Free Space
Praise for
ADMIRAL
“A fast-paced and engaging intrigue with characters the reader will be attached to and root for despite their flaws and faults. . . . The Martian meets The Bourne Identity by way of Alien.”
—Marko Kloos, author of Chains of Command
“This story reminded me of a cross between the action-filled suspense of The Martian and the tricky mental maneuverings of The Stainless Steel Rat. Admiral is a satisfying military adventure filled with plenty of science fiction mystery wrapped in layers of caper-style suspense . . . and if it was food, I’d be demanding seconds.”
—Jean Johnson, national bestselling author of the First Salik War series
“A seductive mix of mystery and action! A riveting space mystery. Pure entertainment!”
—William C. Dietz, national bestselling author of the Legion of the Damned novels
“A wild, page-turning ride through a locked-room mystery on a wrecked starship where nothing and no one is what it seems. I can’t wait to see what this great bunch of characters does next.”
—Mike Shepherd, author of Kris Longknife: Bold
“Admiral could be the most entertaining military science fiction novel I read all year. . . . Delivering an enticing combination of mystery and suspense, Sean Danker’s debut is an intensely action-packed and fast-paced survival adventure that’s sure to appeal to both sci-fi veterans and newcomers to the genre alike.”
—The BiblioSanctum
“This story is filled with suspense and humor. Add to that the very complex and fun characters and it made for an entertaining story.”
—Hot Listens
“A fun, atmospheric story that was difficult to put down . . . thrilling.”
—Nerd Much?
“An enthralling and suspenseful read that draws the reader in from the very first page . . . nail-biting with moments reminiscent of Mark Watney’s survival on Mars in The Martian.”
—Caffeinated Book Reviewer
“Fast-paced, action-packed, heart-stopping reading. . . . You will have to remind yourself to stop holding your breath.”
—Popcorn Reads
“The book read like a good episode of Star Trek crossed with a dose of Star Wars.”
—Mom with a Reading Problem
OTHER NOVELS BY SEAN DANKER
Admiral
ACE
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2017 by Sean Danker-Smith
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
ACE is a registered trademark and the A colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Danker, Sean, author.
Title: Free space: an Admiral novel/Sean Danker.
Description: First Edition. | New York: Ace, 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016038201 (print) | LCCN 2016043700 (ebook) | ISBN 9780451475800 (paperback) | ISBN 9780698197268 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Space warfare—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION/Science Fiction/Military. | FICTION/Science Fiction/Adventure. | FICTION/ Science Fiction/Space Opera. | GSAFD: Science fiction
Classification: LCC PS3604.A537 F74 2017 (print) | LCC PS3604.A537 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016038201
First Edition: May 2017
Cover photo of figure © Collaboration JS / Arcangel Images; background images courtesy of Shutterstock Images
Cover design by Adam Auerbach
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
FOR THE COPY EDITORS OF THE WORLD
Contents
Praise for Admiral
Other Novels by Sean Danker
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
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
About the Author
PROLOGUE
I’VE made a lot of mistakes.
“Is everything all right?”
“I’m having trouble with the clasp,” I replied, fumbling with it.
“They’re tricky. Would you like help?”
“Please,” I said.
The hostess slipped into the dressing booth. She deftly helped me fasten my cuffs.
I pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the open.
It was quiet, and there wasn’t anyone else shopping. All the movement in the boutique came from holographic displays and animated mannequins. The smell of flowers and perfume was a little much, and it was starting to get to me.
I gazed at the entrance for a moment, then turned back to the hostess and spread my arms.
She patted me down and checked my tunic’s fastenings. She walked a circle around me, arms folded, one finger resting on her chin. She stopped and looked me up and down.
“I’m going to recommend some alterations,” she said. “You have such a good waistline, so we should tweak the hem so it has a bit more flare, and I want to go a little more snug on the trousers, show off your legs a bit. Another possibility with your physique would be to add an extra taper here”—she touched my shoulder—“to emphasize the shape.” She moved her hands in the shape of a V.
“Will it take long?”
“Thirty seconds.”
“Be my guest.”
She snapped her fingers and an android stepped forward.
“Please hold still, sir.”
I obediently put my arms out and held the pose. It took only moments for the android to tailor the outfit I was wearing under the hostess’ direction. He finished with the trousers and removed his hands from my calves. His sewing tools folded back into his palms, and the hostess took his place in front of me.
