Galen's Way: A Starquest 4th Age Adventure Read online

  Contents

  GALEN’S WAY

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  GALEN’S WAY

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  COMING EARLY 2022

  RANGER

  GALEN’S WAY

  A Starquest 4th Age Adventure

  © 2021 Richard Paolinelli/Tuscany Bay Books

  All rights reserved. No part of the content of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database retrieval system, or copied by any technology yet to be developed without the prior written permission of the author. You may not circulate this book in any format with author’s permission. This is a work of fiction. All characters in this work are fictitious and not intended to resemble any living person.

  HARDCOVER ISBN: 9781716175428

  PAPERBACK ISBN: 9781716176821

  ASIN: B08V6KR4CR

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to thank first and foremost, John C. Wright, who created the Starquest Universe and gracefully opened it up to any author who wanted to come and play in his sandbox.

  A special thank you to L. Jagi Lamplighter who served as editor for this book and helped make sure it fit within the Starquest realm properly.

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  John C. Wright has officially granted me permission to write this story and future stories set in the 4th Age of Starquest, in addition to two story series set in the pre-migration Starquest Universe created by John C. Wright. Any adaptations of this work, or any future works related to Starquest, will require both mine and John's written permission.

  GALEN’S WAY

  A Starquest Fourth Age Adventure

  Richard Paolinelli

  PROLOGUE

  Let it be known to you that it is the Fourth Age of the recorded history of the Andromeda galaxy. Millions of years have come and gone since the last light in the old Milky Way galaxy winked out. There was a time long ago when the astronomers of the old races, the Ceti, the Amaurot, the Iss and the Hibagons in the Andromeda galaxy gazed at that distant spiral web of stars and dust in their telescopes. They looked and wondered if any intelligent life similar to their own lived there.

  Now, they can do so no longer.

  Tucked away in a far corner of the Andromeda galaxy, undiscovered yet by any other race, the Hominids live and die as all creatures do. As the centuries pass, the collective memory of the Hominids fade away.

  Some recall the old legends of an original home world in that now dead galaxy. Depending on the storyteller that imaginary world was called Earth while others call it Eden. No matter the name, they do agree on one vital point: It was a paradise. It had been peopled by a race that had ascended to such glorious heights that they made perfection seem like a tarnished pot discarded into the refuse dump by comparison.

  Then came the Dark Evil, they lament, as their story takes an ominous turn. This dark force that roamed the universe, an ever-dying force that devoured every star, every planet that it came into contact with. Wherever this force passed, it left no life behind to tell its story, or to raise an alarm to warn the next victim.

  In the chaotic final years, so the story goes, two forces arose to oppose the darkness. One, its name still unknown to this day, gathered up the inhabitants of the surviving worlds and bore them here to safety in Andromeda. The second formed a line in the space between the stars and held the darkness at bay just long enough for the migration to be completed.

  These were the Rangers, the Galactic Knights of the Milky Way. They were sworn to uphold justice and to battle evil wherever they may encounter it. “Might for Right”, a way of life born uncountable centuries before any of them had first drawn breath, was their holy credo.

  By the hundreds of thousands, these brave men and women held that line. Led by the greatest Ranger of them all, Galen Underwood , who stood bravest and tallest of them all at the forefront of that line and refused to yield even one inch of space to the dark force.

  Wave after wave of Rangers fell. Wave after wave of Rangers rising to take their place just as quickly until only one Ranger remained. Galen Underwood died spitting challenge as he charged alone at the darkness.

  The precious time the Rangers had bought was enough. By the time the evil force had reached the furthest outposts of humanity in the Milky Way, its planets no longer held any form of life upon their respective surfaces. Every man, women, child and living creature had all been carried away to safety.

  Now, in this Fourth Age, many believe these stories of the Dark Force, the Rangers and their heroic stand and the great migration to Andromeda are nothing more than a myth. They look into the night sky where this Murky Way, as it is now called, is supposed to be and see nothing but the cold black of space. That galaxy, and the supposed lost birth world of the Hominids are nothing more to them than bedtime stories told to frighten recalcitrant children.

  “Behave,” they are told. “Or the Dark Force will eat you like it did the Murky Way!”

  But a few actually remember, and they believe the stories. They believe them and they pass them on to those who are willing to listen.

  Because, they say, should that darkness ever again find the descendants of the Murky Way, there should be those ready to stand against it once more. The Andromeda galaxy will need sons and daughters willing to become a new breed of Rangers. To be the Knights of the Andromeda Galaxy, ready to battle the darkness that lay beyond the stars. And, until that day, be ready to battle the darkness that lay within the hearts of any given Hominid male or female.

  And to do so in the old way.

  Galen’s Way.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Are you Captain Galen Dwyn of the Tempest?”

  Hard, brown eyes glanced up from the tumbler of whiskey, taking in the well-dressed intruder standing beside the table.

