Alpha Nebula

  © 2018 James Prytula

  All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1540550347

  ISBN-10: 1540550346

  To my beautiful Amanda,

  you always encouraged me, always had confidence in me, even when my own confidence had been Vanquished.

  I love you.

  Volume 1

  of 3

  Contents

  INTRODUCTION

  PROLOGUE

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY ONE

  TWENTY TWO

  TWENTY THREE

  TWENTY FOUR

  TWENTY FIVE

  TWENTY SIX

  TWENTY SEVEN

  TWENTY EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  OUTRO

  Introduction

  Hello there. I’m the narrator because, apparently, my real name is just too hard to pronounce. My purpose is to tell you a story about adventure for all you thrill-seekers, a bit of love for you romantics, and all that guns-and-explosions stuff, too, because the writer of this book is a bit of a man-child. Just don’t tell him I said that; he doesn’t take criticism well. So, I will be taking you on a journey through the galaxy. Yes, an adventure story because we don’t have enough of those already. Well, you’re the chum who’s decided to read it, and I’m going to be with you the whole way. Because, apparently, I have nothing better to do with my time. Did you know I left the theatre for this? Now I’m stuck taking horrible jobs like this one. I don’t enjoy this, you know. I swear after this I’m taking a holiday. Anyway, let’s get this thing started, shall we?

  Once upon a time— Hold up a second; that’s too cliché. A long time ago in a galaxy— No, wait. That’s copyrighted. Dammit, one more word and we’ll have to pay royalties. Oh, whatever, I don’t even care. Somewhere, in someplace, at some time, this crap happened…

  Prologue

  Arid, harsh, and brutal perfectly describe the desert world of Rynok. Within these deserts were thousands of camps—or prisons, to be more accurate. Burnt orange as far as the eye could see, sand and dust were always beneath one’s feet and clouding the air. The lands were home to these compounds because of its sheer desolate location. This barren wasteland was a sleeping giant that would feast on those who were ill-prepared for the conditions. These concentration camps housed millions of ill-fated slaves who were forced to work at the mercy of their brutal masters, who looked down on them with disgust. These Tarian slaves were forced to comply; the talons of dominance consistently dug deeper under their skin.

  The Avayan guards were herding slaves in a long line, down to a small, dirty building. The entire complex was surrounded by walls and barbed wire. An oily residue and gunk covered most of the facilities on the planet, and this apparent slave hell was no different. These Tarian captives were bloody, beaten, and dressed in little more than rags, with not much left of them but skin and bone. However, the most notable thing about these slaves was their age; every one of them was an elder. They were slaves who had reached the end of their usefulness, and they were to be discarded like a bad batch of apples that no one wants to eat. Tarians generally live for two thousand years, but these conditions had dramatically shortened their life expectancy. These mistreated elderly slaves were slow, struggling to make their way ahead, pushing themselves forward with what little strength remained in their bodies. Every step was a fight against the pain that was taking a tighter and tighter hold on them. All three suns shined down on them, the rays of heat scorching their old, wrinkled, and somewhat leathery skin and singed the terrain.

  One man felt exhaustion drag him down to his hands and knees. His naturally orange-brown skin almost blended in with the terrain. The nearby guard approached with haste, raised his foot high in the air, and then brought it down with as much force as he could possibly muster. The crackling sound was cringe-worthy. The old man felt a lot like a broken twig as he barely managed to push the air through his windpipe with his decaying lungs. The cool sensation of a single tear worked its way down his red-hot cheek. The guard sent dust flying into the man’s face with one motion of his boot. The Avayan sent shouts out of his mouth, taunting him. He pulled the man’s long, pointy ears and trampled his tail, like it was a sick game. The guard demanded the elderly man crawl the rest of the way.

  What a dick.

  Other slaves didn't bother to look or even to turn an eye at the event. The terror of what should happen if they did walked beside them, holding their hand like a horrid shadow.

