Renegades Read online

  © 2017 by T. Davis Bunn

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  PO Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Ebook edition created 2017

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-1177-1

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Praise for Recruits

  “Locke’s newest novel has everything that readers love. Both intelligent and fast-paced, Recruits draws readers in quickly and holds their attention throughout. . . . This is definitely a must-read!”

  —RT Book Reviews, 4½ stars

  “Recruits is an accessible, clean science fiction novel ideal for those looking for titles with heart, thoughtfulness, and family values.”

  —Foreword Reviews

  “Recruits, while outstanding, is a general market offering for those who enjoy science fiction. It’s supposed to ‘challenge young readers’ understanding of time, space, and human limitations,’ and it does so.”

  —Christian MARKET magazine

  “Locke’s imagination knows no bounds, and he successfully delivers a compelling tale of good versus evil and all the nuances in between.”

  —Best Reads blog

  “Recruits by Thomas Locke is a fast-paced and engaging read that fans of science fiction and fantasy will love!”

  —Five Stars blog

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Praise for Recruits

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  About the Author

  Books by Thomas Locke

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  1

  The back roads of Virginia had always been Landon’s best friend.

  In the months after his father died, Landon had started escaping the world by driving out here. It was incredible just how empty the Virginia countryside could be. The world smelled sweet as the first dawn. Out here, he could pretend his mother wasn’t hiding from life inside her prescription haze, that he wasn’t suffocating in his community college classes, that he really could look forward to something better.

  And finally, at long last, it did appear that he could. Look forward. Anticipate. Think of a future that was bigger than just getting by.

  For one thing, his uncle, the senator, had offered him a gig as an intern. With pay, no less. Starting in eight days.

  For another, he had been accepted at UVA. All his CC credits transferring. Scholarship. Not quite a full ride, but hey.

  Landon had already given his notice to FedEx and was at three days and counting. Then he was moving into his uncle’s garage apartment, spending a summer in Georgetown, working the Hill, learning what it meant to breathe the heady air of Congress in emergency summer session.

  There were two hours left to his eleven-hour shift. Landon had been at it since long before sunrise. Quick stops for breakfast at five thirty and lunch at eleven. His shoulders and neck and back were aching, but in a good way. He didn’t even mind the grainy feel behind his eyeballs or the way the truck’s cab was filled with the ripe smell of a long, hot day. Because he was saying goodbye. Not to the roads. He would always be coming back here. Hopefully someday to live. No, Landon Evans was saying farewell to somebody else’s idea of a life.

  Suddenly three people appeared out of nowhere, standing beside the road, looking straight at him. Then a strange-looking woman pointed something at his truck.

  Two seconds later, Landon’s motor died.

  Sean Kirrel suffered through the most boring class ever.

  Current Events and Future Trends. Each situation introduced by a list of wars and crises not even the planets involved still remembered. And taught by a professor named Kaviti. The name fit the guy perfectly. Kaviti was a pompous bore.

  He paced across the front of the class as he droned, “Currently on the minds of the Assembly is Cygneus Prime. Its history is marred by almost constant strife, which they claim is now behind them. The leader of the largest fief on Cygneus Prime at the onset of the Second Interplanetary War was Aldus, known to his loyal subjects as Aldus the Great and to his foes as the Butcher. Thirty-seven years ago, he defeated the last remaining opposition and established a governing council that rules the entire system, with one small exception known as the Outer Rim . . .”

  Students at the Diplomatic Institute on Serena were called Attendants. Sean hated the word. It made him feel like a student in a school for glorified servants. Which, of course, was the intention. In truth, even Sean knew that much of his dissatisfaction had nothing to do with the school or his classes, and everything to do with Elenya. Their breakup had been eight months ago. His helplessness and her absence filled him with a restless pain that only heightened his dislike of this place.

  “The latest Cygnean conflict began as a dispute over the mineral-rich world known as Aldwyn . . .”

  Professor Kaviti was one of the most highly decorated members of the Diplomatic Corps. Not to mention a Justice in the Tribunal Courts and an alternate voting member to the Assembly Parliament. His second day in class, Sean decided Kaviti had suffocated his enemies with facts as dry as old bones.

  Professor Kaviti liked to pick on Sean. And he was not alone. A segment of the faculty resented his presence. Sean had been sent here after less than sixty days as an initiate. Most Attendants arrived with five to ten years of Assembly schooling under their belts, then endured a rigorous examination process. In Sean’s case, the Institute had been ordered to take him. By a planetary Ambassador and the founder of the Watcher school, no less. The fact that he and Dillon had saved an entire world from alien invasion only heightened this group’s desire to find fault. There was no question in Sean’s mind. Kaviti intended to down-check him and kick him out.