“I’ll remind you that it’s not in vogue to go monochrome with this cut,” she said. It was about the fourth time she’d reminded me. “Particularly not in black. Has someone died?”
“Not yet,” I replied.
“It’s also not traditional to wear gloves with this ensemble,” she said.
I turned to look at myself in the display. This was something I hadn’t seen for a very long time.
“What’s the matter?” the hostess asked.
“In the Empire they issue you a set of formal wear when you graduate from compulsory schooling. Those outfits look a little like this. Not the color, just the style. They’re called blanks.”
“Blanks?” The hostess looked puzzled.
“Because they’re very plain. Always gray or blue. I remember when I got fitted for mine.” I adjusted my collar, watching the display closely. “I was with a friend. He didn’t like the idea of blanks much. He didn’t even want to take them.”
“Why not?”
“He thought they were patronizing. A sort of handout. It was a pride thing.”
The hostess shrugged. “It was my understanding that a lot of Evagardian life is subsidized by the Imperium.”
“It is. I never said my friend was rational.”
“It suits you, sir. Actually, you look a little familiar. I think you have a bit of a resemblance to Prince Dalton.” I checked myself one last time in the display. The robotic tailor had vanished, but the android lingering near the exit was still there. I smiled at the hostess.
“I get that a lot,” I said.
The android bumped into me as I left the boutique. I ignored it and kept walking.
I hadn’t felt the puncture. No tickle, no itch. No touch, really. I felt nothing. No, that wasn’t true—I did feel a little insulted.
I wasn’t in the station’s main gallery; this was just a wide hallway, lined with shops and businesses offering minor conveniences for travelers. The lights were bright. Underfoot, I saw myself reflected as nothing but a vague black shape in the polished marble—but that wasn’t right. My vision had blurred.
I hadn’t felt the puncture, but I knew it was there. And even if I hadn’t noticed the delivery, I could feel the poison in my bloodstream. It was acting fast. There was a subtle wrongness—about what I’d expected. I took out a physical holo and touched the screen, bringing up my contact list. There was only one entry. I touched it, sending a prepared message.
I tried not to give myself away by speeding up, but it was hard not to feel a certain sense of urgency. Evagardian poison wouldn’t take long to kill me; this wasn’t the time to drag my feet.
There was a flight schedule on the wall nearby. I had a shuttle to catch, but death wouldn’t wait.
My heart gave a twitch that was difficult to ignore. To make matters worse, a Prince Dalton song was playing over the station’s audio feed. A real Dalton song, not one of mine. In fact, it was one of the last ones the real prince had written and performed before I killed him.
I stumbled and caught myself, making my way to a bench and collapsing onto it.
People were looking at me curiously as they passed. Maybe it was my behavior. Maybe it was my outfit. The sounds of the tunnel came and went.
I listened to Prince Dalton singing about broken hearts.
A second twitch. I silently chided my heart. It had never gotten what it wanted before; why would things be different now? At the very least my heart could take this like a man and not be a whiner. Did it hear me complaining, after all? No. Death was just a part of life. Plenty of people had done it before, including me. It was an inevitability.
Now, later, or probably both.
But it wouldn’t do to let it happen here. Not where people could see.
I forced myself to my feet, faltering. For most of my life I’d taken good health for granted. That was an easy trap to fall into, particularly on Evagardian worlds. Withdrawal and poison had taught me the truth: if you haven’t got your health, you haven’t got anything.
The holo in my wrist sensed my condition and asked if I wanted to signal for medical attention. I ignored it. There was an emergency station ahead, but that wasn’t where I was going.
I staggered to the side of the tunnel, and several people had to dodge me. I wasn’t at my most considerate.
I hit the wall and leaned against a feed advertising holo software promising to streamline day-to-day life for the busy galactic. Ahead was a hologram indicating the presence of a restroom. It wasn’t ideal, but privacy was privacy. I staggered to it and got inside, falling on the taps and wondering if my heart was going to literally explode. That was the sort of thing that sounded terribly romantic, but in practice it would just be messy. There were a lot of things in my life like that.
I would have liked to get a little cold water and throw it on my face, which was very hot, but I didn’t get the chance.
I tried to look at my chrono. Death notwithstanding, I had an appointment to keep.
1
THE shuttle rocked gently, and I reached up for a safety handle. The carpet was blue; the seats were blue. Even the viewports were tinted blue. Like, if you didn’t have the color blue burned into your retinas, you might fly with another service next time. Galactic branding sensibilities. Subtlety was an alien concept to these people. Primitive, really.
