth persona.

      Siluria. Vince finally said, deflated and detached. I had gone there determined to rescue Leyla.

      Winteroud felt the memories rush at him then. He felt Vince’s overwhelming regret of having mixed Leyla up in a smuggling venture that had turned out to be a set up; of having once again held everything that was dear, and having it slip through his fingers as his pride and lust for money had driven him off his chosen path at the University world of Luxus.

      Yes. Winteroud said involuntarily. But it was never really Leyla at all.

      There was no Leyla.

      Yet there she was.

      We used an old military trick of shielding a landing vehicle in a faux asteroid skin with nano shields. It worked a brief smile flashed across his face at the memory in spite of himself. I sailed then toward the base where she was prisoner.

      Sagamore’s chest rose as he held back a comment. He hadn’t trusted Leyla from the first, and he’d only been in the room with her as a hologram. Sagamore’s instincts for treachery where better than Vince’s.

      He watched his Captain’s back many, many times. Winteroud felt Sagamore’s anger at himself for not having followed through on that hunch. But it had been Sagamore and Millin who had been taken by the smuggling ruse to begin with. His culpability smothered any wisecrack.

      Gabriel Montagudo

      The dinosaurs, well…they’re not dinosaurs at all. They’re sentient life forms. They constructed Siluria in a nebula, much as we created the worlds of the Pleiades-terraforming freshly formed planets and then importing and establishing the ecologies.

      Vince couldn’t know that even as he spoke his narrative his memories were flooding Winteroud’s mind. With each sentence background, images, sounds-everything he had experienced and all he had associated with it were following after, like waves along a shore.

      The last of the Predecessors. Winteroud said suddenly.

      Millin involuntarily closed his eyes. Born fighting, he more than anyone in the room sensed in his genetically engineered self the raw contest of species that was upon them; and their disadvantage. If the Predecessors were stamped to a remnant, hiding and near forgotten, what chance have we?

      Vince ignored the interruption. One of them approached me; an ordinary Trade Guildsman, outlaw and trying a jail break-suddenly I was the emissary for the whole fraccin Human race. He took me into their underground-it’s how they maintain the illusion of primordial wilderness and scattered temples. They have everything under the surface. Cities, factories, computer networks. Everything that runs the planet. It’s like a theme park. All the mechanicals are concealed.

      They preserved what they could from the onslaught of the Bogies. Winteroud, again, finishing his thoughts.

      Vince cocked an eyebrow. Well why don’t you just ‘read’ me?

      Winteroud gave him a Devil-may-care smirk. Don’t worry, I am. But it works better if you tell the events as you experienced them.

      Finally Sagamore could avoid wisecracking no more; Yeah Captain, it works better if you tell the events as you experienced them. Don’t you know that?

      A moment of levity broke the weight of civilization’s destiny from the small cadre of companions, and laugher filled the cabin. The men let the hum and flash of technology fill the silence for a moment. The Sire laughed with them.

      It was Gibbon that next spoke: It’s a testament to their brilliance that such an endeavor has persisted across all these millennia. The levity that had delivered them from the reality of their present condition evaporated like a ghost.

      Vince’s scarred face darkened. Yes, well, the one that approached me played me recordings of the era when they were decimated by the Bogies. It wasn’t a pretty picture. They call themselves ‘Lephs’, and the one I interacted with was ‘Tee’.

      That would be ‘Leph-Tee’. Sagamore interjected. You traveled across the galaxy, and discovered a lost race, and the guys name was ‘Lefty’. You realize that’s funny.

      Millin shook his head, Can we get on with saving the Universe now, please?

      Gibbon raised his chromium head. Or you could call him ‘Mr. T’ he said.

      The four humans looked at him uncomprehendingly. The android had just made a joke, but they had no historical database frame of reference to Twentieth Century Earth Television Media for that particular character.

      Mr. T. He was in a television show. The android explained uncomfortably.

      What Millennia? Sagamore said dryly.

      Vince put up his hands.

      Sag, now you got the robot making jokes. Can we continue?

      Everyone nodded their consent.

      Vince looked to each in turn. "No more comments until I’m finished. That thing we just had a run in with at the Yellow Jaguar could pop its pretty face back in our dimension any time, and go for a second round with us, aye?"

      He allowed the seriousness of the situation to let its dark reality fill the cabin like death. When the cabin was once again filled properly with dread, he smiled his inscrutable grin. Happy to be skirting the edge of black oblivion again, he continued.

      So Leph told me he had encountered primates on a world that fended off the Bogies-just like we did this evening. He feels humanity may have the stuff it takes to give these…devils a run for their money. We’re primates too. Conceivably something in our genetic makeup is different from theirs- the Tees are, well, like you said, kind of reptilian lizard things. The Bogies take them down-every time.

      So we’re, like, going to save the Predecessors? Sag asked with a tinge of outrage.

      That’s the spirit! Gibbon said.

      Vince nodded. He didn’t know how to answer, it seemed an impossible contradiction. Every human born since interstellar travel had been raised in awe of the relics the Predecessors had left across the galaxy. The concept of Humanity saving them seemed like a lead dirigible.

      Winteroud straightened his back and squared his shoulders like a man about to pass an unpleasant judgment. The three guildsman tensed in anticipation as Winteroud’s face went strange with emotion.

      There’s more he said. I don’t believe the Tees showed you everything. For some reason they’ve held back something. I felt it in the being we experienced at the Yellow Jaguar. There’s another part to this-the Bogie, it wants to cross over.

      Bitterly Millin leaned forward and shot him a look of challenge, Isn’t that what it just did? Cross over? he asked sharply. You mean it didn’t get all the way over? Sure makes an impression from across dimensions.

      Winteroud shut his eyes and breathed deeply. It’s a horrid being-unlike anything I have ever felt, in all the life forms I’ve ever encountered. The Bogies-they’re literally addicted to the horror and fear they create in their victims-like a shabby drug addict, they crave it. They’ve consumed whole regions of the universe. They’re not even good farmers, so to speak, they don’t even leave seed stock for future consumption.

      You got all that from the encounter? Vince asked.

      Winteroud drilled him an affirmative stare. And more. It wants to cross over into our dimension completely.

      Leave wherever it came from? Sagamore queried.

      Yes. Winteroud said icily.

      Vince looked expectantly. So…what will they be like when they’re fully crossed over?

      Winteroud’s eyes glazed, they were two dark open graves.

      Somewhere in a deep, dark broken corner of Vincent’s soul his younger self wailed with horror, sadness, and longing for Leyla.

      Leyla-Jane moved through the upper rooms of the Yellow Jaguar with a cataclysmic awareness the shadow that now hovered behind her every thought and action. The thing from…elsewhere. She had relished the power it had offered her, coming to her thoughts when she had gone out to the haunted lakes upon her return to Rip. Having purchased a clone of herself she’d paid dearly-a fortune-to be young again. To have Vincent. Every treasure and every wonder they’d shared he risked in a foolish gambit of pride and stupidity when No-deal Depaulo showed up with black market goods and the promise of easy money.

      It had been a warm afternoon as Vince had made his way to the water-ported Taloned Sire, his precious ship of rogues. Yet for her it had been as if a Rip winter had fallen. There could be no more evidence than that departure, in her mind, that her love for him,

      that everything she had accomplished and ventured-

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