  Kaviti’s drone swam into the background as Sean picked at the open wound in his heart. He mentally replayed the argument from seven months ago, the last time he had managed to talk with Elenya. Actually, talk was probably not the right word to use. She had shouted, he had begged, she had left, end of story. She was gone now, off on some research assignmen
t she would not discuss. Elenya had also told Sean not to come visit, which had pleased her mother to no end. The last time Sean had stopped by their home, the woman had actually smiled as she bade him farewell.

  Sean was so lost in the misery of love gone bad he almost missed the Messenger’s alert.

  The first bong resonated through the classroom like a musical punch. After the second and third, Dillon popped into view. Which was almost comic, since Sean was pretty certain Dillon had no right to use the Messenger’s calling card. Sean’s twin brother was a cadet at the Academy, the military arm of the Human Assembly. The twins shared a contempt for the Messenger Corps. The Messenger’s know-nothing existence was too close to the bureaucratic lifestyle that had framed their parents’ world.

  But Sean did not grin at his brother for two reasons. First, he would have gone into serious debt for any reason to leave Kaviti and his class behind.

  The second was Dillon’s expression. As grim as his uniform.

  Dillon threw the teacher a parade-ground salute. “Apologies for the interruption, Ambassador. But Attendant Kirrel has been summoned.”

  “Summoned?” Another thing about Kaviti was his ability to dismiss with a sniff. It was claimed that, years after graduating, classmates of the Diplomatic school still greeted one another with an elongated snort. “By whom?”

  “That is none of your concern, Ambassador. Sean?”

  “See here! Just one minute, cadet!”

  But Sean was already midway up the aisle. He asked his brother, “Where to?”

  “Treehouse. Go.”

  “Already there,” Sean replied. And he was. Bang and gone.

  Dillon arrived an instant later. The air became compressed by his brother’s tension.

  Sean demanded, “What’s the matter?”

  “Landon Evans, remember him?”

  “Sure. Carey’s cousin.”

  “He’s been kidnapped.” Dillon pointed at Sean’s closet. “Change into civvies. Jacket and tie. Hurry.”

  2

  Two hundred and fourteen subalterns stood in silent ranks, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Above Logan’s head, the brigade flag of his family’s ancient enemy snapped in the wind. Logan kept a tight grip on the gilded staff, and an even fiercer one on his emotions.

  So close. After so very, very long.

  The parade ground formed the eastern segment of the battalion headquarters. The area was not a perfect square because a small river carved out one segment. Logan couldn’t see the waters from where he stood. Directly in front of him rose a palace more than two thousand years old. Its origins were shrouded in myths. Supposedly Logan’s clan had wrested the fief from dragons, then forced the beasts to carve the foundation stones and set them in place before allowing the remnants to descend into the inland sea that formed the province’s eastern border. Such legends were officially banned by the council that now ruled Cygneus Prime. But the tales were still sung, usually late at night in roadside taverns that catered to the rebels.

  Most of those once-proud warriors were gone now. Their ghosts stood in attendance inside an empty palace, courtiers to a father who had preferred death to the dishonor of life under new rulers. And so Logan and his mother had been left to fend for themselves in a land where they had no home.

  Nowadays the old palace was only used for formal ceremonies like this, the annual parade of newly brevetted officers. The hall through which Logan had raced as a child stood empty, the old ghosts free to roam.

  He allowed a spectral memory of his own to rise up—just one, but it was a fitting rebuke to the place and the day. When he was eight, he had stood very close to where he was now and watched as his father’s body had been hung from the palace ramparts.

  No doubt the ghosts of his ancestors were screaming in their vacant halls, appalled by the sight of the heir to the throne becoming an officer in the enemy’s ranks. But Logan was at peace with himself and the deed. His father had made his choice and led a ragtag band to what he considered an honorable death. Logan’s only legacy had been a childhood of hardship and misery.

  From battalion headquarters at the parade ground’s far corner, the officer of the watch tolled the changing of the guard. The bell sounded muted in the afternoon heat. Logan and his squadron had stood at attention for over an hour.

  Then a trumpet sounded in the distance. Gradually the air became filled with a multitude of brassy instruments blaring away. If Logan had been a superstitious man, he might have declared it a warning against everything he had planned.

  A bevy of air cars proceeded single file toward them. Logan shouted, as was his duty, “Officers, atten-shun!”

  Two hundred and fourteen boots stomped the earth, and the two dozen officers supervising their graduation raised ceremonial blades to their chins. A multitude of air cars halted by the palace steps. Ranks of dignitaries alighted and climbed the stone stairs, followed by numerous proud families. The palace’s terrace was decorated with bunting and rimmed by temporary bleachers. As the families found their seats, Logan watched the lovely daughter of an earl turn and give one of the subalterns behind him a discreet wave. A rush of indrawn laughter punctuated the ranks.

