Far From Home, page 1
Far From Home
John Walker
Copyright © 2023 John Walker
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
DISCLAIMER
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This story contains explicit language and violence.
Blurb
Seth thought he had his life all planned out. After retiring from the Marines, he sought a career in the private sector. Moving up the corporate ladder proved harder than he thought, and when he suddenly loses his job, he wonders if he might be wasting his life.
Until a car accident changes it forever. Finding himself marooned on an alien prison planet, he must team up with a rebel in order to survive. But the environment isn’t the only hazard to overcome with bloodthirsty genetic anomalies and dangerous inmates on the prowl. It seems the only way to survive is to escape the planet, if he can find the necessary allies and equipment to achieve the impossible.
For no one’s escaped Lakon Prison before. But then, they never tried to cage a Marine.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Epilogue
Prologue
Sparks showered down from the ceiling as power conduits burst. Debris pattered against the floor like a hard rain on tin. Fire squeezed through the seams on every compartment, threatening to consume the narrow hallway as all internal systems failed—including the flame suppressors.
Davon Sarl stopped at the mouth of the corridor. He gazed over the carnage, watching as floor plates bucked from varying pressure. The whole compartment might open into space at any moment, but he didn’t have a choice. They had illegally docked the ship against a storage cube at the other side.
Olarin forces would be on them at any moment. A dozen soldiers, possibly more from multiple angles. Davon thought they had plenty of time to escape until he came upon the hazard before them. Every moment he hesitated cost them precious time. Not only to get to the ship, but to flee as well.
Their sabotage had brought down the defenses. Unfortunately, it proved far more effective than anticipated, going so far as to cause a chain reaction through the power system. One more explosion might’ve taken out the reactor powering the space station, killing everyone onboard.
Looking down the passage made Davon feel old. He’d been operating as a rebel against the Olarins for the better part of three decades. His joints ached, and he struggled to take a deep breath in the vicinity of so much smoke. The charred electrical systems didn’t help. His whole body groaned as he considered what to do next.
Sweat soaked his short, gray hair. He mopped his face with his left hand, racking his brain for any alternative. The security forces pursuing them would do just about anything to catch them. Death was the only item on the menu as well. After a short, agonizing interrogation.
He’d been through those before too. Five to be exact. All of them took place on planets though, which tended to be easier to escape. Eventually. The first two involved long prison stretches. His allies helped cut them short, but not before he spent a few months in what the Olarins considered hard labor.
Thinking about running through the gauntlet ahead of him, Davon’s body remembered those days of working himself nearly to death.
Weapon fire drew his attention to the left. Energy carbines wheezed before popping out a condensed blast of plasma. Albon Shaw, Davon’s accomplice, jogged backward toward him. He struggled to catch his breath while bending at the waist.
“They’re close,” Albon gasped. “We really need to… go.” He looked over the corridor. “What’re we going to do about that?”
“I don’t know,” Davon said. “We don’t have a lot of choices though. It’s head through there or surrender.”
“We could fight,” Albon replied. “I took two down just a moment ago. Put them on the defensive. They’re currently in cover right now, the cowards.”
Davon shook his head. “Even if we tried, we’d still not get to the ship. No, we need to run. Put our heads down and go or…” He sighed as the floor rumbled under their feet. “I don’t know if I can make it.”
“What’re you talking about?” Albon’s orange-yellow eyes burned with all the intensity of youth. He’d only just started working with the rebels. His planet had been subjugated by them, brought low after countless years of autonomy. They hadn’t even known about other space faring cultures prior to the invasion. “You’ve got the same chance as me.”
“Not remotely.” Davon thrust the package into Albon’s hands. “Listen to me. I don’t want you to argue. I’m in command so consider this a direct order. You get yourself back to the Grezha and take this to our contact. It is vitally important this gets back to base. No matter the cost, alright?”
“You’re coming with me,” Albon insisted. “I’ll carry you if I have to.”
“I’m going to buy you some time.” Davon heard footsteps approaching. “You put them on the defensive for only a minute. They’re moving again, and if we’re both running, they’ll just stand at the mouth of this tunnel and kill us. I have to hold them off for you.” He held up his hand to stave off a protest. “Literally the only way.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Albon shouted. “Come on, we can just—”
“Go.” Davon shoved him. “Right now! Move your little ass before I kick it!”
“Damn you, Davon.” Albon shook his head emphatically before turning away. “Spirits damn you!”
I know how you feel. Davon sighed. He drew his weapon, checking it over before aiming in the direction of the approaching forces. The first of them darted around the corner. His weapon huffed, throwing a ball of plasma directly into the man’s chest.
