Astraeus: The Oceanstone Initiative, #1

Dedication

For Esmé and Emmeline – reach for the stars!

Acknowledgments

I’m profoundly grateful to my fellow authors, who beta read Astraeus: Nadine Monaco, Ember Leigh, and Landra Graf. You ladies are superbly talented, and I am grateful to call you friends.

A special thanks to my editor, Ann M. Curtis, for helping to hone the manuscript in its infancy. Working with you is always an honor, and this book wouldn’t be the same without your powerful editorial magic.

A special shout out to my uncles Dan, Matt, Clyde, and Mark, who all saw to it that I was properly brainwashed and indoctrinated as a Trekkie from the seasoned old age of six. You had no idea what you created when you sat me down to watch Tribbles, Red Shirts, and Spock’s blue eyeshadow, but I’m forever in your debt because of it, and my life would never have been the same if you hadn’t introduced me to the world of science fiction. I’m so grateful for you guys. Thank you for taking advantage of teaching moments.

To my husband Luke, who bears with me and my impassioned addiction to writing. Thank you for being there and playing second fiddle at times when the voices struggled to be heard and I had to put them down on paper. I love you and our wonderful kids, furry companions included.

Without the research and passion of contemporary scientists like Carl Sagan and Neil DeGrasse Tyson, we wouldn’t have the knowledge or respect we do of the Cosmos. Thank you to all astronauts, scientists, astrophysicists, and modern innovators who keep the torch alive and burning through your determination to create a better future and comprehension of the galaxies. You inspire us all!

Epigraph

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I’ve tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost

Chapter 1

Year 2140

Sleipnir Science Vessel

Andromeda Galaxy

Dr. Sakota Thorell set her chisel-tip hammer to the side of the moon-rock specimen, ate the last bite of lunch on her plate, and stretched her arms over her head. She’d been so busy analyzing fossils for such a long time, her butt had become one. She shifted in her seat. Hisoka walked over to the window in her peripheral vision. Hey, Hisoka. Could you grab me the culture tray in the fridge, since you’re up and about? I want to get—

His sharp intake of breath filled the room, and she swiveled in her seat. Hisoka? He ignored her, his palms flat against the window as he stared out at the vast, inky expanse of space. You okay there?

Doc, did you put something in my coffee?

"Nope. Just cream and sugar, the usual gubbins. I can dope you up if you want me to, though. I’ve some morphine stashed in the back. When he didn’t retort with his usual one-liner, she frowned. Why?"

Because there’s a person floating right outside, he said, his tone hushed. He’s got some kind of weird black body armor on, and he’s not wearing any face gear. He’s looking right at me. I th-think he’s alive.

She cracked a smile. Oh, jeez. Not this again. Okay, I’ll play along. Let’s say hypothetically, she made quotation marks with her fingers, there’s an alien on the—

I’m serious.

His panic-laced, shaky voice shot cold daggers of fear through her.

Come here, Doc, and look out the window.

I know it might have been a long shift and you think us Brits are easy to get one over on, but I wasn’t born yesterday. If you think I’m going to fall for— Hisoka appeared by her side. He grabbed her hand, yanked her out of her seat, and placed her in front of the window.

Look.

Less than a few feet from where they stood, a man floated in the fetal position. A strange black suit encompassed his entire body. It appeared to be made of an unusual mesh-like material, bearing a resemblance to carbon nanotubes. The suit was shredded at the left arm. Torn skin and frozen, congealed clumps of blood latticed the shreds.  A thick sheen of shiny frost coated him from head to toe.

Oh my God, she said in awe.

The man’s head jerked, and bloodshot light eyes stared back at her. His mouth was set in a firm line, his face full of tension and anxiety. He unfurled his body, smacked his large palms on the glass, and blinked at her. She gasped and put her hand to her mouth. "Get Commander Rutledge. Now." Hisoka ran to do her bidding.

Hang on. She hoped the guy could read her lips. Did he even know what she’d said? Most likely not. He clutched the outer titanium-grated edges of the window and graced her with a panoramic view of his impressive body. She was speechless.

Though his mouth was closed, his chest rose and fell. She looked him over. His features appeared human, but he didn’t seem to breathe through his mouth or nose. How could he still be alive? He kept his frost-lashed eyes trained on her. Sakota heard a commotion and turned. Hisoka raced back into the room with Tatiana Morzeleskov, his girlfriend and the resident cosmonaut botanist who ran the hydroponics lab. Her father, Alistair, followed them in and joined her. The shock in his sharp, blue eyes mirrored the exhilaration pumping through her veins.

