The Lost Voyager: A Space Opera Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

to an alien virus that got into some key systems that ultimately led to the death of thousands.  
    Even today, Babcock hadn’t forgiven himself, despite being the one to ultimately win the Century War for the CW with his unique mind and coding skills.  
    And finally, in the third seat on the left of the bridge, directly opposite Adira, sat Ernest Sanchez, Mach’s oldest friend. He was in charge of the plasma cannons as well as the ship’s armory.  
    The Intrepid had some of the best weapons in the Salus Sphere. It was an experimental vestan-designed ship with as much power and speed as a CW destroyer, despite being far more agile and better armed. Their ion cannon alone was the envy of the CW commanders.  
    They had even tried to take the ship from him—they failed.  
    Hence the huge fine Mach had to pay off. It wasn’t his fault one of Morgan’s best ships got in the way of a test firing of the ion cannon. Still, that was all settled, yet he still felt like a reckoning was coming.
    If things went wrong, it wouldn’t be a summer vacation at the prison planet Summanus he’d have to deal with, it would be the wrath of his friends, and this was one crew that really should not be crossed.  
    With Adira and Sanchez’s skills at killing almost anything with the utmost efficiency, and Kingsley Babcock’s ruthlessness, he’d rather be in the safety of solitary confinement.  
    Putting the thought behind him, he continued to watch the screens. Sanchez had left his console and made his way through the narrow corridor that connects the bridge to the rest of the ship. There was something about his body language, the tightness in his shoulders, a hunched back that caught Mach’s eye.  
    “Track Ernest Sanchez,” Mach ordered the system.  
    The camera system obeyed his command. The screen on the left of the array of five panned in close to Sanchez. The images changed as the big hunter and ex-gunrunner entered the mess. The camera was located in the top right of the small room, giving Mach a wide, unobstructed field of view.  
    Sanchez approached the counter of the kitchen cubby and leaned over. Tulula, the vestan engineer, was standing behind the counter, her back to Sanchez. She was always in the kitchen when she wasn’t in the depths of the Intrepid ’s experimental engine bay, tuning the fusion crystals with her spindly black fingers.  
    She could make the most amazing meals from even the dullest of ingredients. The vestans didn’t so much cook food as they conjured an impossible palette of tastes from a collection of food particles. It was more chemistry than cuisine.  
    The vestan turned to face Sanchez.  
    “Sound from screen one,” Mach ordered.  
    The system filtered the audio through to Mach’s ear bud.
    “Human,” Tulula said in greeting, “come for a drink?”
    “Is that such a bad thing, vestan?”
    “Depends on the reasons,” she said, stepping back away from the counter, her body stiffening.  
    Sanchez ran a hand through his long dark hair. “It’s been three days,” Sanchez said. “You owe me at least one.”
    Mach leaned closer to the screen, wondering what they were talking about.  
    “I owe you nothing. You think I’m going to help you destroy yourself? Eggs?”
    “I don’t want any eggs,” Sanchez said. “You know what I want.”
    “I do. But if you want to drink yourself to death, you can help yourself. I’m done. It’s not right, Ernie. I can’t do it anymore.”
    “The pain’s getting worse,” he said, slouching against the counter. “The others will notice soon.”
    Tulula sighed and made to move toward him but then stopped herself and returned to the cooking station. “Then have some eggs; get your strength back.”
    “You eat them, then,” Sanchez said with a sharp tone, then softer, “I’m sorry, I’m just not in the mood. Got a lot going on in my mind.”
    “About the mission?” Tulula said, gathering the eggs from the griddle and placing them on a