  At the building entrance, the guards were commanding the slaves to strip down and hand over all their garments. The slaves felt the humiliation as they complied. Then, the Tarians stepped inside the narrow doorway to find the black nothingness inside. The run-down establishment was airtight. The door closed as the last of the slaves entered. It was dark, dirty, and humid. The captives endured their bare-naked bodies rubbing up against each other. It was like an over-cramped sauna. The sounds of crying and whimpering echoed across the pitch black room; terror and fear latched onto their backs. What little hope they had left began to sink beneath them. Suddenly they all looked up, as there was, at last, a light source. A manhole in the ceiling opened up to reveal the daylight above them. Standing just over it, was an Avayan who quickly covered the hole once more, with a hose this time. The guard turned the nozzle on, and the sizzling sound of gas travelled through it. Soon, the only sound heard was that of the falling of bodies.

  Well, that was a little depressing, wasn’t it?

  ONE

  Year 272, 70th Millennium…

  High up in the mountains of Etherel, a snowy ice planet-a ship rested. It was powered down, but it’s engines were still hot. Its weathered grey colour stood out amongst the snow like a hooker in church.

  For lack of a better metaphor—not that I’ve ever taken a hooker to church, that is.

  Strong winds raced through the silent canyons. The mountains were white and desolate. Very little life managed to survive at this altitude—no trees or animals, just the endless blanket of white that smothered the mountains. Near the ship was a centuries-old cave. Inside this dusky, uninviting cave was a web of tunnels—a maze which eventually led to a large cavern, deep within the mountain labyrinth. Here stood two figures, both Tarian. These two Tarians were brothers and close friends. They were young and adventurous.

  Making them almost a little too cliche to be the protagonists of our story, but whatever.

  They slowly approached the remains of a forgotten and time-worn scout. He had been sitting in the corner and withering down for far too long. He was somewhat like an avocado that has deteriorated until all that remains is the pip, or in this case, dusty and cracked bones. Clutched in his skeletal hands was a small wooden box that was old and decaying in the corners. One Tarian—with a long ponytail of dreadlocks—grabbed the box and opened it. The creaking of the hinges was discomforting, like the scratching of nails on a chalkboard. Inside was a golden dagger with a triangular blade, covered in hieroglyphics. It was unlike anything they had seen before. One of them looked at it as if he were disappointed.

  This was Vanakis, he was the younger of the two. He’s a bit of a spoilt brat, if I’m to be honest.

  "How much you reckon this is worth?” Akrillis asked his brother.

  Akrillis is kind of like that guy we all want to be. He’s selfless and h
eroic, and he always wants the best for those around him. He was born to be the protagonist of this little adventure.

  “It better be a decent amount of coin,” Vanakis replied as he repositioned the fedora on his head. The red bandana around his neck was a nice touch, too.

  Thinks he’s stylish or something, I’ll bet. It’s worth noting that coins were the currency of the galaxy. Digital money transfers just weren’t possible anymore due to hacking and cyber attacks.

  As the two of them turned to leave, they noticed the small assortment of rifles aimed at them. As they froze in position, they all shared an awkward silence. Mercenaries blocked their exit, preventing their escape. The mercenaries were well-armed and were wearing high-tech custom armour.

  An officer began barking orders at them. His voice echoed through the cave. "Drop the weapon. Arms on your head. Now!”

  Realising they had no other option, the Tarians obeyed. Akrillis dropped the dagger inches from his feet.

  “Hey, guys,” Vanakis said.

  His brother turned with raised eyebrows. “Vanakis, what are you doing?” he whispered.

  “I’ll handle it; relax,” Vanakis replied with an overconfident grin, flowing with boldness and attitude.

  This is where we learn what kind of person Vanakis is—certainly not the kind of guy you want watching your back.

  He slowly approached them with his hands at bay. The mercs were wary of his behaviour and kept their aim.

  “C’mon guys, there’s no need for this kind of a confrontation,” Vanakis told them. “I mean, sure we’ve had our differences, but that’s all behind us now, right? How’s your boss doin’? How is old Jaroot?” Vanakis attempted to talk his way out of the sticky situation, as he always did.

