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  Colony Lost

  Copyright © 2016 Christopher Philbrook

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America

  First Publishing Date July, 2017

  All characters in this compilation are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design, illustrations and interior layout by Alan MacRaffen

  Also by Chris Philbrook:

  Elmoryn - The Kinless Trilogy

  Book One: Wrath of the Orphans

  Book Two: The Motive for Massacre

  Coming Soon:

  Book Three: The Echoes of Sin

  Adrian’s Undead Diary

  Book One: Dark Recollections

  Book Two: Alone No More

  Book Three: Midnight

  Book Four: The Failed Coward

  Book Five: Wrath

  Book Six: In the Arms of Family

  Book Seven: The Trinity

  Book Eight: Cassie

  Coming Soon:

  Unhappy Endings: An A.U.D. Anthology

  The Reemergence Series

  Tesser: A Dragon Among Us

  Coming Soon:

  Ambryn: & the Cheaters of Death

  Don’t miss Chris Philbrook’s free e-Book:

  At Least He’s Not On Fire:

  A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head

  TABLE OF CONTENTS:

  Also by Chris Philbrook

  Dedication

  Unit Creed of the Gharian First Expeditionary Marine Scout Snipers

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Illustrations:

  — Rock Bug

  — Beetles

  — Catapulter

  — Spitter

  About the Author

  “Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.”

  –André Gide

  “It is clear that we must trust what is difficult; everything alive trusts in it, everything in Nature grows and defends itself any way it can and is spontaneously itself, tries to be itself at all costs and against all opposition.”

  –Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

  Dedication

  When I started to write this book I didn’t know I was about to have a daughter. When I finished this book, I had her there, in the same room when I wrote “the end.”

  It’s crazy how life unfolds.

  Were it not for her mother, the beautiful and wonderful Leah I would not have my daughter in my life, nor would I have endless support, hugs, kisses, laughs, late night ice cream snacks in bed, a new wonderful family to share my life with, and a new reason to work hard.

  For those reasons, and a million more, Leah, this story about the perseverance of the human spirit, Colony Lost, is for you.

  Thank you. I love you.

  * * *

  I would also like to dedicate Colony Lost to the men of A Company, B Company, C Company, and HHC 1/26 Infantry, 1st Infantry Division from Ledward Barracks in Schweinfurt, Germany, or as they call themselves, the Blue Spaders.

  In 2015, I spent a weekend volunteering and selling books in Philadelphia at Operation First Response’s Walk for the Wounded. The walk is held annually and serves as a benefit to veterans.

  The stories I was told by the people I met changed my life. Truly. To hear what they’ve went through, and what the continually suffer with as a result of their time at war is a humbling thing. It makes all my problems pale in comparison, and for that, I am grateful.

  Perhaps what is most impressive of the stories I was told was this; none I met would change what they went through, and if they could save their friends from what happened in Iraq, they would go back, and they would suffer it all again.

  For their strength, courage, sense of humor, and complete love for one another, Colony Lost is also dedicated to them.

  Oh, and if one of the character’s names in this book seems racist to you, get over it. That character (and his nickname) is a direct homage to one of the men who served in that unit.

  He loves his nickname, and because of that, the name is in this book. Sir, I hope you get a kick out of Steve.

  Move Smooth

  Move Fast

  Strike Hard

  Strike Fear

  Disappear.

  –Unit Creed of the Gharian First Expeditionary Marine Scout Snipers

  PROLOGUE

  White Bay Spaceport, Sota

  16 June 162 GA

  High in the nighttime sky, the gas giant Ghara hung suspended, as large as the palm of an outstretched hand. The moon ran flush with ribbons of color that reminded all who gazed upon it of blue-green seas. Like a spoke radiating from Ghara’s gemstone hub, the frozen moon of Sota moved in concert around it.

  Many thousands called Sota home despite its month-long nights and skin-blackening cold. The earnings for hard work on Sota were ahead of the other moons and if you wanted a good plot of land on Ares, Phoenix, or Pacifica you had to do at least a year of work on the cold moon. Any work would do, but some jobs earned your plot of land faster than others.

  A warm front had passed through recently and the moon’s cool air had a gentleness to it. No frostbite would sink its tee
th into the flesh of the colonists hard at work this night.