They’re suiting up now, Hisoka related. Captain gave orders to bring him in alive, if possible, and sequester him after he depressurizes. She’ll meet us down there.

Prepare the room, Sakota said. I want all medical equipment prepped and ready.

Yes, Doc.

I’ll help, said Tatiana, departing with him.

Sakota turned back to the window and nodded to the man outside. It will be okay. She tried to convey with her eyes that they wanted to help him. He trembled. His arm muscles bunched as he held onto the metal grooves of the window frame. He moved his thumb against the window, over where she’d placed her palm. She gave him a gentle smile.

A movement caught the corner of her eye. Commander Brent Rutledge was outside. He’d suited up fast! The upgrades they donned when out in space were the newest prototype, designed for high mobility and made from hardened lightweight fiber, durable. The helmet he wore gave him a computerized three-hundred-and-sixty-degree viewpoint. Both were technological marvels.

Tethered to the airlock, Rutledge approached the man from behind, a laser rifle in one hand. Even from here, the three red lights on the rifle’s side were visible, lit, and set to kill. He scanned the man with a handheld radiation detector before securing the device by his side.

She put both palms on the window and shook her head. Don’t kill him, she mouthed. Those gormless idiots would end the man’s life before they’d even gotten the chance to get him aboard.

Rutledge locked his arms around the man’s torso and pulled him away from the window. The man opened his mouth and reached for Sakota. Rutledge removed a syringe taped to his chest and jabbed the needle into the exposed side of the man’s neck.

The man fell unconscious. Rutledge tightened his arms around the guy’s chest, engaged his boot propulsion thrusters, and hauled him out of sight.

Sakota whipped around and fled to the containment chambers. Alistair matched her frantic pace, peaky and in shock. He was an academic genius. Emergency situations had never been his strong suit. They were more her department, something she’d become acquainted with at an early age. Though she’d left the orphanage a long time ago to live with Alistair, the orphan hadn’t quite left the girl. She knew the best thing to do was to face each situation head-on and stay as calm as she could.

Alistair keyed in the entry code with shaky fingers. He has to depressurize before we can even get in there.

Good. That means we can get our protective gear on in time. She yanked the hazmat environmental garments from the airlock prep room and handed one to Alistair.

"Who the bloody hell is this?" he managed as they stepped into their coveralls.

I have no idea. She zipped and sealed her suit. But whatever it is, don’t let Rutledge and his goons get trigger-happy. I need to examine this guy. We need to place him under medical protection, no matter what.

Agreed. Is he an android, do you think? It’s the only plausible explanation, isn’t it? Alistair babbled. Though he couldn’t be a synthetic AI because their organic chemistry is like our own, and even if oxygen weren’t a factor, he couldn’t withstand the freezing temperatures of space unless he was a newer prototype—

Alistair, quiet. Once the green light went on above the doors, they entered the airlock chambers. She pushed past a bunch of marines, who locked and loaded their weapons toward the curled-up man in the corner. After being in space, the pressurization of our atmosphere alone could kill him. Get a blanket. She kneeled beside him, careful of her environmental suit. He was unconscious and rock hard to the touch. Long black hair curtained his face, and the stubble on his chin looked a few days old. She noted sizeable gashes, two on his left bicep and one on the side of his rib cage. They looked like giant claw marks.

Alistair popped up between the men, holding a digital recorder. Patient is unconscious and shows ramifications of severe hypothermia, he noted, speaking into the device. Three lacerations in tandem on left bicep and upper left torso. Blood from lacerations appears congealed. Possible radiation poisoning. Crew personnel are equipped in hazmat gear. Patient appears early to mid-thirties with a large, muscular frame, black hair, and light-brown skin. Closest description to what we know is maybe Pacific Islander. He’s clothed in black armor, which appears skintight. The material looks like alligator skin and is scale-like. Possible android or other unidentified life-form.

Sakota raised her head. Computer, scan room for radiation. Is there any residual radiation?

The computer chirped. "Negative. Room is nontoxic. No signs of radiation."

You’ve gotta be shitting me, Rutledge said. Computer, is there any contamination in the prisoner—

Patient, Sakota argued.

"—Prisoner in the room?"

"No contamination detected in the prisoner. The room is toxin-free."

Sakota swapped glances with Alistair. Computer, is it safe to remove environmental suits?

"Affirmative. No danger of radiation or contamination is detected. Containment pressure is stabilized."