  “You stole from us,” the group leader exclaimed.

  “Whoa, no I didn’t. I mean, you don't even know anything was stolen. Maybe you just lost it,” Vanakis chuckled under his breath and kept his calm demeanour on show.

  “Jaroot saw you!” The officer shouted back.

  Vanakis sighed. “He saw somebody. Could’ve been anyone, and here you are blaming little old me. I mean, I’m not the kind to steal, anyway, I’m not like that.”

  Akrillis rolled his eyes at his brother’s remark, obviously a lie. He wasn’t at all surprised he knew these grunts.

  “You know, it’s funny. We’re not the only ones who you’ve stolen from,” the officer claimed.

  Vanakis laughed. “C’mon, what low-life swine told you that bullshit?”

  “Whiskey Company,” he replied with a stern look.

  “Huh! Whiskey Company? Are you really gonna believe any of the crap that comes out of their mouths?” Vanakis continued to act like he had a silver tongue.

  He didn’t.

  “And so did the Ballad Rangers,” One of the mercs smiled.

  “Eh, what are you guys, detectives?” Vanakis remarked. His smart comments and persuasion attempts weren’t helping the situation. Vanakis knew this wasn’t working, as did Akrillis. They needed a way out, fast. The brothers looked at each other, and Vanakis raised an eyebrow.

  “Mmmm, not practical in this cave. What about…?” Akrillis said, then touched his nose with his tongue.

  The mercs stood in confusion, not able to decipher the brothers’ code. It was a testament to how many times they had needed a quick getaway in the past.

  “No, that’ll never work. There’s too many of ’em for that,” said Vanakis. “How about…?” he then tapped the ground twice with his boot.

  Akrillis took a moment of thought. “Yeah, it could work.”

  “Ready?” Vanakis asked.

  His brother nodded in response. Akrillis kicked the dagger off the ground and it flew towards a merc, lodging straight into his throat. It was an expertly-placed kick that ended with a blade piercing arteries and tendons as it eviscerated flesh. As the other mercs opened fire, the two brothers rolled into cover behind some large boulders. Blue bolts from their weapons darted off the rock formations. Vanakis pulled out a grenade and then pulled the pin before he looked over at Akrillis.

  “Are you insane? Tyro-Plasma in here?” Akrillis questioned, knowing the damage of such a weapon.

  Vanakis shrugged his shoulders. “What? My plan ended after we took cover.”

  “Oh, this ought to be good,” Akrillis responded.

  Vanakis threw it over towards the mercenaries, who panicked and shouted. As it detonated, a red wave of energy consumed the cavern. The soldiers fell apart like leaves, with the Tarians safe behind their cover.

  “Quick! Back to the Azura!” Vanakis shouted. They pounced over the boulders and bolted for the exit, so agile and gracefully natural while doing so. Akrillis grabbed the dagger on their way out.

  “Will you get moving!?” He shouted after noticing Vanakis stealing one of the merc’s wallets.

  “Hey, he’s got a coupon for Kar’desh!” Vanakis smiled.

  “C’mon!” Akrillis shouted once more.

  “Right,” Vanakis finally complied.

  As they entered the labyrinth of caverns, they ran into more mercs. Vanakis unsheathed his trusty sword from his back. He slayed foes with ferocious accuracy, stacking up a body count as they persisted towards escape. Akrillis took care of those from behind with his pistol; he didn’t even need the two lethal blades he kept on his back. As they ran outside into the below-zero temperatures, they felt the grip of cold suddenly clutch their spines. Their breath was now visible in front of their faces. They heard the echoes of shouting mercenaries in the caves behind them in hot pursuit. The freezing chill ran under their skin.

  "Go, go, go!" Akrillis yelled.

  Dozens of mercs rushed out into the tundra after them. Their feet sunk into the deep snow as they pursued. The duo ran into their ship. The engines fired up as the boarding ramp closed, and the ship slowly began lifting off the ground. Escape was just a moment away. The mercs opened fire on the craft with little effect.