  The shuttle Beagle waited on a secondary launch pad of Sota’s small capital city, White Bay. The tilt-wing transorbital craft sat poised to take exhausted workers to a warmer moon for vacation; or to a new station; or home after an extended work contract, the deed for their new land in hand.

  “I think I’m going to propose to Melody.”

  Sgt. Dustin Cline and his best friend, Sgt. Waren Dillon, walked shoulder-to-shoulder across the grated-steel landing surface to the Beagle’s ramp. The light of the cyan gas giant above made the snow of Sota glow with an almost neon luminescence. Living here made the nights on other worlds seem cavernously dark.

  Waren smiled from a full head’s height above as he shifted the weight of an over-packed ruck on his back. “For real on the marriage proposal?”

  “Yeah. I’m thinking yeah. Before the expedition starts. I got a diamond for her already.”

  “An engagement ring? Man, that’s old-fashioned. Diamonds are a dime a dozen here on Sota. You should’ve given her a ring with an opal or something. Those are rare, man. Good for you, though. You understand in every possible way Melody is above your pay grade right?”

  “Hell yes. She’s amazing.”

  “I meant like, out of your league, dude. She comes from a good family. She’s an officer. She’s already got–what?–six acres worth of earnings on Ares, right? What do you have? One acre on Phoenix?”

  “She’s got five acres, and I’ve got two, thank you. But I’m almost to reenlistment, which means I’ll get a third acre. You hear about the deal they’re offering for the new planet if it’s habitable?”

  The two men reached the foot of the ramp and stepped up its incline. A flight sergeant looked at their name tags as they walked past and checked something off on a touch screen. Inside the long, yellow-lit two-story-tall cargo bay, men and women bustled about, strapping down pallets of exports and unstrapping the netted seats from the walls of the ship.

  “We already know from the probes that it’s habitable. We just need to secure landing sites and build infrastructure. But that’s what we do. Well, the secure portion.”

  Waren dropped his ruck in front of an empty seat against the wall. Dustin nodded as he put his own bag down hard, then collapsed into a seat.

  “Because of the distance from Ghara and the moons, Pioneer 3 is saying first wave colonists can earn an acre per six months there, and–get this–you can turn in your real estate anywhere else for double on the new world. That means Melody and I–you know–can work a year hitch on the new world, earn four more acres, and then swap the eleven into twenty-two on the new planet.”

  “That’s some serious acreage. What would you do with all that land there? Raise a huge-ass family? You don’t even know if the soil can grow shit.”

  “It can grow shit, Waren. Unlike this desolate ice ball you’re from. Who the hell wants to live on Sota anyway? Look, like you said, the probes pretty clearly show vegetation and wildlife. But I dunno. We don’t have to commit to the idea yet. I figure we can sort it out while we’re there. Marriage first.”

  More men and women moved around, organizing, sitting, getting situated. Waren sat beside Dustin.

  “Is she being assigned to the transits to the new planet?”

  “Yep. One trip a year or something like that. Not sure if she’ll be assigned to the planet as local transportation or if she’ll just work the colonial shipping lines to it. Gotta wait for the planet to orbit the sun and line back up with Ghara and the moons. I hear there’s a pretty powerful magnetosphere that will prevent comms and travel for a period of time. The window for transit is pretty small and there are some pretty severe blackout dates.”

  “That’s fucked up. We’re gonna be stranded on a foreign moon for a year?”

  “A foreign planet, Waren, and yes, we are.”

  Dustin and Waren’s team leader, Lieutenant Lionel Hauptman, had just boarded. The lieutenant had served in the special-operations community since his enlistment a decade ago. He’d earned his commission through hard work and achieving great things in terrible places. The lean but powerfully built man wore the same slate gray and white camouflage uniform they wore, plus a matching cover. He walked over and stood before them, calloused hands on his narrow hips, forming an inverted delta with his body.

  “Ready to get off the ice ball, L-T?”

  Hauptman nodded. He had an oddly slender head atop his broad shoulders. “Yeah. I hate sweating but I hate freezing more. I’m looking forward to this new assignment. It’s a whole new world, brothers, and we’re the Lewis and Clark of it.”

  “The Christopher Columbus of it.”

  “The Marco Polo of it.”

  “The Magellan of it.”

  “More like Leif Ericson, really.”

  “What about Donohue and Ming?”