A serving android was making her way down the aisle, a tray of glasses in her hands. I stepped aside to let her pass, and moved up to take the seat beside Salmagard.
From the way she looked up so quickly, it was clear she was full of nerves. The smile she offered was a reflexive one, one she’d used a million times before. There was nothing real about it.
After that automatic smile, she looked back down at her hands in her lap for a moment, then slowly looked up at me a second time. I didn’t look that different. If she hadn’t recognized me, she was even more preoccupied than she looked.
“It’s me,” I said, settling in. The last time I’d seen Tessa Salmagard, she’d been dead and I’d been trying to get her body into stasis so she could be revived. That had been almost three weeks ago. A part of me expected her to be different here in civilization—and she was. Back on that planet, with things like oxygen and hostile xenos to think about, Salmagard had had use only for the soldierly parts of herself.
In a place like this, there was no need for any of that.
“You’re different.” Her voice was just as musical as I remembered.
“This is closer to my real face. I still look a lot like him, though, don’t I?”
She nodded.
I sighed. “But at least we’re not perfect twins anymore. I didn’t think you’d show.” It was risky for her to meet me, after all.
“You saved my life.” She said it as if it was obvious. Like the risk meant nothing.
Maybe it didn’t. Salmagard was nothing if not bold. In part because she was an aristocrat and had been brought up to look down on everyone and everything to include danger—all in the interests of her bloodline. And in part because of her military training, which had taught her essentially the same things, except, rather than her own line, the Service compelled her to bring glory to the Empress.
She didn’t see danger the way most people did. For many in the gentry, danger and risk were things that happened to other people. Salmagard had actually been killed in action—so she knew better. Maybe that was what had emboldened her. She’d already died, so what was the worst that could happen? Dying again? That wasn’t likely. Meeting me was dangerous to her career, not to her physical safety.
Maybe that was her thinking. Such was the life of an aristocrat.
“Don’t tell me you’re here out of obligation,” I said.
Salmagard shook her head. Did she mean it? I’d never know. It was obvious that she hadn’t been sure I’d actually show up. That didn’t particularly hurt my feelings. She didn’t seem disappointed I was there, though. That was a good sign.
She was wearing an extremely becoming red dress in an Isakan cut, with a beautiful sash. Her dark hair was especially elaborate, with lots of jeweled clips. She’d clearly gone to some effort. I was flattered. Of course, I’d gotten all dolled up too—but my new black outfit was already a bit rumpled. That was a pity; I’d bought it only an hour ago.
“How, though?” she asked. “How is this safe?�
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“It’s not.” I shrugged. “But it’s doable because there’s some bad news,” I told her. “The threat level’s up. There’s not as much Imperial Security presence out here, and I’m not at the top of their list anymore. ‘Safe’ isn’t the word I’d use, but I’m not hung up on details.”
“What’s going on?”
“Apparently there’s credible intelligence that New Unity’s up to something. Imperial Security and Evagardian Intelligence are extra twitchy with the peace talks so close. All the imperial agents in Free Trade space are on alert status—they think something’s going to happen. So the people that might be on the lookout for me— Well, they’re not looking for me at the moment.”
Salmagard didn’t look surprised. The war wasn’t really over; there was only a cease-fire—and it was tenuous. The Empress wanted real peace, and Salmagard knew what every Evagardian was brought up to know: if the Empress wanted something, New Unity wanted the opposite.
It stood to reason that Evagardian forces would be more interested in preventing terrorist attacks than hunting for me.
But I didn’t want to talk about terrorists, and I especially didn’t want to talk about New Unity.
“Lucky timing, I guess,” I said.
“What about automated security?” She meant facial recognition and DNA scans.
“That won’t work on me anymore,” I said. “My face is different enough not to trip any searches looking for Dalton. And there aren’t any records left. Of who I used to be.”
“You have a fake ID?” She said it very quietly, looking around as if someone might hear. I was taken aback, but it was no surprise she’d find that scandalous. In Salmagard’s world—at least before she’d joined the Service—lawbreaking had probably been an alien concept to her.
But there were dampeners around our seats to give us privacy, and the other passengers on the shuttle had their own lives to live. A few were talking; most were absorbed in their holos. One woman I’d seen had actually put on a VR collar and completely checked out for the flight.