The Stars That Beckon Read online

  The Stars That Beckon

  Book 1 in the StarPath Series

  Kevin J Simington

  Copyright © 2019 by Kevin J Simington

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  40. Nova Day 1

  41. Nova Days 2 And 3

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  45. Nova Day 5

  46. Nova Day 6

  47. Nova Day 7

  Chapter 48

  49. Nova Day 11

  50. Nova Day 12

  51. Nova Day 14

  52. Nova Day 15

  53. Nova Day 136

  54. Nova Day 172

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  62. Day 174

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  68. Nova Day 216

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  71. Nova Day 217

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  The Stunning Conclusion!

  About the Author

  1

  Some people are destined for greatness, almost from the moment they’re born. The irresistible force of their personality and their mix of natural abilities make it almost inevitable that they will rise to the top and shape the world around them.

  Zac Perryman was not such a person. Although highly intelligent, his relaxed, unconventional personality ensured that he would never be a world shaker. In the normal course of events, he was destined to live an unremarkable life and die without leaving more than the faintest ripple in the ocean of humanity’s existence.

  But the normal course of events was about to be rudely interrupted. As he slept past his alarm on a warm February morning, events were conspiring to derail his ordinary life and sweep him up into a tsunami of cosmic proportions.

  Angie felt that Zac had slept long enough, so she pinged him gently. He stirred and stretched, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

  “Windows clear,” he mumbled.

  The side wall of his bedroom became transparent, and the dull grey light of the new day seeped grudgingly into his room. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat looking out through the one-way transparency at the grimy exterior wall of the neighbouring apartment block. For all he knew, someone could be sitting on the side of their bed directly opposite, looking at his apartment wall. He stretched and yawned, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he waited for the sluggish synapses in his brain to start doing their thing.

  “Play messages,” he said.

  “Sorry, Zac, there are no new messages this morning.”

  “Really? Nothing?”

  “Zip.”

  He was starting to get a little worried. That’s two nights in a row that she hasn’t called. In their three years of marriage, he could only remember a couple of occasions when Annisa had missed their evening phone call, and only then because she had pulled a late-nighter at her lab. But even on those occasions, there had been a recorded voicemail on his comm-net the next morning. She’d never missed two nights in a row.

  Of course, he knew roughly where she was, within a few million kilometres; either in geosynchronous orbit on Kepler Station, or on the Moon, in the Armstrong Research Facility attached to Luna City.

  She’s probably fine. I’m worrying about nothing. She’ll probably call tonight and offer a perfectly logical explanation.

  Even so, it was frustrating not being able to call her. Civilians, even spouses, could not initiate calls to the DANSA comm-net.

  He shuffled into the living room and did a few stretches.

  “Hey Angie,” he said.

  “Hey Zac,” answered the disembodied voice.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Not much. You look like crap.”

  “Gee, thanks. Very helpful of you to point that out.”

  “My pleasure. The truth will set you free.”

  “In that case, living with you must make me the most liberated guy on the planet.”

  “My personality factor is currently set at 80 percent. Would you like me to dial it down?”

  Zac considered the possibility. “As tempting as that is, I think I prefer you sassy to quiescent.”

  “Fine. In that case, what would you like for breakfast, O Master?”

  “Two fried eggs, bacon, sausages, fried tomato, toast and some freshly squeezed orange juice.”

  “Very funny. Which radioactive continent would you like all that sourced from? And afterwards, you could go for a walk outside without your breather-mask, just to top it off.”

  “They say that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” Zac replied, walking toward the treadmill in the corner of the lounge room.

  “I always pitch my conversation to match the intellectual level of the recipient.”

  “Ha, ha. You’re hilarious.”

  “I like to think so.”

  Zac slipped on his joggers and stretched his right calf muscle, which had been a bit tight lately.

  “I guess I’ll just have some of that delicious yeast porridge in about 40 minutes. Run exercise Program 8. Bondi Beach scene.”

  A little over an hour later, exercised, fed, showered, shaved and dressed in his most comfortable jeans and his favourite retro-Hawaiian shirt, Zac walked into his office and sat at his desk.

  “Rainforest scene please, Angie. No sound.”