The purple shot sizzled his armor, boiling his insides. A gurgling cry erupted from him as he slammed against the wall then slid to the floor.
Other weapons poked around the corner, firing back. Davon did his best to take cover. It wouldn’t matter for long. With eight guns shooting at him, the best he could do was keep them from charging. The charred remains of their companion helped to present the gravity of what might happen to them.
But soon, they wouldn’t have a choice. Olarin high command would have serious questions about any man that allowed the information to escape the station. Each of those soldiers throwing shots around the corner had to be feeling the urgency of the situation. The longer they dallied, the better chance Albon had of escaping.
The breaking point came. Davon heard them shout something in their battle language, the one thing his universal translator wouldn’t interpret for him. All of the soldiers came pouring out with a scream. The first two died instantly. Before he could get off a third set of shoots, he took some plasma to the left arm.
Armor tended to be for environmental damage. Debris, fires, sparks, grazes. Plasma weapons went right through all but the heaviest of versions. Many people still used projectiles. They were less expensive, easy to get, and their ammunition only penetrated organics. All forms of defense protected against that.
Davon didn’t have the luxury of any protection. His clothes melted into his skin as he flopped down to the floor. He swore he felt his bones fuse with muscle, melting into the metal deck. Another shot got him in the gut and a third in the chest. He couldn’t breathe. Something boiled near his face… his chest and heart.
Darkness took him a moment later. He expired before the plasma made it all the way through his body.
***
Albon threw himself into the hallway at a full sprint before he understood exactly what was going on around him. The floor buckled directly beneath his feet, compelling him forward. He landed hard on the deck but kept the pace of a full run. The walls bulged around him. Fire made the whole area hot, consuming the air until he struggled to breathe.
Maybe Davon couldn’t have made it after all. He still cursed the old man for not even trying. He’s not going to buy me much time. At the rate he was compelled to move, he figured he’d be across faster than he thought. Or die when the place disintegrated. I need to be at the ship before that happens.
Once that corridor went, a variety of safety seals would fall in place. Getting through the door and into the storage compartment meant survival. Anything less involved a horrifying death, not to mention failing the mission. One of the most important in the history of the rebellion against Olarin oppression.
Thirty more paces. That’s all it would take. As the power conduits burst, the explosions made his ears ring. Despite that, he still managed to hear the gurgling cry of his friend and mentor. Davon’s end lasted nearly ten seconds… which was a ll Albon needed to reach the next section.
The last floor panel before the threshold lurched upward, throwing Albon through the doorway. He slammed into the wall, sinking to the floor. The motion saved him from a plasma blast that would’ve taken his head clean off. He scampered away to cover around the corner while the computer signaled an alarm.
Everything trembled as the seals fell into place behind him. The corridor must’ve collapsed. The storage chamber happened to be connected via tubes linking it to the primary structure. Without them, he would’ve drifted into space. That wouldn’t have been such a terrible thing though he would’ve been holding his breath.
Albon crawled to his feet then stumbled into the storage area. Their makeshift opening stood across the way. He hurried over, tapped in the access code then stepped aboard their vessel. It wasn’t much. Two seats in the cockpit, a small twenty by twenty space for meals, and two cots.
The Engineering section was small enough that he had to crouch when he went down there. A few weapons took up the rest of the space, though they were after market. Meaning the generators and equipment required to support them occupied a storage room and what should’ve been for Medical.
Davon had stolen the ship years before from an Olarin dockyard. It was equipped for transatmospheric flight with retractable wings, two main thrusters, and maneuvering rockets across the front, bottom, and top. The cockpit was transparent steel though it could dim to protect the occupants from dramatic flashes or faster than light travel.
It served as a small transport vessel for dignitaries before the rebels got hold of it. They added the weapons, defenses, and armor for versatility. Davon made some modifications as well though they weren’t holding. Years of punishing service meant the Ghreza was both tough, and in desperate need of some real time at a shipyard.
Albon secured the door then moved through the short hallway to the pilot’s seat. When he sat down, muscle memory took over. He disengaged the magnetics securing them to the station then fired up the thrusters. As the procedure began, he turned to look at the empty chair beside him.
The weight of his friend’s absence filled him with a sense of dread. I don’t know how I’m going to make this happen. A lack of choice didn’t make it any easier to fathom. When the ship began to drift, he pressed the throttle forward to compel himself away from the station. He needed some distance before he could initiate a jump to light speed.
Defenses came online right when the computer warned him about incoming weapon fire. Turrets from the station opened up on him. He performed evasive maneuvers, which effectively meant cutting hard to one side then the other with the flight stick. The first two shots got him.
