Wasp on the Wind

C.R. Norris

Description

The saga continues as a future apocalyptic world begins to reveal its secrets . . . Chris, now a Trax, was what the West Sand Command called "a greeny." Her "Before Time," that time before she had been rifted, had been from a distant past, and perhaps even a different timeline. Who could say . . .? But after some three years of training and a return to the very group who had rescued her from the desert, her "Now Time" circle was complete . . . with one adjustment, she was now also "Det Arju′" She carried with her a mysterious pendant that she had been ordered to present to Lon, the Tagos of the Choe, an assignment that, as of yet, no West Sand Commander was aware. Bruce, Chris's friend, and fellow "Before Time" band geek, was rejected by the Trax. While Chris trained, his path hooked him to the side of the Taden's greatest nemesis, the Captain. Now as his lieutenant, he must help the Captain save his command by aiding him in the capture of Ponopin, a genius Tader entrepreneur, and the Brigade's greatest thorn. But as fate would have it, neither mission is as easy as it sounds, the tangle of circumstances sending Chris and Bruce on a collision course with each other. Richly imagined, beautifully characterized, and deeply engaging, Wasp on the Wind will leave you clamoring for the upcoming third book in The Wasp Chronicles series.

Sujets

• Fantastique
• Epic Fantasy
• Science Fiction
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Outskirts Press
• Date de parution: 12 juillet 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781478786948
• Langue: English

Extrait

Wasp on the Wind
Book II of the Wasp Chronicles
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2017 C. R. Norris
v5.0

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Outskirts Press, Inc.
http://www.outskirtspress.com