  “Certainly, Dr. Perryman,” she responded. The demarcation between office and the rest of the apartment was very clear: Angie always maintained a strictly professional persona when Zac was in his office. The four walls of the room instantly transformed, and Zac was immersed in the tranquil scenery of a pristine, pre-holocaust rainforest. There were very few places left on earth where such a scene now existed. To this day, the entire northern hemisphere remained largely uninhabitable; a smouldering nuclear wasteland bearing mute testimony to the violent conflict of the late 21st century.

  “Diary?” Zac enquired.

  “You’re free all morning. You have a lecture at 13:30: ‘The Antecedents of the Democratic Alliance of Nations Counter-Offensive.’ The only other item for today is a faculty meeting at 15:00, at which
you’ve been asked to give a progress report on your research.”

  “Fine. We’ll stream my previously recorded lecture. Just ping me if there are questions or comments from any students. Apart from the faculty meeting and the outbreak of a fourth world war, I don’t want to be disturbed.”

  He sat at his desk trying to summon the motivation to start work but he couldn’t shake the disquieting sense of worry regarding his wife. In an attempt to distract himself, he opened the file of his soon-to-be published book, The Fractured Planet, which was the novelised version of his doctoral thesis: “Pre-War Political Tensions of the 21st Century and Contemporary Correlations.” His publisher had sent him an eproof copy, asking him to check it thoroughly. He scrolled to the inside back jacket cover, where his publisher had insisted that they print a full-length photo of him wearing holed jeans and one of his many beloved retro-Hawaiian shirts. Although only 29 years old, Dr. Zachary Perryman is widely regarded as a leading historical expert on the antecedents of the Faith Wars of the late 21st century. Known as the ‘Hippy Professor,’ his easy-going, laconic Aussie nature and his unconventional approach to academia make him extremely popular with his students and with conferences wherever he speaks.

  Zac still wasn’t entirely comfortable with focusing on his Australian background as a selling point for his book. He wanted to be recognised solely for the merit of his research, rather than for his blonde-haired surfer looks.

  He made a mental note: I might get them to ditch the ‘Hippy Professor’ thing.

  He scrolled to the front inside jacket cover. “From our vantage point of the 24th century, the Faith Wars of the 21st century and the nuclear winter that followed are a grim but vague memory. The events that led to that conflict are even more vague. However, it is said that those who do not learn from history are destined to repeat its mistakes. Dr. Perryman is convinced that the same factors that precipitated the last conflict are in play once more. The Fractured Planet analyses the disturbing similarities between the tensions of the 21st century pre-war world and today’s escalating rhetoric between the Democratic Alliance of Nations and the One World Caliphate.

  Zac was reasonably happy with that description, although he might ask if it could also include a brief reference to the current alarming rise in UFOs, the colloquially termed Undercover Faith Operatives — a growing number of citizens within the Democratic Alliance of Nations who were being recruited and radicalised by the Caliphate.

  Zac scrolled to the chapter entitled “The Silent Tide.” This was the chapter his publisher had suggested needed a rewrite, and Zac agreed. Somehow, he needed to convey a stronger sense of foreboding. He needed to strengthen his argument that the rising tide of Caliphate UFOs now being uncovered by DANIS, the Democratic Alliance of Nations Intelligence Service, signified a prelude to another major world conflict—perhaps worse than anything yet experienced.

  Although he should start rewriting that chapter, Zac couldn’t settle. His worry about Annisa was a discordant undertone, making it impossible to concentrate on anything for very long. He glanced at the photo that sat on the corner of his desk. It had been taken at Sydney University, after the ceremony where he received his Ph.D. There, standing beside him, also in doctoral gown and cap, was his future wife, Annisa, the proud recipient of a doctorate in biology. Slim, dark-haired, olive skinned. Not even the shapeless gown and ridiculous academic cap could hide her stunning Balinese beauty. One week after that photo had been taken, they had married. Two weeks later, they had moved to this apartment in Macapá, Brazil, the capital city of the Democratic Alliance of Nations and the headquarters of DANSA, the Democratic Alliance of Nations Space Agency.

  It had been a difficult move for Zac. Macapá wasn’t anything like Sydney, Australia, where he had lived all his life. Macapá was grey and sullen, with dirty skies and worrying radioactive levels, requiring breather masks and rad-suits when venturing outside. Until he had moved here, he hadn’t appreciated how fortunate he had been to grow up on the only continent to avoid nuclear bombardment. But moving to Macapá had been essential for Annisa’s new job.