  Another voice nearby muttered just loud enough for the marines to hear them. It dripped with an ancient Russian accent. “Americans. So arrogant. So loud.”

  The three soldiers stopped their joking and looked over at the speaker. Older, bearded, and wearing glasses, he had a professorial look to him and wore a coat far heavier than was needed on the warmer Sotan night. His arms hugged his torso, guarding against the piercing nature of the cold the soldiers didn’t feel.

  “Pardon me, sir?”

  “Oh, you heard me? I said, ‘Americans are so arrogant.’ You are Americans, yes? That is your heritage?”

  The soldiers sighed. Discrimination. Such was the way so often. Deferring to their unit commander, Waren and Dustin let the lieutenant speak for them. They shot things. It was his job to talk to assholes and officers.

  “Sir, America has been gone for hundreds of years. Earth is a barren shithole as far as we know. Calling us American makes about as much sense as calling you a badger.”

  “I would rather be called a badger.”

  “Is that a Russian accent I’m hearing?”

  “Da. I have Russian blood inside me.”

  Russians. Now there’s an arrogant lot, Dustin thought. The fucker even cultivated the accent to stand out. No one has an accent anymore. Da. Prick.

  The generational vessel that brought their expedition to the Ghara system, Pioneer 3, had been propelled by Russian-designed-and-maintained systems. During the two hundred year voyage from old Earth to Ghara, the Russians had held a place of respect and power aboard the colossal vessel and had kept that sense of entitlement in the near two centuries since Pioneer 3 had reached Ghara’s habitable moon-rich orbit. The descendants of the original Russians aboard the ship had been almost automatically funneled into high-paying tech positions across the colonies. The practice had bred elitism.

  Americans, on the other hand, were relegated to two entirely different roles aboard the ship. Prior to the Pioneer 3’s departure, the Americans had managed the world’s economy through their stock markets and run the world’s wars through an exceedingly well-funded military. Over the centuries, the United States had morphed from having the moral high ground in conflict to simply being a nation of mercenaries and police. When the Pioneer-class vessels had left Earth’s orbit, there had been no need for money any longer, so the Americans on board became security personnel. Now, most of the American descendants worked in the military, or security, or in the financial or accounting sectors. People tend to do what their parents did, it seemed.

  “What’s your name, sir?”

  “I am Doctor Micah Balashov.”

  “Medical doctor?” Lionel asked.

  “No. I am a biologist. Though it amuses me to use the title. My father was very proud of my degree.”

  “So, Doctor Balashov have you ever been to Russia?”

  “Of course not.”

  “How then can you claim to be Russian? Because a family member or two from–what?–almost six hundred years ago came from there? You’re no more Russian than I’m American. We’re all citizens of Ghara, now.”

  “Perhaps s
o. You men are military. What branch?”

  “First Expeditionary Marines. S&S. Scout-Snipers.”

  “Ha. FEM. Some make fun of you for that.”

  Dustin and Waren scowled at the bad joke. Dustin couldn’t help but speak up.

  “You know what F-E-M stands for? Foremost. Evil. Motherfuckers.”

  “So you are being assigned to the Selvan expedition then? The first wave of workers and settlers, da? You may get to prove that, there.”

  “‘Selvan?’”

  “The name of the new world. Christened officially. Pioneer decided the other day that the old name didn’t fit. Now it is Selva. ‘Jungle’ in old Spanish I am told.”

  “Selva. Not bad. It’s not all jungle though. Plenty of open fields and water. Why’d they choose that name?” Lionel asked.

  Balashov shrugged and looked around at the steadily declining commotion in the dimly lit bay of the ship. He gestured at the movement of the strangers as if what they did would explain his thoughts.

  “Why does the government do anything? Someone up in the sky had a reason and convinced the others he was right. Though they are spreading our resources thin. We are expanding very fast.”

  “Wisdom there.”

  “It would seem that we will be seeing more of each other, my American Marine friends. I, too, am being reassigned to Selva.”

  “Small worlds.”

  “Small moons.”

  A chime rang out from the speakers arrayed around the ship. A female voice crackled over the loudspeaker a second after.

  “This is the co-pilot speaking. We are ten minutes to Beagle departure. Flight crew, perform final liftoff checks. Passengers, please take your seats.”

  “Hey is that–”

  Before Waren could get an answer, Dustin was already up and out of his seat, running toward the fore of the transorbital vessel.