  Vanakis was hard at work on the bridge, fiddling with the many switches and buttons in a room covered with monitors and switches and buttons. There was also a cat bobblehead on the dash that looked like one of those hairless cats. Its head rocked gently.

  “We’re outta here,” Vanakis declared.

  The Azura launched off into the horizon as the engines blasted snow and debris at the remaining mercenaries. The cat bobblehead shook violently as they accelerated. The ship soared through the thin mountain air as they made a clean getaway.

  “All systems good,” Akrillis ensured his brother.

  “We did it again,” Vanakis said to the bobblehead.

  “Dad’s gonna kill us when he finds out we went into Avayan territory again,” Akrillis realised. He knew they had done exactly what they weren’t supposed to be doing, typically so.

  “Who says he’s gonna find out?” Vanakis laughed.

  “That’s true, I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Akrillis thought out loud.

  “I can’t believe how much whining you did over it. To think you’d be missin’ out on all this fun,” Vanakis said.

  “I’d hardly call it fun,” his brother responded. Akrillis then noticed something on the radar. “Agh we got company.”

  “These dick-weeds don't give up, do they?” Vanakis sighed.

  “What the hell did you take from them?” Akrillis asked.

  “Nothing, okay?... So, I took a few prized ornaments from Jaroot. Who cares?” Vanakis admitted.

  “Jaroot cares!” Akrillis shouted.

  The merc fighters opened fire on the Azura, and blue bolts shot towards the brothers’ ship. They swerved out of harm’s way, around mountain tops as Vanakis expertly avoided death.

  You see, the bolts are specifically blue because Neo-Plasma is blue, and Neo-Plasma is the driving force behind the galaxy. It’s used for virtually everything and anything: fuel, ammunition, electricity, and even first aid when prepared correctly. But you don’t care about this… Where were we?
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  “Woohoo!” Vanakis shouted as he clearly enjoyed himself more than he should, with a smile pulsing of excitement from one long ear to the other.

  Vanakis and his flying led one of three fighters to ram into a mountainside; his wreckage fell as quickly as his life expectancy. Akrillis activated the ship’s offence, and a launcher extended out from the hull accompanied by the sound of clanking. Akrillis quickly locked onto an unsuspecting fighter plane. The missile burst from its firing shaft like a racehorse bolting from the gate. The missile flew ahead of the Azura, wrapped around, and then charged back towards the fighter behind the ship. Despite the fighter’s desperate attempt to avoid it, the missile made contact with the wing of his ship. He was sent twirling out of control and into his wingman. The enemy fighters were dealt with, and Akrillis had more than enough excitement for the day.

  Vanakis turned to his brother. “Too easy.”

  “Watch out!” Akrillis yelled as he noticed the mountaintop mere seconds away.

  The Azura flew up in time to just scrape the peak, launching snow everywhere and creating a white cloud atop the mountain. The ship landed on the mountain as it scraped along the surface and came to a grinding halt. Even the bobblehead had whiplash.

  Vanakis looked over at his brother. “Well, that could have gone better.”

  “Oh no, that, that was fine,” Akrillis replied sarcastically. His stress levels were higher than he would’ve liked.

  It should probably be said that Tarians living on their homeworld are free. Not all Tarians are slaves—just the unfortunate ones, I suppose.

  TWO

  Omega was the largest slave camp on the planet Rynok and was home to the Overseer, who was the leader of the planet and kind of a really mean dude.

  Seriously, he’s evil. Well, maybe not evil… Look, he’s an asshole, all right?

  It was an enormous complex of buildings surrounded by walls that stood thirty feet high all around. Within these walls, slaves could take leisure time, but were otherwise found in the facility working under the watchful eye of their horrific masters. These poor souls were used as labour to process Neo-Plasma—the galaxies greatest resource. This one element was used for everything; Neo-Plasma is what kept the galaxy running. The place was a dump and was looked after very poorly. Oily residue dripped from the walls and ceilings, the floors were sticky, and toxic smog was constantly suffocating the atmosphere. It was a different story in the guards quarters.