  “I suppose that all depends,” Galen replied, casually drawing his blaster from its holster within his brown leather jacket. With the same sense of ease, he set it down on the table in front of him, pointed directly at his inquisitor. “If you are here to hire my services or to die trying to arrest me?”

  The standing man held his hands out slowly and made no sudden moves, his eyes drawn to the deadly weapon. The reputation of the weapon owner’s was well-known across several systems.

  “Dangerous in any setting” he’d been told by everyone that he’d encountered when asked about Galen Dwyn. The women almost always remarked about his other qualities.

  Short black hair and beard enhanced the hawkish look of Galen’s face. Even seated he projected an air of a tall, muscular man who could handle himself in any kind of fight. A mercenary with a reputation for finishing every job he took on, no matter how many bodies he had to pile up in order to do it.

  “I am here to hire you, Mr. Dwyn,” he assured as calmly as he could. “My name is
Adalwin Harmool and I have a very lucrative proposition for a man of your… reputation and particular skill set.”

  “Call me Galen,” Dwyn replied smoothly, picking the weapon back up. He waved the formidable-looking blaster at Harmool to take the other seat at the table before returning it to its holster. “You may end up having to hire me twice, Harmool, if you’re not careful.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Harmool asked as he claimed the indicated seat with a puzzled expression.

  “You’re far too over-dressed for a dump like this,” Galen explained. “I count at least eight men and three women who have already sized you up to rob you. Two or three of them might not even wait until you’ve walked out the door to do it at that. At least one of them has likely already decided to kill you, even if you hand everything over without a fight.

  “You aren’t armed,” Galen continued dispassionately, “which means you’re going to have to hire me to make sure that you do walk out of here. Unless you prefer getting carried out in a body bag instead? And that is assuming, of course, that I even take the job you came in here to hire me for in the first place.”

  “Charming place,” Harmool looked around, suddenly uncomfortable.

  “I like it,” Galen said with a shrug. “So, what’s the job?”

  “Is there somewhere we can talk more…privately, perhaps?”

  As taverns on Cukier went, the Dionysus’ Den was among the less disreputable and easily the most-frequented on the planet. Despite being the only such place in the fourth-largest land mass on this out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere world, there was a smaller than average crowd on hand for the time of the night.

  The far corner of the tavern, where Galen had taken up station, however, was relatively empty. Aside from the trio of grungy-looking scavengers from Persidian, seated at a table six feet away and—judging by the smell—a few days overdue for a shower, no one else was within earshot. With a bemused look at Harmool, Galen turned his attention to the Persidians’ table.

  “That table,” he announced in a lazy tone that bordered on utter boredom, “is reserved, and your name isn’t on the maître d’s list, gentlemen. I suggest you find another one. Maybe nearer to a pigsty?”

  The Persidian seated in the middle said something in a language Harmool had never heard before. Clearly though, Galen had.

  “At least my mother had some standards,” Galen said with a smile. The offended Persidian immediately leapt from his seat, drawing a lethal-looking sidearm as he rose to his feet.

  But, even before he could level his weapon, a blast of green energy struck him squarely in the chest, hurling him back into the wall with a sickening crunch. The man slid to the floor, dead, and his stunned companions could only gape at the sight. Harmool had been watching Galen the entire time. Yet it seemed to him as if Galen’s blaster had instantly appeared in his hand and had been fired almost as quickly.

  “Pick up your friend,” Galen ordered the remaining Persidians, “and get out. Get to your ship and leave. I don’t want to see you anywhere in orbit by the time I leave here.”

  The pair quickly collected their dead comrade and scrambled for the exit. With no further shooting eminent, the remaining patrons returned to their chosen diversions. The tavern keeper approached, setting an unopened bottle of whiskey and two relatively clean glasses on the table.

  “For the inconvenience, Mr. Dwyn,” he added a slight bow before turning away.

  “Charming place,” Harmool repeated.

  “Cheer up,” Galen replied, downing the drink in his glass before reaching for the bottle. “Your odds of leaving here alive just improved, even if you don’t hire me.”

  Galen poured both of them a drink, slid one glass toward Harmool, and took the other in his hand.

  “This is a private as it’s going to get in here,” he downed the whiskey in one neat shot. “What’s the job?”

  Harmool drained his own glass as he took a quick look around.

  “I am the Chamberlain for the Court of their Majesties King Iodocus and Queen Darieann of Salacia,” Harmool began, keeping his voice low. “I am here regarding an urgent matter. And it is one of some delicacy as well.”

  “What happened?” Galen quipped, pouring them both another shot. “Did someone steal the Crown Jewels?”

  “In a manner of speaking, Mr. Dwyn, that is precisely what has happened. The Princess Rhiannon, their only child, was kidnapped on her way to a conference to formally represent the Crown for the first time since coming of age and she is being held for ransom.”