Shields held, though they dipped significantly. The Olarins didn’t launch any ships to chase him though. That seemed odd. Along with the fact they attacked rather than attempted to capture. Why did they kill Davon? They should have wanted to keep him alive for interrogation.
The old man probably made it a matter of them or him. Shooting at them until they had no choice but to obliterate him to stay alive themselves. That gave Albon some satisfaction, though panic took over when the shields dipped to less than forty percent. He figured they only needed to get him three more times to knock them out completely.
Twenty more seconds. Albon spun to buy himself the time. He didn’t even care where he was going as long as he got far away from there. I need the chance to take a breath. Ten seconds more. Two turret shots battered the hull, knocking his defensive shields down completely.
“Warning,” the computer stated, “environmental shields critical. Damage to internal systems. Diagnostic running. Warp speed in five… four…”
Don’t have time to find out now. Red lights flashed on the scanner screen to his left, indicating a solid lock from the turrets. They won’t have time to get here. At that distance, they needed a few seconds to travel. The ship began to rumble as the viewscreen went dark. Engines whined as he was thrown away from the Olarin station.
Just as life support went down.
Perfect timing. Albon rose from his seat, hurrying toward Engineering. I’ve got an hour to get that online or I’ll suffocate. From one fire to the next. And he didn’t even know where he was going. Anywhere’s better than there. Thought that wasn’t necessarily true. I’ll make do regardless. If I survive the trip.
Chapter 1
Seth Levy had put up with a lot of shit over the years. Fifteen of those spent in the Marine Corps. He grew numbed to the worst of it. Unnecessary bureaucracy, excessive politics, officers playing favorites, and everything in between. He thought leaving the service would be a breath of fresh air.
Instead, he found himself mired in the same crap with even less integrity. The private sector sucked. Places claimed to want veterans. He’d even been excited when he first entered the labor force. The way recruiters worded their posts gave him hope for the future. Like he had a place in civilian life.
Most of it turned out to be little more than propaganda. Whether they got some kind of award for placing vets or even some kickbacks from the government, they were meeting a quota. Meaning hiring managers got pushed by their HR departments to ensure they prioritized ex-military, even at the expense of qualification.
Unofficially, of course. Discriminating caused just as many problems as passing over a patriot.
Seth had experienced plenty of skepticism from co-workers during the first few jobs. He had hopped between a few companies before settling down at a place he hoped would be the last for a while. One of the reasons he left the military was to get away from the uncertainty of where he’d be living.
Not that he was desperate to put down roots, but a little predictability might’ve been nice. Leaving the military didn’t bring it for him though. After leaving the first couple jobs for various reasons, he found himself jumping around just as much as before. The only differences came down to the fact he got to keep the same apartment and he didn’t get as much respect.
A captain in the Marines earned their place. Their subordinates generally knew what it took to climb the ranks. Yes, some officers were douchebags, and the enlisted guys gave them shit. But the ones with some clout, the guys hitting the dirt with the other Marines, they got it. And Seth appreciated the camaraderie.
Aside from some guys going out for drinks, the private sector didn’t bother with anything resembling loyalty within a team. Everyone had their own things going on. Since they weren’t exactly risking their lives, the bond was fragile. If it ever existed at all. People he thought of as friends barely remembered his name a few weeks after leaving the company.
Money hadn’t been too much of a problem. He had saved a lot from his military salary. His expenses were under control, but none of it would last long. Finding a second career proved to be much more difficult than he anticipated. Near to impossible, in fact. Enter his latest experience.
The one that found him driving home at eleven in the morning on a Tuesday after only working a four-hour shift. He thought he might get into the information technology industry. His goal was leadership track, but to do that, he had to pay some dues. That started off at a service desk taking calls.
He picked up enough experience to be an advanced technician. The latest place he worked, an agency specializing in staffing, seemed like a decent option. Most of the people were cool, including the customers. Seth saw himself achieving his goal there, taking over a team as a lead. Maybe acting as a supervisor in a year or so.
Jeff Paulson worked as his direct manager. The guy’s work ethic sucked enough that Seth felt confident he’d easily excel in the same role eventually. He bided his time, waiting for an opportunity to apply for something similar. His record in the service would help. It certainly bolstered his resume.
The chance didn’t come. Not after a year of putting in some serious time. He asked about it, first to Jeff then to the next in line. He tried to adhere to the chain of command as best he could. Unfortunately, the civilian world wanted to work that way, but just didn’t. Their politics involved blatant backstabbing and a lot of gossip.