"What is this? Rutledge’s suit let off a hydraulic hiss as he turned off his oxygen, his brown hair slick with sweat and pasted against his forehead behind his faceplate. He shows up out of nowhere, he’s effing alive, and he doesn’t have any residual radiation? Whatever he is, he’s heavy as an anvil, even out there. It was like pulling a freight train. Don’t touch him, Doc."

Too late. She removed her helmet and gloves, ignored Rutledge, and pressed two fingers to the exposed section of the man’s neck, above the hem of his black armor. She searched for a pulse. "I can’t get anything, but he was alive. He looked right at me, for God’s sake."

Alistair kneeled next to her. Do you want to initiate CPR? There’s a kit on the wall.

She shook her head. The med bed will resuscitate him and assess the damage quicker than we could.

But he hasn’t been fully scanned yet.

There’s no time. The computer has a radiation detector just as good as the med beds. She pointed to three of Rutledge’s men. "You, you, and you. Pick him up and get him to containment in the medical bay, fast. Be gentle. Get that blanket over him and put him on the med bed. Hisoka, grab a pair of scissors. Go."

Yes, ma’am. The men surrounded the guy and picked him up.

One of them groaned. "Jeez. This bastard weighs a ton. Literally. My money’s on four hundred pounds at least."

Doesn’t look it, though, does he? His partner wheezed as he hefted a leg. "You look like you weigh more, Frobisher."

Man, screw you. My uncle restored a classic truck from the early twenty-first century which weighed less than this.

Sakota hurried along with them. Be careful and quick, or he might die before we find out what he is.

They sped to the containment chambers and laid him on the med bed. She discarded her environmental suit en route and yanked her lab coat off its peg near her desk. Hisoka handed her the scissors Alistair used earlier to cut his hair. She snipped at the top of the man’s shirt. The material, though thin, was rough in texture, harder than stone. She couldn’t cut it. After a few attempts, she gave up and passed them back to Hisoka. She stepped away from the machine.

Calibrate diagnostics. Full-body scan. Procedural override. Check for any contamination and radiation. If the patient needs resuscitation, administer.

A thick opaque plastic lid slid out from the side and canopied over the bed until it secured into place. A green light shone over the man’s forehead. Spidery-thin metal wireless pincers attached to slim mechanical rods emerged from the center of the bed and moved along his left arm.

The computer’s smooth voice resumed. "Calibrating diagnostics. The bed lit as the machine scanned his body. No resuscitation needed."

Her heart sank. He’s dead?

"Patient is alive. Error. Error. Error."

"Specify error. Is the patient alive?"

"Affirmative. Biometrics indicate cardiovascular activity and internal movement, but patient is in critical condition. No radiation or toxicity found. Administering first aid for external lacerations, antiseptic mist, IV, and oxygen."

An electronic claw emerged from the head of the bed and placed an oxygen mask on the man. Puffs of cool, antiseptic-mist fogged the glass with moisture. The machine bandaged his wounds with gauze, glued the bandages together, and neatly snipped the ends.

Sakota put a hand to her heart. Good. What’s the error?

"Unable to locate a vein to insert a primary infuser for an IV, the machine answered. Patient is not human."

WHILE THE MED BED COULDN’T tell her what he was, she did know from his thermal scan that he had two hearts which were interconnected through multiple subclavian veins and arteries, and a complicated internal structure she would need months to comprehend. Once the emergency aid was completed, she covered him from the waist down with a royal-blue Oceanstone blanket. Rutledge secured his wrists and ankles and left the room.

Alistair came on over the speaker. The telemetry from his X-ray and thermal scan readout are out of this world, Sakota. His plasma count is through the roof. I’m seeing sacs where there shouldn’t be sacs and extra musculature walls where there should be protective adipose tissue. I’d like to examine him without the suit, but I’ll take what we can get for now. This is unreal.

You’re telling me. He’s not an android?

Doesn’t look like it. Unless he’s somehow engineered to have two synthetic hearts. The Captain’s here from the bridge, Sakota. She’d like a word when you’re done.

Acknowledged. She secured a slim biomonitor bracelet on the man’s wrist and activated it. That way she’d be able to download his progress and uplink the data to her room, even if she had to leave the lab. Computer, try to revive the patient.

The vibrations of an electric massage hummed. She studied his face. He had a distinct masculine jaw, stubbled and rugged. Full lips parted beneath the oxygen mask. A straight nose led to closed, long black eyelashes. He groaned, and she took a step back.

He’s regaining consciousness.

The intercom chirped. "Sakota, it’s Captain Ortiz."

Yes, ma’am?

"I just got here. Should I send Captain Rutledge in with a few men for protection?"

Negative. Hold off. I’ll let you know if I need help.

"Okay. Say the word.