  “The name’s Galen,” he downed the shot and poured another shot. “How embarrassing for your head of security. I assume he died of shame shortly after the kidnapping occurred? A sudden ingestion of lead or did you roll out the Royal Guillotine?”

  “Of course,” Harmool confirmed. “And it was by firing squad. Such incompetence deserves no less a punishment. So far, news of the abduction has not gotten out beyond the walls of the Grand Palais. But eventually, if she is not returned and soon, word will eventually get out. Especially as the formal celebration of her 21st cycle is coming up in one lune.”

  “How much are they asking for her to be returned?”

  “Five million.”

  “In untraceable aurox slips, I assume?”

  “You assume correctly, Mr…Galen.”

  “Seems a cheap enough price to pay,” Galen remarked. “Especially given the billions of aurox bars that must be piled up inside your treasury. The King probably goes through five million slips on petty cash expenditures every week. Why don’t you just pay up and be done with it?”

  “There are one or two political considerations that make paying the ransom impossible,” Harmool replied.

  “And they are…?”

  “Their Majesties are concerned that paying the kidnapper would only encourage further attempts from others, especially if word ever got out.”

  “That’s one. What’s the other?”

  “Their Majesties have reason to believe that Apam Napat is behind the abduction.”

  “Napat?” Galen leaned back in his chair with a soft whistle. “Now, why would the Chancellor of the Alliance want to kidnap your Princess?”

  “I’m afraid I am not at liberty to divulge that information to you. Suffice it to say, that we hope to find the evidence to support that belief once the Princess has been safely recovered and returned home.”

  “I doubt Napat sent in a legion off the Bata’van to capture one fair princess,” Galen replied.

  “That would have been a little too obvious, yes,” Harmool agreed. “Nor did he employ his intelligence service to do the deed.”

  “Eldereef’s Salararius?” Galen said dourly, not adding that he’d once been recruited by the organization of spies a few years back, just before he’d severed his ties with the Bata’van. “I’m not sure that would be their style. So, assuming Napat didn’t do it personally, who has the Princess, and where can I find them?”

  “Her kidnapper’s name is Dunstan Vedastus.”

  Galen leaned forward and cast a sharp glare at Harmool.

  “Which means she’s being held on Nammu. That whole planet just happens to be an impenetrable fortress you know.”

  “That is quite correct and now you know why we cannot simply send our own fleet to recover her,” Harmool stated. “Not a single ship would even reach the outer edge of the planet’s atmosphere, and she’d be dead long before that anyway.”

  Galen nodded in agreement. Nammu was a water world with one and only one body of land visible above the surface. Sunlight never shone upon its waters as it was covered in clouds. The weather was consistent though. It was always raining everywhere on Nammu.

  Beyond its stormy atmosphere the planet was shrouded in a shield of asteroids that orbited the planet. Mines and sensors had been sewn among the rocks leaving only one small passage for a ship to safely navigate through. Any uninvited guests who attempted to run that passage were greeted with laser fire that would cu
t a ship to pieces in seconds.

  “What makes you think I can get past Vedastus’ defenses?”

  “Because I have heard of your reputation of getting in and out of places that, shall we say, are not open to the general public,” Harmool answered. “And if even half of the exploits that you are rumored to have been involved with are true, then you are most definitely the man we need for this task.”

  “This isn’t going to be easy,” Galen replied. “I can’t just walk up, knock on his door and ask for the Princess with a pretty please and a big smile.”

  “This is understood,” Harmool slowly reached into his pocket, withdrew a chip and held it out to Galen. “We are prepared to compensate you for the difficulty of the task.”

  Galen took the chip, withdrew a reader from his vest, and slipped it in.

  “Ten million aurox bars,” Galen whistled softly again. When he looked back up Harmool had another chip in his hand.

  “That one is for taking the job,” Harmool said. “This one is for twenty million aurox bars, and it’s yours when you return our Princess home to Salacia alive.”

  The first ten million bars alone was more than enough for the job. The extra twenty million smacked of something else being required. Galen studied the readout before vocalizing the question that the bonus had raised.

  “What do you want done with Vedastus, after I have recovered the Princess?”

  “As I said,” Harmool replied, returning the second chip to his pocket. “We do not want word of this, offense to their Majesties, to get out. Ever.”

  Galen had killed men before, always in self-defense, as he had just demonstrated earlier with the Persidian. But he’d never been paid to kill a specific man before. It was a fine line between being a smuggler, and a mercenary, as opposed to being an assassin. But in the case of Vedastus that line was non-existent for him.

  Galen pressed the green button on the reader’s screen, accepting the contract and the payment. His account was instantly credited with ten million aurox bars. He was suddenly a very wealthy man. Now he had to go out and earn it. Harmool rose from his seat.