Nameless

Nameless

Elle Pepper

Phoenix Voices Publishing

Copyright © 2024 by Elle Pepper

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 as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact Phoenix Voices Publishing, 7901 4th St. N, St. Petersburg, FL, 33702, 727-222-0090.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Elle Pepper asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Elle Pepper has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks, and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

Contents

Dedication

Forward

Translation Circuit On

Rican

A New Mandate

The Decision

Cult of N4m31355

Called Up

Ambushed

Captain’s Log

Security

Best Pilot

The Man Called Magic

Medicine

Old Friends

Old Enemies

Maiden Voyage

Walker of the Sands

Nameless

Conversations

Strange

The Dream of the Walker

Captain's Log

Sabotage, Sabotage

Security

AJ

Double Trouble

Captain's Log

The Real Man

Once an Avenger

tick tick tick

The Planet

Statues

The Living Stone

Fallen

The Story of the First

Aftermath

Quarantine Log

Captain's Log

About the Author

To Ken Kuhlken.  ADIOS!

Forward

Chronologically speaking, this book happens early in the timeline. This is after the war, but before the USL, the planetary government of Earth has become solid. They are about to hold their first elections after the revolution that got rid of the OSU or Ground patrol. The patrol itself has been disbanded except on Terra itself. On Earth, or Terra, as the snowy wreck is now called, they have the authority to enforce the law, and they can conscript anyone to do it.

Among these conscripts are Units or Black Tunics dressed entirely in black, they are seen as not just non-human but they are treated like robots and furnishings, they are deemed to be non-sentient and thereby are not allowed to marry, carry money, have children or basically do anything that is not part of their job.

While technically they can be reinstated after being a Black Tunic, it has never happened. Once they are stripped of their rights, they never get them back. Some places refuse to adhere to the Black Tunic codes and are actively pushing to have them repealed.

Among those races is the Girati. These space-faring people live in gigantic Generation ships and because they spend so little time in gravity, they age so slowly that a man or woman of over a hundred is just shy of middle age. The farther ‘out’ towards the rift they go, the more likely they will be to have trouble acclimating as a human.

Raised with a strict moral code that forbids killing without absolute necessity, and requires prayers and obligations for the dead, they are a close-knit community of travelers.

The easiest way to tell a spacer is to watch how they move. If a man stands straight and walks solidly, he or she is not space-born. The spacers stand lightly, shoulders rolled, and knees bent in case the gravity should fail and they have to kick off.

Among the Races of the USL, the three most superstitious that are commonly seen are related. The Kin, those who live in the snows of Terra, the Girati, who fly the stars, and Keepers of the way, sometimes called Shedda or Singer of Sand all three groups trace their lineage back to Earth before the Great War in this case, the Galactic War.

The OSU at this point in history is still fighting to regain what they have lost, and are convinced that they will rise again. But their xenophobic tendencies is why they were overthrown in the first place, they had boiled ‘human’ down to a few dozen sets of base pairs. And anyone not found within those sets was considered to be less than they were, inhuman, and unworthy of entry into their select club.

Unfortunately, the strict adherence to the base pair law nearly killed the Human race, as they teetered, perilously close to not having any genetic diversity. Those considered not ‘pure’ took to ships and left. The first to leave was the PC, the Psychic Conglomerate a group of humans gifted with Psychic ability and limited prescience to whom the Girati trace their lineage.

These ships, called by the Girati First Fleet or the First Ships were said to have vanished into the rift at the end of the galaxy and returned a thousand years later, while only a hundred had passed for the rest of the worlds. (That at least is the story told among the Girati, and the rift is known for Time Dilation, so that much is true.) How much of this is fiction, we don’t know. We do know that only a few of the First Fleet came back and when they did, they were changed, it was their voyage in the rift that turned them into the Girati, that much all stories hold, but how where and why they came to have the Stones that run their ship, no one, not even the Girati remember.

Translation Circuit On

Duty log: USLS 2019, No name

Captain: Tyrell Hanson.

What follows is the true and complete log of the incident called Nameless, and what follows is hereby classified deep black. The circumstances of the aforesaid incident are not to be discussed outside the members of the crew. No government official has clearance to discuss this without both Captain Hanson and Major Hunter in attendance.

Furthermore, the incidents after the launch shall not appear in any file, redacted or not. Under authority of the charter, nor shall any action mentioned in this account be counted against those of the crew unless they have been charged with a crime under the statute of law. And then only the incidents by which their guilt or innocence may be known will be given, all other actions so noted will not be held against any party.

Furthermore, though the accolades and awards stand, there is to be no mention of the incident in official record or file. Just a verification number so that future commands may know that the accolades and awards are true and correct but the incident in question has been officially disavowed by any member of the government without clearance to speak.

Furthermore, it is hereby written that Pilot Abigail Hughes is awarded the Meritorious cross, the silver star for gallantry, and the Galactic award for duty to her ship and crew in the face of immeasurable danger. All of these are to be awarded posthumously, and her husband will also be recognized by the colonial star with cluster for his bravery in saving her life.

Furthermore, the incident which gave her the injury heretofore mentioned, and that killed her husband shall be investigated, and any found to be in violation shall pay under penalty of law. Her true and living kin shall be given her inheritance, and in her name, a likely pilot candidate will be inducted into the Academy from a colony world where they would not otherwise be able to enter due to poverty or class status on their world.

