Lieutenant Greg Alabaster (Adventures of the League Space Patrol Book 8) Page 5

  "I hate waiting," Angus replied. "It isn't in my nature."

  Max walked up and handed him a bag. Curious, he stuck a hand inside and removed a skein of yarn and a pair of knitting needles. "God bless you, milady," Angus said as he sat down on the ground and began to knit.

  Melinda looked at her deputy with a raised eyebrow. "I read about his hobby in that book Greg gave me."

  "Lady Penelope," Spent said. "We'd like to... Wilson, where is Lady Penelope?"

  Before the bot could answer, one of the SWAT team members guarding the perimeter stumbled in. "Lady Penelope hit me with a stun ray. She's heading to the building."

  "Dammit!" Greg said. "What the hell is wrong with her? Leona! I need a weapon!"

  "LT, you are not going in there alone!" Melinda ordered.

  "No, he's not," Leona said. She threw him a pistol. "The Alliance is going with him. Greg may not be Gregory Alabaster, but he's proven himself worthy of becoming a member, and members don't let other members face danger alone, right?"

  Four voices roared, "Right," in reply.

  "And neither does Space Patrol!" Melinda said as she, Max, and Spent drew their weapons. "Right?"

  The SWAT and Stryker teams roared, "Right!" in reply.

  "Nor does House Alabaster!" Wilson yelled. "Right?"

  "Right!" the security team yelled.

  A moment later, a crowd of heavily armed and pumped people followed Greg over the hill and into the building.

  ###

  When Greg ran through the door, he found Penny holding a weapon on a very confused Lord Gregory Alabaster. Around them lay dozens of security bots, many of which were smoking from the effects of the spent EMP grenade that lay nearby.

  "I guess the force field wasn't necessary," General Spent said. "Young lady, why don't you put the weapon down and let us have a little talk?"

  "Don't move, General, or this white-haired bastard dies."

  Greg put his weapon away, then sat down on a bot’s carcass. "Gregory, what the hell have you done now?" he asked his original.

  "Who... Who the hell are you?"

  "You're spare parts bin. Who the hell do you think I am?"

  "How... How did you get here? Who are these people?"

  "Why is your wife holding a disintegrator ray gun on you would be the first question that came to my mind," Greg said. "Lady Penelope, why do you want to kill Gregory?"

  "First, he slept with Tressa, then he took everyone away for 300 years. I've had it with his damn inflated ego."

  Greg looked at Tressa. "Scamp!"

  She smiled as she shrugged. "My bad."

  "Lady Penelope, can I ask the scoundrel a few questions before you turn him into plasma?"

  "Ask but be quick about it."

  "Gregory!" Greg asked. "What the hell happened?"

  "The home worlds called us back. War was breaking out and they needed us back to complete the experiment."

  Greg looked at the other Alliance members. "What the hell is he talking about?"

  They shrugged. "I have no idea," Angus replied. The others nodded agreement.

  "Great, just great," Greg said as he settled in for a long conversation.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "Gregory, what the hell are you talking about. The Alliance of Six is made up of mutated humans, emphasis on human. Hell, even you and I are mutants."

  "We're not mutants. All six of us are from a star system which is dozens of light-years away from here. We came here to learn to get along with each other and develop something akin to empathy, a characteristic all of our people sorely lack."

  "Why didn't we pick that up on our medical scans?" Melinda asked

  "We're genetically like humans. Just in case your technology developed to the point where you could detect DNA, all six of us carry nanoscopic robots which mask the differences without interfering with our natural biological functions.”

  "Go on," Greg said as a feeling of dread came over him. Somehow, he knew what was coming.

  "We explored Earth long before the Olympians, elves, dracos or Venlantens ever stepped foot on it. It was decided that it could be useful as a place of refuge in the event war broke out between the six races that shared our home world, so we planted portal generators both there, and in this system, which serves as a waypoint. About twenty years ago, war was about to break out, so the ruling councils of each race sent a volunteer to learn the meaning of servility. They came here where their memories of their past were replaced with ones of Earth..."

  "Thus, the clones in the storehouse. They were vessels used to store your memories while acting as reservoirs of spare parts," Greg surmised.

  "Yes, except for you. You were supposed to act as a backup in the event of my death. Upon my termination, a signal would be sent to activate your memories so that the mission could be completed."

  "So, what happened? Not to say I'm not happy to see most of you, but why are you all still here?"

  "When I got the message, I faked an emergency mission. Instead of being taken to some emergency, the team was brought here for decontamination and downloading of their original memories from their copies on Earth via a portal generator before traveling home to stop a war. I placed the others in their tubes before entering mine. I remember nothing since."

  Greg rubbed his nose. "General, are there any colonies farther out than this one?"

  "No, why?"

  "Just thinking out loud. Gregory! You and the rest of the alliance disappeared over 300 years ago. The League of Planetary Systems found all of you when a gang of security bots killed a whole bunch of people near here."

  Gregory and three of the alliance members sat down hard. "What... How..." He looked at Penny. "How is it you don't look like you've aged a day?"

  "Gregory! Focus!" Greg said. He typed something into his gauntlet and a string of numbers appeared floating in mid-air above his wrist. "Recognize these?"

  "They are the portal coordinates of the home world."

  "Dammit to every Hell in the book!" Greg yelled as he got up, walked over to Penney, and disarmed her.

  "How dare you, duplicate...!"

  "Shut up, Lady Penelope!" Every woman in the room yelled.

  "What is wrong?" Gregory asked.