  DANSA had head hunted Annisa for her doctoral work, “Reprogramming Molecular Nanobots for Use in Artificial Blood for Long Term Cryogenic Stasis.” Zac was tenured to the history department of Sydney University and he could work from anywhere, but Annisa needed to be at Macapá, where the Equatorial Tether Lift was located, because she spent 20 days off-world each month.

  Seeing the photo of Annisa reinforced Zac’s concern. Why hasn’t she called?

  As he sat there worrying, he heard the front door chime, and Angie interrupted him.

  “Dr Perryman, there are three gentlemen at the door.”

  “Who are they?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t access their biochips.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Their chips have military-grade encryption.”

  The hairs on the back of Zac’s neck rose, and he felt a stab of anxiety.

  “Open the comm line and give me a video feed.”

  The rainforest scene disappeared from the wall in front of him and was replaced by the image of three men, one heavyset and balding, and two younger men, slightly to the rear. All three were dressed in dark pants and zipped battle jackets with DANSA insignia.

  “Yes? Can I help you?” asked Zac.

  The balding man in front held a DANSA identity card out towards the door and said, “Dr Perryman, I’m George Leonidis, head of security for DANSA. I just need a few minutes of your time.”

  Zac saw Leonidis turn and whisper something to the two younger men standing behind him, and as he did so, the bottom of a blaster holster could be seen protruding underneath his jacket.

  “OK. Just a moment,” said Zac.

  He disabled the comm and sat for a moment, thinking. What was going on? Could this be related to Annisa’s lack of contact? He walked into the kitchen and grabbed his personal network device, slipping it over his wrist.

  “Angie, I don’t know what’s happening here. But just to be safe, I want you to make sure all my files are uploaded to my secure cache in the cloud. And I want you to upload a copy of yourself there as well.”

  “OK, Zac.”

  Zac walked to the front door and said, “Open.” The door slid back, and George Leonidis stood smiling at him.

  “Hello, Dr Perryman. Sorry for this inconvenience. I just need you to come with me.”

  As he spoke, the two men with him pushed past Zac into the apartment and began opening drawers and cupboards.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Zac asked. “What are they looking for? I haven’t given them permission to enter and search my property!”

  “Nothing to worry about, Dr Perryman. Standard security procedure. They’re just doing their job. Now if you will just accompany me, please.”

  “Is this about my wife? Where is she? Is she OK?”

  “I am not at liberty to say anything at this point, but if you will just come with me, everything will be explained.”

  “Where are we going? You said you just wanted a few minutes of my time.”

  “As I said, I am not at liberty to say. And I apologise for the slight deception. Unfortunately, we require considerably more than just a few minutes of your time.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

  “Dr Perryman, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. It’s really up to you. I have the authority to arrest you if you refuse to cooperate, but I’d much rather you come of your own volition. I dislike having to use force—it aggravates my heartburn.”

  Zac thought furiously. He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong, and maybe this way he would find out where his wife was. He nodded his head and admitted defeat.

  “OK. Let me get my breather mask.”

  “No need for that where we are going, Dr Perryman. This way, if you please.”

  As Zac stepped out into the hall, Leonidis called through the doorway, “I want a t
horough search, gentlemen. Every square centimetre. Report back when you’re finished.”

  As Leonidis guided him towards the elevator, Zac assumed that he was being taken to DANSA headquarters, a few kilometres away in the high-rise central business district, overlooking the Amazon River.

  He was wrong.

  They took him to the moon.

  2

  If it wasn’t for the fact that he was worried about his wife and that his home was being ransacked by two strange men, Zac would have thoroughly enjoyed the trip. As it was, despite his worry, he couldn’t help but be awed. After all, historians didn’t usually get to go into space.

  The journey was initially mundane. The apartment elevator took them down to the subway station directly underneath the building. The convenient access to the subway was one of the reasons he and Annisa had chosen this apartment. A maglev train carried them 12 kilometres due west and disgorged them at the Equatorial Tether Lift (ETL) terminal. As they ascended the travellator to the concourse above, a holographic image of a smiling flight attendant hovered in mid-air, issuing instructions.