Her dead name shall be stricken forthwith from all documents, and reports, any filed under the improper name will be sent back with the notice, No such being.

The account that follows is true and as complete as the data and memory allow.

Rican

The air was acrid, the fans, condensers, and regulators were offline, leaving the stench of burned skin and hair mingling with the scent of scorched metal and plastic as the ship shook again.

The Weapons array was offline and now they had been given the ‘‘come to and prepare to be boarded" speech. He’d be damned if he’d let these upstart separatists have his ship.

Abandon ship! He yelled at the two surviving officers on the bridge. Most of the rest of the crew were dead, dying, or already gone. His ship, this ship, was named for his father, and he was going down with it, better than rotting in some prison for the next forty cycles, if he lived long enough to get there.

But sir. Not that Ergan wanted to die, but he certainly didn’t want to be accused of desertion. So he had to at least pretend to make a protest. He was only here because they conscripted him, forcing him into service with the last people he ever wanted to serve with.

That’s an order. Abandon ship, I’m going to scuttle her.

The young officer, he hadn’t taken time to learn the name of, he’d only been on the ship a week, ran without so much as a ‘yes sir’ or a salute, it figured, he’s a colonial, probably threw in with separatists.

A few minutes later, the captain was the only crew member on the ship. With the engines locked and the helm being controlled from the bridge, there was nothing else to do. He was going to send her into the atmosphere and let her burn up on the way down. He thought that there was no one who could stop him. OSU ships, however, had a serious flaw. If you were small enough, the ship couldn’t lock onto you. But you had to be very small, not much bigger than a human person, really. But if you were really lucky, really fast, and slightly insane, you could get past the sensors and onto the ship.

Only one vehicle was both small enough and fast enough to work, Gravity Boards, often called ‘glide boards’ able to be ridden down like a parachute. They would keep them at speed, but allow a controlled descent.

And of course, air tech helped too, in this case, Atmo bands. Capable of producing a bubble of air around the wearer and changing the gravity, they were a spacer’s best friend. All this took only minutes when executed flawlessly by the only IRT brave enough to do it. And it was done well before the sensors registered. Which is why Captain Rican didn’t know the IRT was there until he started getting hull breaches.

One in engineering, one in the corridor outside the bridge. The door was sealed, but it wouldn’t take long for them to override it. If he had known who they were, he would have been afraid, but he just saw them as blips on the screen. But it wasn’t until the door opened, under its own power, that he became afraid. Most IRT would just blow the lock and force the door open, but these guys hacked the door, or, more likely, just overrode it.

They were a legend to both sides, crazy enough to glide board onto a ship to keep her out of the atmosphere, but cleared enough to force open a locked door with a few keystrokes and a passkey.

It had taken them less than five minutes to override the locks, something that shouldn’t be possible, especially on a ship at defense condition Alpha. And they came streaming in.

First came the king of Hearts, then came a pixie, then came Orion, the god for whom the constellation was named, and then; then came the leader, the grim reaper himself.

These were not costumes or low-grade holos. These were Glams. The name reserved for the most high-tech holo-skins available. They moved seamlessly and you could even touch the wearer and not disrupt it. The eyes blinked, the mouths moved, and in all ways the glam reacted like human skin. A holo-skin had somewhere between four and fifty-four hours of use time, depending on the model. The captain couldn’t take his eyes off of them, telling them to get off his bridge. They made no reply, or even acknowledgement of him being there. It was only his good fortune he didn’t rise to meet or attack them.

They entered in twos, a half-second apart, fanning out from the door, point and guard around the room, checking the bodies and keeping the captain covered with energy weapons. There were never less than two weapons pointed at him as they walked around the room, checking behind consoles and taking their places.

They all walked like spacers, but the Grim Reaper most of all, hands pulled in, shoulders rolled, knees bent, ready to kick off. It was a habit borne of long practice in space. There was little doubt between that, and the red crystal the creature wore, that under the hologram was a Girati.

The team worked seamlessly; they spoke carefully with the ease of long practice, and there were no names, just handles.

And as he sat there, watching them swarm his bridge, Captain Rican got the sinking feeling he knew just who these insane people were. Led by a Girati no one ever saw, bearing the handle Reaper, and the way they had boarded the ship without warning, led him to the possibility, but the clincher was the language, something that wouldn’t translate. A language known only by the team. This could be none other than the Avengers. The legendary Black Pack. As far as insertion and retrieval teams went, these guys were a cut above.

They were fast, lucky, crazy and very, very good at their jobs. These were the people you called when there was no one else. There were more than the ones he saw here, he knew that, but they practiced squad routine, breaking into smaller groups as needed. He figured just as many were in engineering, and maybe a few in the bays to make sure no shuttles could be launched. It took less than two minutes for them to secure the bridge.

After two had sat down at the con stations, moving the bodies of the dead carefully and pausing to say a prayer for them, one of the figures finally spoke, reaching up to their collar to make sure the translator was working. He’s the only life form sir. It was the first phrase in Standard.

Standard had once been English, or so they said, but now it sounded like English learned by someone who first learned Russian, Chinese and Farsi. The dialect the Grim Reaper