  "There were two sets of coordinates stored in the portal we found in Leona's building. One was for Earth, and this was the other one. When we tried to open a portal, the system refused to activate the generator. When I bypassed the safeties, a portal opened up to a wall of intense heat and radiation."

  Gregory hung his head and began to weep. "The fools. They used a core damper on the home star."

  Greg shook his head. "Somebody initiated a nova by suppressing the star's core reaction."

  "What will we do now?" Gregory asked.

  Greg turned to Penny and whispered, "Go to him, damn you. He's your husband."

  She averted her eyes as she hurried over to comfort him.

  Greg said nothing as he walked out of the room and into the bright light of Ronskin-223.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Greg sat in the pilot's seat of the Zoetrope and stared out the forward windscreen at a passing dragon. His jaw clenched as he thought about the sheer insanity of using a weapon that could destroy a star system. His skin crawled at the thought that he came forth from such hatred.

  "Greg?"

  He turned and saw Lady Penelope standing in the doorway. "Milady? I thought you and the others had left for Earth."

  She sat down next to him. "Wilson, the security team, and the other members of the alliance have already left. Gregory is waiting for me. I wanted to say good bye and thank you before we left."

  "Thank me for what?"

  "Saving their lives, stopping me from killing Gregory, not doing what I really wanted you to do."

  "I see. Well, you are welcome. What are your plans?"

  "We talked to the Office of Security, and they want to resurrect the Alliance of Six. Something about their unique abilities being used to protec
t the League."

  "What of you?"

  "I'm going to be their boss."

  "And Gregory?"

  "We're working it out. He's still reeling from the loss of his people."

  "I'm glad to hear that. He's a good man at heart, and he loves you dearly."

  She smiled. "I guess you, of all people, would know." She got up and walked to the door. "I guess this is it."

  He got up, walked over and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. "Good journey, Lady Penelope Alabaster. You've earned it."

  She smiled, then walked out, leaving him to his musings.

  Greg sat back down in the pilot’s seat and returned to staring out the window.

  The intercom beeped. "Go for Alabaster."

  "This is Spent. Report outside immediately."

  "Yes, milady, on my way." He got up and walked out of the cockpit.

  When he got to the bottom of the ramp, he found the general, Marshal McKee, and Maxine waiting for him. He walked up, went to attention while snapping a sharp salute. "Lieutenant Alabaster reporting as ordered, milady."

  "At ease, LT," Spent said. "Greg, what are we going to do with you?"

  "I don't understand, milady."

  "The League is planning on reactivating the Alliance of Six. My superiors want to know if you plan to be part of it."

  "No, milady, I do not. Gregory mentioned it, but I flat-out declined. My place is here with Space Patrol."

  "Good choice, mister. Melinda and Max have requested you be reassigned to the Marshal Service as Chief Pilot. You will be shuttling VIPs between the four planets, running patrols, and taking the marshals and the sheriffs to hot spots. Interested?"

  "Yes, milady. Can we keep the Zoetrope?"

  "Consider it done. By the way, what the hell is a zoetrope?"

  "Back in my time, it was a device for viewing moving pictures. They were all the rage."

  "Excellent. Well, I have a transport waiting to take me to the Cube for a debriefing."

  "Back on Earth, milady?" he asked as he saluted.

  "Yep," she said, returning his salute, then sliding off to the waiting portal.

  "Greg?"

  "Yes, Marshal?"

  "Colonel Match, Captain Harcross, and their stryker team are being reassigned to the Ronskin-223 Marshal Service. Will that be a problem?"

  He shook his head. "No, milady. We're like one big happy family... Milady."

  She smiled. "Good. I'm going to have a confab with the sheriff. I will leave you in Max's capable hands..."

  "What!" the Alue exclaimed.

  "Brief him on what to expect when we get back to Maeve. What's with you today?"

  "I knew that! I'm fine, No problems, marshal!"

  "Good to hear. I'll be back shortly."

  When she left, Max just stood there and stared at Greg. "What?" he asked.

  "Nothing. Before she left, Leona had a talk with you. It looked like it got a little heated."

  "Oh, that. Gregory had pissed her off, and I was trying to talk her down."

  "Did she say anything to you?"

  "About what?"

  "About... Me?"

  "Nope. She did say she hopes I'm not a stranger. I get the impression they might like me."

  "What's there not to like?"

  He looked at her and tilted his head. "My cooking. I am a horrible cook. I eat food, I like food, but preparing it is a mystery to me."

  "I'm pretty good. Maybe I can give you a few pointers?"

  "I would like that, Ms. Wasatch." He took her arm in his. "How about that briefing?"

  She patted his arm. "Good idea."

  Above them, a dragon barrel-rolled between the clouds.

  <<<<>>>>

  About Frank Carey

  Frank Carey has been formally writing and publishing works of science fiction since late 2013. Over the years prior, he had dabbled in various forms of writing including haiku poetry, but that all changed when he and his wife, Jo, decided to try their hand at writing and self-publishing. All his work, to date, has been in the science fiction genre.

  Most of his stories take place about two centuries in the future when Earth joins the League of Planetary Systems. Many of his protagonists are strong females. He is an inveterate pantser who believes the story will go where the story wants to go.

  Frank’s background includes degrees in physics and extensive work as a scientific programmer and technologist.

  Frank and his wife produce a podcast—Xtreme Self-Publishing—which details their self-publishing efforts.

  Frank can be reached through his podcast at xtremeselfpublishing.podbean.com or via e-mail at elvenindustriespress@gmail.com or xsppodcast@gmail.com