ISBN: 978-1-4787-8694-8

Cover Image by C.R. Norris

Outskirts Press and the “OP” logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Prelude
Mason Zanti made himself at home in the corner booth of the pub known as Boar Teeth. Although he was a merchant, the Brigader clientele of the bar had long accepted him as a regular. The business he managed, Outland Imports, was just around the arcing walkway. From there, on a low pedestrian day, he could just glimpse the giant tusks and pushed out snout of the pub as it beckoned all to enter into its maw.
The bar’s back booths were notable for two things. First, the menu was displayed as a rotating holographic projection onto the tabletop. This trick was the result of a bit of salvaged ancient tech that the owner had bought on the black market. Second, and perhaps more important, the booths were cloaked in thick curtains that damped the thumping music that accompanied the dancers on the front stage. The combined novelty meant that the booths were often chosen as places where deals were discussed or carried out, the occupants feeling safe in their concealed curtained privacy.
Mason was a man with a certain reputation so although he was not expecting company, he was not amazed when a stranger poked his head in between the curtains, and upon seeing the opposite bench unoccupied, slid in, and joined him.
“Hello, friend,” offered the Brigader who wore sergeant stripes.
Mason gave him a questioning look and did not return the greeting.
The sergeant gave him a warm smile as he leaned forward.
“I hear tell . . .” he began matter-of-factly, “that you are a man of deals.”
The assertion raised Mason’s eyebrows and his level of caution.
“That is mostly true during business hours, Sergeant . . .?” he gestured.
“Barker,” supplied the sergeant, his joviality unfazed by Mason’s cool reception.
“My store is just—”
“Yes,” interrupted Barker, “Outland Imports. I am fully aware of your store and the trinkets it carries.”
Mason rocked back in his seat.
“Trinkets . . .” he bristled.
Barker smiled, and then in a lowered voice that drew Mason forward, began, “I’ve got something far beyond those Tader handicrafts you so proudly display.” Seeing that he had Mason’s attention, he continued. “I have magic.”
Mason’s brow crinkled in dubious uncertainty.
“Magic?” he repeated in a disbelieving tone.
“Magic,” affirmed Barker reaching into his uniform coat. He produced a silk cloth from his breast pocket. “Tell me, Mason Zanti, what would the CORE give for a new stash of these?”
He set the cloth on the table, carefully pulling the edges back to reveal a clear crystal some six centimeters in length. The perfect formation of the hexagon structure widened Mason’s eyes, dropping his mouth slightly. He leaned forward in awe, not really sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. After all, he had never really seen one for real. He had only heard about them as the existing ones were tightly controlled by the CORE, the Council of Replication Engineers.
“Is that . . .?”
“An ancient storage crystal . . . an ambry . . .” confirmed Barker with an affirmative nod, “. . . untouched by CORE hands. Acquired just recently from an outland mission, and . . .” he paused, leaving the last, most juiciest bit hanging for that merest extended moment, “I’ve confirmed that it is not empty.”
“Ancient information . . .” whispered Mason, awestruck by what he was hearing.
His mind reeled. Ancient information . . . From Before Time technology . . . Before the crash of the High Time, and the tergum of the Taden, a time when technologies were shaped to each person, doing their bidding in almost magical fashion. The Now Time of the restructured magist lived as a shadow of the Before Time. A place where great heaps of Before Time knowledge had been lost, leaving men like Mason to covet and scour for the remnants.
Although the CORE tried to cover the fact that they were unable to replicate the manufacture of much of the technology used for day-to-day activities, everyone knew that storage crystals were in short supply and carefully controlled. Not one piece of data was stored that wasn’t deemed of supreme necessity. Whole lobbying industries existed to determine whose genome was to be stored, what events, what recordings . . . The list was endless, but the storage capacity that had become more and more constrained over the centuries was not. The soldier had made a huge discovery!
“And what keeps me from killing you right here and taking the crystal?” asked Mason, now fully engaged in the art of the deal. There were now things he needed to determine.
“Ah,” smiled Barker, “much like you, I am someone’s proxy . . .”
The statement was equivalent to invoking Ponopin’s name, which narrowed Mason’s eyes. The insinuation that the proxy was reaching out to Ponopin put Mason back on guard. Ponopin was a man who was very much wanted by the CORE. Virtuoso entrepreneur that he was, he was also a Tader, and an enemy of the magist. He had spent countless rotations operating across the barrier between the two worlds. The numbers of his investments and aliases were unknown, but his influence seemed to pop up everywhere. Mason endeavored to protect his chief consort by not reacting, but the soldier’s next statement made it all but impossible.
“And why have one ambry when you can have five hundred . . .”
“Five hundred!!” choked Mason.
That was an unheard of expansion of capacity, and it came with the potential of reclaiming lost knowledge from the crystal’s contents. With that number, he and Ponopin could spend the rest of their lives being the sole provider of ambries to the CORE.
“But, of course, this person wants to move cautiously, you understand. With a transaction of this magnitude, there is a certain amount of trust that must be built.”
“Yes, of course . . .” nodded Mason.
“And to start, I’m going to let you have this crystal so that you can verify its veracity . . .”Mason looked stunned as Barker pushed the silk package forward, then slid out of the booth.
“We’ll be in touch,” he nodded.
And then the sergeant disappeared through the curtain.
Chapter I
F ar outside Boar Teeth, and beyond the domed sitel of Baltic Mar, and indeed, across mountains, and grasslands, and rivers in the deep of the Tader zones, a very tired and sunburnt Chris crawled off her dark brown, rump-dappled horse, Tequila. The others around her busied themselves with their equipment and horses, but Chris just stood. Her new life on the trail had proved to be far rougher than anticipated. She leaned her head against Tequila’s saddle, not sure what stood out more, the ache across her body, how tired and hungry she was, or how dehydrated she was feeling at the moment.
She was what the West Sand Command called “a greeny.” And her “Before Time,” that time before she had been rifted, had been from a distant past, and perhaps even a different timeline. Who could say . . .? But after some three years of training and a return to the very group who had rescued her from the desert, her “Now Time” circle was complete . . . With one adjustment, she was now also “Det Arjú.” She carried with her a mysterious pendant that she had been ordered to present to Lon, the Tagos of the Choe, an assignment that no West Sand Commander was, as yet, aware.
“What’s wrong?” sneered Omri, the sarcasm in his voice ringing like bells against Chris’s headache. “Greeny can’t take it?”
From the outset, she and Omri had not been friendly. They had even come to blows while at Tojoba, a fact that Dox, the captain of the West Sand Command, had been very unhappy about. Since then, she had been trying to avoid further confrontation, but Omri was simply making that impossible, and now she was done with civility and his abuse.
“Don’t!” she snarled, pointing a finger at him as if to poke it into his chest. “Just don’t! ”
The warning issued, she returned to her chores, unbuckling the cinch and then reaching atop Tequila to grab the saddle.
“Don’t, don’t . . .” mocked Omri ruthlessly behind her. “I wouldn’t think of it,” his tone turning to contempt.
The grate of his voice finally snapped Chris like a twig, her hand sliding into the shotgun sheath and whipping out the gun. With a fierce glare, she shoved the barrel up Omri’s nose.
There was surprise on Omri’s part, and then supplication as he raised his hands and slithered away in silence.
Finally , thought Chris. Why was being left alone so hard?
“Lait!” yelled Dox with his ringing accent. “Watch on that hill,” he pointed. “Omri, the hill over there. I want Corti and Char out on scout. You all know the rotations. Everyone else, wood patrol. It is the ‘The Dark’ tonight, and we do not want to be short of fire!”
Ah, yes, The Dark. The Dark referred to the phase of the moon when there was no moon. The Taders counted time by the phases of the moon, effectively blurring Chris’s days of counting in sevens into obscurity. What had once been marked by a weekday name, date, and month was now marked by a phase and a moon. And