  Logan’s only friend in the platoon stood midway down the next-to-last row. Vance was a handsome rogue, despised by some for his boyish charm and carefree attitude. But the lower ranks adored him, for Vance was a born leader who laced most commands with an easy humor. Logan knew for a fact that he was also as brave as a dragon and immensely fierce in combat. Vance’s talent with the ladies was legendary.

  The ceremony took up most of the remaining day. Endless speeches were followed by a formal parade of troops, and then came the awarding of medals. Logan was the only subaltern to receive two, the gold brevet for best in class and the much rarer award for valor. He endured yet another speech before the second medal was pinned into place. He stood by the lectern, upon the stone plaza where he had played as a child, as the brigade’s commander related how Logan had saved the lives of eleven fellow soldiers when the battalion had been ambushed during a supposedly routine border patrol. Vance was one of those who now owed Logan his life.

  Then, finally, it was over. Logan trooped the regimental colors a final time, they received the dignitaries’ salute, they cheered, and it was done.

  Families streamed down the stairs and engulfed many of the newly brevetted officers. Vance sauntered over to where Logan stood on the perimeter and pretended to inspect his medals. “I don’t suppose you could spare one of those baubles. Seeing as how you received two and I have none.”

  Logan gestured to the smiling young beauty who lingered on the middle step. “Pity they don’t hand out medals for seduction. You’d have a chestful.”

  Vance squinted in her direction. “You know, I can’t recall her name. How embarrassing. Be a good chap and introduce yourself, will you? She’s bound to respond, and then I won’t look like a total idiot.”

  “No time.” Logan indicated the approaching officer. “We’re on deck.”

  Vance gave the young woman a sorrowful wave. “What a waste.”

  “I need your help with what’s coming next.”

  “Well, of course you do.” Vance’s grin outshone the sun. “Best friends and all that.”

  Logan and Vance entered battalion headquarters and returned the brigade commandant’s salute. Logan’s fellow officer Nicolette stood in her subaltern’s uniform by the commandant’s desk and eyed Vance with genuine dislike.

  The commandant served duty as the general’s host that day. Clearly he disliked being relegated to a secondary position. The general’s aide was there as well, a sour man named Gerrod, who said, “The general’s invitation was for you alone, Logan.”

  “I respectfully ask that my two associates be included, sir,” Logan replied. “They are essential to my plans.”

  “They are not your plans unless the general approves them.”

  “Aye, sir. Nonetheless, their assistance is crucial.”
r />   Gerrod was a bony individual with the taut-featured look of a man who had outgrown his own skin. His face was pocked from some old illness and his hair grew in tufts. But Logan had studied tactics under the man and knew the general had chosen wisely.

  Gerrod said, “Wait here.” He then said to the commandant, “The general will want their files.”

  When it was only the three of them and the duty officer, Nicolette said to Logan, “You cannot be serious, including Vance.”

  Vance drew to ridiculous attention and threw a clown’s salute. “A grand good afternoon to you as well, Officer Nicolette.”

  “You didn’t say a word about him,” she said to Logan.

  “You’re looking lovely as ever,” Vance said.

  “I despise you.”

  “Really? I’ve always found you rather fetching. In a stiff-necked sort of way.”

  “If he’s going, I absolutely refuse—”

  “Careful what you say,” Logan warned. “Vance is vital. As are you.”

  “He’s not to be trusted. He’s despicable. He’s a . . .”

  “I believe the word you’re looking for is cad,” Vance offered cheerfully. “Of course, I did warn you.”

  Nicolette’s response was a rude gesture that took Logan back to his childhood. His mother had done the same when especially angry with his father, such as the morning the man had ridden away for the very last time. “That is what I think of you,” Nicolette said.

  “Such a pity.” Vance gave a mock sigh. “I’ve been head over heels since the very first time we—”

  “Enough,” Logan said. He turned his back to the grinning officer behind the duty desk. “It is decision time. Here are your choices. You can join with me and lead a squad each and make history. Or—”

  “Rather a stark declaration for a newly brevetted subaltern to make,” a voice behind them observed.

  The duty officer jumped to his feet. “Atten-shun!”

  General Brodwyn, the most highly decorated female warrior in the kingdom’s long history, stepped forward and inspected Logan. She stood only a fraction shorter than him, and he was the tallest man in the room. Her grey gaze held a merciless and penetrating force, capable of peeling away his skull and studying his motives in precise detail. Logan had not been nervous until that very moment.